And when she had sufficiently contemplated these objects, turning her
face the other way towards the mountain, she was filled with delight to
mark how the densely-crowded firs covered the hill-sides, up to their
highest ridge, close as the grass of the fields.

At the sight of all this grandeur the young gipsy felt her heart beating
and expanding with unknown delight, and again running on she darted
through a rift between the rocks, lined with mosses and ferns, to reach
the beaten track through the woods.

Her whole soul--that wild, untrained soul of hers--was rushing with her
and impelling her onwards, kindling her countenance with a new ardour.
With her hands she clung to the ivy, with her naked feet she clung to the
projections and the crevices to push on her way.

Soon she was on the other slope, running, tripping, leaping, sometimes
stopping short to gaze upon surrounding objects--a large tree, a ravine,
a lonely sheet of water, or a pond full of flowers and sweet-smelling
water-plants.

Although she could not remember ever having seen those copses, those
clearings, those heaths, at every turn in the path she would say to
herself, "There, I knew it was so! I knew that tree would be there! I
was sure of that rock! And there's the waterfall just below!" Although
a thousand strange remembrances passed with momentary flashes, like
sudden visions, through her mind, she could not understand it all and
could explain nothing. She had not yet been able to say to herself, "What
Fritz and the rest of them want to make them happy is the village, and
the meadow, and the farm-house, and the fruit-trees, and the orchard, and