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honeysuckle, growing wild in the foliage, made a dense wall, but
on one side they had failed, and the hopvines planted instead
had but strangled the elms without filling the gap.
Two white seahorses were mounted at the door. Within
the arbor stood a long bench and table made of a stone slab,
which had once been large and oval, but now lay in three
fragments on the ground, while only one small piece was
unsteadily poised on a corner of the frame. The child sat
down before it, pulled her feet up under her on the bench,
leaned back, and crossed her arms. She closed her eyes
and sat quite still. Two fine lines appeared on her
forehead, and sometimes she would lift her eyebrows, smiling
slightly.
“In the room with the purple carpets and the gilded
alcove, Griselda lies at the feet of the margrave, but he
spurns her. He has just torn her from her warm bed. Now
he opens the narrow, round-arched door, and the cold air
blows in on poor Griselda, who lies on the floor weeping,
and there is nothing between the cold night air and her
warm, white body except the thin, thin linen. But he turns
her out and locks the door on her. And she presses her
naked shoulder against the cold, smooth door, and sobs,
and she hears him walking inside on the soft carpet, and
through the keyhole the light from the scented taper falls
and makes a little sun on her bare breast. And she steals
away, and goes down the dark staircase, and it is quite still,
and she hears nothing but the soft patter of her own feet on
the ice-cold steps. Then she goes out into the snow—no,
it’s rain, pouring rain, and the heavy cold water splashes
on her shoulders. Her shift clings to her body, and the water
runs down her bare legs, and her tender feet press the soft,
chilly mud, which oozes out beside them. And the
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