The next night, as I was approaching the old oak, Alice moved to meet me,
as if I were an old friend. I was not afraid of her as I had been the day
before, I was almost rejoiced at seeing her; I did not even attempt to
comprehend what was happening to me; I was simply longing to fly farther to
interesting places.
Alice’s arm again twined about me, and we took flight again.
‘Let us go to Italy,’ I whispered in her ear.
‘Wherever you wish, my dear one,’ she answered solemnly and slowly, and
slowly and solemnly she turned her face towards me. It struck me as less
transparent than on the eve; more woman-like and more imposing; it recalled
to me the being I had had a glimpse of in the early dawn at parting.
‘This night is a great night,’ Alice went on. ‘It comes rarely--when seven
times thirteen ...’
At this point I could not catch a few words.
‘To-night we can see what is hidden at other times.’
‘Alice!’ I implored, ‘but who are you, tell me at last?’
Silently she lifted her long white hand. In the dark sky, where her finger
was pointing, a comet flashed, a reddish streak among the tiny stars.
‘How am I to understand you?’ I began, ‘Or, as that comet floats between
the planets and the sun, do you float among men ... or what?’
But Alice’s hand was suddenly passed before my eyes.... It was as though a
white mist from the damp valley had fallen on me....
‘To Italy! to Italy!’ I heard her whisper. ‘This night is a great night!’