"All right, then."
"Will you come?" she cried, rejoicing and unable to believe her ears.
"Yes. Because you would so much like to go for walks . . . on the heath. You're nice. . . ."
He spoke gently, pityingly; and his contempt was not as great as it had been, for he looked upon her as a nice but stupid child that needed his help and his protection.
She smiled at him in return, stood up where she had been kneeling beside him, put out her hands to him, inviting him to get up from his corner also. He let her pull him up; he was a heavy weight: she drew him out of his corner like a lump of lead.
"Then we start to-morrow, Ernst?"
He nodded yes, good-naturedly: she was very nice . . . and she was longing for those walks . . . and she was so weak, so stupid, she knew nothing, saw, heard and felt nothing, absolutely nothing. He must help her and guide her and support her.
"And shall we pack a trunk now, while I am here?"
He did not understand that a trunk was necessary: he looked at her blankly; but he wanted to please her and said:
"All right. But don't make a noise."
The doctor returned.
"He's coming," she whispered. "We're going to pack his trunk."
