And on these annual festive occasions there was seen the Countess Adelaide, as lively and jovial at fifty, if not so pretty, as she was at fifteen. There, too, were the grim ancestry, the men and women of other days and years, looking down from their garlanded frames, in ruffs and stomachers, in breastplates or fardingales, just as Hans Holbein, Rubens, and others had depicted them, and looking as demure as if they had never flirted, squeezed hands under the tablecloth, known the use of the mistletoe, or been like other folks 'world without end.'
'Hoch! hoch! Gott in Himmel! here they come—here is our dear boy at last!' exclaimed the Count, clapping his fat pudgy hands, as the open britzka, drawn by a pair of sparkling bays, came suddenly in sight, with two officers in blue uniforms occupying the back seat. One of these—Heinrich, no doubt—was waving his forage-cap, and the vehicle was driven straight to the grand approach. The enthusiasm of the old veteran of Waterloo swelling up in his breast when he saw the uniform of the 95th, for
'He thought of the days that had long since gone by,
When his spirit was bold and his courage was high.'
Herminia grew deadly pale, and took advantage of the Countess hurrying out upon the terrace to retire to her own room, whither, however, her watchful aunt almost immediately followed her.
'Dearest Aunt Adelaide, oh! spare me this great mortification!' intreated the trembling girl.
'Spare you?' repeated her aunt, now seriously angry, in expectation of a public scene before Charlie Pierrepont, a stranger.
'Yes, I implore you to spare me the horror of this meeting. Oh, Ludwig!' she moaned in her heart, 'my own Ludwig!'
'I do not know whether you are most weak or defiant,' replied her aunt. 'I give you a quarter of an hour to recover your composure and to make your appearance properly in the drawing-room, with such a bearing as will not be an insult to my son, to the memory of your father, and our whole family.'
And with these words the Countess swept haughtily away.
Herminia bathed her face and hands with eau-de-cologne and water, gave a finishing touch to her hair, kissed the envelope which contained the now dry and faded leaves of Ludwig's rose, placed it in her soft white bosom as a charm to strengthen her for the purpose she had in hand, and descended noiselessly to the drawing-room, when the sound of several voices, laughing loudly, jarred sorely on her ears and excited nerves.