When he arrived home his mother kissed him on both cheeks, and asked, “Well, was it nice?”
“Quite nice,” he answered, “and, mamma, Elsbeth from the White House was there, too.”
Then she blushed with joy and asked all sorts of things: how she looked, whether she had grown pretty, and what she had said to him.
“Nothing at all,” he answered, ashamed; and as his mother looked at him surprised, he added, eagerly, “but you know she is not proud.”
Next Monday when he entered the church he found her already sitting in her place. She had the Bible lying on her knee, and was learning the verses they had been given as their task.
There were not many children there, and when he sat down opposite to her she made a half movement as if she meant to get up and come over to him; but she sat down again immediately and went on learning.
His mother had told him before he left just to address Elsbeth. She had charged him with many greetings for her mother, and he was to ask, too, how she was. On his way he had studied a long speech, only he was not quite decided yet whether to address her with “Du” or “Sie.” “Du” would have been the simplest; his mother took it for granted. But the “Sie” sounded decidedly more distinguished—so nice and grown up. And as he could come to no decision he avoided addressing her at all. He, too, took out his Bible, and both put their elbows on their knees and studied as if for a wager.
It was not of much use to him, because when the vicar questioned him afterwards he had forgotten every word of it.
A painful silence ensued; the Erdmanns laughed viciously, and he had to sit down again, his face burning with shame. He dared not look up any more, and when, on leaving the church, he saw Elsbeth standing at the porch as if she was waiting for something, he lowered his eyes and tried to pass her quickly. However, she stepped forward and spoke to him.
“My mother has charged me—I am to ask you—how your mother is?”