The Freiherr had indeed been awaiting the appearance of the ladies to breakfast in the garden-room for more than an hour. Seated in his rolling-chair in his favourite spot, he was rejoicing in the beauty of the lovely morning and inhaling the mild air of spring, while, as he sipped his coffee, he received his morning visit from his son.
Arno seated himself beside his father's chair and began, as was his wont in the early hour of talk, to discuss matters connected with the estate, agricultural schemes, etc., which did not, however, appear to have the power to interest him today as deeply as usual. It almost seemed as if he were thinking of other things as he expatiated upon the new ploughs and the building of fresh stables. He now and then paused in his talk, and seemed to lose the thread of his discourse. The case seemed the same with the Freiherr. He could think of nothing but what had already occupied his mind since he arose,--the pleasant talk of the previous evening. For years he had not conversed with a lady. Celia, Frau Kaselitz, and the servant-maids were the only women with whom he ever exchanged a word. His conversation with the governess had therefore the added charm of novelty, and he had greatly enjoyed it.
Celia's appearance to wish her father good-morning interrupted, to the Baron's satisfaction, the agricultural discussion, and gave him an opportunity to ask after Fräulein Müller. Celia announced that she had listened several times at the door of her bedroom, but that she was not yet stirring.
"Evidently accustomed to late hours," Arno observed.
His words sounded like sarcasm, and instantly aroused Celia's combativeness. "Do you suppose," she said, indignantly, "that a delicately-framed woman, not used like you to hunting all night long, can endure without fatigue such a walk through the storm as Fräulein Müller took last evening? It was almost three o'clock when we went to bed, and it is now just seven. Four hours' sleep is not much after such fatigue, although you may think it sufficient for yourself. Besides, you are used to such early rising that you should not judge for others."
"Don't quarrel, children," the old Freiherr interposed; "although you are quite right, child, to take up the cudgels for your governess; she certainly has well earned a few hours of sleep. Even you, Arno, expressed your wonder last evening at her quiet endurance of so much fatigue."
"Yes, papa; is it not odious of Arno to be so unjust to Fräulein Müller, when she is so charming, so divinely beautiful, and so amiable?"
"The child is all fire and flame!" Arno remarked. "Well, well, it is nothing to me; believe that your governess is an angel of light and a miracle of amiability if you choose, only do not require me to agree with you. Your enthusiasm lightens the duty with which my friend Styrum has charged me. I found a letter from him among my papers last night announcing his betrothal to his cousin, Adèle von Guntram, and telling me that Fräulein Müller is his betrothed's most intimate friend. Here is his letter; read aloud to my father what he says of Fräulein Müller, Celia, if you like."
This Celia did most willingly. As she returned it to Arno she said reproachfully to her brother, "You do not deserve the confidence, Arno, that Count Styrum reposes in your friendship. I cannot conceive how you can judge Fräulein Müller so harshly and unjustly after such a recommendation from your dearest friend."
"Bah! his recommendation is utterly worthless; he sees with the fair Adèle's eyes, and would recommend the devil's grandmother to us if his betrothed desired it. What I did promise him was that the lady shall be annoyed by no inquiries or allusions to her past. In this respect Karl's word is all-sufficient, for not even the entreaties of his betrothed could induce him to vouch for Fräulein Müller's purity of character if the slightest blame attached to her. I know my promise will be kept by all."