"N.B. N.B.
"After the conclusion of the festival, an impromptu dance for young people will take place in the Town Hall. Tickets, three shillings each. The surplus will be devoted to the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field. Mrs. Emma Jansen and Mrs. Emilie Rantzau have kindly consented to act as hostesses."
Mrs. Heidt started up in a fury, and declared it was a disgraceful piece of trickery on the part of that Emilie Rantzau. She could forgive Mrs. Jansen, perhaps, as being too much of a simpleton herself to see through the artful meanness of the whole thing.
On Sunday evening, after the festival, all the young people and a number of the older ones flocked to the Town Hall, where Mrs. Rantzau received them with her most winning smile.
Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen went each to their several homes, boiling with indignation; they had not even been invited to look on.
Some few there were, perhaps, who failed to see any immediate connection between a Peace Festival and the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field, but all enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and that, after all, was the main thing.
Emilie Rantzau was the queen of the ball, and well aware of it. She felt she had vanquished her rivals now, and was left in victorious possession of the field. One thing, however, caused her some slight anxiety, and that was that Nickelsen did not put in an appearance, though he had promised to come on later—what could it mean?
Old Nick was sitting at home, deep in thought, and with him were Thor Smith, Nachmann and Warden Prois.
"You must see and get clear of this, Nickelsen," said Prois warmly, laying one hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, I suppose I must. But the worst of it is, I've got fond of her, you see, and I've been hoping she'd brighten up the few years I've got left."