“Nay, Freigang, now I think of it, ’tis a holiday—and my wife and daughter must not sit down alone to table.”
“They know you are going with me; and as for leaving them alone, I have sent Friedrich to them. He will eat enough for two! So, off with your dressing-gown, and on with your coat.”
“But—”
“But me no buts! I will fetch you a valet who will make you bestir yourself!” so saying, Freigang stepped to the door, opened it, and cried—“Come in!”
A young man, small of stature, and elegantly dressed, of pale complexion, large, dark, flashing eyes, a handsome, aquiline nose, and a mouth that seemed made for music, entered quickly. The voice in which he gave cheerful greeting to Father Doles, as he sprang to his side, was music itself.
Doles started from his seat with an exclamation of joy: his grey eyes sparkled, his cheeks flushed, and as he embraced the young man, tears of delight rolled down them.
“My Wolfgang!” he cried, “my dear, good son! I am rejoiced to see you once more!”
Freigang laughed, as much as to say, “See, my point is gained now!”
Lena and her mother came in at that moment, and ran to welcome the stranger. As soon as her father had released him, the lively girl clapped her hands over his eyes, standing behind him, and cried—
“Who is this, Wolfgang—can you tell?”