"Every bird sings as he has learned," exclaimed Aunt Rikchen; "and if my ways do not please you, it is only because in these days every chicken is wiser than the hen; for if I am not your mother, I have worried myself as much as two mothers about you, and have asked myself a hundred thousand times what is to come of it? But perhaps Providence may have willed it so; it is always, one way or another, kinder to you than to other people. And I am not at all sure that your father has not always intended it so, for I always had my suspicions of that thick red pencil, when no one else was allowed to touch his plans with a finger; and any old woman can see how highly he thinks of him, and he is extremely brave and good, and it would keep the family together, if you were wise and married him before in these bad times everything flies up the chimney." "Reinhold?" "Did you think I meant the Emperor of Fez and Morocco? But you only pretend to be astonished, and jump up off your chair in order to make a poor old thing like me tremble in all her limbs, as if my nerves were not already sufficiently dérangés--that is what you call it, is not it?" "I got up because it is high time for me to go," said Ferdinanda. "Good-bye, aunt." She had gone a few steps towards the door, when the portière which covered it was slowly drawn aside. "Mi perdona, Signora! Signora Frederica, your most obedient servant!" Ferdinanda stood still in horror. "What did Antonio come for at this moment?" "Mi perdona!" repeated Antonio. "I fear that the ladies did not hear me knock at the door, so I ventured to walk in." And he pointed carelessly in his easy Italian fashion to some books which he held in his hand. "This is not the day for our lesson," said Ferdinanda. "I cannot come to-morrow, signora, so I ventured--" "I have no time to-day. You see I am just going out." She said it in a hasty tone, for which there was apparently not the smallest occasion, and which was a wonderful contrast to the Italian's courteous, "Mi ritiro, e le domando perdona--buona sera, signora," and the low bow with which he passed again through the portière. "Why were you so sharp with the young man?" asked Aunt Rikchen. Ferdinanda did not answer; she was listening for the soft footstep as it retired, and for the sound of the closing door. Would it be the glass door leading to the garden, or the other one which led to the entrance hall? It was the glass door; he had not gone out then. And yet. Why had she said that she was going out? Should she give it up? But there was no time to think. With a half-murmured: "Good-bye, aunt, I will make haste back," she had left the room and was standing in the street, almost without knowing how she had got there.