It was, perhaps, ten o'clock in the morning, and the paths were at this hour almost deserted. Only a solitary pedestrian--a young man elegantly dressed--walked leisurely and with apparent aimlessness along the paths. He seemed to be expecting some one, for he glanced impatiently now toward town, and now toward the Parkstrasse which bordered the park for some distance.
Suddenly he came toward the temple and took his stand behind it, where he could keep the path in view without being seen.
In about five minutes a young lady came from the city--a delicate, graceful figure, in dark cloak and fur cape, with her fur cap pressed closely down upon her curly head, and a muff in her hand, from which peeped a roll of music. She was passing the temple quickly, when suddenly she uttered an ejaculation of displeased surprise:
"Ah--Count Westerburg!"
The young man had approached and bowed.
"What a happy coincidence! How could I hope that Fraulein Marietta Volkmar would take so early a walk in the park!"
Marietta stood still and measured the speaker from head to foot. Her voice had a half-angry, half-contemptuous sound as she answered:
"I do not believe in this coincidence, Herr Count. You cross my path too often and persistently for that, although I have shown you sufficiently how annoying your attentions are to me."
"Yes, you are endlessly cruel to me," said the Count, reproachfully, but with undeniable impertinence. "You do not accept my calls, refuse my flowers and offerings, and do not even return my greetings when I pass you by. What have I done to you? I have ventured to lay homage at your feet in the form of jewels, which you returned to me----"
"With the request that you discontinue such impertinences once for all," interrupted the young girl vehemently. "I protest, besides, against your continued advances. You have actually lain in wait for me here."