"I beg your pardon," he said, offering Oswald his hand, which the latter took with some hesitation, "that I present myself thus unannounced, and coming, like Nicodemus, by night. But I have this moment returned from my journey, and learnt from a servant who passed me in the hall, with a waiter full of glasses and cups, that you had gone up to your room. The man had just time to tell me the way, and to go on with his glasses.--And here I am, and, as I said, delighted to find you so merry; otherwise I should hardly have the courage to tell you what brings me here. Do you know where we were a month ago this day? It is the night which the Brown Countess appointed for our rendezvous. If you are still sufficiently interested in myself and our little ward to follow me, we can go to the appointed place."
"I shall be at your disposal in a few minutes," said Oswald; "permit me only to change my dress."
He took one of the two candles that stood on the table and went into the adjoining room.
"Dress yourself warm," cried Oldenburg after him; "it is very cool now towards morning, especially in the woods."
"Hm!" he murmured, when Oswald had left him; "he looks pale and haggard, and was less friendly than usual. I hope he has heard nothing of my having been at Fichtenau. I wanted to keep it from him. I must try to find it out. It would be unpleasant, for I do not like to talk to anybody about Melitta and myself, and least of all to him."
In the mean time Oswald said, while dressing, to himself:
"Now, be wise as the serpent. If you play with me, I can play with you."
He came back to Oldenburg.
"I am ready."
"Then let us go.--My carriage is at the door," said the baron, as they went down the staircase that led into the garden. "The Czika is sitting inside, wrapped in my cloak. Don't you agree with me that it is better to take the child with us to the interview? If the gypsy woman is really the child's mother, we owe her at least this attention. At all events she can see that the child is alive and well, and tolerably well contented with her new home.--But what does all this stir mean at the château? Anna Maria is not ordinarily a friend of festivities. Did Malte run away and come back, and is this the feast of the fatted calf?"