breakfast—new-laid eggs, fresh sourish peasant cheese and milk with thick cream. I remember our standing with the old woman in the yard, feeding the chickens and hens, and the gallant self-consciously modest rooster. I remember our sauntering through the wood, and my fear at seeing in a tree an owl, which, like an old witch, glared at me with her day-blind eyes.
I remember at last our parting from fairy-tale land, when the carriage drove away from the verandah, and the old woman handed me the sweet flowers and said: 'God's peace and farewell, little lady, and come again soon.'
Then we drove back to reality and to the big town, where there are parents, and sin, and sorrow, and evil consciences.
When the first tall houses came in sight a horrible fear clutched my heart, and when we met a removing van I thought of the summer holidays, which very soon would part him and me.
But when he saw that I was sad, he asked: 'Is anything worrying you?' Then I smiled, put both my arms round his neck, looked into his eyes and said: 'Let me tell you to-day how much sadder it is for me to part from you than ever before; let me tell you now that perhaps there will be much I may have to regret in my life, but never—do you hear—never shall I regret that I have been yours.'
