"Pray ring for the maid," said Oswald, carrying the poor lady to the sofa.
Upon Emily's furious ringing Primula's maid appeared at once, but the poetess had recovered so far as to be able to open her eyes partly and to say with feeble voice to Oswald and Emily: "I thank you, my friends! You had a right to laugh, du sublime au ridicule il n'y a qu'un pas. But now leave me! Leave an unfortunate being, forced to bear her terrible fate in silence and solitude. Not a word! Not a word! Leave me!"
What was to be done? They had to obey a request made in such positive terms. Five minutes afterwards Emily and Oswald had been shown down the stairs by sleepy Lebrecht and were standing in the street.
"Mais, mon Dieu!" said Emily; "I never thought of it! I have ordered my carriage an hour later!"
"Then there will be nothing left for you but to accept my arm and to walk home on foot."
Emily gave her arm to Oswald, and thus they walked for some time in silence side by side.
It was a very dark, still evening. The autumn winds had bared the trees completely, and were resting now they had done their work. Winter was standing at the gate, but was delaying yet a little while before he knocked with his frozen hand. The streets were exceedingly dark, as the lamps had not been lighted for astronomical reasons. It was, therefore, but natural that Emily was hanging more closely on the arm of Oswald, who seemed to know the way perfectly well.
"Do you know where we live?" she asked.
"In Southtown, I think?" It was the same suburb in which Miss Bear's boarding-school was situated.
"Yes. It is a long way!"