Her beautiful lips curled into a more and more decided smile, till at last she took off her hat, leaned forward and kissed the cold glass which had looked so warm.

How could she believe in sorrow?
If it attacked her, she felt the force to crush it, to defy it, or run away from it, as she had done already.

Anything seemed more possible than that she could go on bearing miseries, great or small.
Madame von Langen never went out before breakfast, so that Gwendolen could safely end her early walk by taking her way homeward through the Obere Strasse in which was the needed shop, sure to be open after seven.

At that hour any observers whom she minded would be either on their walks in the region of the springs, or would be still in their bedrooms; but certainly there was one grand hotel, the _Czarina_ from which eyes might follow her up to Mr.Wiener's door.

This was a chance to be risked: might she not be going in to buy something which had struck her fancy?
This implicit falsehood passed through her mind as she remembered that the _Czarina_ was Deronda's hotel; but she was then already far up the Obere Strasse, and she walked on with her usual floating movement, every line in her figure and drapery falling in gentle curves attractive to all eyes except those which discerned in them too close a resemblance to the serpent, and objected to the revival of serpent-worship.