In that moment her whole figure was one halo of glory.
She was beautiful as a praying seraph, like one of those white phantoms who rise with their airy figures to Heaven, palm-branches of glory in their hands.
Czipra was annihilated.
She saw now that there was some superhuman phenomenon, before which every passion bowed the knee, every purpose froze to crystals;—the figure of a praying maiden! He who stole a look at that sight lost every sinful emotion from his heart.
Czipra beat her breast in dumb agony. "She can fly, while I can only crawl on the ground."
When the girl had finished her prayer she opened the book to find those two glory-bright pictures, which she kissed several times in happy rapture:—as the sufferer kisses his benefactor's hands, the orphan his father's and mother's portraits, the miserable defenceless man the face of God, who defends in the form of a column of cloud him who bows his head under its shadow.
Czipra tore her hair in her despair and beat her brow upon the floor, writhing like a worm.
At the noise she made Melanie darted up and hastened to the door to see what was the matter with Czipra.
As soon as she noticed Melanie's approach, Czipra slunk away from her place and before Melanie could open the door and enter, dashed through the other door into the corridor.
Here another shock awaited her.