In the chair behind the show window, where Madame Feyertag was usually enthroned, sat Reginchen. It was already very dark in this corner, for the gas in the shop was usually not lighted in summer, and September, according to the Feyertag calendar, belonged to the summer months; yet notwithstanding this, the printer had perceived at the first glance who it was that sat in the corner knitting a stocking. He seemed to struggle with himself a moment, then softly opened the door and with a: "Good evening, Fräulein Reginchen!" entered the shop. "Oh! dear, how you frightened me!" cried the young girl, starting from her seat. "I beg your pardon," stammered Franzelius, "I ought to have knocked. But I have so many things to think of--sit still, Fraulein Reginchen, I--I only wanted--I came--" He clutched his cap convulsively in one hand, and was brushing the brim with his elbow. "My mother has gone out," said Reginchen, to make a little conversation. "But father is still in the work room. If you want to speak to him--" "Oh no--but allow me--" He picked up the knitting she had dropped, but in so doing let his cap fall, and as she now stooped for it, their heads came in contact somewhat violently. He blushed crimson, but she burst into a merry laugh. "That's owing to the short days," said she. "But father is anxious to save the gas. I drop so many stitches!" Then both were silent again. At last the printer, pausing before the case of ladies' shoes and gazing into it as intently, as if he were endeavoring to count each individual pair, said: "You're fortunate, Fräulein Reginchen. You can stay in this house. I--I must--from to-day I shall--" "Are you going away on a journey, Herr Franzelius?" "No, Fräulein Reginchen, or rather yes!--it amounts to the same thing. I--I'm glad I've met you--I should like--I didn't want to leave without a farewell--" "Are you going away for long?" "No one can tell--perhaps I shall never return. Fräulein Reginchen, I cannot hope--you know I--I have always revered you--" She laughed again in her merry childish way; but if the shop had not been so dark and he had looked at her, he would probably have noticed the deep blush that suffused her face. "Oh gracious!" she exclaimed. "Revered! No one ever did that before. A stupid creature like me, who can't do anything and doesn't understand anything, as mother tells me every day--" "You don't know your own worth, Reginchen, and that's the best proof of it--I mean that it's no false worth. But excuse me for telling you this so bluntly: It's the first--and last time. And of course you--if I don't come back--will never give me another thought." The prudent child seemed to know that silence is sometimes the best answer. She coughed several times, and then said: "Where are you going?" "Wherever the winds and waves carry me!" he replied with sorrowful pathos, and then paced heavily up and down the shop.