Obedient to Regina's wishes, he patrolled the ruins for half-an-hour beneath a roof of sparkling icicles. Then he put the bottles under his arm, and staggered out into the stormy night. As he approached his dwelling, he saw with amazement that the shutters were closed, a thing that had never happened before. His first thought was that the storm had penetrated the chinks, but on nearer view be learnt they were still weatherproof. Not till he stood in the vestibule did he find a happy solution to the problem. Regina met him beaming, and half-ashamed, and threw the parlour door wide open. Astounded at what he saw, he remained rooted to the spot. He was greeted by a festive shimmer of candles and a fragrant odour of firs. In the centre of the dining-table, covered with its pure white cloth, stood a Christmas tree, adorned with wax tapers and gilded apples. The whole apartment was brilliantly illuminated. Never in his life before had a Christmas tree been lit for _him_. Only from the thresholds of strangers had he sometimes looked on with dim eyes at strangers' happiness. And where was Regina? She had retreated behind him, and stood in the remotest corner of the vestibule, watching him with shy yet proud delight. He took hold of her hand and led her into the room. "Who put it into your head, child?" he asked. "The grocer's wife was trimming her Christmas tree when I got there at three o'clock, and I thought it so pretty I said to myself, _he_ shall have his tree too, and shall know that there is at least one person to think of him. I asked her to show me how to gild apples, and gilded a supply while I was there, and bought the lights and got a sack to put the tree in, so that you shouldn't see it." "And who gave you the tree?" "I cut it down myself at the edge of the forest not far from here." "In the middle of this storm?" She laughed contemptuously. "A little wind wouldn't hinder me, _Herr_," And then with a sudden outburst of joyous ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Oh, just look, _Herr_, how beautifully it burns! How pious it looks. Hasn't it really a sort of pious face, as if an angel had brought it?" He assented, laughing, and expressed his thanks in a few words of forced condescension, for he was afraid of being too gracious. But she was more than satisfied. "Why should you thank me, _Herr_?" she asked reproachfully. "It's all bought with your money. I have none. I'm only a poor girl. Else, ah, else--" She threw up her hands and clasped them above her head. The cheque came into his mind. "This is to show you," he said, handing it to her, "that I have thought of your Christmas too." She looked at him in bewilderment. "Am I to read it?" she asked, respectfully taking the piece of paper between two of her fingers. After studying it carefully, she still looked perplexed. "Don't you understand what it is?" he asked. "Oh yes--I understand ... But to begin with, you can't be in earnest. And even if you are, ... what good is it to me?"