Except the sighs of the woman and the creaking of the peasant’s bedstead, it was now quiet in the chamber. Paul did not stir. Although the frost was shaking him, and he was biting his fur-cap so that the chattering of his teeth might not betray him, there was a fire raging within him. He was very unhappy under the bed! In feverish excitement he waited for the couple to fall asleep. After a while the sighs died away, the bedstead ceased to creak, but it was in vain he waited for the reassuring sound of healthy snoring. At Paul’s slightest movement the peasant would lift his head and ask, “Old woman, don’t you hear anything?” “Be quiet, it’s only mice a-chattering!” was the answer every time; but Paul was obliged to resign himself to keeping very quiet, so as to raise no suspicions. He suffered the pangs of hell under that bed. It was not only that he was growing stiff and stark with cold--every limb pained him from his uncomfortable position. Now and then he would consider the question of leaving his hiding-place, even at the risk of a fight, and so escaping by main force. What was there to fear? To overpower the old man was child’s-play to him, and before the servants could be roused he would be well out of the way. He would do it--yes, he would! When he had reached this point a tremor seized him. Should he lay hands on a man who had never harmed him, in his own house--ay, in his own bed-chamber? Paul cursed and raved, then he set his teeth more firmly in his fur-cap, and stayed where he was. His only hope was that in the morning the peasant and his wife would leave the chamber to wake the servants. This movement should serve him to leave his undignified retreat, and seek a transient hiding-place in the hall or kitchen, from whence to slip out of the house later on, when the farm-work had begun. This hope also was made futile by no less a person than Eva Barbara! Anxiety for Paul had robbed the poor child of sleep; his mysterious disappearance filled her mind with horrible fancies. What if he had come to grief by a fall! Or perhaps in his distressed search for a hiding-place he had wedged himself into some tight place which would not let him escape! There was no doubt to her that he was still in the house; she had seen only too well how the Rottenstein men had surrounded the house; an attempt at flight would have caused a great tumult at the least. Where could he have hidden? She wept bitterly, and each passing hour laid a new burden upon her soul. At last the deep, unbroken stillness in the house grew unendurable to her. How could she rest while he was in danger, suffering pain and distress perhaps? Softly she arose, and walked stealthily through the house, wringing her hands, and whispering his name. There was no reply; everywhere the same deep and fearful silence. Without, the Rottenstein men were still guarding the house. Where could he be? Overpowered by grief and despair, she fell upon her knees.