A fringe of sausages hung from the roof; red bedding was scorching in the sunshine; three cats were sunning themselves on the steps; a young woman sat in the green balcony knitting.

There were some curious inscriptions on the walls of the chalet, and the date was distinctly marked, "1670." An old woman over the way sat in her doorway spinning.

She looked up as the sledge stopped before the Gasthaus; but the young woman in the green balcony went on knitting, and saw nothing.
A buxom elderly Hausfrau, came out to greet the guests.

She wore a naturally kind expression on her old face, but when she saw who the gentleman was, the kindness positive increased to kindness superlative.
She first retired and called out: "Liza, Fritz, Liza, Truedchen, come quickly!" Then she came back, and cried: "Herr Allitsen, what a surprise!" She shook his hand times without number, greeted Bernardine with motherly tenderness, and interspersed all her remarks with frantic cries of "Liza, Fritz, Truedchen, make haste!" She became very hot and excited, and gesticulated violently.
All this time the young woman sat knitting, but not looking up.

She had been beautiful, but her face was worn now, and her eyes had that vacant stare which betokened the vacant mind.
The mother whispered to Robert Allitsen: "She notices no one now; she sits there always waiting." Tears came into the kind old eyes.
Robert Allitsen went and bent down to the young woman, and held out his hand.
"Catharina," he said gently.
She looked up then, and saw him, and recognized him.
Then the sad face smiled a welcome.
He sat near her, and took her knitting in his hand, pretending to examine what she had done, chatting to her quietly all the time.