“My little girl! my little love! how are you?”
It was not yet dusk. The intense light of summer days has something permanent about it which lingers vaguely in the slow twilight.
The faint, humid stars, hardly brighter than the body of the sky, twinkled and throbbed gently, and the shadows of the branches remained indecisive.
“Mamma! There’s mamma,” cried Melitta suddenly.
A woman, dressed in a garment of triple muslin striped with blue, was seen advancing with a tranquil step, alone. As soon as she caught sight of the child she ran up to her, raised her off the ground, lifted her up in her arms, and kissed her energetically on the cheek.
“My little girl! my little love! how are you?”
“I am guiding somebody who wants to see Chimairis. And you? Are you out for a walk?”
“Corinna is accouchée. I have been to see her. I have dined by her bedside.”
“And what has she given birth to? A boy?”