He thought for a moment, then locked the door, and went up the stairs. But Eleanore must have heard his approaching footsteps; for she stepped hastily out into the vestibule, and said with evident embarrassment: “Please stay downstairs, Daniel; Father is asleep. If you wish I will come down to the living room.” She did not wait for his answer, but went into her room, got the table lamp, and followed Daniel to the living room. Daniel closed the window, and shook as if he were cold; for it was a cool night, and there was no fire in the stove. “What is this I smell?” he asked. “Have you so many flowers up in your room?” “Yes, I have some flowers,” replied Eleanore, and blushed. He looked at her rather sharply, but was disinclined to make any further inquiry, or he was not interested in knowing what this all meant. He walked around the room with his hands in his pockets. Eleanore had sat down on a chair; she never once took her eyes off Daniel. “Listen, Daniel,” she said suddenly, and the violin tone of her voice lifted him from his mute and heavy meditations, “I know now what Father is doing.” “Well, what is the old man doing?” asked Daniel distractedly. “He is working at a doll, Daniel.” “At a doll? Are you trying to poke fun at me?” Eleanore, whose cheeks had turned pale, began to tell her story: “Yesterday afternoon, Father took advantage of the beautiful weather, and went on a walk for the first time in a long while. During his absence, I went to his room to straighten it up a little. I noticed that the door to the large cabinet was not closed as usual, but was standing ajar. He probably forgot to lock it. I did not suspect anything, and knew that there was no harm in what I was going to do, so I opened the door, and what did I see? A big doll, about the size of a four-year-old child, a wax figure with big eyes and long, yellow hair. But there were no clothes on it: the lower part of the back and the front from the neck to the legs had been removed. Inside, there where a person’s heart and entrails are, was a network of wheels and screws and little tubes and wires, all made of real metal.” “That is strange, really strange. Well?” “He is making something,” continued Eleanore, “that much is clear. But if I could tell you how I felt when I saw the thing! I never felt so sad in my life. I have shown him so little love, just as Fate has been so unlovely to him. And everything—the air and the light and the people and how one feels towards the people and how they feel towards you, all seemed to me to be so hopelessly without love that I could not help it: I just sat down before that doll and cried. The poor man! The poor old man!” “Strange, really strange,” repeated Daniel. After a while, as if conscious of his guilt, he took a seat by the table. Eleanore however got up, went to the window, and leaned her forehead against the glass. “Come here to me, Eleanore,” said Daniel in a changed tone of voice.