The words affected him so powerfully that he felt his tears rising. He hid himself quickly behind a pillar, and laid his open hand across his eyes. He cursed his soft-heartedness, and conjured up some of his wildest memories in order to regain the mastery of himself. At last he dared to venture forth and look around him. On the middle benches sat several groups of working people; women who had cried their noses red, and men who stared with vacant curiosity at the organ and choir. His own people had not yet entered the church. Apparently they were still lingering in the vestry, which was always open to the high nobility. Thither he betook himself. His footsteps echoed through the aisles. The praying women raised their noses a little; the men watched him idly. Felicitas was the first to meet him in the vestry. He recoiled with an involuntary shudder; then quickly recovered himself, and gravely gave her his hand, feeling conscious that Johanna was keenly observing every _nuance_ of their meeting. And as he looked up he was aware that, from the dark background, a second pair of eyes rested on them with questioning anxiety. Then Ulrich came to shake him by the hand, and to introduce him to the superintendent, a lean, gentle-eyed man with glasses and greyish whiskers, who welcomed him in a clear high tenor. His voice sounded in his ears like a peace-giving orison, compared with Brenckenberg's thunderous growl. They now moved into the church, and took their places on the benches. Ulrich sat on Leo's right; Elly on his left. So everything was arranged as it should be. The service began. A chorale was sung, and the usual penitential prayer followed. Leo strove to attend, but he could not succeed. He still stared, as if fascinated, at the golden words which shone down on him from the wall--like a magic formula. He tried to tear his eyes away from them, but they seemed almost to hypnotise him. Peace, peace, at any price! And then suddenly words from the altar penetrated to his ear. "In virtue of my spiritual office I announce to thee, 'that thy sins are forgiven.'" He started up in surprise; could it be so rapidly, so simply done? That for which he had struggled with the tension of despair, with the offering up of his whole nature, was here, after a few moments of uncomfortable meditation, tossed into his lap like a casual gift, with a stereotyped speech by a strange, be-spectacled man. How could it, how dared it happen thus?