The scene is surpassingly comic. Johannes and Trude feel fit to die of laughing. David, who very rightly suspects where he must look for his foes, casts a vicious look at the two and makes a fresh attempt to clean himself. But the tell-tale black sticks to everything as if grown fast upon it. At last Martin takes pity on the poor devil, lets him come inside the common-room and orders Trude, who is laughing very tears, to find him an old suit of clothes. At dinner-time the two tell him about their successful prank. He shakes his head disapprovingly and thinks it would have been better to have told him of their find. Then he mutters something about "28 years of service" and "babyish tricks," and gets up from the table. Trude and Johannes exchange meaning looks which say "spoil-sport!" The affair affords them ground for amusement for three whole days. On the following Sunday Martin makes an excursion across country to get some old debts cashed. He will not be likely to return before evening. The mill-hands have gone to the inn. The mill stands empty. "Now I shall send the maids off too," says Trude to Johannes; "then we shall be absolutely alone in the place and can undertake something." "But what?" "That remains to be seen," she laughs and goes out into the kitchen. After half an hour she returns and says: "There, now they have gone, now we can begin." Then they sit down opposite each other and deliberate. "We shall never again manage to have such a lark as last Sunday," sighs Trude, and then after a while: "I say, Johannes!" "What?" "You really are a great boon to me!" "In what way?" "Since you came I have been three times as happy. You see--he is ever so kind and you know--I am fond of him, very fond, but--he is always so serious, so condescending, as if I were a silly, senseless child--and don't you think I am hardworking and take care of his household as well as any one older? Surely it's not my fault that I was born so full of fun and it isn't, after all, a crime to be like that--but under his eyes, when he looks at one so solemnly and reproachfully, why it spoils all one's pleasure in any nonsense.... And when one has to sit there quite still, it's sometimes so awfully full and so ..." She stops and considers. She would like to pour out her grievances to him, but hardly knows what they are? "With you it is quite different," she continues, "you are a dear, good fellow, and never say 'no' to anything. With you one can do as one likes!--And besides, you haven't got his irritating smile which he puts on when I tell him anything, as much as to say: 'I don't mind listening to you, but of course you are only talking rubbish.' Then the words seem to stick in my throat--whereas with you ... well, one can tell you anything that comes into one's head." She pensively rests her head on her two hands and moves her elbows about on her knees. "Well, and what is coming into your head now?" he asks.