She stood in front of me as if rooted to the ground, and it was some time before she could find a word.  Then she said in a dull voice:  “Where is the letter?”

I snatched it out of the bosom of my dress and was about to rend it as I went towards the hearth, but she stood in my way, snatched the letter violently from me, and cried:  “Then if all is at an end, I will at any rate be clear about it.  No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth!”

And she strove to wrench Herdegen’s letter from me.  But my strength was greater than hers, indeed full great for a maid; yet my heart told me that in her case my will would have been the same, so I made no more resistance but yielded up the letter.  Then and there she read it; and although she was pale as death and I marked how her lips trembled and every nerve in her body, her eyes were dry, and when she presently folded the letter and held it forth to me, she said with light scorn which cut in—­to the heart:  “This then is what matters have come to!  He has sold his love and his sweetheart!  Only her face, it would seem, is not in the bargain by reason that he keeps that to rob his saint of her holiness!  Well, he is free, and the wild joys of life in every form are to make up for love; and yet—­and yet, Margery, pray that he may not end miserably!”

Gentle pity had sounded in these last words, and I took her hand and besought her right earnestly:  “And you, Ann.  Do you pray with me.”  But she shook her head and replied:  “Nay, Margery; all is at an end between him and me, even thoughts and yearning.  I know him no more—­and now let me go.”  With this she put on her little cloak, and was by the door already when Cousin Maud came in with some sweetmeats, as she was ever wont to do when we thus sat spinning; and as soon as she had set down that which she was carrying she opened her arms to the outcast maid, to clasp her to her bosom and comfort her with good words; but Ann only took her hand, pressed it to her lips, and vanished down the stairs.

At dinner that morning the dishes would have been carried out as full as they were brought in, if Master Peter had not done his best to hinder it; and as soon as the meal was over I could no longer bear myself in the house, but went off straight to the Pernharts’.

There the air seemed warmer and lighter, and Mistress Giovanna welcomed me to her new home right gladly; but she would not suffer me to go to Ann’s chamber, forasmuch as that she had a terrible headache and had prayed to see no one, not even me.  Yet I felt strongly drawn to her, and as the new-made wife knew that she and I were as one she did not forbid me from going upstairs, where Pernhart had made dead Gertrude’s room all clean and fresh for Ann.  Now whereas I knew that when her head ached every noise gave her pain, I mounted the steps with great care and opened the door softly without knocking.  Also she was not aware of my coming.  I would fain have crept