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You’re too kind –’
    â€˜It is a pleasure for us. Frido and Lise see few people when they are in their old home. It is a pleasure for us.’
    Lise smiled at Marcia and nodded as her father spoke. She took Marcia’s hand.
    â€˜It is as my father says. There is much to see. Here it is always quiet. Not dull, but quiet. Here there is always peace.’

Chapter 4
    â€˜You like to ride horses, Marcia?’
    â€˜Yes, Werner, I love it. I’m not very brave but I love it.’
    â€˜I know that already. I could see how it was when we were in the stables with the horses on Tuesday. I watched you and Lise. You love them. This morning we will ride. I will show you some parts of the countryside you have not seen.’
    â€˜How lovely. Anthony’s never been as keen as me, but I expect he’ll –’
    â€˜Anthony is taking Frido and Lise on a long expedition. They are going to Celle. It is a town north of Hanover. It was where the “Kurfürsten” had their palace. Later, they were your kings.’
    â€˜Oh, is it pretty?’
    â€˜Very beautiful. But the woods here are more beautiful still. And the day is warm, extraordinarily warm. The sky is blue. It is better to ride on a horse and smell the smells of outside than the petrol from Anthony’s car, is it not? We will take something to eat in a bag with us.’
    â€˜Your father –’
    â€˜My father has business.’
    â€˜I’ve not got anything to ride in –’
    â€˜Lise will lend to you. You and she are the same size, I think. I have spoken to her.’
    Marcia thought she had never experienced such a degree of tranquillity. The silence in the woods was like a piece of music. They had climbed some way. Now they rode between huge beeches, planted regularly but without oppressive symmetry. They trotted along broad, grassy rides, the spring sun striking through the trees to produce alternate patches of shadow and light. The woods hung from a steep hill whose contour theirhorses followed, a hill crowned to the east by the broken rolling country in which Arzfeld lay. West, and now far below them, the river Weser flowed quietly northward in the valley, silver and serpentine.
    Marcia felt very happy. All about her pleased the eye. Arzfeld, in the five days she and Anthony had spent there, had enfolded her in a friendly yet disciplined calm. She had, to her surprise, found herself enjoying the emphasis on regularity and simplicity – the sense of harmony between her host’s family, their employees and their possessions. She felt witness to an unbroken rustic process. The link that bound these people to their home was primitive and potent. Marcia was seeing all things through a joyful haze. She was well aware why. Werner kicked his horse to a canter and she followed.
    The evening before had been fine and promised the perfect April day which they now enjoyed. After supper Lise had sat at the piano with a shy, secret smile. After a little – the notes falling on the air, gentle, unassertive, she said something to Frido who had been humming softly.
    â€˜Aha,’ said Kaspar – ‘Ja, Frido – the second verse –’
    Frido, without self-consciousness, put back his head without rising from his chair –
    â€˜
Der Mond, der ist ihr Buhle
–’
    He had a gentle, true voice.
    â€˜Bravo, Frido,’ said his father.
    â€˜Go on, Frido,’ said Werner, ‘you can’t stop before the final verse. No happy endings please!’
    â€˜
Sie blüht und glüht und leuchtet
    Und starret stumm in die Höh:
    Sie duftet und weinet und zittert
    Vor liebe und liebesweh
    Vor liebe und liebesweh
!’
    Frido sang, very softly. He enunciated clearly and Marcia thought she had caught most of the words. The song was half-familiar.
    She said, ‘
Lotosblume
, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes. The poor
Lotosblume
– and the poor moon, her