"Why lucky?"
"He is what he looks, a man of the day; we are ghosts of the middle ages. Consequently it is he who is looked upon as the ghost amongst us; but it is not his fault."
"Then in this terrible rupture between him and my uncle you take his side?"
"We are not asked our opinion at home; you will see that by-and-by."
"I can do that now," thought Reinhold, as Ferdinanda again sank back amongst the cushions. "Ghosts, however, are not my favourite companions, particularly on such a bright sunny day. There are so many lovable people in the world--sweet Cilli, for instance. Whatever a man expects he finds."
As though he wished in all haste to make up this morning for any previous neglect, he now tried to fix his thoughts upon the image which he imagined was always present to his mind, but which now he could not call up before his eyes.
"That is all the fault of these crowds," said he angrily.
And certainly they were in a very disagreeable crowd. A regiment with its noisy band was marching down the Friedrichstrasse, cutting across under the trees. The stream of passers-by stood back on both sides, especially near the carriage. Police, mounted and on foot, tried to keep order amongst them with right goodwill, and to keep back the crowds which occasionally expressed their impatience loudly.
Even Ferdinanda seemed to be impatient at the long stoppage. She looked at her watch. "Half-past twelve already," she murmured; "we are losing precious time." At last came the tail of the battalion, just as the head of another left the Friedrichstrasse, with its band playing, and the crowds let free pushed and struggled vehemently against each other in the small space left between.
"Go on! go on, Johann!" cried Ferdinanda, with an eagerness which Reinhold could only attribute to the nervousness she might have felt.