There was evidently abundant food for gossip to-night.
The intimacy between Baron Cloten and Baron Barnewitz's lovely, but dangerous wife, Hortense, had of course remained no secret in a society so full of spies and tale bearers, and the last large party at Barnewitz, with its unpleasant scenes between Cloten and Hortense's husband, during which the unlucky lady fainted so inopportunely, had lifted the last thin veil from this liaison. Everybody, therefore, was full of curiosity to see how Hortense would bear her loss, and especially to find out whom the blonde Loreley would choose for Cloten's successor. Some supposed it would be Count Grieben, others Adolphus Breesen. Both were equally eager to win the good-will of the dangerous Circe. The former was a rejected lover of Emily's, and therefore seemed to be specially fitted to become Cloten's successor; the latter was by far the handsomest and cleverest young man in the whole set--qualities which Hortense, with her own cleverness, appreciated fully.
"I bet upon Grieben," said young Sylow; "a basket of champagne. Who takes the bet?"
"I," cried Nadelitz; "pshaw! Don't I know Breesen?"
"Six bottles forfeit, up to the cotillon to-night?"
"Ha, ha! Do you hear? He is losing courage already; but I take it. Done!"
"Really a famous woman, the Barnewitz," said Hans Pluggen; "I wish I were one of the candidates!"
"Well, that wouldn't be so very difficult," said somebody else.
"I cannot imagine what you see in the Barnewitz," replied young Sylow. "Now, if it were the Berkow! I wish she were here!"
"I dare say there are plenty who wish so," said one, laughing. "But you know, I suppose, that Berkow is dead and the widow has come back?"