"And do you think that Herr von Fink will follow your advice?"
"I do not know. My advice was not very American."
"But it was worthy of you," cried Sabine, with proud delight.
"An officer wishes to speak to Mr. Wohlfart," said a servant at the door.
Anton sprang up. Sabine went to her flowers and bent mournfully over them. The shadows of others hovered still between her friend and her.
The few words spoken by the servant filled Anton with a vague terror. He hurried into the ante-room: there stood Eugene von Rothsattel. Anton was gladly rushing forward to greet him, but the young soldier's face of agony made him start back. He whispered, "My mother wishes to speak to you; something dreadful has occurred." Anton caught up his hat, ran into the office, hurriedly asked Baumann to excuse him to the principal, and then accompanied the lieutenant to the baron's house.
On the way, Eugene, who had lost all self-command, said unconnectedly to Anton, "My father last night accidentally wounded himself by a pistol-shot—a messenger was sent to summon me—when I came, I found my mother in a swoon—my sister and I do not know what to do—Lenore implored my mother on her knees to send for you—you are the only one in whom we have any confidence in our distress—I understand nothing about business, but my father's affairs must be in a dreadful state—my mother is beside herself—the whole house is in the greatest disorder."
From what Eugene said and what he did not say; from his broken sentences and his look of agony, Anton guessed at the horrors of the previous evening. In the boudoir of the baroness he found Lenore, weeping and exhausted.
"Dear Wohlfart!" cried she, taking his hand and beginning again to sob, while her head sank powerless on his shoulder.
Meanwhile Eugene walked up and down, wringing his hands, and at length throwing himself on the sofa, he gave himself up to silent tears.