And so he continued to live, sadly resigned, dreaming of old times, hoping for wonderful strokes of fortune that never took shape. All the while he indulged in visions, and every evening, when he laid his cards for Patience he consulted them, always asking the self-same question--"Will Schneeburg ever revert to my children?"
BOOK THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
A jingling of bells, a clatter of hoofs from five spirited bays harnessed in Russian fashion, and hardly seeming to touch the earth as they fly along, a rattle of wheels, a whirling cloud of dust,--and Oswald Lodrin's five-in-hand came sweeping round a corner in one of the old-fashioned streets in Rautschin. People ran from everywhere to stare,--a housemaid cleaning a window, leaned out at the risk of her neck, to follow the gay equipage; two small boys going home from school, paused and vented their delight in waving their caps and cheering; Oswald nodded to them kindly. His eyes were aglow with happiness, he had a white rosebud in his button-hole. His future father-in-law sat beside him in the driver's seat, and Georges was on the seat behind.
It was the day before the election. Oswald had just come from Castle Rautschin, where, according to agreement, he was to pick up his uncle to drive with him to the railway station, and he had taken this opportunity to display his new five-in-hand to his betrothed. The five horses clattered along gaily, as if to the races, instead of to a railway station.
"We must hurry, there is the signal," said Georges half rising from his seat, to gaze in the direction of the station.
"Don't be afraid," rejoined Oswald, "it is an Express, to be sure, but if it sees us coming, it will wait!"
"True! I forgot we were in Austria," said Georges laughing.
The bays flew like birds along the avenue of ancient poplars. The sun shone on their trim, plain harness, upon their glossy hides; white and blue butterflies were fluttering above the earliest wayside-flowers. A few minutes later Oswald drew up before the station, built Austrian-wise, after the ugly fashion of a Swiss cottage.
"Sapristi! He too is going to the election," exclaimed Georges, as he observed Capriani's equipage.