'Who was it? Did he tell you all these things? Where is he?'
'He is gone.—Now it is Robinetta—no one but Robinetta—only Robinetta.'
He took her arm and laid his head against it.
'Silly boy!' she said, laughing, 'I will make you find the Book; I know where it is.'
'But then I must go to fetch the key, and it is a long way off.'
'No, no, you need not. I can find it without the key.—To-morrow, I promise you, to-morrow.'
And as they walked homewards, the butterflies flitted in front of them.
That night, Johannes dreamed of his father, of Robinetta, and of many others. They were all good friends; they stood round him and looked at him kindly and trustfully. But on a sudden, their faces were changed, they looked coldly and laughed at him. He gazed about him in terror—on all sides there were none but angry, unfriendly faces. He felt a nameless misery, and awoke with a cry.