She went back to her street. Reaching the big, populous house she
followed the corridor that led from the stone courtyard, climbed to the
first floor and opened the door of her own room. A bitter disillusion
ran through her. The close-packed furniture seemed to say indifferently,
"There's not much room for you!" and she knew quite well as she sat down
on the bed that it was not her room at all, but had been as public to
the birds of passage as the branch of a tree to the birds of the air.

"I did so little. I did so little. It was such a little mistake!"
Self-pity flooded her.

"And why did he ask me to come to the Cathedral if such a little thing,
such a little thing...." Indignation rose.

"Things don't crumble like that, don't vanish like that!" She stared,
astonished, at the scenes she had left behind her, the shining of the
dark Cathedral, the ripple on the Moselle. "But they do, they do,
they do...."

Down in the street her own name caught her ear, and she went to the
window.

"Are you there, are you there?" cried the voice.

Hanging waist-deep out of the window she received her orders for the
next day.

"I came down to tell you now," said the girl below on the pavement. "I
thought you might have things to do to the car. You must be at the Hotel
Royal, near the station, at half-past six to-morrow morning."