A long silence. Paul put his hands to his forehead and staggered back two steps. A thrill of pity ran through the hall. No one thought otherwise but that the remembrance of that terrible sight overpowered him. The silence continued. “Please answer.” “I did--not--sleep.” “So you were awake.... Were you in your bedroom when you first perceived the glow of the fire?” “No.” “Where were you?” A long pause. One could have heard a leaf falling to the ground it was so still in the court. “You were not at home?” “No.” “Where then?” “In--the garden--of--Helenenthal.” A surpressed murmur arose, which grew into a tumult when old Douglas, who had sprung up from his chair, cried out in a voice that penetrated through the court, “What were you doing there?” Old Meyerhofer uttered a curse. Elsbeth turned pale, and her head sank heavily against the back of the bench. The president seized the bell. “I must beg silence there,” he said; “it is I who put the questions. On a repeated interruption I shall have you taken out of court. So, Mr. Paul Meyerhofer, what were you going to do in the garden of Helenenthal?” At the same moment there arose a fresh murmur in the background, and in the witness-box a circle formed itself around Elsbeth. “What is the matter over there?” asked the president. The chief-justice, whose eyes no speck of dust in the court escaped, bent forward and whispered to him, with a meaning smile, “The witness has fainted.” Then the president, too, smiled, and the whole assembly of judges smiled. Elsbeth, leaning on her father’s arm, left the court. Now the little man with the sharply-cut features rose--he sat before the accused, and had been playing during the whole time with a bunch of keys--and said, “I ask the president to adjourn the case for five minutes, as the presence of the witness concerned in this matter is of importance.” Paul sent a shy glance at this man. The court adjourned. The five minutes were an eternity. Paul was allowed to sit down in the witness-box. His father continued staring at him with fury in his eyes, but he made no sign that he wished to speak to him. Elsbeth was brought back into the court, pale as death, and Paul stepped forward again. “I warn you again,” the president began, “to be in all things strictly truthful, for you know that each word of your statement is uttered under oath.” “I know it,” said Paul. “But you have the right, as you know, to refuse any statement if you fear that the same would bring down any punishment upon yourself or your family. Will and can you make use of this right now, as you did before?” “No.” He spoke in a firm, clear voice, for he had the certainty that Elsbeth’s honor would be irremediably lost if he were silent now. “But if my oath is perjury?” he heard his conscience whisper immediately after; but it was too late. “Oh! what did you want to do in the garden?” the president asked.