"But what is it that agitates you in this way, beloved?" asked Albert, to whom it was inexplicable how Bertha should only think of the danger that awaited him, instead of being overjoyed at this meeting. "The danger is not so great as you imagine," he whispered to her: "think only of the happiness of being together again, that I can press your hand, and that we can see each other face to face. Enjoy the present moment, and be cheerful."
"Cheerful? Oh, those times are gone by, Albert. Hear me, and be firm;--my father is opposed to the League." She said this in a low subdued tone.
"Good Heavens! what do you say?" cried the young man; and leant towards Bertha, as if he had not distinctly heard the ill-foreboding words. "Oh! tell me; is not your father at present in Ulm?"
The poor girl had thought herself strong enough to withstand the shock she felt at this moment, but it was too powerful; it deprived her of utterance, and she could scarcely contain her tears. She answered only by a slight pressure of her hand; and with downcast eyes went to seek Kraft, led by Albert, in order to gain a little time to combat the grief she experienced. The strong mind of this young maiden at last triumphed over the weakness of her nature; and she whispered to her lover, in a composed tone, "My father is Duke Ulerich's warmest friend; and so soon as war is declared, he will take me back to Lichtenstein."
The noise of the drums at this instant was deafening; the trumpets clanged in their fullest tones as they saluted Truchses, who how passed by the musicians; and, according to the custom of those days, threw them some pieces of silver, which caused the trumpets to redouble their deafening sounds.
The whispered conversation of our two lovers was overpowered by the confounding noise of the instruments; but their eyes had so much the more to say to each other in this apparent shipwreck of their hopes, so that they did not notice the observations, which were passed on them by the surrounding spectators, as being the handsomest couple in the room. Marie's ear was not shut to the passing remarks of the crowd. She was too kind-hearted to be envious of her cousin's praise, and consoled herself with the idea, that, were she in her place, beside the handsome young man, the couple would not be less attractive. But it was the animated conversation which Bertha kept up with her partner, that particularly attracted her attention. Her reserved cousin, who seldom or ever talked long with any man, now appeared to speak with even more earnestness than he did. The music and noise, however, hindered Marie from overhearing the subject of their conversation. This excited her curiosity to such a degree (a feeling--perhaps, not without justice--attributed specially to young ladies), that she drew her own partner nearer to them, for the purpose of listening; but whether it was by accident or design, that the conversation either dropped or was kept up in a subdued tone, the nearer she approached, she could not catch a word of it.
Marie's interest in the young man increased with these obstacles to her curiosity. Her good cousin Kraft had never appeared so great a bore to her as now, for all the pretty sayings with which he endeavoured to fix her attention, were only so many hindrances to her observing the others more closely. She was therefore glad when the dance was over. She hoped the next would be more agreeable, with the young knight for her partner.
Albert came and engaged her, when she sprang with joy to the hand which he offered; but she deceived herself in finding him the agreeable partner she had anticipated. Indifferent, reserved, sunk in deep thought, giving short answers to her questions, it was too clear he was not the same person who had but a moment before conversed in so animated a manner with her cousin.
"Was this the courteous knight," thought Marie, "who had saluted them in so polite a manner, without ever having seen them before? Was it the same cheerful and merry person whom cousin Kraft had introduced? the same who had spoken with Bertha so earnestly? or could she--yes, it was too evident that Bertha had pleased him better than herself--perhaps, because she was the first to dance with him."
Marie had been little accustomed to see her reserved cousin preferred before her, which this apparent victory seemed to indicate. Her vanity was piqued, she felt herself estranged from Bertha, and conceived herself bound to exert her talents and winning arts to re-establish herself in her lost rights. She therefore, in her usual merry mood, carried on the conversation about the coming war, which she contrived to lengthen out till the end of the dance. "Well," said she, "and how many campaigns have you gone through, Albert von Sturmfeder?"