“To-day they shall not escape me,” he said, and as he found the gate locked again, he lay down and crept through underneath the fence, as he had seen dogs do.
The windows of the manor-house were brightly lighted up, but as the curtains had been let down, nothing could be seen of the room inside; only snatches of song and laughter floated out into the open air. The house door stood open. He stopped for a moment in the dark hall to stifle the beating of his heart; then he knocked.
Ulrich’s voice called out, “Come in!”
There lay the two brothers, stretched out on a long sofa, the feet of the one near the head of the other, a picture of perfect peace of mind and serenity of soul. Each of them balanced a big glass of grog on the palm of his hand, and before them on the table stood a steaming punch-bowl.
They were so startled at the sight of him that they forgot to get up. They were petrified, and remained lying as they were and staring at him.
“I say!” cried Ulrich, who was the first to recover his speech, and Fritz let his glass fall jingling to the ground.
Then the one stooped down and gathered up the fragments of glass with great zeal.
“You can well imagine why I come,” said Paul, slowly stepping to the table in his snow-sprinkled garments.
“No!” said Ulrich, who slowly raised himself.
“No idea,” chimed in Fritz, who wisely retired behind his brother’s back.