“Hans never came back.  All sorts of policemen came into the house, doctors came, priests came, but no Hans.  Mother Duda was buried, I rode in a coach at the funeral, but still no Hans.  The old life was over, and when the food was all gone from the shelves, I took my little basket and went out, not meaning to come back again.  And I did not.  I sold my basket out; got a handful of pennies and went to the market to get something to eat.  Then I went into a park, where there were benches, and sat down to rest.  I did not know of any place to go to and began to cry, when a lady stopped before me, and I looked up and saw myself.

“I thought I was dreaming or had the fever again, as when I was sick with my ear, and I thought it was myself as I would look in heaven, for she had such beautiful clothes on and looked so happy.  But when she talked, I could see her lips move and I couldn’t hear; and I knew that I was just in the park with my empty basket and my onion and bread, and that the lady was a lady and no one I knew, only so like what I had seen of myself in the glass that I was shaking all over, and she was shaking all over, and neither of us could look away.  And still her lips moved, and seeing her at last look frightened and angry that I didn’t answer, I spoke and said that I was deaf; that I was very sorry that I couldn’t hear because we looked so much alike, though she was a great lady and I was a very, very poor girl who hadn’t any home or any friends, or anything to wear or eat but what she saw.  At this her eyes grew bigger even than before, and she tried to talk some more, and when I shook my head she took hold of my arm and began drawing me away, and I went and we got on the cars, and she took me to a house and into a room where she took away my basket and put me in a chair, and took off first her hat, then my own, and showed me the two heads in a glass, and then looked at me so hard that I cried out, ‘Sister,’ which made her jump up and put her hand on her heart, then look at me again harder and harder, till I remembered way back in my life, and I said: 

“’When I was a little girl I had a sister they called my twin.  That was before I lived in the woods with the gipsies.  Are you that sister grown up?  The place where we played together had a tall fence with points at the top.  There were flowers and there were bushes with currants on them all round the fence.’

“She made a sudden move, and I felt her arms about my neck.  I think she cried a little.  I didn’t, I was too glad.  I knew she was that sister the moment our faces touched, and I knew she would care for me, and that I needn’t go back into the streets any more.  So I kissed her and talked a good deal and told her what I’ve been telling, and she tried to answer, tried as you did to write, but all I could understand was that she meant to keep me, but not in the place where we were, and that I was to go out again.  But she fixed me up a little before we went out, and she bought