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Asta.
Keep your arm still—then I won't prick you.
Allmers.
[With a half-smile.] This is like the old days.
Asta.
Yes, don't you think so?
Allmers.
When you were a little girl you used to sit just like this, mending my clothes. The first thing you ever sewed for me—that was black crape, too.
Asta.
Was it?
Allmers.
Round my student's cap—at the time of father's death.
Asta.
Could I sew then? Fancy, I have forgotten it.
Allmers.
Oh, you were such a little thing then.
Asta.
Yes, I was little then.
Allmers.
And then, two years afterwards—when we lost your mother—then again you sewed a big crape band on my sleeve.
