And as he looks down upon the earth melting into darkness, he sees how a window is softly opened and an upturned face bends far out. From out of a pale, gleaming oval, framed in a background of shadowy hair, two dark eyes glanced up at him, slyly and mischievously.
Abruptly he stops whistling; then a teasing laugh greets his ears, and his sister-in-law's merry voice cries: "Go on, Johannes!"
And when he will not do her bidding, she points her own lips and attempts a few very imperfect notes.
Then Martin's deep bass voice becomes audible in the house, saying in a tone of paternal reproof:
"None of your nonsense, Trude! Let him sleep!"
"But he doesn't sleep," she answers, pouting like a scolded child. Then the window is shut. The voices die away.
Johannes laughingly shakes his head and goes to bed, but he cannot sleep. Those flowers prevent him which Trude has placed at his bed-side, and the leaves of which hang right over the edge of the bed. Pale bluish bunches of lilac and the nebulous white stars of narcissi are mingled together. He turns round, kneels up in bed and buries his face in the flowery depths. Fondly the leaflets kiss his eye-lids and his lips.
Suddenly he listens. From underneath the floor, as it were from the bowels of the earth, comes a quiet laugh. It is soft as a breath of wind passing over the grass, but so merry, so full of happiness.
He listens, hoping to hear it again, but all is still. "Crazy little body, you," he says amused, then falls back upon his pillow and drops to sleep smiling.
Next day Johannes fetches down his working-clothes. They are a bit tight across the shoulders. But then, one gets broader.