"'No one could miss knowing her,' said Heinrich.

"'Is she so very like, then?'

"'It is always herself, her very self.'

"A fresh flask of wine, turning out to be not up to the mark, brought the
current of conversation against itself; not much to the dissatisfaction of
Lottchen, who had already resolved to be in the churchyard of St.
Stephen's at sun-down the following day, in the hope that he too might be
favoured with a vision of Lilith.

"This resolution he carried out. Seated in a porch of the church, not
knowing in what direction to look for the apparition he hoped to see, and
desirous as well of not seeming to be on the watch for one, he was gazing
at the fallen rose-leaves of the sunset, withering away upon the sky;
when, glancing aside by an involuntary movement, he saw a woman seated
upon a new-made grave, not many yards from where he sat, with her face
buried in her hands, and apparently weeping bitterly. Karl was in the
shadow of the porch, and could see her perfectly, without much danger of
being discovered by her; so he sat and watched her. She raised her head
for a moment, and the rose-flush of the west fell over it, shining on the
tears with which it was wet, and giving the whole a bloom which did not
belong to it, for it was always pale, and now pale as death. It was indeed
the face of Lilith, the most celebrated beauty of Prague.

"Again she buried her face in her hands; and Karl sat with a strange
feeling of helplessness, which grew as he sat; and the longing to help her
whom he could not help, drew his heart towards her with a trembling