“He is better this morning, M'mselle. We march—we are getting on. Good news will put the heart into you.”
Christian thought: 'How sweet every one is to-day!'
Even the Villa seemed to greet her, with the sun aslant on it; and the trees, trembling and weeping golden tears. At the cathedral she was early for the service, but here and there were figures on their knees; the faint, sickly odour of long-burnt incense clung in the air; a priest moved silently at the far end. She knelt, and when at last she rose the service had begun. With the sound of the intoning a sense of peace came to her—the peace of resolution. For good or bad she felt that she had faced her fate.
She went out with a look of quiet serenity and walked home along the dyke. Close to Harz's studio she sat down. Now—it was her own; all that had belonged to him, that had ever had a part in him.
An old beggar, who had been watching her, came gently from behind. “Gracious lady!” he said, peering at her eyes, “this is the lucky day for you. I have lost my luck.”
Christian opened her purse, there was only one coin in it, a gold piece; the beggar's eyes sparkled.
She thought suddenly: 'It's no longer mine; I must begin to be careful,' but she felt ashamed when she looked at the old man.
“I am sorry,” she said; “yesterday I would have given you this, but—but now it's already given.”
He seemed so old and poor—what could she give him? She unhooked a little silver brooch at her throat. “You will get something for that,” she said; “it's better than nothing. I am very sorry you are so old and poor.”
The beggar crossed himself. “Gracious lady,” he muttered, “may you never want!”