"Old news!"
"Well, do you know, too, that Oldenburg is going to be married?"
"Nonsense!"
"You may rely upon it. I have it from the Barnewitz. She surely must know."
"Is Oldenburg coming to-night?"
"Felix said he had promised to come; but Oldenburg has his own ways."
Melitta's return and her husband's death were discussed in other circles also besides those of the young men. Melitta was one of the most popular ladies in society, and yet she had, strange enough, few enemies and rivals. Now and then people spoke of her "eccentricities," of a desire to be apart and different from others; some said she was too learned, others, she was coquetting with liberal politicians--but generally her loveliness, her kindness, and unpretending manners were readily acknowledged. Aside from such remarks, moreover, the charms of her person were above all criticism. Hence, everybody seemed to be glad that she had at last been relieved of the terrible burden, which she had borne so sweetly, and was eager to know whom she would make happy by giving him her hand. For no one doubted that so young a widow would soon marry again. In some indefinite way a report had of late obtained currency that Baron Oldenburg had the best prospect; it was even whispered quite secretly, and as a mere on dit, for which no one wished to be held responsible, that the intimacy between the baron and Melitta was of old date, and that Baron Berkow had lost his mind very opportunely. A few details even were mentioned, by those who claimed to be particularly well informed, which could not have been true without compromising Melitta's reputation very seriously. No one knew with whom these reports originated. The sharp-sighted observers, again, ascribed them to Hortense Barnewitz, who, they said, had thus avenged herself on Oldenburg for a piece of advice he had given Cloten, which had led the latter in his blind obedience to find himself engaged to Emily Breesen before he well knew what he was doing.
In the mean time eight o'clock had come, and with it the hour at which the ball was to commence. The baroness opened it with Count Grieben. Count Grieben found it difficult to make himself heard, in spite of his screaming voice, as the music preceded them during the old-fashioned polonaise through all the rooms, and then, thanks to a happy inspiration of his genius, across the lawn, through the darkest parts of the garden, and back again into the principal ball-room, where it ended in a solemn slow waltz.
"That is a good old fashion, baroness!" he screamed, delighted, into his partner's ear; "my sainted father had it so, and my sainted grandfather, and a great many more, no doubt. The old ones knew a thing or two. Young folks are stupid folks. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, indeed, indeed!" replied the baroness.