"That was not nice of you, Hans," she says softly, "you must never do that to me again!" He does not answer and stoops to pick up the rose which has fallen from her bosom. "Let me go home," she says, casting a frightened look around. They walk along side by side for a while in silence; she gazes into space; he smells the rose he has found. "Do you like roses?" he continues. She looks at him. "As if you did not know that," her look says. "By the bye," he goes on gaily, "why do you no longer put flowers at my bed-side now?" "He has forbidden me," she stammers. "That alters the case," he replies, crestfallen. Then their conversation comes to a standstill altogether. On the veranda Martin receives them with a good-natured scolding. He declares he is ravenously hungry, and supper is not yet served. Trude hurries to the kitchen to give a helping hand herself.... The meal is consumed in silence. The two do not raise their eyes from their plates. An atmosphere of unbearable sultriness oppresses the earth. The hot wind whirls up small dust clouds and bluish grey veils of mist settle down slowly. Johannes leans his head against the glass of the veranda window, but that is as hot as if it had been all day in a fiery furnace. Then Trude suddenly jumps up. "Where are you going to?" asks Martin. "Into the garden," she replies. After a while they hear her mounting the stairs that lead to the turret room. When she comes out again she gives Johannes a quick, timid look, then takes her seat with downcast eyes. From the village green come sounds of merry-making and screams of enjoyment, mingled with the squeak of the fiddle and the drone of the double-bass. "I suppose you'd like to go there, children?" They are both silent and he takes their silence for consent. "Well, then come along," he says, getting up. Trude stretches out her arms in silent anguish, looks across wistfully at Johannes, then with a shake of her head she says, "Don't care about it!" "Why, what's up?" cried Martin, quite taken aback. "Since when do you get out of the way of dance music? I suppose you two have been squabbling again, eh?" Johannes laughs curtly and Trude turns away. Suddenly she gets up, says laconically, "Good-night," and disappears. A little later the brothers, too, part company. With heavy limbs Johannes mounts the stairs--he opens the door of his room--an intoxicating fragrance of flowers wells towards him. He draws a deep breath and utters a sigh of satisfaction. Then this was the reason for going at such a late hour into the garden! By the side of his pillow stands a huge bunch of rose and jasmine. He drops into bed as if he would like to bury himself beneath this mass of blossoms. For a while he lies a-dreaming quietly to himself, but his breathing becomes more and more labored, his senses grow dim,--at every pulsation a poignant pain darts through his temples,--he feels as though he must succumb beneath this overpowering fragrance.