“It is difficult to say anything against that,” replied Wilhelm; “yet what you assert I have not heard from any other person.”
“When a soldier is executed they play some lively air,” said Otto; “the contrast in this case brings forth the strongest effect!”
The servant now entered, and said with a smile that Peter Cripple, the “new-married man,” as he called him, was without and wished to speak to the Baron Wilhelm.
“It is about a waltz,” said he, “which the Baron had promised to him!”
“It is late for him to come into the court!” said Sophie “the peasants generally go to bed with the sun.”
In the lobby stood the announced Peter in his stocking-feet, with his hat in one hand and a great stick in the other. He knew, he said, that it was still daytime with the gentlefolks; he was just coming past the hall and thought that he could, perhaps, have that Copenhagen Waltz which the Baron had promised him: he should want it to-morrow night to play at a wedding, and, therefore, he wished to have it now that he might practice it first of all.
Sophie inquired after his young wife, and said something merry. Louise gave him a cup of tea, which he drank in the lobby. Otto looked at him through the open door; he made comical grimaces, and looked almost as if he wished to speak with him. Otto approached him, and Peter thrust a piece of paper into his hand, making at the same time a significant gesture indicative of silence.
Otto stepped aside and examined the dirty piece of paper, which was folded together like a powder and sealed with a lump of wax. On the outside stood, in scarcely legible characters,
“TotH’ WeL-borne,
Mr. Odto Tustraab.”
He endeavored, in the first place, to read it in the moonlight; but that was scarcely possible.