He told his father everything; of his marriage, of his imprudence--of his misery. He soon perceived that the old Count had believed Charlotte to be worse than she was, and therefore had refused to acknowledge Siegi as his grandson.
But that was all past and gone! He made his son bring out all the likenesses of the dead boy, and was absorbed in every detail concerning him; he asked endless questions, and seemed as if he would thereby fain have assumed a share of his son's overwhelming grief, relieving Fritz of it to that extent at least.
At last steps were heard outside, and Charlotte entered with the children. Fritz winced.
"Father, this is my wife."
The grand old Count advanced to meet her as if she were a princess, called her "daughter" and kissed her forehead. He could not sufficiently caress and pet the children.
The next morning Fritz with the children paid him a visit at the Hotel Munsch, and they took leave of each other with affectionate cordiality.
"Of course you will come to Schneeburg with your family as soon as possible," the old Count said anxiously, as they parted. "You need your home, my poor boy."
And Fritz rejoiced--in the midst of all his grief,--at the thought of home.
They had already begun to get ready to leave Vienna, when a letter arrived from Schneeburg.
"Dear Fritz,