On the meadow in front of the artificial water-fall Christian and some
young girls were playing hide and seek after the manner of children.
They all laughed as they played; young men formed a circle about them,
and watched them half mockingly and half amused.
In the dark trees hung electric bulbs of green glass which were so well
concealed that the sward seemed to glow with a light of its own.
Christian played the game with a carelessness that annoyed his
partners. The girls wanted it to be taken more seriously, and it vexed
them that, in spite of his inattention, he caught them with such ease.
The young sister of Meerholz was among them, and Sidonie von Gröben,
and the beautiful Fräulein von Einsiedel.
Letitia joined them. She went to the middle of the open space. She let
Christian come quite near her. Then she eluded him more swiftly than
he had thought possible. He turned to the others, but always Letitia
fluttered in front of him. He sought to grasp her, but she was just
beyond him. Once he drove her against the box-tree hedge, but she
slipped into the foliage and was gone. Her movements, her running and
turning, her merry passion had something fascinating; she called from
the greenery with the little, laughing cries of a bird. Now he lay in
wait for her, and the onlookers became curious.
When she reappeared he feigned not to see her, but suddenly he sped
with incredible swiftness to the edge of the fountain’s basin where she
stood. But she was a shade swifter still and leapt upon the rock, since
all the other ways were blocked, and jumped across the water lightly
from stone to stone. Her frock with its delicate pleats and loose
sleeves fluttered behind her, and when Christian started in pursuit
those below applauded.
Above it was dark. Letitia’s shoes became wet and her foot slipped. But
before Christian could grasp her she swung herself upon a huge boulder
between two tall pines as though to defend herself there or else climb
still farther. But her footing failed her on the damp moss and she
uttered a little cry, for she knew that he had caught her now.
He had caught her, caught her as she fell, and now held her in his
arms. She was very quiet and tried to calm her fluttering breath.
Christian was breathing heavily too, and he wondered why the girl was
so still and silent. He felt her lovely form and drew her a little
closer with that suppressed laughter of his that sounded so cold and
arrogant. The moonlight poured through the branches and made his face
seem of an extraordinary beauty. Letitia saw his strong, white teeth
gleam. She slipped from his arms, and put her own right arm about the
trunk of one of the trees.
Here was all that she had dreamed of. Here was the breath of danger
and the breath of desire, a wilderness and a moonlit night, distant
music and a secret meeting. But her blood was quiet, for she was still
a child.
Christian looked at the girl pliant against the tree; he saw her
dishevelled hair, her dewy eyes and lips; his eyes followed the lines
of her body and it seemed to him that he could taste the coolness of
her skin and the sweetness of her innocent breath. He did not hesitate
to take possession of his booty.
Swiftly he sought her hand, when suddenly he became aware of a toad
that with loathsome sloth crept along Letitia’s white frock, first
across its hem, then upward toward her hip. He grew pale and turned
away. “The others are waiting. We had better turn back,” he said and
began to climb downward.
Letitia followed his movements with staring eyes. The fiery emotion
which had transformed her to her own vision into a fairy being, a
Diana or Melusina, turned to pain and she began to weep. She did not
know how to interpret what had happened, and her sorrow lasted until,
by a fanciful but charming explanation, she had made it not more
intelligible but more consoling in its character. Then she dried her
tears and smiled again.
When Letitia arose the toad jumped into the moss. There was no sound.