“Poesy!” cried the learned man.  “Yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse in large cities!  Poesy!  Yes, I have seen her—­a single short moment, but sleep came into my eyes!  She stood on the balcony and shone as the Aurora Borealis shines.  Go on, go on—­thou wert on the balcony, and went through the doorway, and then—­”

“Then I was in the antechamber,” said the shadow.  “You always sat and looked over to the antechamber.  There was no light; there was a sort of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up.  I should have been completely killed if I had gone over to the maiden; but I was circumspect, I took time to think, and that one must always do.”

“And what didst thou then see?” asked the learned man.

“I saw everything, and I shall tell all to you:  but—­it is no pride on my part—­as a free man, and with the knowledge I have, not to speak of my position in life, my excellent circumstances—­I certainly wish that you would say you* to me!”

* It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the second person singular, “Du,” (thou) when speaking to each other.  When a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other and exclaiming, “thy health,” at the same time striking their glasses together.  This is called drinking “Duus”:  they are then, “Duus Brodre,” (thou brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun “thou,” to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than “De,” (you).  Father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one another—­without regard to age or rank.  Master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior to the inferior.  But servants and inferiors do not use the same term to their masters, or superiors—­nor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or anyone with whom they are but slightly acquainted —­they then say as in English—­you.

“I beg your pardon,” said the learned man; “it is an old habit with me.  You are perfectly right, and I shall remember it; but now you must tell me all you saw!”

“Everything!” said the shadow.  “For I saw everything, and I know everything!”

“How did it look in the furthest saloon?” asked the learned man.  “Was it there as in the fresh woods?  Was it there as in a holy church?  Were the saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?”

“Everything was there!” said the shadow.  “I did not go quite in, I remained in the foremost room, in the twilight, but I stood there quite well; I saw everything, and I know everything!  I have been in the antechamber at the court of Poesy.”

“But what did you see?  Did all the gods of the olden times pass through the large saloons?  Did the old heroes combat there?  Did sweet children play there, and relate their dreams?”