I must confess that I was curious to see the young husband who even upon his marriage journey had preferred the society of his cigars to that of his bride.
My aunt had missed the interesting conversation between Frau Kampe and her young patroness; she had rushed out to see the cathedral in the morning mist. I had manifested so little desire to join her in this artistic but uncomfortable enterprise that she had dispensed with my society. She now came back glowing with enthusiasm, and filled to overflowing with all sorts of information as to Gothic architecture.
Scarcely had she seated herself to drink the coffee which I poured out for her, when a tall young man, slightly stooping in his gait, and with a very attractive, delicately-chiselled face, entered. Was he not----? Well, whoever he was, he was the husband of the aristocratic marriage.
He exchanged a few words with the blonde Countess, and was about to leave the room, when his glance fell upon my aunt.
"Baroness, you here!--what a delight!" he exclaimed, approaching her hastily.
"Lato!" she almost screamed. She always talks a little loud away from home, which annoys me.
It was, in fact, our old friend Lato Treurenberg. Before she had been with him two minutes my aunt had forgotten all her prejudice against him since his marriage,--and, what was more, had evidently forgotten the marriage itself, for she whispered, leaning towards him with a sly twinkle of her eye and a nod in the direction of the ladies,--
"What noble acquaintances you have made!--from Frankfort, or Hamburg?"
My heart was in my mouth. No one except Aunt Rosamunda could have made such a blunder.
The words had hardly escaped her lips when she became aware of her mistake, and she was covered with confusion. Lato flushed scarlet. At that moment the departure of our train was announced, and Lato took a hurried leave of us. I saw him outside putting the ladies into a carriage, after which he himself got into another.