Tears sprang to Lilly's eyes at the mention of the word "married" in relation to herself and Richard. To hide her emotion she went hurriedly to fetch his overcoat, for it was a quarter to six. She accompanied him to the door, and kissed him affectionately; she did not wish him to think that she bore him any grudge. To her guest, she stood up for him zealously. He had been very kind and good to her, he had not meant any harm, and he had saved her from an evil fate. "I didn't come here to make mischief," the little woman said, laughing, and asked if she might sit on a little longer. She mentioned, too, that her name was Jula, and expressed a desire to be called by it in future. They now sat hand in hand on the sofa--above which Walter's portrait had been replaced by a very mediocre sheep-shearing scene--and nibbled cakes from the little glass plates on their laps. For the first time Lilly enjoyed the sensation of possessing a friend of her own sex, for she had always been too much in awe of Fraeulein von Schwertfeger to regard her in that light. The bullfinch sang a piteous little song of spring, and the sparrows answered from the chestnut-trees outside. The May sunshine reflected tremulous spirals on the walls, and now and again a flash of gold lightning raced across the aquarium, stirring the green sedges and grasses. This was an hour for confidences. "Didn't I put on airs just now?" Frau Jula said. "But it was necessary, my sweet. You, like me, are standing on the brink of a precipice. One little push and over we go, and then no one can pick us up again. If we had any character to rely on it wouldn't be so bad ... but we don't know how to be faithful, and, what is more, we don't want to be." "How _can_ you say that?" cried Lilly in horror. Frau Jula showed the point of her little red tongue between her lips.