The colonel's visit seemed to have acted like a cold douche on his men, despite--or, perhaps, on account of--the guarantee he had given for their good behaviour. Not one of them came to visit her again. "Is that a sign of the protection he is to favour me with?" Lilly wondered. Something was missing, she did not know what. A week passed, and one day the younger sister, who held watch every morning for possible billets-doux, threw an envelope at Lilly's feet, saying: "Something else again, with a coronet on it, you flirt, you!" "Flirt" was one of the milder titles of honour that the sisters lavished upon her. Lilly opened the letter and read: "My dear Miss Czepanek:-- Remembering the interview that took place between us recently, I take the liberty of making a proposition to you. The position of private secretary and reader with me is open. Would you be inclined to accept it? Since I am an unmarried man, it would be in better form for you not to live in my house, but I pledge myself to provide for your maintenance in a suitable and respectable family. Your guardian, whom I took the opportunity to consult in the matter, has given his consent to the plan. --Respectfully yours, Freiherr von Mertzbach, Colonel and Commander of the----Regiment of Ulans." So here it was--her fate! It was there, on the other side of the gleaming snowy street, beckoning and calling to her: "Come out of your hole. I will show you life. I will show you something new." But then she pictured herself sitting at the colonel's great desk writing at his dictation. She saw his eyes drilling her, searching her soul, and threatening, always threatening. The pen would fall from her fingers, she would have to jump up and run away, but she would not be able to; the eyes would hold her in a spell. So Lilly sat down and wrote a very correct letter declining his proposition. She fully appreciated, she said, the honour he did her, but she felt she was not qualified to assume so difficult a position, and she thought that even if she was not so well off she did better by remaining in her modest situation, since she could fulfil the duties it involved. "Very gratefully yours, Lilly Czepanek." Done! Peace at last restored--as much peace as the bad sisters permitted. Christmas was drawing near. It cannot be stated with accuracy that the preparations in the Asmussen household produced an atmosphere of mirth. For weeks Mrs. Asmussen had been sighing over the bad times and the nuisance of having to give everybody in the world a gift. The sisters discussed as frequently and as loudly as possible the question whether it was necessary for refined and aristocratic young ladies to share a Christmas tree with low and vulgar hussies. There was no indication whatsoever of those gladsome mysteries that at this time brighten the saddest of human habitations.