around, and walked on. Lucy at once blushed; hosts of instinetive fears surrounded her. . . . She allayed them with this and that, but the sting had entered deep into her heart.
She walked into the park. A mixture of different odors reached her. On the left were many-colored pinks: somewhere nearby she scented bird cherries, and the first roses. The smell of walnut leaves was stronger than all, as she entered into a gigantic avenue. A footpath to the left led to the old rococo part. Near the road an ousel softly hopped from time to time in the rank grass, and looked queerly at her with its blinking eyes. . . . A finch called loudly over her very head. The bees buzzed about her ears,—otherwise everything was quiet, solemnly quiet.
She walked down some stone steps where the posts of the former banister rails were still standing, into the old park. Here ash-
