He had read here and there in the Liederbuch, too, that the lover used to sing serenades to the queen of his heart on moonlight nights, to the accompaniment of either the guitar or mandolin if this was at all feasible. It had been thus in the beautiful days of chivalry, and in Spain or Italy might still be so. That occurred to him now, and he pictured to himself how it would look if he, Paul the simpleton, were to play the lute here as a knight-errant, crowing longing love-songs at the same time. At this thought he laughed out loud, and then he remembered that he carried his instrument about with him everywhere. He seated himself on the grass, his back leaning against a post of the fence, and began to whistle--shyly and softly at first, then ever bolder and louder, and as usual when he was entirely given up to his feelings, he at last forgot everything around him. He awoke as out of a dream when he heard a rustling and creaking of branches at the other side of the fence. He looked round amazed. Yonder stood Elsbeth in her white dressing-gown with a dark ulster hastily thrown over it. At the first moment he felt as if he must run away, but all his limbs seemed to be lamed. “Elsbeth--what are you doing here?” he stammered. “Ah! what are _you_ doing here?” she retorted, smiling. “I--I was whistling a little.” “And you came here for that?” “Why should I not?” “You are right--I am not going to forbid you.” She had pressed her forehead against the trellis-work and looked at him. Both were silent. “Will you come in?” she asked then--probably not knowing what she said. “Shall I climb the fence?” he retorted, quite innocently. She smiled. “No,” she said, shaking her head; “they could see you from the window, and that would not do. But I must speak to you. Wait; I will come out and walk a little way with you.” She pushed a loose bar aside and slipped out; then she gave him her hand, and said, “You were right to have come; I have often longed to speak to you, but you were never there.” And she sighed deeply, as if the remembrance of sad hours overpowered her. His whole body trembled. The sight of the maidenly figure, who in her night-garb stood before him so chaste and unconscious, almost took away his breath. His temples hammered, he bent his eyes to the ground. “Why do you not speak to me?” she asked. A confused smile passed over his face. “Do not be angry,” he gasped.