Sleep? Heavens! who could sleep in this weather? I roam about. Lord knows where, over meadows and fields. Such St. John days!!! It's enough to drive one mad. The days never seem to end. Late last night I was sitting in front of my window. Said I to myself: "No sleep for me to-night, until that cursed nightingale runs out of melody"--when suddenly a meadow-lark announces the break of day--and there, it's morning. To the left, the twilight: to the right, the dawn, peacefully together. From glow to glow a new day arises. Children, I tell you, it was beautiful. Give me a cup of coffee. Brauer. But, tell me! Are you going to remain here now? George. Why, certainly, until after the wedding. Brauer. But the propriety of such a thing---- Gertrude. [_Imploringly_.] Oh, papa dear---- George. Its immaterial to me. Under no circumstances do I desire to offend your sense of propriety; but then I will stay down at the inn, as the nearest place. Brauer. And in the morning you will bring us the house full of fleas. Mrs. Brauer. But, Henry---- Brauer. Well, it's so. George. If you will allow me! The wedding was set for the twentieth; therefore I obtained my first furlough from the nineteenth--and I trust you realize that I can't change the dates to suit myself. I arrived on the twentieth--and the wedding, of course--it was postponed. Mrs. Brauer. But, George dear, neither your home, nor anything else was ready. George. And besides, where am I to go? My own home is broken up; Marie has had everything torn up. By the way, has she returned? Gertrude. [_Nods_.] Mrs. Brauer. Why, what's the matter? Have you two had another quarrel? George. No, certainly not; but I should not have allowed the girl to make a drudge of herself for my sake. I almost wish I had remained at home. Gertrude. Why, she is not doing all this for your sake, but for mine. George. Now there, don't be conceited. Mrs. Brauer. [_Caressing her_.] I think she has cause to be conceited. George. As my future wife, she certainly has cause to be that. Brauer. There, there, don't you overrate yourself. George. I don't, dear uncle; I am too practical for that. Brauer. So, so, you are too practical, eh? then what the devil possessed you to leave this piece of paper on my desk? eh?