"To arrange the day, was it not?"
What could the poor man do? Before he had time to reflect, the Baroness said, "We have considered the matter already; we must be in no hurry,--no hurry. It always is a sore subject for a mother, the appointing a definite time for her separation from her daughter, and every girl, however much in love she may be,"--here the Baroness glanced at her stout Paula, who did her best to assume an air of maidenly reserve, "would like to postpone the marriage-day. But men do not like to wait; therefore, all things considered, I have thought of the 19th of October as the day. Tell Harry so from me, and scold him well for not doing his errand himself. His delicacy of sentiment is really exaggerated! An old woman may be pardoned for a little enthusiasm for a future son-in-law, may she not?"
Shortly afterwards Baron Leskjewitsch was driving home along the road by which he had come. The shadows had lengthened; a cold air ascended from the earth. Gradually the Baron's consciousness, drugged by the flattery he had received, awoke, and he felt extremely uncomfortable. What had he effected? He was going home after a fruitless visit,--no, not fruitless. Harry's affairs were in a worse condition than before. He had absolutely placed the official seal upon his son's betrothal.
What else could he have done? He could not have made a quarrel. He could not alienate Doctor Grünbart's sister. The welfare of the government might depend upon his friendly alliance with the leader of the democratic party. His fancy spread its wings and took its flight to higher spheres,--he really had no time to trouble himself about his son's petty destiny. His ambition soared high: he saw himself about to reform the monarchy with the aid of Doctor Grünbart, whose importance, however, decreased as his own waxed great.
He drove through the ruinous archway into the courtyard. A light wagon was standing before the house. When he asked whose it was, he was told that it had come from Zirkow to take home the Baroness Zdena. He went to the dining-room, whence came the sound of gay voices and laughter. They were all at supper, and seemed very merry, so merry that they had not heard him arrive.
Twilight was already darkening the room when the Baron entered by one door at the same moment that Blasius with the lamp made his appearance at the other. The lamplight fell full upon the group about the table, and Baron Karl's eyes encountered those of his son, beaming with delight. Poor fellow! He had not entertained a doubt that everything would turn out well. Zdena, too, looked up; her lips were redder than usual, and there was a particularly tender, touching expression about her mouth, while in her eyes there was a shy delight. There was no denying it, the girl was exquisitely beautiful.
She had guessed Baron Karl's errand to Dobrotschau. She divined----
Pshaw! The Baron felt dizzy for a moment,--but, after all, such things must be borne. Such trifles must not influence the future 'Canning' of Austria.
Blasius set down the lamp. How comfortable and home-like the well-spread table looked, at the head the little army of cream-pitchers and jugs, over which the Countess Zriny was presiding.
"A cup of coffee?" the old canoness asked the newcomer.