Lilly was unable to witness such wretchedness in silence, and one morning, when, returning from mass, she met him alone in the deserted street, she ventured to stop and speak to him. "You must spare yourself, Mr. Redlich," she broke out anxiously. "You must keep well for the sake of your parents and those who love you." He seemed more embarrassed than pleased, and before finding a reply, he cast rapid sidelong glances in all directions. "Thank you," he stammered. "But later, if you please, later." He dashed past, scarcely daring to raise his cap. Lilly realised she had committed an indiscretion. The houses began to dance before her eyes, she chewed her handkerchief, and feared the passersby might laugh and jeer at her. When ensconced in her corner behind the entry book, she no longer doubted that she had lost him forever. She had! He came and went without greeting her--he came at suppertime and left--she heard his steps all the way down the street. Over and done for! Over and done for! But lo and behold! At dusk a knock was heard on the door. No, not exactly a knock, rather a scratching at the door, the way a dog with a guilty conscience scratches when he wants to be let in. There he stood. Not with the embarrassed yet business-like manner with which he had entered that Sunday evening when the graves of Ottensen had justified his coming. No, this time his heart throbbed anxiously. He was like a thief who lacks skill in the art of thieving. "Is Mrs. Asmussen here?" he whispered. "Mrs. Asmussen doesn't come in here at this time," she whispered back, with a deep sigh of joy. "Then may--I come in--for a moment?" She stepped aside, and let him enter, thinking: "How can a person endure so much joy without dying of it?" He stammered something about "begging her pardon" and "not answering her." She responded with something about "having reproached herself" and "having meant it well." Then they sat down opposite each other with the counter between, and did not know what to say next. He was the first to discover the way into the region of the permissible. "A fellow sometimes likes to exchange thoughts with a congenial young lady," he said with an emphatic air of importance. "But he seldom finds the time--or the opportunity." "Oh, as for the opportunity," thought Lilly. Since she had manifested such kindly interest in him, and since an exchange of views would certainly be edifying to him, especially because of the growing emancipation of women--which-- He had steered into a tight place, but his sense of dignity did not forsake him. He looked at Lilly somewhat challengingly, as if to say, "You see how able I am to cope with this difficult situation." Lilly had not caught the drift of his talk. From the moment she recovered her power of thinking, she was dominated by one feeling: help him, save him, so that he doesn't work himself to death.