With these words, through which, spite of their disguise of assumed grumbling, the pride he felt in his son and his tender love for him showed all too plainly, the old man seized Ulric's arm and led him away.
CHAPTER IV.
Evening was drawing on. The festivities on the Berkow estates had been participated in by the bridal pair, and, so far at least, had attained their end. After the happy termination of that perilous incident which had so nearly compromised the whole proceedings, the original programme had been strictly adhered to. The young couple, everywhere in requisition during the afternoon, found themselves at last at home, and left to each other's company. Herr Schäffer had just taken his leave, he was to return to the elder Herr Berkow in the city the following morning; and the servant, who had been busy with the arrangements of the tea-table, now disappeared in his turn.
The lamp on the table shed its clear mild light on the pale blue draperies and costly furniture of the little salon, which, like all the other rooms in the house, had been newly and splendidly decorated for the reception of the new mistress, and formed part of the suite appropriated to her use. The silk curtains, closely drawn, shut from it the outer world; flowers filled the stands and vases, perfuming the air, and on a table before a little sofa stood the silver tea-service ready for use. In spite of all the splendour, it was a perfect little picture of domestic comfort.
So far, at least, as the boudoir itself was concerned; but the newly married couple hardly seemed as yet to appreciate its home-like charm. The bride, still in full dress, stood in the middle of the room musing, and holding in her hand the bouquet which Wilberg, in Martha's stead, had had the happiness of offering her. The scent from the orange-blossoms engrossed her attention so completely, that she had none left for her husband, and he certainly made no very vigorous claim upon it. Scarcely had the door closed behind the footman, when he sank into an armchair with an air of exhaustion.
"It is enough to kill one, this making a show of one's self for ever! Is not it, Eugénie? They have not granted us a minute's respite since yesterday at noon. First the ceremony, then the dinner, then a most fatiguing journey by rail and post, which went on all through the night and forenoon of to-day, then the tragic episode; here again a reception, presentation of officials, dinner.... My father did not remember evidently, when he sketched out the programme, that we possess anything like nerves. I own that mine are completely unstrung!"
His wife turned her head and cast a very contemptuous glance at the man, who, in his first tête-à-tête with her, could talk of his nerves. Eugénie did not appear to have much knowledge of such ailments; not a trace of fatigue was to be seen on her fair face.
"Have you heard whether young Hartmann's wound is dangerous?" asked she by way of answer.
Arthur had exerted himself to make an exceptionally long speech; he seemed surprised that it had obtained so little notice.
"Schäffer says it is nothing," he returned indifferently; "he has spoken to the doctor, I think. By the by, we shall have to make the young fellow some sort of recognition. I shall commission the Director to see about it."