Petrea ate nothing but a pancake, with a little snow milk to it, in order that she might dance all the lighter.
"Above all things, my friends," prayed the Judge, "be precise, and be ready at half-past three; the carriages come then to the door, do not let me have to wait for you."
Precisely at half-past three the Judge went to the doors of his wife and daughters.
"Mamma! girls! it is time to go!" said he. "The clock has struck half-past three! The carriages are here!"
"Directly, directly!" was answered from all sides. The Judge waited; he knew from experience what this "directly" meant.
In the fever of his punctuality his blood began to boil, and he walked up and down the hall with great steps, talking with himself: "It is shocking, though," argued he, "that they never are ready! but I won't be angry! Even if they make me angry, I will not spoil their pleasure. But patience is necessary, more than Job had!"
Whilst he was thus moralising with himself, he heard the voice of his wife saying, with decision, in the library, "Come now, dear girls! In heaven's name, don't keep the father waiting! I know, indeed, how it annoys him——!"
"But he said nothing the day before yesterday," Petrea's voice was heard to return, "though he had then to wait for us. (I can't think what I have done with my gloves!)"
"And precisely on that account he shall not wait a moment longer for us," said the mother; "and never again, if I can help it; so, if you are not ready girls, I shall run away without you!"