"We're now just coming to Plato," Edwin forced himself to answer in a jesting tone. "Whether my pupil, in spite of her studies of hedges and lagunes, has sufficiently elevated thoughts to develop a taste for our 'tun' philosophy, I greatly doubt."
Meantime Franzelius, walking slowly down stairs, as if every step cost him a fresh resolution, had just reached the front of the house. When he came to the glass door that led into the shop, he suddenly stopped.
In the chair behind the show window, where Madame Feyertag was usually enthroned, sat Reginchen. It was already very dark in this corner, for the gas in the shop was usually not lighted in summer, and September, according to the Feyertag calendar, belonged to the summer months; yet notwithstanding this, the printer had perceived at the first glance who it was that sat in the corner knitting a stocking.
He seemed to struggle with himself a moment, then softly opened the door and with a: "Good evening, Fräulein Reginchen!" entered the shop.
"Oh! dear, how you frightened me!" cried the young girl, starting from her seat.
"I beg your pardon," stammered Franzelius, "I ought to have knocked. But I have so many things to think of--sit still, Fraulein Reginchen, I--I only wanted--I came--"
He clutched his cap convulsively in one hand, and was brushing the brim with his elbow.
"My mother has gone out," said Reginchen, to make a little conversation. "But father is still in the work room. If you want to speak to him--"
"Oh no--but allow me--" He picked up the knitting she had dropped, but in so doing let his cap fall, and as she now stooped for it, their heads came in contact somewhat violently. He blushed crimson, but she burst into a merry laugh.
"That's owing to the short days," said she. "But father is anxious to save the gas. I drop so many stitches!"