The young couple looked at each other, and as he looked into her anxious eyes he pressed her arm closer with his, and she grew calm and almost cheerful.
Uncle Henry had arranged the wedding-dinner, as was to be expected.
The curtains were drawn in the dining-room, which had a northern aspect, the lamps were lighted, and all the family silver shone and sparkled on the table. The old gentler man understood his business. He had had sleepless nights over it lately, it is true, but the menu was exquisite. The only pity was that he and Aunt Pauline and Arthur were the only ones who were capable of appreciating it, according to his ideas. The chilling mood still rested on the company, even through Uncle Henry's toasts, not even yielding to the champagne. The old egotist was almost in despair.
When the company adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee, Gertrude went to her room. A quarter of an hour later she came into the hall in her travelling dress. Her husband stood there waiting for her.
From the drawing-room they could hear the murmur of the company--here all was quiet.
She looked round her once more and nodded to the old clock in the corner.
"Good-bye, Sophie," she said, as she went down the staircase on his arm, and the old woman bent over the bannisters in a sudden burst of tears--"Say good-bye to all of them."
Brilliantly lighted windows shone out upon them in Niendorf when Frank lifted her out of the carriage, and led her up the steps. The sky was cloudy, and the fresh spring air was wonderfully soft and odorous.
"Come in!" he cried, opening the brown old house-door.
"Oh, what roses!" she cried with delight.