The _attaché_ had just finished a letter to his brother; it was one of
these wearisome business letters, enclosing some papers he had had to
sign. He never could make out where the proper place was for him to put
his name on these tiresome, long-winded documents. But, wonderful to
relate, his brother always told him that it was perfectly correct, and
Christian Frederick was most particular in such matters. The old
gentleman had just sent off the letter, and was beginning to breathe
more easily, when he went to the window and looked out. He discovered
two forms going in a northerly direction over the sand-hills.

Half abstractedly, he went to the other window and directed the large
telestope upon them.

"Humph!" said he, "I declare, they're there again."

Suddenly he took his eye from the telescope.

"Hulloa! the girl must be mad."

He put his eye down again to the telescope, and threw away his
cigarette. There was no doubt about it--there was his own Madeleine
hanging round Per's neck. He rubbed the glass excitedly with his
pocket-handkerchief. They were now going respectably enough side by
side; now they were among the grassy knolls, and behind one of them they
disappeared from his sight. He thoughtfully directed the telescope to
the other side of the hillock and waited. "What now?" muttered he,
giving the glass another rub. They had not yet come from behind the
hillock. For a few minutes the father was quite nervous. At last he saw
one form raise itself, and immediately after another.