After absorbing the insect's full import, Rhialto extended his attention to the landscape at large. He contemplated the slope of the meadow as it dropped toward the Ts and the distribution of its herbs. He studied the crooked boles at the edge of the forest, the red rays slanting through the foliage, the indigo and dark green of the shadows. His vision was remarkable for its absolute clarity; his hearing was no less acute. ... He leaned forward, straining to hear—what? Sighs of inaudible music?

Nothing. Rhialto relaxed, smiling at his own odd fancies, and poured out a final cup of tea. ... He let it cool untasted. On impulse he rose to his feet and went into the parlour, where he donned a cloak, a hunter's cap, and took up that baton known as 'Malfezar's Woe.' He then summoned Ladanque, his chamberlain and general factotum.

"Ladanque, I will be strolling the forest for a period. Take care that Vat Five retains its roil. If you wish, you may distill the contents of the large blue alembic into a stoppered flask. Use a low heat and avoid breathing the vapor; it will bring a purulent rash to your face."

"Very well, sir. What of the clevenger?"

"Pay it no heed. Do not approach the cage. Remember, its talk of both virgins and wealth is illusory; I doubt if it knows the meaning of either term."

"Just so, sir."

Rhialto departed the manse. He set off across the meadow by a trail which took him to the Ts, over a stone bridge, and into the forest.

The trail, which had been traced by night-creatures from the forest on their way across the meadow, presently disappeared. Rhialto went on, following where the forest aisles led: through glades where can-dole, red meadow-sweet and white dymphne splotched the grass with colour; past stands of white birches and black aspens; beside ledges of old stone, springs and small streams.

If other creatures walked the woods, none were evident. Entering a little clearing with a single white birch at the center, Rhialto paused to listen.... He heard only silence.

A minute passed. Rhialto stood motionless.

Silence. Had it been absolute?

The music, if such it had been, assuredly had evolved in his own brain.

Curious, thought Rhialto.

He came to an open place, where a white birch stood frail against a background of dense black deodars. As he turned away, again he thought to hear music.

Soundless music? An inherent contradiction!

Odd, thought Rhialto, especially since the music seemed to come from outside himself. ... He thought to hear it again: a flutter of abstract chords, imparting an emotion at once sweet, melancholy, triumphant: definite yet uncertain.

Rhialto gazed in all directions. The music, or whatever it might be, seemed to come from a source near at hand. Prudence urged that he turn in his tracks and hurry back to Falu, never looking over his shoulder. ... He went forward, and came upon a still pool, dark and deep, reflecting the far bank with the exactness of a mirror. Standing motionless, Rhialto saw reflected the image of a woman, strangely pale, with silver hair bound by a black fillet. She wore a knee-length white kirtle, and went bare-armed and bare-legged.