In the midst of a group of servants and farm-hands stood an old man in a long green coat and a shiny, tall hat. The court-fool observed something strange in his master's appearance. Suddenly he fairly gasped.
"The world is coming to an end!" he exclaimed. "Wonders will never cease,--the Herr Baron has a new hat!"
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
A SHORT VISIT.
Lotta, too, noticed the master's new hat, but that was not the only change she observed in him. The expression of his face was not so stern as usual. Instead of sneering at the coxcombical superintendent, he smiled at his approach; his complexion was far less sallow than it had been; and, above all, he allowed the superintendent to pay the driver of the post-chaise without an inquiry as to the fare.
After nodding right and left, he asked Lotta if his room were ready.
"Of course," the housekeeper replied, and at once conducted him to a spacious and exquisitely clean and neat apartment, rather scantily furnished with spindle-legged chairs and brass-mounted cabinets dating from the time of the First Empire. Not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere. The Baron ordered coffee, and dismissed Lotta.
When she had gone he looked about him keenly, as if in search of somewhat, from the arm-chair into which he had thrown himself. Not finding what he sought, he arose and went into the adjoining room. Yes, there it was!
On the wall hung two portraits, in broad, tasteless gilt frames. One represented a fair, handsome woman, with bare shoulders and long, soft curls; the other a dark-browed man, in the red, gold-embroidered uniform of a court chamberlain. He smiled bitterly as he looked at this picture. "Done with!" he muttered, and turned his back upon the portraits; with those words he banished the memory of his past. A strange sensation possessed him: an anticipation of his future,--the future of a man of seventy-three! He walked about the room uncertainly, searching for something. A dark flush mounted to his cheek; he loosened his collar. At last he turned the key in the door, as if fearful of being surprised in some misdeed, and then went to his writing-table, a large and rather complicated piece of furniture, its numerous drawers decorated with brass ornaments. From one of the most secret of these he took a small portfolio containing about a dozen photographs. All represented the same person, but at various stages of existence, from earliest infancy to boyhood and manhood.
"Fritz!" murmured the old man, hoarsely; "Fritz!"