As he did so, Rahel and Waldstein entered the grove, and both stood still as if petrified.
"What is this? what is this?" cried Rahel, with the rapidity of one who is frightened. "You hand in hand with Fritz,—how am I to understand this?"
"Dear sister," said Alide, "the poor fellow is begging something of me, and he has something to beg of you too; but you must forgive him beforehand."
"I do not understand," said her sister, shaking her head and looking at Max, who stood by and contemplated the scene without any kind of expression.
Alide arose and drew Goethe after her. "No hesitating," cried she,—"pardon begged and granted."
"Now do," said he, stepping near Rahel. "I have need of pardon."
She drew back, gave a loud shriek, and was covered with blushes. She then threw herself down on the grass and laughed immoderately. Waldstein smiled, and exclaimed, "You are a rare youth!" and he shook Goethe's hand. He was not usually liberal of his caresses, and his shake of the hand was hearty and cordial.
Rahel arose, and they all set out on their return to the parsonage. Mutual explanations ensued, and Goethe learned that Alide had only parted from the promenaders in order to rest in her little nook for a moment before dinner; and when the others returned to the house, the mother had sent them to call her, for dinner was ready.
"This is indeed too delightful!" cried Rahel, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "So mamma has discovered the secret, you say. Now we have still to deceive papa, and Otto, and Minna, and Hans."
Amid a great deal of merriment, they mystified the servant-man and the maid, and all four in high spirits entered the dining-room. The table was covered, and the pastor was already waiting in the room. Rahel paused on the threshold and called out, "Papa, have you any objection to Fritz dining with us to-day? But you must let him keep his hat on."