Acia met us in the very doorway of the house. I expected a laugh again;
but she came to meet us, pale and silent, with downcast eyes.
‘Here he is again,’ Gagin began, ‘and he wanted to come back of his own
accord, observe.’
Acia looked at me inquiringly. It was my turn now to hold out my
hand, and this time I pressed her chilly fingers warmly. I felt
very sorry for her. I understood now a great deal in her that had
puzzled me before; her inward restlessness, her want of breeding, her
desire to be striking--all became clear to me. I had had a peep into
that soul; a secret scourge was always tormenting her, her ignorant
self-consciousness struggled in confused alarm, but her whole nature
strove towards truth. I understood why this strange little girl
attracted me; it was not only by the half-wild charm of her slender
body that she attracted me; I liked her soul.
Gagin began rummaging among his canvases. I suggested to Acia that
she should take a turn with me in the vineyard. She agreed at once,
with cheerful and almost humble readiness. We went half-way down the
mountain, and sat down on a broad stone.
‘And you weren’t dull without us?’ Acia began.
‘And were you dull without me?’ I queried.
Acia gave me a sidelong look.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Was it nice in the mountains?’ she went on at
once. ‘Were they high ones? Higher than the clouds? Tell me what you
saw. You were telling my brother, but I didn’t hear anything.’
‘It was of your own accord you went away,’ I remarked.
‘I went away … because …--I’m not going away now,’ she added with a
confiding caress in her voice. ‘You were angry to-day.’
‘I?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘Upon my word, whatever for?’
‘I don’t know, but you were angry, and you went away angry. I was very
much vexed that you went away like that, and I’m so glad you came back.’
‘And I’m glad I came back,’ I observed.
Acia gave herself a little shrug, as children often do when they are
very pleased.
‘Oh, I’m good at guessing!’ she went on. ‘Sometimes, simply from the
way papa coughed, I could tell in the next room whether he was pleased
with me or not.’
Till that day Acia had never once spoken to me of her father. I was
struck by it.
‘Were you fond of your father?’ I said, and suddenly, to my intense
annoyance, I felt I was reddening.
She made no answer, and blushed too. We were both silent. In the
distance a smoking steamer was scudding along on the Rhine. We began
watching it.
‘Why don’t you tell me about your tour?’ Acia murmured.
‘Why did you laugh to-day directly you saw me?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know really. Sometimes I want to cry, but I laugh. You mustn’t
judge me--by what I do. Oh, by-the-bye, what a story that is about the
Lorelei! Is that _her_ rock we can see? They say she used to drown
every one, but as soon as she fell in love she threw herself in the
water. I like that story. Frau Luise tells me all sorts of stories.
Frau Luise has a black cat with yellow eyes.…’
Acia raised her head and shook her curls.
‘Ah, I am happy,’ she said.
At that instant there floated across to us broken, monotonous sounds.
Hundreds of voices in unison and at regular intervals were repeating
a chanted litany. The crowd of pilgrims moved slowly along the road
below with crosses and banners.…
‘I should like to go with them,’ said Acia, listening to the sounds of
the voices gradually growing fainter.
‘Are you so religious?’
‘I should like to go far away on a pilgrimage, on some great exploit,’
she went on. ‘As it is, the days pass by, life passes by, and what have
we done?’
‘You are ambitious,’ I observed. ‘You want to live to some purpose, to
leave some trace behind you.…’
‘Is that impossible, then?’
‘Impossible,’ I was on the point of repeating.… But I glanced at her
bright eyes, and only said:
‘You can try.’
‘Tell me,’ began Acia, after a brief silence during which shadows
passed over her face, which had already turned pale, ‘did you care much
for that lady?… You remember my brother drank her health at the ruins
the day after we first knew you.’