When the clock struck eight Dieterick led his guest to supper, which his housekeeper, spite of her ill humour, had prepared in her best manner, for she spared nothing to keep up the dignity and honour of the house of Kraft. The secretary again essayed the powers of his eloquence, with which he sought to season the repast. He talked concerning passing events, of the coming war, and gave Albert to understand that his situation put him in possession of state secrets known only to a select few. But in vain did Albert hope to hear something about his pretty cousins. He attempted to sound him upon a subject so nearly allied to his dearest interests, namely, upon the views of the knight of Lichtenstein in the pending struggle, which he had failed to elicit at the dinner; but the secretary, whether to impress Albert with the importance of his confidential situation in the council, or that he really did not know the intention of Bertha's father, put on a more consequential and mysterious air than usual, and the only information he would impart was, that the knight was then in Ulm with some others of Würtemberg.
This news was at least satisfactory so far as the turn it was likely to give to his fate. His joy was now for the first time complete, in the satisfaction of having joined a party which, except for the great names at the head of it, was otherwise indifferent to him. "And so her father is also among those assembled here!" thought he. "May I not hope to have the good fortune to fight by the side of that good man, and prove myself worthy of my name, and of her I love?" He felt the conviction that Albert von Sturmfeder would not be the last in a battle.
His host, after supper, conducted him to his bed-room, and took his leave with a hearty wish for a good night's rest. Albert examined his room closely, and found it to correspond precisely with the rest of the gloomy house. The round frames of the windows, warped by age, the dark woodwork of the walls and ceiling, the large stove projecting far into the apartment, the enormous bed with a broad canopy and heavy stuff curtains, gave a dull, nay a melancholy, effect to the whole. But still every thing was arranged for his comfort. Clean snow-white sheets invited him within as he threw back the curtains of the bed, the stove threw out an agreeable warmth, a night lamp was placed in a niche in the wall, and even a tankard of spiced hot wine, by way of a nightcap, was not forgotten. He closed the curtains as he got into bed, and scanned over in his mind the passing events of the day. Having taken them in their due order as they had occurred, he had reason to be satisfied with his position; but, when he afterwards fell into the province of dreaming, they were all heaped up in crowded confusion in his mind, far beyond the power of unravelling. One object alone was perfectly clear to him,--it was the portrait of his beloved Bertha.
CHAPTER V.
And is it mere illusion? Say--
Or will that one so kind, so true,
To whom my heart and life are due,
Be to my arms restored this day?
F. Haug.
Albert was awoke the next morning by a tap at the door. He threw open the curtains, and perceived that the sun was already high up. The knocking increased, when, shortly after, his kind host entering, inquired how his guest had slept, and explained to him the cause of his early visit. The grand council had determined on the preceding evening to celebrate the arrival of the confederates by a ball, which was to take place that very evening in the town-hall. It was his province, as secretary to the council, to make all the necessary arrangements for this important affair. He had to secure the services of the town musicians, and to invite the first families in the name of the senate. But his first concern would be to hasten to impart this extraordinary piece of good news to his charming cousins.