Almost at the same place in the road where two hours before they had come upon Emil, he again jumped out from behind a tree, and, with a cry of joy upon his lips, waving his cap and leaping into the air, he rushed straight at the carriage, almost fell under the wheel, and, without waiting for the horses to stop, clambered up over the carriage-door and fairly clung to Sanin. “You are alive, you are not wounded!” he kept repeating. “Forgive me, I did not obey you, I did not go back to Frankfort … I could not! I waited for you here … Tell me how was it? You … killed him?” Sanin with some difficulty pacified Emil and made him sit down. With great verbosity, with evident pleasure, Pantaleone communicated to him all the details of the duel, and, of course, did not omit to refer again to the monument of bronze and the statue of the commander. He even rose from his seat and, standing with his feet wide apart to preserve his equilibrium, folding his arm on his chest and looking contemptuously over his shoulder, gave an ocular representation of the commander—Sanin! Emil listened with awe, occasionally interrupting the narrative with an exclamation, or swiftly getting up and as swiftly kissing his heroic friend. The carriage wheels rumbled over the paved roads of Frankfort, and stopped at last before the hotel where Sanin was living. Escorted by his two companions, he went up the stairs, when suddenly a woman came with hurried steps out of the dark corridor; her face was hidden by a veil, she stood still, facing Sanin, wavered a little, gave a trembling sigh, at once ran down into the street and vanished, to the great astonishment of the waiter, who explained that “that lady had been for over an hour waiting for the return of the foreign gentleman.” Momentary as was the apparition, Sanin recognised Gemma. He recognised her eyes under the thick silk of her brown veil. “Did Fräulein Gemma know, then?”… he said slowly in a displeased voice in German, addressing Emil and Pantaleone, who were following close on his heels. Emil blushed and was confused. “I was obliged to tell her all,” he faltered; “she guessed, and I could not help it…. But now that’s of no consequence,” he hurried to add eagerly, “everything has ended so splendidly, and she has seen you well and uninjured!” Sanin turned away. “What a couple of chatterboxes you are!” he observed in a tone of annoyance, as he went into his room and sat down on a chair. “Don’t be angry, please,” Emil implored. “Very well, I won’t be angry”—(Sanin was not, in fact, angry—and, after all, he could hardly have desired that Gemma should know nothing about it). “Very well … that’s enough embracing. You get along now. I want to be alone. I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.” “An excellent idea!” cried Pantaleone. “You need repose! You have fully earned it, noble signor! Come along, Emilio! On tip-toe! On tip-toe! Sh—sh—sh!”