The door opened.
"Till next time!" whispered Oswald.
"Till next time!" replied Helen, in a still lower tone. Oswald thought she mentioned his name also. The next instant she had disappeared in the house.
Oswald went back into the town in a state of excitement which was by no means altogether joyous. Pure, chaste joy could no longer enter his heart--as little as we are able to play a correct air upon an instrument out of tune.
Thus he reached town. Where Market street opens upon the square all the windows were brilliantly lighted up in the corner house, carriage after carriage drove up to the door, dressed-up ladies and gentlemen stepped out and disappeared under the lofty portal. When Oswald, walking close to the house, had come immediately in front of me door, another carriage was driving up. The driver checked the fiery horses too violently, and the servant, who was just jumping down from the box, was thrown violently upon the ground. He gathered himself up immediately, but the pain was probably too great--he remained immovable, as if stunned. Oswald, who had seen that there was only a lady in the coupé, who had already risen, expecting the door to be opened, seized the bolt, opened the door, and offered his hand to the lady, who, placing her hand in the well-fitting white glove unsuspiciously upon his arm, came down in a cloud of tulle and laces.
At that moment the light from the interior of the house fell brightly upon the lady and Oswald, and the former uttered a cry, remaining motionless, and staring at Oswald with wide, open eyes.
A deep blush overspread her face, her eyes flamed up--was it love or was it hatred, who knows? Her lips trembled; evidently she had been overcome with surprise.
The poor servant, who came limping up, hat in hand, broke the charm.
"Pardon me, my lady----"
Oswald's face showed an ironical smile.