Heinrich took his gold-embroidered hat, and smiling, threw himself upon the soft cushions. The beautiful white horses tossed their heads, and dashed away through sunlit avenues and crowds of gayly-dressed foot-passengers.
The dinner, the first which had been given since the marriage, was magnificent. The court displayed its greatest splendor. Ottilie herself was one of the most stately personages who ever graced a throne. Although no smile rested upon her lips, she did the honors in a most winning manner, and was gracious even to Heinrich, although no more so than to all others. The prince, however, treated him with marked distinction, and once whispered, casting a well-pleased glance at Ottilie, "You were right; she is a real princess." The princes, princesses, and courtiers who were present followed their master's example and loaded Ottmar with civilities; had never been so attractive or so much admired. He stood at the zenith of his favor at court; and when, after the dinner was over, he drove to Cornelia, he scarcely saw that it was already dusk, so brightly did the lights, the white necks, the sparkling glances, the diamonds, and the gold-embroidered uniforms still gleam before his eyes; glittering silken robes rustled around him; smiling faces looked forth longingly from behind costly bouquets. The material comfort of the moment was too great not to rouse the other half of his nature. Henri alighted when the carriage stopped. He pulled the bell, and the door of the silent house slowly opened. The staircase was dark. The black form of a servant glided by and ushered him into the anteroom. The salon stood open; he entered. It, too, was dark and empty; everything was in disorder: the furniture was pushed back, and there were no roses blooming on the flower-stand. Henri felt strangely oppressed. The gloomy silence ill suited his mood. A glimmer of light and a dull murmur of voices penetrated through a door which was partly ajar. He opened it, and stood as if rooted to the spot. Several women were engaged in dressing a corpse. Henri pressed his hand to his brow; was he awake, or did some dream torture him with its sudden changes, in order to show him in a single hour the splendor of the world and the end of all lives? Just at that moment Cornelia, who had been completely absorbed in her mournful occupation, suddenly perceived him, came forward in her mourning robes, looking very pale and languid, and drew him aside.
"My dear Cornelia," said Henri, kissing her tearful eyes, "what has happened since yesterday? I can scarcely trust my senses. What a contrast!"
"Ah, Heinrich thank God, you have come at last! Ever since early this morning I have borne this terrible sorrow alone, longing in vain for your warm heart. Alas, how heavily such an unexpected blow falls!"
"My poor, sweet love, you are trembling as if in an ague-fit! Who would have thought of this? Kind Veronica dead!"
She nestled timidly in his arms. "Heinrich, my heart aches terribly, and besides I feel this horror of death. You do not know what it is to dress a cold body which is no longer the dear one it personates."
"Then leave the others to finish the task, and stay with me, my angel."
"We have finished it, and they want to bring her in here. You must go into the tea-room, or they will see you."
"Willingly. But now leave everything to these women and come with me. You are completely worn out."
"Yes, I will stay with you. I can no longer be a witness," said Cornelia; then gave the necessary orders to the servants, and went into the tea-room with Henri. They had scarcely entered it when they heard pieces of furniture pushed aside, and the creaking of the coffin, which, when once heard, is never forgotten. Cornelia trembled violently, sank down beside Henri, and bursting into tears, hid her face upon his breast until the noise was over. Then she looked up. "You think me very weak, do you not? I have kept up all day, but now my strength is exhausted; terror has overpowered me."