“Dear child, my child, what is the matter with you?” The old lady was frightened, and she lifted her up.
Lucy hid her face in her hands and made a confession. Words, incoherent, bitter, terrible, poured forth from her stormy breast. Self-accusations followed each other without evasion; she read the blackest pages in the book of life, commenting upon them pitilessly.
The old lady could not grasp it all and kept silent for a moment; then she suddenly closed the reproachful mouth with a kiss.
“I know it all. Jiří told me. Calm yourself. It will be different now. That happened long ago,” and large tears dropped on the girl’s blonde hair. She pressed her to her breast and sobbed aloud: “Calm yourself, dear child!”
“My presence is a sin, a sin against you, kind lady, against this room, against everything,” Lucy sobbed again. “As I look at the mire in which I have been. . . .”
