CHAPTER XII.
"Not so fast, Cziko," cried Oswald, loosening his coat from the thorns of a bush; "have a little consideration for my state of civilization."
The boy went more slowly, but always kept at a distance from the stranger. Oswald tried in vain to engage him in a conversation, whilst he was busy pushing the branches aside, through which the boy had just slipped before him like a wildcat. Thus they might have been walking on for a quarter of an hour when they found themselves suddenly in a small wood, which probably belonged already to the park of Berkow. The paths were carefully kept; here and there a well-chosen seat, or a weather-beaten Hermes pillar; everywhere traces of the hand of man. Then they came to a wider road, which was probably the continuation of that road on which Oswald had walked at first, and soon after to a pair of iron gates, which opened upon a fine court-yard. Cziko stopped suddenly; he pointed silently to the gates, bowed with crossed arms to Oswald, and ran back into the bushes, behind which he was almost instantly concealed.
"A mysterious beginning," said the young man to himself, as he walked slowly, almost hesitatingly, towards the gates. "I wonder if it is the after-effect of my strange encounter with those gypsies, or an anticipation of what is to befall me here which gives me such a strange feeling. Perhaps I had, after all, done better to accept the carriage which the old baron offered me yesterday. I might have escaped the minister and his Primula, and, at all events, I should not arrive here in a sadly neglected and disordered costume, after the manner of a vagabond, but in state, drawn by two magnificent bays. Well, well! A man is a man for a' that, and Melitta, if I am not grievously mistaken, prefers the kernel to the shell of the nut."
He opened the gates, which were not locked, and entered the court-yard. A huge Newfoundland dog who had been lying on the grass rose slowly when he heard the gates grating on their hinges, and came up to Oswald wagging his tail. "Well, here at least I meet with a kindly welcome," said the young man to himself, caressing the enormous animal. On the right hand he noticed a bright garden, separated by a low fence, in a line with the front of the mansion. It was a low house of two stories, very simple, but rather picturesque, thanks to a massive stone balcony over the front-door, and two superb linden-trees just in front. The three other sides of the large square were filled with offices and farm-buildings. A low fence and a row of dwarf fruit-trees formed a line of division between the court-yard and the lawn immediately before the house. As Oswald walked along the front of the house, he saw the high windows open; but there seemed to be nobody in the fine rooms beyond. The front-door was also open, and allowed him to look into a noble hall with a floor of colored marble. A large hall-clock alone broke the deep silence with its slow ticking. The court-yard even was buried in silence. The whole place looked deserted, and only the sparrows were twittering and making quite a noise in the linden-trees, and the swallows flitted low under the eaves to their young in the nests, and then as swiftly shot back again for more food.
"There is probably no one at home," thought Oswald. "You have made the long journey for nothing. Or can you perhaps tell me where your mistress is, my good dog? Shall we look in the garden?"
The dog looked as if he had understood Oswald's question, and trotted off towards a gate close by the house, which evidently led into the garden; there he stopped and looked round at the stranger.
"Then she is in the garden?"
Oswald opened the gate. The dog ran before him past a number of flower-beds into a narrow walk with hedges on either side, down to a flight of steps, which led through the hedge upon a kind of terrace. There he once more looked round at Oswald. Then he ran up the steps. Oswald followed.
The creature had disappeared in a group of tall, blooming shrubs. In the mean time the young man had advanced a few steps, and there a picture presented itself to his eyes which fixed him motionless to the spot. He looked upon a small open space which was framed in on two sides by the tall hedges that enclosed the whole terrace. In the centre a huge pine-tree with broad-spreading branches rose in full might like a lance. At the foot of the tree, and upon the carpet of brown leaves, stood a round garden-table and a few chairs. In one of these chairs Melitta was sitting, surrounded by the soft dreamy light of the summer afternoon, her head resting on one hand and the other mechanically caressing the dog, who was pressing closely to his mistress. She wore a white dress, which fell in graceful folds around her, and concealed her shoulders and her bosom but just enough to betray their charming outlines. On the table lay a glove, a broad-brimmed straw hat, and an open book.