She did not reply, but silently took the chair next to him.
The candidate gave the young people a glance of disapproval, as he seated himself beside the young lady of the house.
The cheerful spirits that usually prevailed in the old castle at Blechow were to-day quite wanting. The conversation was forced. No one said what he thought, and no one thought what he said. The jokes, which the president sometimes attempted with an effort, fell flat, like spent rockets; and many quiet tears fell into Madame von Wendenstein's plate. The lieutenant drew out his watch.
"Time is up," he said, "will you excuse me, mother? John, my horse."
They all rose.
"Yet one request," said the lieutenant, "sing me one song before I leave, Miss Helena. You know how much I like to hear you sing, and to-day I must carry away the happiest recollection of my dear home."
A slight shiver seemed to run through the young girl's slender frame. She made a movement with her hand as if to refuse.
"I beg it," he said in a low voice.
The president opened the piano, and Helena soon sat before it, led thither by Miss von Wendenstein. The lieutenant leaned against the door opening into the garden, through which there still came the clear twilight that lasts so far into the nights of June.
Helena placed her hands upon the notes and gazed straight before her.