Despite her strict economy she always kept the light burning in her drawing-room, and did not confess to herself why. * * * * * It was about eight o'clock in the evening four days after the meeting. The stars hung like lamps in the heavens. Lilly was pacing along the further bank of the canal, when she noticed the figure of a young man who was looking fixedly in the direction in which her home lay. She could not distinguish his features, because he kept his back turned. Besides, he had selected a dark spot for his coign of observation. With a slight throbbing of her heart she continued on her way, though after a while her legs refused to carry her further in the same direction. She had to turn about. She found the dark figure still standing motionless among the trees. From across the water the light in her drawing-room peered through the bare branches. This time he heard her tread, and faced about. She recognised his features and started. He also thrilled with the shock of surprise. For an instant he foolishly pretended not to see her, but then he drew a deep breath and took off his hat with an abashed smile. Lilly trembled so, she could not hold out her hand. "Dr.--Rennschmidt," she managed to say. He was the first to recover his composure. "You will wonder," he began, stepping alongside of her, "why I stand here in the dark and look over there. If I were to say it was a mere chance, you wouldn't believe me. So I will frankly confess I could not rid myself of the thought that at our parting something went wrong--there was a misunderstanding--precipitancy--I felt I ought to beg your pardon for something." "If you felt that way, why didn't you come up to me, and tell me so?" "Was I permitted to?" "Why not?" "You see, we men have no rights with women except such as they give us. No others exist for us. To be sure, we may stand in the dark here, and bite our lips--" "Did you?" "Don't ask me." His voice did not quiver, but a tremour ran through his arm, which grazed hers. Lilly, alarmed, stopped and helplessly looked back at the dark way she had come. "That means--I--I must say good-by?" he asked. In the light of the lamp she saw his eyes clinging to her with a look of fearsome inquiry. "Oh, no," she replied slowly, as if some one else were speaking in her stead. "Now that we are together, we will remain together." "I think so, too," he said. The same gravity of an oath lay in his words as she had put into hers. They walked along in silence. Then he began in a lighter tone. "But I must call your attention to something. Your light is burning. If you really do want to favour me with an hour, I'm afraid the thought of the waste will disquiet you." "Well, we'll put it out!" she replied gaily, and turned on her heels so abruptly that he continued to make two or three steps forward. As they crossed the slender arch of the Hohenzollernbrücke, he pointed up to the heavens.