It could not be the reflection of the fires of purgatory, as she had thought at first.

It certainly did not proceed from the forge on the opposite shore, now closed, for its outlines rose dark and motionless against the moon.
No--a brief glance around verified it--the light came from the burning of the convent.

The sky was coloured a vivid scarlet in two places, but the glow was brightest towards the southeastern part of the city, where St.Klarengasse must be.

Then she was overpowered by torturing curiosity.

Must she die without knowing how much the fire had injured the newly built convent, on whose site she had enjoyed the springtime of love, and how the good Sisters fared?
It seemed impossible, and her greatest fault for the first time proved a blessing.