Sunshine and quiet--a strangely bright day. The snow had disappeared.
There was life and joy, and glad faces, smiles, and laughter
everywhere. The fountains threw up sprays of water in jets,
golden-tinted from the sun-light, azure from the sky....

At noon I left my lodgings in Tomtegaden, where I still lived and found
fairly comfortable, and set out for town. I was in the merriest humour,
and lazied about the whole afternoon through the most frequented
streets and looked at the people. Even before seven o'clock I took a
turn up St. Olav's Place and took a furtive look up at the window of
No. 2. In an hour I would see her. I went about the whole time in a
state of tremulous, delicious dread. What would happen? What should I
say when she came down the stairs? Good-evening? or only smile? I
concluded to let it rest with the smile. Of course I would bow
profoundly to her.

I stole away, a little ashamed to be there so early, wandered up Carl
Johann for a while, and kept my eyes on University Street. When the
clocks struck eight I walked once more towards St. Olav's Place. On the
way it struck me that perhaps I might arrive a few minutes too late,
and I quickened my pace as much as I could. My foot was very sore,
otherwise nothing ailed me.

I took up my place at the fountain and drew breath. I stood there a
long while and gazed up at the window of No. 2, but she did not come.
Well, I would wait; I was in no hurry. She might be delayed, and I
waited on. It couldn't well be that I had dreamt the whole thing! Had
my first meeting with her only existed in imagination the night I lay
in delirium? I began in perplexity to think over it, and wasn't at all
sure.

"Hem!" came from behind me. I heard this, and I also heard light steps
near me, but I did not turn round, I only stared up at the wide
staircase before me.

"Good-evening," came then. I forget to smile; I don't even take off my
hat at first, I am so taken aback to see her come this way.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asks. She is breathing a little
quickly after her walk.

"No, not at all; I only came a little while ago," I reply. "And
besides, would it matter if I had waited long? I expected, by-the-way,
that you would come from another direction."

"I accompanied mamma to some people. Mamma is spending the evening with
them."

"Oh, indeed," I say.

We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A policeman is standing at the
corner, looking at us.

"But, af