After that evening his impression of her seemed like a part of nature's scenery; she was blended with the starry snow-flakes; never had he met or seen anything so white and so pure. All that she had said about the sea and the falling snow was full of musical imagination; at last her whole person was enveloped in a sort of dim haze. As each of these pearls of first impressions rose up from the depths of his soul, his every sense seemed to be enamoured. He seemed to feel her presence in all the rooms; he started every time a door was opened; and if there came a soft footstep along the passage he thought it was hers; he felt it through his whole being. He was really rather afraid of meeting her again, in case the picture should lose its charm. And that was exactly what happened. Five or six days after, as he was coming out of the university, he met her with her sister and two little children; the street was crowded, so he neither saw nor recognized them till they were quite close. He bowed; the "nut-kernel" smiled and returned his bow, but her sister blushed very red and forgot to bow: at that moment she looked anything but clever. He stopped to thank them for the pleasant evening they had spent together, and began talking to the one sister; the other bent down to the children--two sweet little girls, dressed out like dolls, one about three, the other four years old. He invited them into a confectioner's for refreshments; the offer was accepted after a good deal of hesitation; but the married sister never raised her eyes, and he could hardly induce her to sit down. Out of pure shyness and uneasiness she worried the children so that they became impatient. He offered them cakes and wine; but she could not make up her mind what she would have, and at last allowed her sister to choose. Her face was framed in by a bonnet with silk flaps; the forehead quite disappeared, and her face became round and insignificant; her figure was concealed by clothes which were all much too large for her (he heard later that they had belonged to her late sister). It was only when he began to notice the children--he had a wonderful gift that way, for he was fond of children--that they really made friends again; it happened down on the floor, too, because the youngest child had made a terrible mess of itself with a cake full of whipped cream, which the mother had most injudiciously chosen for it. There they were now, both drying the child with their pocket-handkerchiefs, and the mother thanking him over and over again, with a guilty feeling that it had been her fault. The child, who so blissfully had made itself in such a mess, asked for more cake of the same kind and would not be content with any other; and Kallem (though he knew it was not good for the child to have so much) readily agreed to it; but he took the child on his lap, asked for a napkin, and watched carefully over it until the last bite had disappeared. She stood by humbly taking a lesson.