Early the next morning, Balduin met his sister at the station. He felt it was up to him to enlighten her about the situation, and also that they, the younger generation, should look at the episode from their perspective on the way home, before facing the judgment of the adults — for he considered himself to be her first and most natural protector. Throughout this matter, because it did not plunge him into nervous confusion, Balduin acted admirably.

Yet what he was firmly counting on — Gitta's mischievous face — was disappointingly missing. Alighting from the train, she bore a gruesomely serious, even gloomy expression. As they headed home, she listened silently to his comments and was far more monosyllabic and morose than he thought she ought to have been. The closer they came to the hillside house, huddled under Balduin's large umbrella in the pelting rain, the more oppressive he found her guilty-looking, hangdog face. He had rarely seen Gitta plagued by such a bad conscience — and certainly none so patently bad as this. The vice of laughter was actually her strong suit.

In the entryway, Anneliese greeted them, helped her daughter out of her wet coat, and said: “Good morning, Gitta child, good to have you back!”

Yet that was meant as a public greeting for all eyes and ears, which now had to be followed by the agonizing embarrassment of an interrogation in Father's private chambers. Balduin, because of his extensive knowledge of the matter, was willingly admitted into the room, a gesture of trust that struck him as very fine. Standing by the doorway, not without a feeling of trepidation, he waited to hear what Gitta would reveal.

“How in the world did this impudent person come to jump into your compartment?” Branhardt asked, without any introduction.

“The poor fellow! He was quite dreadfully shocked himself, you can be sure. I’ve never seen anyone look so bewildered.” She faltered. How should she go on now? “We were both terribly shocked. He would have loved to jump back out the window! — God, he was in love with his wife and on his honeymoon. And there really was no wagon coming back from Hasling — except one carrying pigs.