"The things actually do come from papa," said Lilly, amazed at the strange, stifled sound of her own voice. The sisters gave a short laugh, and silently began to put the gifts back into the boxes. Lilly was holding a little porcelain bon-bon dish filled with fragrant, odd-looking confections. She glanced hesitatingly from one sister to the other without daring to offer them the sweets for fear of being repulsed with some abusive word or other. She set the lid--a little rose-wreathed Cupid--back on the delicately cut rim, let the dish sink down among the other gifts in one of the boxes, crawled to the corner where she slept, and cried bitterly. The sisters whispered together a long time. They built a pyramid of the boxes on the counter and passed by it at a respectful distance. The next morning Lilly summoned a porter from the street and returned everything to the donor without a word of explanation. Then she went to the sisters and said: "I didn't tell you the truth yesterday. The gifts did _not_ come from papa. So I returned them." The sisters, who had come toward her with a sweet-sour air of attentiveness, made no effort to conceal their disillusionment. "Well, I didn't take her for such a muff!" said the younger. "She's not," said the older sarcastically, who, true to her nature, scented an _arrière pensée_. "On the contrary she's particularly calculating--wants to drive her adorer still madder. I hope she doesn't get stuck at her own game. Even the blindest mortal soon comes to know the difference between false and _genuine_ worth." Therewith, in order to furnish on the spot an example of the genuine quality, she drew her petticoat tight about her legs with her left hand and with her right hand gathered her matinée close under her bosom, and sent Lilly a smile of utter contempt from over her shoulder, such a smile as only lofty souls can summon on occasion. Nevertheless, Lilly noticed that from now on she was treated with a certain heedfulness, from which she deduced that something was still expected of her. During the next few days nothing of importance occurred, though the day after Christmas a few of the young gentlemen had put in appearance again. Their manner was jerky as they exchanged their books, they outdid themselves in politeness and they showed no disposition to make themselves at home on chair or counter. Then--the day before New Year--Lilly received this letter: "Dear Miss Czepanek:-- You shamefully mistook the motives that led me to send you those Christmas gifts. I feel I must justify myself and bring about a perfect understanding between us. I have plans concerning you which I should like to set before you personally, but my position forbids my visiting you repeatedly, and I would ask you, if your future is dear to you, to come to my house to-morrow evening. I shall expect you some time before eight. I give you my word of honour for your safe return. Yours,