"What is that? Along the road, towards the belated horseman, comes a white figure. Can it be Selina? His heart beats fast; he is ready to be grateful for the smallest proof of affection, so strong is the yearning within him for a little human sympathy. No, it is not Selina; it is a tall, slender girl. She has seen him, and hastens her steps.
"Lato!" calls an anxious, familiar voice.
"Olga!" he exclaims, and, springing from his horse, he approaches her. Yes, it is Olga,--Olga in a white dress, without hat or gloves, and with a look of anxiety in her eyes.
"Thank heaven!" she exclaims.
"My child, what is the matter?" he asks, half laughing.
"I have been so anxious," she confesses. "You are an hour and a half late for dinner, and you know how foolish I am. All sorts of fancies beset me. My imagination works swiftly."
"You are a dear child, Olga," he whispers, softly, taking her hand and kissing it twice. Then they walk together towards the castle. He leads his horse by the bridle, and listens to all the trifling matters of which she tells him.
The world is no longer dreary and empty for him. Here is at least one person who is not indifferent to his going and coming.
At Dobrotschau he finds the entire party in the garden-room. Selina and the Pole are playing a duett. Dinner is over. They could not wait for him, Selina explains, because the cook was trying to-day for the first time a soufflé of Parmesan cheese and truffles, which would have been ruined by delay. But his hospitable mother-in-law adds,--
"Your dinner is all ready in the dining-room. I gave orders that it should be served as soon as you came."