The children sat dismayed and silent, for they had never known their teacher to be so much displeased. They bowed their heads low over their books and slates, and hardly ventured to breathe, still less to utter a word of excuse. The lessons were gone through with even more quiet than usual, and when two o'clock struck, the children left the house and crept away as sad and depressed as if they were following a funeral. But scarcely were they escaped from the neighbourhood of the school-house than they recovered themselves, and fell upon poor Käthchen. "Fie! Käthchen, you let the Hartwich kiss you! Nobody cares for you now!" "Yes, yes, Käthchen's mouth is black, because the Hartwich kissed it." "Oho, Käthchen, no one will ever give you a kiss again!" "Only wait, and see how the Hartwich has bewitched you! To-morrow you will know!" Poor little Käthchen was overwhelmed with speeches and reproaches of this kind. But they troubled her very little, for her teacher was pleased with her, and that was better than all else besides; and she was proud that she had dared to go forward when all the rest were afraid. "If you are so unkind, I will not give you any of my berries," she said, swinging her huge satchel carelessly to and fro. This trump-card did not fail of its effect, for the berries were not bewitched,--at all events, the Hartwich had not touched them; so the little girl soon had the satisfaction of seeing the children all gather around her once more. When Leonhardt went to his wife, he found her deep in friendly talk with Ernestine. "My dear, kind Fräulein Hartwich," he began, "how it grieves me that you, who came to do me a kindness, should have been so insulted in my house! To be sure, they are only children, and they could not really insult you, but----" "'As the parents are, so must the children be,' is what you would say," Ernestine interposed, "or what, at least, you think. Do not be distressed, Herr Leonhardt. I am used to insult and ridicule, and I have grown callous to them. But it is strange that a similar occurrence took place ten years ago to-day, at the first and only children's party which I ever attended. My misanthropy dates from that day; and the fresh proof that I have just had convinces me that I am not fitted to mix with the world,--least of all, with what passes for such in this country. Tell me, Herr Leonhardt, is it entirely impossible for you to enlighten these people in some small degree?"