"You see, Fritzchen," went on the old man, "I may have been at that time a good-for-nothing, and as fond of a glass as I am to-day; but your young soul I guided aright, you must allow. And have you forgotten how I encouraged your friendship with Ulrich? How my only wish was to play third in the covenant when Johanna could not officiate? And then again, my son, there was the time when your heart first beat in response to another. Have you forgotten that too? The eldest daughter of the forester at Knutzendorf, who used to bring the weekly paper every Saturday to the castle? She was eleven and you were thirteen. I believe she didn't know that two and two make four. But she grew into a devilish clever girl later; but never mind that. Do you remember confiding in me the secret that you had run after her in the road and kissed her, and that she had let herself be kissed quite calmly, and it made you so happy, Fritzchen, so confoundedly happy?" With an exclamation of anguish Leo raised his elbows and shook off the old man's heavy touch. That had been the beginning of it; his introduction to love, and now it had come to an end. He sprang to his feet "What do you want with me, man," he cried, "that you torture me thus?" The pastor bowed his massive head almost humbly. "I only want to remind you that you owe me a debt of gratitude," he said, "and I wish you to make it good to my son. Here I stand--may God pardon me--here I stand and entreat you to fight with him, and if you can't help yourself, shoot him dead." There was a silence. The old clock in the corner chimed half-past eleven. "This time to-morrow," thought Leo, "I shall be walking to my death." And with this reflection he thrust from him the old memories which had begun to weave a coil of softening sentiment about his soul. He would have liked to pour out the whole gamut of emotions surging within him, in curses on the head of this old man who had come to fight a desperate battle on behalf of his despicable little son's honour. He placed himself in front of him with his legs apart and his hands in his pockets and laughed. "Look at me," he shouted. "I _am_ looking at you," replied the pastor. "How jolly mild you are to-day, old fellow. You bleat like a lamb instead of roaring like a lion. Now tell me, what do you see in my face?" "Mockery and scorn," was the answer, "scorn of me and the Lord above us. That is all I see."