It grew cool over the fields. The moon climbed higher by the hour. The lovers lay on their softly lighted bed, absorbed in their games, dozing off together, turning toward each other anew upon awakening, kindling each other, entangled once more, falling asleep once more. They lay exhausted after their last embrace. Lise had led deep into the hay, breathing heavily. Goldmund was stretched out on his back, motionless; for a long time he stared into the moon-pale sky; a deep sadness rose in both, which they escaped in sleep. They slept profoundly, desperately, greedily, as though for the last time, as though they had been o stay awake forever and had to drink in all the sleep in the world during these last hours.
When Goldmund awoke, he saw Lise busy with her black hair. He watched her for a while, absent-minded, still half asleep.
"Youre awake?" he said finally.
Her head turned with a start.
"Ive got to go now," she said, embarrassed and somewhat sad. "I didnt want to wake you."
"Well, Im awake now. Must we move on so soon? After all, were homeless."
"I am," said Lise. "But you belong to the cloister."
"I no longer belong to the cloister. Im like you, pletely alone, with o go. But Ill go with you, of course."
Lise looked away.
"You t e with me, Goldmund. I must go to my husband; hell beat me, because I stayed out all night. Ill say I lost my way. But he wont believe me."
Goldmund remembered Narcissuss predi. So thats how it was.
"Ive made a mistake then," he said. "I had thought that you and I would stay together. —Did you really want to let me sleep and run off without saying farewell?"
"Oh, I was afraid you might get angry a me, perhaps. That my husbas me, well, thats how things are, thats normal. But I didnt want you to beat me, too."
He held on to her hand.
"Lise," he said, "I wo you, not now, not ever. Wouldnt you rather stay with me than with your husband, since he beats you?"
She tugged to get her hand free.
"No, no, no," she said with tears in her voice. And since he could feel that her heart ulling away from him, that she preferred the other mans blows to his good words, he let go of her hand, and now she really began to cry. At the same time she started to run. Clasping both hands over her streaming eyes, she ran off. He stood silently and watched her go. He felt sorry for her, running off across the mowed meadows, summoned and drawn by who kneower, an unknown power that set him thinking. He felt sorry for her, and a little sorry for himself as well; he had not been lucky apparently; alone and a little stunned, he sat in the hay, abandoned, deserted. But he was still tired and eager for sleep; never had he felt so exhausted. There was time to be unhappy later. Immediately he went back to sleep and woke only when the sun stood high and made the air hot around him.
He felt rested now; quickly he got up, ran to the brook, washed, and drank. Memories came gushing forth; love images from the night exhaled their perfume like unknown flowers, evoked male, tender feelings. His thoughts ran after them as he began to walk briskly. Once more he felt, tasted, smelled, touched everything over and over. How many dreams the unknown woman had fulfilled for him, all the buds she had brought to fl, stilled so many ws and longings, roused so many new ones in their place!
Field ah lay before him, dry, fallow stretches and dark forest. Bey