The baron carried on his undertaking with the greatest possible spirit. He superintended the burning of the bricks; he himself marked the trees destined to be cut down for the building. Ehrenthal had recommended a builder, and the baron had found out a manager for the concern. He had made careful inquiries as to this man's past career, and congratulated himself upon the amount of his theoretical knowledge. Possibly this was not wholly an advantage, for plain practical men declared that he could never let a factory go quietly on, but was always interrupting the daily work with new inventions and contrivances, and was therefore both expensive and unsafe. But the baron, naturally enough, considered his probity and intelligence to be the main point, and valued the theoretical skill of the manager in proportion to his own ignorance.
Pleasant as his prospects were, there were yet many drawbacks. Order and comfort had flown away with the storks, who had for years been accustomed to make their nests on the great barn. Every body suffered from the new undertaking. The baroness lost a corner of the park, and had the grief of seeing a dozen noble old trees felled. The gardener wrung his hands over the thefts committed by the strange laborers that swarmed in all directions. The bailiff was in perfect despair at the disorders in his jurisdiction. His horses and oxen were taken from him to carry timber when he wanted them to plow. The wants of the household increased; the returns from the property became less and less. Lenore had much to do to comfort him, and brought him many pounds of tobacco from the town, that he might smoke off his annoyance. But the heaviest burden of course pressed upon the baron himself. His study was now become a place of public resort, like any tradesman's shop. He had to give advice, to come to a decision, to overcome difficulties in a dozen directions at once. He went almost daily to town, and when he returned he was absent and morose in the midst of his family. His was a fair hope indeed, but it was one very difficult to realize.
The baron found some comfort, however, in Ehrenthal's cheerful devotedness. He was always useful, and fertile in expedient, and never appeared doubtful as to the result of the undertaking. He was now a frequent visitor, welcome to the master of the house, but less so to the ladies, who suspected him of having been the prompter of the factory scheme.
One sunny day, Ehrenthal, with shirt-frill and diamond pin, made his appearance in his son's room. "Will you drive with me to-day to the Rothsattel's Castle, my Bernhard? I told the baron that I should bring you with me to introduce you to the family."
Bernhard sprang up from his seat. "But, father, I am an utter stranger to them all."
"When you have seen and spoken to them, you will no longer be a stranger," replied his father. "They are good people—good people," added he, benevolently.
Bernhard had still some modest scruples, but they were overruled, and the two set out together—the pale student in much excitement at the novelty of the drive, and the prospect of seeing a renowned beauty like Lenore.
Meanwhile, his father overflowed with the praises of the family. "Noble people," said he; "if you could only see the baroness as she is in her lace cap, so delicate and so refined! Too refined for this world as it is! Every thing so elegant! To be sure, the pieces of sugar are too large, and the wine is too dear, but it all seems of a piece with their rank."
"Is Fräulein Lenore a great beauty?" inquired Bernhard. "Is she very proud?"
"She is proud, but she is a beauty indeed. Between ourselves, I admire her more than Rosalie."