During Holy Week Colonel von Falkenhein took a short leave of absence in order to fetch his daughter Marie home from school at Neuchatel. After Easter she was to come out into society. Reimers debated whether he ought not to pay his respects to the Falkenheins during the holidays. Most of the unmarried officers had gone away on leave, and on Easter Monday he was alone in the mess-room at the mid-day meal. Finally he decided to pay his visit that afternoon. He was not in the least curious about the young lady. He remembered her as Falkenhein's little Marie, three years ago, before she went to school; a pretty, rather slender little girl, with a thick plait of bright gold hair down her back, blushing scarlet when one spoke to her and responding quickly and daintily with the regulation childish curtsey. She was now just seventeen; still slender, and her little face framed by the same bright golden hair, that seemed almost too great a weight for her head. Beautiful clear grey eyes she had also; and Reimers particularly remarked her delicate straight nose, by the trembling of whose nostrils one could judge if the little lady were excited about anything. She bore the dignity of being the colonel's daughter with modest pride. She handled the tea-things with the style of an accomplished matron, and led the conversation with a sort of old-fashioned self-possession. Falkenhein never took his eyes off his child. Sometimes he smiled to himself, as he noted how unconcernedly she did the honours to her first guest, knowing well her secret anxiety to play her new part with success. When Reimers rose to go, the colonel invited him to supper. The lieutenant accepted with pleasure. He was sure that intercourse with his commander would be of a thousand times more value to him than the dry wisdom of books. Hitherto when Reimers had supped at the colonel's, after the meal, as they sat smoking, the senior officer would dilate on his reminiscences and experiences. This time, however, there was a little alteration. Before a young girl the two men could not discuss specially military matters. Nevertheless, Reimers was not bored. When Fräulein Marie showed symptoms of beginning again in her quaint universal-conversationalist style her father interrupted her. "Little one," he said, "leave that sort of chatter alone! Keep it for others. Lieutenant Reimers does not care for that kind of thing. And I know him well, I assure you, my child; he is one of my best officers." The little lady opened her eyes wide on the young soldier. "If papa says that," she said gravely, "I congratulate you, Herr Reimers." The colonel laughed aloud. Conversation flowed fast and free after this. The young girl could talk brightly of her little life, and asked intelligent questions. She began confidentially to question her guest about the ladies of the regiment, whereupon Falkenhein said abruptly: "Tell me, Reimers; you often go to the Güntzes', don't you?" "Yes, sir."