Still, however, he had not yet made up his mind to propose! It seemed so humiliating to appear with the same big bouquet of flowers, in the same little room, and once more before the same faded sofa to pour forth his homage and courtship, while the whole furniture merely displayed the one, but very important, difference that Olga was seated upon the sofa instead of Cäcilie. The recollection of the figure in the cotillon, changez les dames, could not be got rid of in those apartments in which he had first avancé to Cäcilie's hand. No, even if he were firmly resolved to propose for Olga it could not be done in that place which was full of mocking, giggling recollections! He cherished bold plans, which at other times were foreign to his mind--he thought of a sudden surprise.
All at once, as if fatigued, he began to push the chair-sleigh more slowly. Dr. Kuhl rushed past him pushing Cäcilie, as did Frau von Dornau, who had to content herself with a hired attendant.
Then Wegen guided her somewhat aside. A whole caravan of sleighs now passed them tumultuously, Lori in front with an embroidered rug, a present from the first-class! On Dr. Sperner's moustache, her cavalier, hung melancholy icicles, behind her came the slender girls of the first-class, mostly driven by cousins; only fat Iduna, deprived of her Theodor Körner, had to be contented with the man servant from the school, who was accustomed to heavy loads.
Now Wegen broke completely out of the course like a shying sleigh horse, guided her sideways over lumpy hillocks of snow, which had been heaped up on the river, and then stopped suddenly in a defile between two large snowdrifts, which yielded him a welcome cover.
"For Heaven's sake, where are we?" said Olga's voice, suffocated by shawls and furs.
"The snow has dazzled me, I have lost my way," cried Wegen, having recourse to a daring falsehood.
Olga uttered a cry of alarm, but only raised herself up in the sleigh to see in what territory she had arrived.
There she stood like a czarina; winter seemed to have built his palace in her honour alone, only to do homage to her; the north wind kissed her fur sleeves, and even if the fur cap surrounded her face enviously, so that but little was to be seen of her red, glowing cheeks, yet her large eyes gazed majestically out of all her winter wraps.
Wegen shivered with the cold; standing still after the violent exercise made him uncomfortable, and the wind blew icily into his face. And yet his state of mind was that of Romeo, when he looked up in the Capulet's garden at the balcony where his Juliet, in a light ball dress, carried on a conversation with the moon and stars.
"What in the world, Herr von Wegen, are we doing?" cried Olga, to whom the adventure began to appear serious, because in his sound senses a sleigh conductor could hardly wander from the proper course. For a moment she actually looked searchingly at Wegen, whether the colour in his cheeks could be called forth honestly by the north wind, or if it owed its origin to a bottle of champagne.