“How well I am hidden,” thought Paul, and was glad of the darkness into which he had crept. He did not see that two men came walking towards him and were occupying themselves close to him with something on the ground. Then suddenly, not ten steps away from him, a purple red flame flared up and flooded all around in a sea of dazzling light. He wanted to take refuge quickly in the shade of a tree, but it was too late. “Isn’t that Paul standing there?” called out his mother. “Where?” asked Elsbeth, turning with curiosity. “Boy, why are you hanging about in the dark?” shouted his father. Then he had to come out, in spite of all; and burning with shame, his cap in his hand, he stood before Elsbeth, who leaned her head on her hand and looked up at him smilingly. “Yes, that’s what he always is: a real sneaker,” said his father, giving him a clap on the shoulder, and the unknown young gentleman pushed his hair from his forehead and smiled half good-naturedly, half ironically. Then old Douglas rose, went up to him, and seized both his hands. “Hold up your head, young friend,” he called out, with his lion’s voice. “You have no reason to lower your eyes--you, least of all the world. He who can at the age of twenty do what you do is a capital fellow and need not hide himself. I won’t make you conceited, but just ask who could bear comparison with you. You, perhaps, Leo?” He turned to the young fop, who answered, with a merry laugh, “You must make the best of me as I am, dear uncle.” “If only there was anything in you to make the best of, you good-for-nothing!” replied Douglas. “This, you must know, is my nephew, Leo Heller, a new edition of ‘Fritz Triddlefitz.’” “Uncle, I’ll have my revenge.” “Be quiet, you scoundrel.” “Uncle, I’ll wager twenty glasses which of us lies under the table first.” “That’s what he calls respect.” “Uncle, you are pinching me.” “Be quiet; just look at this young farmer, twenty years old, who keeps the whole farm going.” “Well, Mr. Douglas, _I_ count for something, too,” cried Meyerhofer, with a somewhat lengthened face. “No offence to you,” the former answered; “but you have so much to do with your company you naturally cannot bother about such trifles.” Meyerhofer bowed, flattered, and Paul felt ashamed for him, for he well understood the irony of these words. Mrs. Douglas, smiling, beckoned him to come to her. She seized his hand and stroked it. “You have grown tall and good-looking,” she said, in her weak, kind voice, “and you have a beautiful beard.” “But do call him ‘_Du_,’” interrupted his mother, who seemed to be much easier in her mind than usual. “Paul, ask your godmother.” “Yes--I entreat you,” said Paul, stammering and blushing anew. “God bless you, my son,” said Mrs. Douglas; “you have deserved it,” and then her head again sank against the trunk of the tree.