Then there was work to do in the garden—a few minutes snatched between other duties. And when night arrived at last she was rather tired—quite weary on this night in particular,[pg 283] having managed to fulfill all the duties of the sick youth as well as her own.
The night was warm and fragrant. She sat in the dark at her open window for a while, looking out into the north where, along the horizon, heat lightning seemed to play. But it was only the reflected flashes of the guns. When the wind was right, she could hear them.
She had even managed to write to her lover. Now, seated beside the open window, she was thinking of him. A dreamy, happy lethargy possessed her; she was on the first delicate verge of slumber, so close to it that all earthly sounds were dying out in her ears. Then, suddenly, she was awake, listening.
A window had been opened in the room overhead.
She went to the stars and called:
"Karl!"
"What?" came the impatient reply.
"Are you ill?"
"No. N-no, I thank you—" His voice became urbane with an apparent effort. "Thank you for inquiring——"[pg 284]
"I heard your window open—" she said.