are, for I can imagine Gertrude lying awake, the moonbeams on her thin
Madonna face, smiling as she thinks of the little ones around her, of
the other tiny thing that will soon lie on her breast.... There is a
light in the old desecrated chapel, the thing that was once the temple
of Venus, they say, and is now Waldemar's workshop, its broken roof
mended with reeds and thatch. Waldemar has stolen in, no doubt to see
his statue again. But he will return, more peaceful for the
peacefulness of the night, to his sleeping wife and children. God bless
and watch over them! Good-night, dearest Excellency.

_July 26_.

I have your Excellency's telegram in answer to mine. Many thanks for
sending the Prince. I await his coming with feverish longing; it is
still something to look forward to. All does not seem over. And yet
what can he do?

The children are safe: we fetched them out of their bed and brought
them up here. They are still a little shaken by the fire, the bustle,
and by finding themselves in a strange house; also, they want to know
where their mother is; but they have found a tame cat, and I hear them
chirping on the stairs.

It was only the roof of the studio, the reeds and thatch, that burned,
and a few old pieces of timber. Waldemar must have set fire to it with
great care; he had brought armfuls of faggots of dry myrtle and heather
from the bakehouse close by, and thrown into the blaze quantities of
pine-cones, and of some resin, I know not what, that smelt like
incense. When we made our way, early this morning, through the
smoldering studio, we were stifled with a hot church-like perfume: my