“And in order that you may have each other all to yourselves, children,” said the old man, “you two shall drive home, and I will meanwhile drink a bottle of claret to the health of my successor. I am well off, for I retire from business this day.”
“Mr. Douglas!” exclaimed Paul, terrified.
“Father, I am called—do you understand? Let me be fetched towards evening. You are now master at home. Good-bye.”
With that he strode down the steps.
“Come,” said Paul, gently, with downcast eyes. Elsbeth went after him with a shy smile, for now when they were alone neither dared to approach the other.
And then they drove silently out onto the sunny, flowery heath.... Wild pinks, bluebells, and ground-ivy wove themselves into a many-colored carpet, and the white meadowsweet lifted its waving blossoms, as if snow-flakes had been strewn on the flowers. The leaves of the weeping-willow rustled softly, and like a net of sparkling ribbons the little streams flowed along beneath their branches. The warm air trembled, and yellow butterflies fluttered up and down in couples.
Paul leaned back in the cushions, and gazed with half-shut eyes at this profusion of charming sights.
“Are you happy?” asked Elsbeth, leaning towards him.
“I don’t know,” he answered; “it is too much for me.”
She smiled; she well understood him.