"Lucky for him!" cried Ferdinande.
"Lucky?"
"He is, as he appears, a man of his time; we are medieval ghosts. For that reason he moves about as a ghost among us—but it is not his fault."
"Then you are on his side in the rupture between him and Uncle?"
"The rest of us at home are never asked for our opinion; you must take note of that for the future."
"Also for the present," thought Reinhold, as Ferdinande sank back among the cushions.
"Ghosts are never one's favorite company, much less on such a beautiful sunny day. There are so many good happy people—sweet little Cilli, for example—and—of whom one thinks, him he meets!" As if wishing to make up in all haste for what he had foolishly neglected in the morning, he now tried to direct his thoughts to her whose image he believed he had forever in his soul, but which would not now appear.—"The throng is to blame for it," he said impatiently.
They were in the worst of the jam now, to be sure. A regiment was marching down Friedrichstrasse across the Linden with the band playing. The throng of pedestrians pressed back on both sides, particularly on that from which they came; in the midst of them mounted and unmounted policemen were striving with persuasion and force to maintain order and keep back the throng which now and then gave audible expression to their indignation.
The annoying delay seemed to make Ferdinande impatient, too; she looked at her watch.—"Already half-past twelve—we are losing the best part of the time." At last the rear of the battalion came along, while the van of the next battalion, with the band playing, came out of Friedrichstrasse again, and the throng of people pressed on with a rush through the small space in wild confusion.—"On! On! Johann!" cried Ferdinande, with an impatience which Reinhold could explain only by the anxiety which she felt. They got out of one crowd only to get into another.
In the first large square room of the Exhibition—the so-called clock room—a throng of spectators stood so closely jammed together that Reinhold, who had Ferdinande's arm, saw no possibility of advance. "There are not so many people in the side rooms," said Ferdinande, "but we must stand it a little while here; there are always good pictures here; let us separate—we can then move more freely. What do you think of this beautiful Andreas Achenbach? Isn't it charming, wonderful! In his best and noblest style! Sky and sea—all in gray, and yet—how sharply the individual details are brought out! And how well he knows how to enliven the apparent monotony by means of the red flag there on the mast at the stern of the steamer, and by the flickering lights on the planks of the bridge wet with spray here at the bow—masterful! Simply masterful!"