Every morning he was pushed into this room in his rolling-chair from his bedroom, for his right foot was so lame from the gout that he could not walk. Here he assembled his family about him, here the daily meals were eaten, and only late in the evening was he rolled back again to his bedroom by his servant or by his son Arno. Every day he sat at the open doors, gazing out into the garden. In former years he had devoted much time to his garden; he was enthusiastically fond of flowers, but since the gout had confined him to his rolling-chair he had been forced to content himself with merely superintending the gardeners, to whom from time to time he would shout down his orders. It was but seldom that he could be taken out into the garden among his flowers, for the slightest motion occasioned him great pain.
On the afternoon of a lovely day in May the Freiherr was seated in his favourite spot, looking abroad into the garden, where his beloved flowers were budding gloriously, and delighting in their beauty and the mild air of spring. He was in the most contented of moods; his book was laid aside; he could read at any time; storms did not interfere with that. His keen gaze wandered with intense enjoyment from shrub to shrub; most of them he had planted himself, and his interest was unflagging in watching their daily development from bud to blossom.
If the Assessor von Hahn could have seen the Freiherr at this moment he would hardly have recognized the gloomy misanthrope in this kindly old man with genial smile and gentle eyes; but the next moment the expression of the mobile features changed, the genial smile vanished, the brow was contracted in a frown, the dark eyes sparkled with irritation.
It was the sound of a distant post-horn that caused this sudden change in the Baron's expression. The old man listened. An extra post! He had not heard the signal for a long time, but in former years his ears had been familiar enough with it; he could not be deceived. A visit was impending, for the road led only to Castle Hohenwald and ended there; any traveller upon it must have the castle for his goal. Again the signal sounded, rather nearer; the postilion was evidently determined that the castle should be thoroughly apprised of the visitor at hand.
The Freiherr picked up a bell from the table beside him and rang it loudly. A servant instantly appeared at the door leading into the hall. "Did you hear that, Franz?" his master angrily exclaimed. "Did you hear that? An extra post!"
"It cannot be, sir," old Franz calmly replied. "Who is there to come to us?"
"That's just it. Who can have the insolence? But there; hear it for yourself. The cursed postilion is blowing with all the force of his lungs just to vex me."
"Can it be possible?" old Franz exclaimed, in the greatest astonishment, as he hearkened to the postilion's horn now sounding much nearer.
"No doubt of it! A visit! Such insolence is insufferable! Do they think me old and childish? Whoever it may be will find himself mistaken. Hurry, Franz, to the castle gate; you know what to say. I receive no one; I'm sick,--I cannot see anybody. The carriage must turn round and go back; whoever it may be, don't let them get out. Call the gardener and old John to help you, if you need them. Go; be quick. In a few minutes that carriage will be here."
The old man looked very angry as he shouted out these orders; his dark eyes flashed from beneath the bushy snow-white eyebrows. With one hand he stroked, as was his habit when vexed, his full silver beard, with the other he rapped upon the small table beside him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he growled to the man, who still stood hesitating at the door.