The lads actually stepped back, and the peasant shut the window. He approached the door--Paul bit his lip; if he moved it, it would bring him face to face with the old man! But the peasant paid no attention to the door--he merely called into the room, “Wife, they say that scamp of a musician is in the house! Get up! strike a light, and help me wake the servants; the fellow shall not go unpunished!” [Illustration: “AN EXCITED INTERVIEW TOOK PLACE.”] “I’ve been up this long while,” replied a faint woman’s voice trembling with cold; “but there’s no finding those matches!” “I don’t wonder! I was so flurried I threw them in the wash-bowl,” replied the peasant. “Strike a light in the kitchen, and hurry up.” The peasant disappeared with his candle in the narrow passage-way which passed through the entire depth of the house; in the dusk a figure flitted past Paul; he heard a rustling sound beside him, and then a ray of faint bluish light streamed through a half-open door. So that was the kitchen! If the woman came out now the light would first fall into that nook between the wall and the door which harboured him--discovery was inevitable. He could not stay where he was--but whither should he turn? The approaching steps of the farmer’s wife startled him. He must away--just then there was only one exit possible--with one bound he was in the sitting-room behind the stove. Again he was safe for the moment--but he was more securely than ever in the trap. Where should he go when the farmer came back with his servants? The woman shut the door of the room and walked away along the passage to the back of the house. Paul stepped up to one of the frost-painted windows, thawing it with his breath, and looked out. A leap into the garden was hazardous, but it was not impossible. By the pale light of the moon he saw how the men from Rottenstein were surrounding the house. This cut off all possibility of escape for the present. He heard steps approaching; he heard the peasant’s wife talk soothingly to his weeping sweetheart, Eva Barbara, the maid-servants also endeavouring to comfort her. So then he might expect all the feminine inmates of the house to enter the room at any moment--where should he find refuge? Other sounds became audible throughout the house. He heard the farmer rail, the men-servants laugh and swear--whither, oh whither? In the room there was no nook, no hiding-place. Nearer and nearer came the women; desperately, with a curse between his lips, he ran out into the bed-chamber of the worthy couple. It was a narrow room, a so-called _rafenetle_; two thin panels of wood, about six feet high, connected with the ceiling above by carved lattice-work, just enclosed two broad beds, leaving merely a passage between them. The panelled walls were closely hung with wearing apparel, under which Paul quickly crept, squeezing himself tightly into a corner and resigning himself with a sigh to his fate.