"'Tis a pity; we were just going to have such a pleasant day in the woods, instead of which we must drive to Klausenburg," Magelone said, the first morning. "For Otto's sake," she added in an undertone; and Aunt Thekla, who would rather have stayed at home, consented to go, since 'the poor boy must have some amusement.'
The one visit brought on others. At Klausenburg they received an invitation to Remmingen; at Remmingen a breakfast was arranged at Grünroda; on the fourth day there was the celebration of the Countess Elfrida's birthday at Klausenburg, and on the fifth all were to assemble at Dönninghausen for a dance.
"To celebrate Waldemar's marriage. I assure you grandpapa would be delighted," said Magelone, when Aunt Thekla looked rather dubious, and again the old lady gave way.
The Freiherr had written only once, on the day after his arrival in Vienna. The journey had been made very comfortably, he was very well, and expressed himself pleased with Waldemar's betrothed as well as with the entire Walburg family. The time of his return was undecided. The young couple were to leave for St. Petersburg immediately after the marriage, but he might pass a few days with his new connections, and would announce the day of his return in his next.
Until this letter arrived, then, Otto decided to remain in Dönninghausen, and Magelone to amuse herself as much as possible. So upon the evening of the 18th of June the castle windows shone brilliantly through the rain, a merry party assembled in the rooms, which were decked with flowers, and the dancing soon began to the sound of the piano played by the village school-master. Magelone, in airy, floating white, with white roses in her gold-gleaming curls, was, as Otto never wearied of whispering to her, the queen of the evening; and even Aunt Thekla, who had felt strangely depressed all day long, was aroused from her melancholy as she watched the pretty creature, with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, flying through the ball-room.
Otto, too, was, or seemed to be, the gayest of the gay this evening. Aunt Thekla could not tell whether to blame or to admire him. Once as he passed Johanna, who, being still in mourning, did not dance, he said, "I would rather have one quiet hour with you than all this bustle;" but was this more than a cousinly expression? and which was his true self,—the laughing, careless creature which he seemed usually, or the grave, quiet man who talked so seriously to her when they were alone together? He was just passing now with the Countess Elfrida. He must have been especially charming, for she tapped him upon the arm with her fan, after her own hail-fellow-well-met style, and laughed so loudly that the hall re-echoed.
The sight was distasteful to Johanna; she withdrew to the nearest window-recess, leaned her burning forehead against the pane, and looked out into the dripping rain. A carriage drove into the court-yard; had not the guests all arrived yet? She recognized the Thalrode hack, and when the servant, wrapped in a water-proof, who was sitting beside the driver, looked up, she thought she recognized him, and her heart seemed to stand still.
"It is not possible," she thought. At that instant Leo rushed out of the house, barking loudly, leaped down the steps, and had nearly thrown himself under the wheels of the coach. The door was opened, and Johanna saw that she had not been mistaken. The Freiherr, assisted by Christian, got out of it.
How she contrived to leave the ball-room she could not tell. She first collected her wits when she heard her grandfather's voice on the stairs, and she hurried to meet him.
"Here is Johanna," he said, coldly. At his departure he had embraced her; now he only held out his hand, which she kissed, not knowing what to say.