“I went home, lay down on my bed and thought: They’ll come and take me directly.’ One hour passed and then another⁠—they did not take me. And when it got dark, such misery came over me; I went out; I wanted to see Luise, whatever happened. I went by the watchmaker’s shop. There was a crowd there and police. I went to my old friend: ‘Fetch Luise!’ said I. I waited a little and then I saw Luise, running up. She threw herself on my neck and cried, ‘It’s all my fault,’ said she, ‘for listening to my aunt.’ She told me that her aunt had gone straight home after what happened that morning and was so frightened that she was taken ill, and said nothing. ‘She’s told no one herself and she’s forbidden me to,’ says she. ‘She is afraid and feels “let them do what they like.” No one saw us this morning,’ said Luise. He had sent his servant away too, for he was afraid of her. She would have scratched his eyes out, if she had known that he meant to get married. There were none of the workmen in the house either, he had sent them all out. He prepared the coffee himself and got lunch ready. And the relation had been silent all his life, he never used to say anything and when it had all happened that morning, he picked up his hat and was the first to go. ‘And no doubt he will go on being silent,’ said Luise.