It was late, and it had begun to grow dark. Before leaving the house Erika had a short interview with the woman who rented the lodgings, and deposited with her a sum of money, that the poor music-teacher might be supplied with every comfort possible. Then, with a friendly nod, she departed.
Her heart felt lighter than it had done for some time, and it was not until she had started on her homeward way that she noticed the gathering gloom.
She was half inclined to summon a gondola, but decided that it was not worth the trouble; and, moreover, she detested the swampy odour of the lagoons. And just here the air was so sweet: a spring fragrance was wafted about her from the grassy deserted Campo.
"What mysteries people are!" the girl reflected, her thoughts reverting to her grandmother's comments upon the late elopement, with a lover, of the lovely young wife of an old German diplomat. "This is love,--Countess Ada on the one hand, poor Sophy on the other,--the one criminal, the other ridiculous. Good heavens!"
Around her breathed the sweet, drowsy air of spring; there was a distant sound of bells and of plashing water, and over all brooded something like a dim foreboding, an expectant yearning.
Erika suddenly awoke from her dreamy mood, to find that she had lost her way. She walked on to the nearest corner in hopes of finding it,--in vain! Not without a certain tremor, she resolved to go straight on: she could not but reach some familiar square or canal. She walked hurriedly, impatiently. The air was no longer fragrant, and she found herself in a narrow, poverty-stricken alley running between rows of tall, evil-looking, and ruinous houses, in which the windows showed like deep, hollow eyes. The gray mist was rising above the roofs, and the walls of the houses, as well as the stones underfoot, were slimy with moisture.
Erika had much ado to keep her footing, so slippery was the pathway. If she walked in the middle of the street she had to wade through mud and filth; and if she pressed near to the walls the green slime soiled her dress.
Darker and darker grew the night, when suddenly a rude noise broke the forlorn silence,--songs issuing from rough throats, mingled with the shrill, coarse laughter of women.
Poor Erika hastened her pace, but utter weariness so assailed her that she felt almost unable to stand upright. In an unlucky moment a drunken sailor staggered out of the wretched drinking-place whence the noise proceeded. He was a young, stalwart man, and before the girl could pass him he had stretched out his arms and barred her way.
Beside herself with terror, she screamed,--when, as if rising from the earth, a man stepped in front of her, seized the sailor by the collar, and flung him against the wall. She trembled in every limb with disgust and fear as she looked up at her rescuer, whose features she could barely distinguish, although she could see his eyes,--dark, compassionate eyes.