“I intend to enjoy this beautiful summer night in the park,” said Schiller, turning to the servant, with a hasty movement. “You may return, I will be able to find my way back, alone.”
As soon as the servant had vanished around the next corner, he walked up to the door and opened it very softly, in order that the bell above it might not betray his entrance. “I will take her by surprise,” murmured he to himself; “I will see what effect my unexpected coming will have on my dear friend.”
The bell rang in such low tones that it could certainly not have been heard in the room. But a servant came forward from the back end of the hall.
“I call at Madame von Kalb’s request. She is in this room, is she not?”
“Madame von Kalb is in. May I have the honor of announcing you?”
“It is unnecessary, she is awaiting me. I can enter unannounced.”
He had uttered these words in subdued tones; Charlotte must not hear him, must know nothing of his arrival until he stood before her. He opened the door noiselessly, closed it gently behind him, and now stood between the door and the heavy velvet curtain that hung over the entrance. He could, however, see his friend through an opening in the curtain. She sat reclining on the sofa, her beautiful eyes gazing dreamingly into empty space. Her cheeks were pale with inward agitation, and a soft smile played about her lips. Of whom was she thinking? Of whom was she dreaming?
“Charlotte! dear Charlotte!”
She uttered a cry and sprang up from her seat.
“Charlotte, you called me to your side, and here I am! Will you not welcome me?”