Harmony went back to the Siebensternstrasse, having accomplished what she had set out to do and being very wretched in consequence.  Because she was leaving the boy so soon she strove to atone for her coming defection by making it a gala evening.  The child was very happy.  She tucked him up in the salon, lighted all the candles, served him the daintiest of suppers there.  She brought in the mice and tied tiny bows on their necks; she played checkers with him while the supper dishes waited, and went down to defeat in three hilarious games; and last of all she played to him, joyous music at first, then slower, drowsier airs, until his heavy head dropped on his shoulder and she gathered him up in tender arms and carried him to bed.

It was dawn when Marie arrived.  Harmony was sleeping soundly when the bell rang.  Her first thought was that Peter had come back—­but Peter carried a key.  The bell rang again, and she slipped on the old kimono and went to the door.

“Is it Peter?” she called, hand on knob.

“I come from Peter.  I have a letter,” in German.

“Who is it?”

“You do not know me—­Marie Jedlicka.  Please let me come in.”

Bewildered, Harmony opened the door, and like a gray ghost Marie slipped by her and into the hall.

There was a gaslight burning very low; Harmony turned it up and faced her visitor.  She recognized her at once—­the girl Dr. Stewart had been with in the coffee-house.

“Something has happened to Peter!”

“No.  He is well.  He sent this to the Fraulein Wells.”

“I am the Fraulein Wells.”

Marie held out the letter and staggered.  Harmony put her in a chair; she was bewildered, almost frightened.  Crisis of some sort was written on Marie’s face.  Harmony felt very young, very incapable.  The other girl refused coffee, would not even go into the salon until Peter’s letter had been read.  She was a fugitive, a criminal; the Austrian law is severe to those that harbor criminals.  Let Harmony read:—­

Dear Harry,—­Will you forgive me for this and spread the wings of your splendid charity over this poor child?  Perhaps I am doing wrong in sending her to you, but just now it is all I can think of.  If she wants to talk let her talk.  It will probably help her.  Also feed her, will you?  And if she cannot sleep, give her one of the blue powders I fixed for Jimmy.  I’ll be back later to-day if I can make it.  “Peter”

Harmony glanced up from the letter.  Marie sat drooping in her chair.  Her eyes were sunken in her head.  She had recognized her at once, but any surprise she may have felt at finding Harmony in Peter’s apartment was sunk in a general apathy, a compound of nervous reaction and fatigue.  During the long hours in the express she had worn herself out with fright and remorse:  there was nothing left now but exhaustion.

Harmony was bewildered, but obedient.  She went back to the cold kitchen and lighted a fire.  She made Marie as comfortable as she could in the salon, and then went into her room to dress.  There she read the letter again, and wondered if Peter had gone through life like this, picking up waifs and strays and shouldering their burdens for them.  Decidedly, life with Peter was full of surprises.