For hours he sat thus, till at last he rose and leaned out of the open
window. The dew was dripping among the leaves, the nightingale had
ceased to trill. By degrees the deep blue of the darksome sky was
chased away by a faint yellow gleam that came from the east; a fresh
wind rose and brushed Reinhard's heated brow; the early lark soared
triumphant up into the sky.

Reinhard suddenly turned and stepped up to the table. He groped about
for a pencil and when he had found one he sat down and wrote a few
lines on a sheet of white paper. Having finished his writing he took
up hat and stick, and leaving the paper behind him, carefully opened
the door and descended to the vestibule.

The morning twilight yet brooded in every corner; the big house-cat
stretched its limbs on the straw mat and arched its back against
Reinhard's hand, which he unthinkingly held out to it. Outside in the
garden the sparrows were already chirping their patter [Footnote:
Literally, "sang out pompously, like priests." The word seems to have
been coined by the author. The English 'patter' is derived from
Pater noster, and seems an appropriate translation.] from among
the branches, and giving notice to all that the night was now past.

Then within the house he heard a door open on the upper floor; some
one came downstairs, and on looking up he saw Elisabeth standing
before him. She laid her hand upon his arm, her lips moved, but not a
word did he hear.

Presently she said: "You will never come back. I know it; do not deny
it; you will never come back."