At noon I left my lodgings in Tomtegaden, where I still lived and found fairly comfortable, and set out for town. I was in the merriest humour, and lazed about the whole afternoon through the most frequented streets and looked at the people. Even before seven o’clock I took a turn up St. Olav’s Place and took a furtive look up at the window of No. 2. In an hour I would see her. I went about the whole time in a state of tremulous, delicious dread. What would happen? What should I say when she came down the stairs? Good-evening? or only smile? I concluded to let it rest with the smile. Of course I would bow profoundly to her. I stole away, a little ashamed to be there so early, wandered up Carl Johann for a while, and kept my eyes on University Street. When the clocks struck eight I walked once more towards St. Olav’s Place. On the way it struck me that perhaps I might arrive a few minutes too late, and I quickened my pace as much as I could. My foot was very sore, otherwise nothing ailed me. I took up my place at the fountain and drew breath. I stood there a long while and gazed up at the window of No. 2, but she did not come. Well, I would wait; I was in no hurry. She might be delayed, and I waited on. It couldn’t well be that I had dreamt the whole thing! Had my first meeting with her only existed in imagination the night I lay in delirium? I began in perplexity to think over it, and wasn’t at all sure. “Hem!” came from behind me. I heard this, and I also heard light steps near me, but I did not turn round, I only stared up at the wide staircase before me. “Good-evening,” came then. I forget to smile; I don’t even take off my hat at first, I am so taken aback to see her come this way. “Have you been waiting long?” she asks. She is breathing a little quickly after her walk. “No, not at all; I only came a little while ago,” I reply. “And besides, would it matter if I had waited long? I expected, by-the-way, that you would come from another direction.” “I accompanied mamma to some people. Mamma is spending the evening with them.” “Oh, indeed,” I say. We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A policeman is standing at the corner, looking at us. “But, after all, where are we going to?” she asks, and stops. “Wherever you wish; only where _you_ wish.” “Ugh, yes! but it’s such a bore to have to decide oneself.” A pause. Then I say, merely for the sake of saying something: “I see it’s dark up in your windows.” “Yes, it is,” she replies gaily; “the servant has an evening off, too, so I am all alone at home.” We both stand and look up at the windows of No. 2 as if neither of us had seen them before. “Can’t we go up to your place, then?” I say; “I shall sit down at the door the whole time if you like.”