Now she hastened to the table where the basket of flowers was standing and detached the note that she saw gleaming among the violets. What might the prince—one of the gondoliers of her dream—have written to her? Perhaps a declaration of love! She hastily tore open the envelope which bore a small royal coronet in gold. It was no declaration of love, but only a formal apology for having been absent the day before, which he explained “was due to the passage in Berne of an exalted personage.” Franka was possibly a little disappointed—but in reality it was better so. The one, on whose strong arm she leaned in her dream, was perhaps the other gondolier.
CHAPTER XXII
CHLODWIG HELMER’S LECTURE: THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR
On the fourth day of the Rose-Week, the auditorium was as usual filled to the last seat. At the right, on the front of the platform, a kind of proscenium-box had been set up, designed for the special guests who had signified their intention of being present,—the King of Italy and the President of the French Republic. Besides these two chief executives, there were several other members of the ruling families of Europe in the hall, but they were mingled with the other auditors. On the stage, the speaker’s desk was placed in the center, but pushed somewhat to the rear, and in the background sat as usual Mr. Toker, his daughter, and a number of his distinguished guests. Some of them, however, had preferred to listen to the exercises from the body of the house.
It was still ten minutes before the hour set for the commencement, but the hall was already packed; only the King and the President had not as yet appeared. Lively conversation buzzed through the place. Persons who naturally belonged together sat in little groups: thus, for example, the two widows, Countess Solnikova and Frau Annette Felsen, accompanied by several gentlemen, among them Marchese Rinotti and Baron de la Rochère, as if they were in their own salon; the Countess Schollendorf, Albertine, Coriolan, and Malhof formed a little Austrian colony, to which the well-known sportsman also joined himself. Franka Garlett with her companion sat in the background of a small box, just out of sight of the public.
Franka’s excitement was great. She had never heard Helmer speak in public—it was practically his first public address, and she trembled a little for him.
The Sielenburgers had not taken their departure after all. It had happened that the sleeping-coupé tickets procured were meant for the following day and consequently the involuntarily prolonged sojourn allowed them the opportunity of hearing Helmer’s address. The Countess Schollendorf was gazing about through her opera-glass. Suddenly she cried out with a startled expression: “For God’s sake, there in the third sofa in front—isn’t that the Archduke...?”
“Sh!” interrupted the sportsman. “Don’t utter the name aloud; it is certainly he, but he does not want to be recognized.”
“Still, perhaps we are mistaken,” said the Countess; “our imperial family has not much taste for such American extravagances.”
“But really, it is the Archduke; I cannot be mistaken, for he bought a horse of me once and closed the bargain himself. Besides, he is said to be a very enlightened prince.”
Coriolan flared up: “What do you call ‘enlightened’? That is a suspicious word.... Thank God, our court is nothing of the sort.”