She had saved about sixty marks, which she carried in a leather pocket next to her body. The silver heart would cost twelve marks at the very most. Plenty of money remained for buying a gift for her friend. She wavered long between a gold-embroidered college portfolio and gold-embroidered slippers, and finally decided on a revolver in a case, naturally assuming that in the wild struggle for existence he would be exposed to many dangers, from which only reckless daring and instant decision could rescue him. A revolver and case cost twenty-five marks, gold thread for embroidering the monogram, five marks. Thus everything was arranged in the best possible manner. When she saw him step on the porch the morning of examination day, white as the glove with which he waved farewell to his parents--he seemed to have forgotten her--she felt as if she should have to run after him and press the weapon of deliverance into his hand without further delay. But she reflected that in all likelihood the examiners would not show themselves susceptible to that sort of eloquence. At the last moment, as he stepped from the porch to the pavement, a timid glance of his fell upon her, and she was happy. At one o'clock there was some stir on the street. They were bringing him home. He looked weary and completely crushed, but the others whooped and huzzaed. The old sergeant out of service ran to meet him in torn slippers, and violently wiped his green-grey bristly beard on his son's face. From the kitchen came the spicy smell of cooking sausages. Lilly ran rejoicing up and down the aisles of the library, and thought with a sort of superior satisfaction: "St. Joseph's fine! _Isn't_ he fine!" The very next morning she ordered the silver heart, and blushingly asked to have a monogram of L. C. and F. R. engraved on it. When she returned she found an envelope addressed to her among the order slips in the letter-box. Inside was a soiled menu card from a restaurant, on which was written: "Sunday 5 a.m. on the porch." * * * * * The first grey of dawn entered the library through the lunettes in the shutters. Lilly sprang out of bed and threw the windows open. The street resembled a great bowl of milk, so heavily the white mist of early autumn weighed upon the ground. The cold damp drizzle did her hot limbs good. She spread her arms and washed herself in the icy air as in a bath. Her light summer dress, which she herself had washed and ironed the evening before, hung like a bluish drift on the white wall. She smartened herself as never before. This festal day should find her worthily adorned. With the paltry remnants of her savings she had bought a large yellow shepherdess hat tying under the chin, so doing away with the need for a collar. And openwork silk gloves suddenly came to light, having been discovered at the bottom of the trunk, where they had long lain forgotten.