merrily upon the hearth. It was very pleasant in the large kitchen,
and the gray cat, a little wild, gazed at us through the balusters of
the stairs without daring to come down.

Catharine, after dinner, sang _Der liebe Gott_. She had a sweet, clear
voice, and it seemed to float to heaven. I sang low, merely to sustain
her. Aunt Gredel, who could never rest doing nothing, began spinning;
the hum of her wheel filled up the silences, and we all felt happy.
When one song was ended, we began another. At three o'clock, Aunt
Gredel served up the pancake, and as we ate it, laughing, like the
happiest of beings, she would exclaim:

"Come, come; now, you are children in reality."

She pretended to be angry, but we could see in her eyes that she was
happy from the bottom of her heart. This lasted until four o'clock,
when night began to come on apace; the darkness seemed to enter by the
little windows, and, knowing that we must soon part, we sat sadly
around the hearth on which the red flames were dancing. Catharine
pressed my hand. I would almost have given my life to remain longer.
Another half-hour passed, when Aunt Gredel cried:

"Listen, Joseph! It is time for you to go; the moon does not rise till
after midnight, and it will soon be dark as a kiln outside, and an
accident happens so easily in these great frosts."

These words seemed to fall like a bolt of ice, and I felt Catharine's
clasp tighten on my hand. But Aunt Gredel was right.

"Come," said she, rising and taking down the cloak from the wall; "you
will come again Sunday."

I had to put on the heavy shoes, the mittens, and the cloak of Monsieur
Goulden, and would have wished that I were a hundred years doing so,
but, unfortunately, Aunt Gredel assisted me. When I had the great
collar drawn up to my ears, she said:

"Now, kiss us good-by, Joseph."

I kissed her first, then Catharine, who did not say a word. After that
I opened the door and the terrible cold, entering, admonished me not to
wait.

"Hasten, Joseph," said my aunt.

"Good-night, Joseph, good-night!" cried Catharine, "and do not forget
to come Sunday."

I turned round to wave my hand; and then I ran on without raising my
head, for the cold was so intense that it brought tears to my eyes even
behind the great collar.

I ran on thus some twenty minutes, scarcely daring to breathe, when a
drunken voice called out:

"Who goes there?"

I looked through the dim night, and saw, fif