The baron did not reply. He soon turned the conversation to agricultural matters, and a discussion over esparcet and fodder was first interrupted by the announcement that supper was served.
Aunt Rosamond had, meanwhile, gone through the main hall and knocked at a door at the end of the passage. Anna Maria's voice called, "Come in!" She, too, was sitting in the dark, but she rose and lit a candle. The light illuminated her whole face. "Anna Maria, are you ill?" her aunt asked anxiously, and stepped nearer.
"Not exactly ill, aunt, but I have a headache."
"You have taken cold; why do you ride out in this sharp wind? You are both inconsiderate, you and Klaus! Show me your pulse—of course, on the gallop; go to bed, Anna Maria."
"After supper, aunt; what would Klaus say if I were not there?"
"But you are really looking badly, Anna Maria."
The young girl laughed, took her bunch of keys in her hand and thus compelled Aunt Rosamond to go with her. "Don't worry," she bade her, "and above all, don't say anything to Klaus. He might think it worse than it is."
"Klaus, and always, only Klaus—incroyable!" murmured the old lady.
"If that wasn't a remarkable company at table this evening," said Klaus von Hegewitz, as he reäntered the sitting-room, after escorting Baron Stürmer down-stairs. "You, Anna Maria, did not say a word, and the conversation dragged along till it nearly died out; if Aunt Rosamond had not kept the thing up, why—really, it was peculiar. But how nice it is when we are by ourselves, isn't it, little sister?"