"Stay with us," said Ottomar, pointing to his table, at which three or four officers and some ladies belonging to the theatre, amongst whom was Bertalda, were trying to arrange themselves. "I think there is room enough, if not we will make room."
"I am sorry," answered Justus; "but I am already engaged to a few friends there in the corner, and if our garden is not quite so brilliant as yours--yet you see we also have roses blooming."
"And magnificent ones. Who is the lady in silver grey? What a splendid figure!"
Justus laughed. "You must not betray me. Perfect carnival freedom reigns here. She is a cousin of my colleague Bunzel, alias--his model, alias----"
"Werben! Werben!" resounded from the officers' table.
"Justus! Justus!" from that of the artists'.
"Hope you will enjoy yourself," cried Ottomar.
"Same to you," said Justus; and to himself he added, "poor boy!"
He knew the sad story, and had besides heard lately from Reinhold, with whom he kept up a constant correspondence, new and worse things of Carla, which Meta, who had arrived quite unexpectedly this morning, fully confirmed.
"You will see," said Meta, "it will turn out badly. Dear Elsa suspects nothing; but I have a pair of sharp eyes, you know, and I am sure that the Count and Carla have got some understanding between them. If only Ottomar would let her go! but he is the sort of man who, if any one tries to take from him what he ought to be thankful to let go, says, 'No, not now.' He is not so sensible as we are, you know. And now make haste and be off to your great party!"