The countess rang. A servant brought the ladies' mantles. Herr von Stielow accompanied them in their carriage to the palace of Countess Wilezek, in Wallnerstrasse. After he had taken leave of them, he walked dreamily through the evening streets of the capital.
Clear merry voices rang through the open windows of the Café Daun. The numerous officers of every branch of the service congregated there rejoiced at the prospect of war, and many cheerful voices rang out into the night, destined soon to be mute for ever.
Von Stielow hesitated for a moment before the entrance of the Café Daun, but the noisy mirth of his comrades did not suit his present mood.
He walked on. He thought over all that had occurred, and rejoiced at the quarrel which had brought him freedom.
He pursued his way along the Graben, by the rothe Thurmstrasse, and, sunk in sweet dreams, he followed the banks of the Danube. He was near the Aspern bridge. A man in a dark cloak came up to him.
"God bless me! Herr von Stielow," he cried, accosting the young officer, "you were going along as if you had become a philosopher, and were seeking the stone of wisdom."
"Good evening, dear Knaak," replied the lieutenant, holding out his hand to the well-known and favourite comic actor of the Karl Theatre, "what brings you here? Is the theatre over already?"
"I do not act to-night," replied Knaak, "and I am just going to the Hôtel de l'Europe, where all our people are to be. Come too, and laugh with us a little."
Herr von Stielow thought for a moment. He felt a repugnance to going home; he was too excited for serious conversation; how could he better pass the evening hours than with these cheerful people, who, in their merry thoughtlessness and happy natures, form an eternal world of youth in the midst of serious life.
He placed his arm within the actor's, and said:--