"For heaven's sake, don't think of it, the curls suit you very well." She said this with a frivolity of manner which she immediately perceived to be unsuitable, and to get over her embarrassment, she jumped at another subject of conversation. "So you live quite alone? That strikes me as being very dreary. Still you must have many friends?" "Yes, so-called friends--comrades from the gymnasium, from the academy, and the university. But I do not count much on these superficial acquaintances--I have really only one friend." "Who is she" "He is called Paul Haber, and is Assistant of Chemistry at the Agricultural College." "A nice man?" "Oh, yes." "How old is he?" "About a year older than I am." "What is he like?" Wilhelm smiled. "I believe he is very good-looking, strong, not very tall, with a fair mustache, otherwise closely shaved, and with short hair, not like me! He thinks a good deal of appearance, and always knows what sort of ties are worn. He dances well, and is very pleased if people take him for an officer in civilian's clothes. But he is a true soul, and has a heart of gold. He is clever too, practical, and would do for me as much as I would do for him with all my heart." "Hardly one unpleasant word for an absent friend. That is scarcely as my friends speak of me," and she quietly added: "Nor as I speak of my friends. You make me curious about Herr--" "Haber." "You must introduce him to us." "He would be most happy." Loulou now knew more about Wilhelm than she had hitherto known of any man in the world. Only on one point was she unenlightened, and this she hastened to clear up on the following day, when they were looking for berries in the wood. "You asked me if my heart had been touched yet. Would it be right if I were to ask you the same question?" "The question seems very natural to me--I can truthfully assure you I have never been in love, not even with a pastor with long hair." "And has no one been in love with you?" Wilhelm looked at the distance, and said dreamily: "No; yet once--" She felt a little stab at her heart, and said: "Quick, tell me about it." "It is a wonderful story--it happened in Moscow." "But you were only a child then?" "Yes, and she who loved me was a child too. She was four years old." "Ah," said Loulou, with an involuntary sigh of relief.