A little later Philippina heard some one stumbling around in the hall, and then the bell rang. “Open the door,” she said to Agnes, who did as she was told and returned with Benjamin Dorn. The Methodist wore a black suit, and in his hand he had a black felt hat that was as flat as a pancake. He bowed to Philippina, and asked if he was disturbing any one. Philippina pushed a chair over to him. He sat down quite circumstantially, and laughed a hollow laugh. As Philippina was as silent as the tomb and looked at him so tensely, he began to speak. First he expatiated on the general advantages of a married life, and then remarked that what he personally wished first of all was to be able to take a good, true woman into his own life as his wife. He said that he had gone through a long struggle over the matter, but God had finally shown him the light and pointed the way. He no longer hesitated, after this illumination from above, to offer Fräulein Schimmelweis his heart and his hand forever and a day, insist though he must that she give the matter due consideration, in the proper Christian spirit, before taking the all-important step. Philippina was restless; she rocked back and forth, first on one foot and then on another—and then burst out laughing. She bent over and laughed violently. “No, you poor simpleton, what you want is my money, hey? Be honest! Out with it! You want my money, don’t you?” Her anger grew as Benjamin Dorn sat and looked on, his asinine embarrassment increasing with each second of silence. “Listen! You’d like to git your fingers on it, wouldn’t you? Money—it would taste good, wouldn’t it? You think I’m crazy? Scrape a few coppers together and lose my mind and marry some poor fool, and let him loaf around and live on me. Nothing doin’! They ain’t no man livin’ what can catch Philippina Schimmelweis so easy as all that. She knows a thing or two about men, she does. D’ye hear me! Get out!” She sawed the air with her arms like a mad woman, and showed him the door. Benjamin Dorn rose to his feet, stuttered something unintelligible, moved backwards toward the door, reached it, and left the place with such pronounced speed that Philippina once again broke out in a shrill, piercing laughter. “Come here, Agnes,” she said, sat down on the step in the corner, and took the child on her lap. She was silent for a long while; the child was afraid to speak. Both looked at the lights on the Christmas tree. “Let us sing something,” said Philippina. She began with a hoarse, bass voice, “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,” and Agnes joined in with her high, spiritless notes. Another pause followed after they had finished singing. “Where is my father?” asked Agnes suddenly, without looking at Philippina. It sounded as if she had waited for years for an opportunity to ask this question.