There came a few sharp, ticking sounds as of scissors and nail-files that were being put down on the ringing marble. Gerrit breathed again. But, when everything became silent once more, Gerrit, after an interval, cried:
"Paul!"
"Yes?"
"Will you soon be ready now?"
"Yes, yes, but don't be impatient. I'm shaving. You wouldn't have me cut myself?"
"No, of course not. But we must look sharp: you don't know what sort of state Ernst may be in."
Paul did not answer; and Gerrit heard nothing more, except the swish of the rain. He heaved a deep sigh, moved about restlessly, stretching out his long legs. After some minutes, which seemed hours to Gerrit, Paul opened the door, but closed it again at once:
"Gerrit, will you please shut the window!" he cried, angrily.
Gerrit fastened the window; the rain no longer pattered into the room. Paul now came in: he was in a sleeveless flannel vest and knitted-silk drawers; a pair of striped socks clung tightly to his ankles; his feet were in slippers.
"Good Lord, my dear chap, have you only got as far as that?" asked Gerrit, irritably.