“You see, for five years I have been sick-nurse; there are many sad hours, and when the night-light burns, and one’s eyes hurt with watching so much, and outside the storm rattles the shutters, many thoughts come to one about life and death, about love and loneliness--well, in short, one makes a book of poetry in one’s own head and does not read other people’s any more. But come away from this noise; I should like to ask you so much, and here one can hardly hear one’s own voice.” “Directly,” he said; “I only wanted--” His eyes wandered searchingly over the dancing-ground, then he heard a man’s voice behind him, saying: “Just look at those two little minxes, mad after men.” Instinctively he turned round, and saw the brothers Erdmann, whom he had not met for years. They had meanwhile been at an agricultural college and become grand gentlemen. “We’ll have fun with them,” said the other. Thereupon they laughingly mixed among the dancers. Immediately after, Paul, too, saw his sisters. Their mass of brown curls hung loose about their faces, their cheeks were aflame, their bosoms heaved, and their eyes looked wild and eager for love. “How happy they look--the sweet creatures,” said Elsbeth. Paul gave them a little sermon. They scarcely heeded him, but looked over his shoulders, giggling. And when he turned round he saw the two Erdmanns, who had hidden behind the musicians’ platform and were making clandestine signs to them. The twins by this time had escaped him, and the Erdmanns disappeared as well. “Come away from here,” said Elsbeth. He consented, but remained as if rooted to the ground. “What is the matter?” she asked. He passed his hand across his brow; he could not get those contemptuous words which he had overheard out of his head. The sisters were young, merry, inexperienced, nobody looked after them; if they should lower themselves in any way, if they--an icy shudder passed through him. And he, who had vowed to be their faithful guardian, he was going after his own pleasure, he-- “Come to the wood,” Elsbeth pleaded again. “I can’t,” he gasped. She looked at him wonderingly. “I must--my sisters--nobody is with them. Do not be angry.” “Take me back to the table,” she said. He did so. Neither spoke a word. Five minutes later he came upon his sisters, who, arm in arm with the Erdmanns, were trying to slip off to the wood. “Where are you going?” he asked, stepping between them. They lowered their eyes in embarrassment, and Katie stammered, “We--wanted to go for a little walk.” The brothers Erdmann took the tone of good-fellowship, shook hands with him heartily, and wished most ardently to renew the friendship of their youthful days. Behind his back they shook their fists at him. “You will go at once to your mother,” he said to the twins, and as they began to sulk he took their arms and drew them away. The table was half deserted. The Douglas family had left the festival.