Slowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, summer, autumn....

Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the caves of Emeralda.

Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and sank into the Past.

And again it was spring....

In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in the new and tempered sunshine.

What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them their song. They sang because the sky was blue....

Emeralda they did not know....

Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and love in their hearts....

Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue.

On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old.

How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!

How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....

The hermit continued deep in thought....

Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. Never had he known the Present, the spring Present of the shepherds.

The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.

Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.

The hermit heard a step. He looked up.

He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.

The little form approached and knelt down.

“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, “don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lion licked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!”

“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?”

“Because I must fulfill a duty among men.”

“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”

“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”

The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.

“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”

The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.

“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately. “Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”

“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”

She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.

“Are you wounded?”

“I was, long ago....”

“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”

“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”

“Who are you?”

“One heavy burdened with sin.”

“What is your name?”

“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”

“Whither are you going?”

“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda.”

“She is proud.”

“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!”

“Go, then.... And do penance.”

“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”

The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.

In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.