“And upon what shall we live?” wailed Marianne. “We are now totally destitute and helpless. How shall we live?”
“We will work!” said Natalie, firmly. A peculiar calm had come over her. Misfortune had awakened a new quality in her nature, sorrow had struck a new string in her being; she was no longer the delicate, gentle, suffering, unresisting child; she felt in herself a firm resolution, a bold courage, an almost joyful daring, and an invincible calmness.
“Work! You will work, princess?” whispered Marianne.
“I will learn it!” said she, and with a constantly quickened step they approached the outlet of the garden.
The gate which led out into the street was wide open; soldiers in Russian uniform had been stationed before it, keeping back with their carbines the curious Romans who crowded around in great numbers, glad of an opportunity to get a peep into the so-long-closed charmed garden.
“See, there she comes, the garden fairy!” cried they all, as Natalie neared the gate.
“How beautiful she is, how beautiful!” they loudly exclaimed.
“That is a real fairy, a divinity!”
Natalie heard none of these expressions of admiration—she had but one object, one thought. She wished to leave the garden; she wished to go forth; she had no regrets, no complaints, for this lost paradise; she only wished to get out of it, even if it was to go to her death.
But the soldiers stationed at the gate opposed her progress.