upon the dressing-table, and asked abruptly:
"Are those the flowers that Dernburg gave you?"
"Certainly; he brought them to me, when he came for the drive on the Corso."
"Good! adorn yourself with them!"
"And I should have done so all the same without your most gracious permission," laughed the young lady, "for they are the loveliest of all."
She selected one of the roses, and held it, experimentally, against her hair: there was an uncommon, but indeed very conscious, grace in this movement: the slender girl of nineteen resembled her brother little, if at all: at first sight they seemed to have nothing in common but the dark color of their hair and eyes, otherwise hardly a feature betrayed the nearness of their relationship.
Cecilia Wildenrod had that style of appearance which seems to have an irresistible fascination for the opposite sex. Her features were more irregular than those of her brother, but their mobility and variety of expression gave them a peculiar charm that never wore out. Her dark hair, that was so abundant as not to be always brought down to the requirements of the latest fashion, and complexion, that was of the clear brunette type, made one suspect that she could not be of purely German origin; and from beneath long black eyelashes gleamed a pair of lustrous eyes, that allured one who looked deeply into them with all the fascination of a riddle to be solved. In these mysterious depths, too, glowed a spark that might well be fanned into a flame; they, too, having some of that glow of passion, which in Oscar's case was hidden under a semblance of excessive coldness. This constituted the sole resemblance between the brother and sister, but it was a resemblance that stood for much.
Cecilia still wore the silk dress in which she had appeared on the Corso, already a few pale yellow, half-open, rosebuds adorned her bosom, and now she placed a full-blown rose among the dark waves of her hair. Nature's adorning became her wondrously, and her brother's glance rested upon her with evident satisfaction. He had closed both doors carefully behind him, nevertheless he now lowered his voice and said in a whisper:
"Eric Dernburg has something besides roses to offer you–his hand. He has just had a talk with me, and is now going to address himself to you."
The young lady likewise heard this news without any surprise.
She turned her head to one side, that she might see how the flower looked in her hair, and asked with apparent indifference:
"So soon?"
"Soon? Why, I have been expecting a declaration from him this long while, and he would have made it, too, only you seem to have given him poor encouragement."
A fold appeared between Cecilia's brows, exactly in the same spot where a deep furrow had seamed her brother's.
"If he were only not so abominably tiresome!" murmured she.
"Cecilia, you know that I am anxious for this marriage, exceedingly anxious, and I hope that you will regulate your conduct accordingly."
His tone was very positive, seeming to preclude any chance of opposition on the part of his sister, who now pushed away the rest of the roses with a gesture of impatience.
"Why had it to be this Dernburg, and no one else? Vicomte de Marville is much handsomer, much more agreeable–"
"But is not thinking of offering you his hand," interposed Wildenrod. "He, just as little as all the other triflers who swarm around you. You need not put on that injured air, Cecilia, you may rely implicitly upon my judgment: I know men, I tell you, girl. Now this union with Dernburg secures to you a brilliant destiny; he is very rich."
"Well, so are we, for that matter."
"No," said the Baron shortly and sharply.
The young lady looked at him in amazement: he stepped up to her and laid his hand upon her arm.
"We are not rich! I am obliged to tell you this now, that you may not ruin your future prospects, through caprice or childishness, and I confidently expect you to accept this offer."
Cecilia still looked at her brother, half shocked, half-incredulous, but she was evidently accustomed to submitting to his will in silence, and attempted no further opposition.
"As if I should dare to say 'no,' when my stern brother dictates a 'yes,'" pouted she. "But I can tell Dernburg one thing, he need not flatter himself with the idea that I am going to bury myself with him in that horrid Odensburg. To live among droves of day-laborers, at those iron works, full of dust and soot–it makes me shudder just to think of it."
"All that can be accommodated afterwards," said Wildenrod calmly. "As for the rest, you have no idea what it is to be some day master of the Odensburg works, and what a stand you will take in the world, by his side. When you do come to comprehend the situation fully, you will be grateful to me for the choice that I have made. But come, we should not keep your future husband waiting any longer."
He took her arm, and led her to the parlor, where Dernburg was awaiting them in restless suspense. The Baron pretended not to observe his uneasiness, and chatted unrestrainedly with him and his sister about their drive on the Corso, and various little incidents that had occurred, until it suddenly occurred to him to admire the sunset, that promised to be particularly beautiful this evening. He stepped out upon the veranda, as if undesignedly, let the glass doors fall to behind him, and thus gave the young couple an opportunity to be alone.
"Why, it looks just like a flower-market!" exclaimed Cecilia laughingly, as she pointed to the table that was overladen with bouquets. "Francis has, of course, piled them up with a reckless disregard of taste: I must really arrange them better. Will you not help me to do so, Herr Dernburg?"
She began to divide out the various sorts and put them in vases and bowls, and with the remainder to decorate the hearth. Dernburg helped her, but he was not a very efficient helper, for he could not take his eyes off the slender form, flitting to and fro, in dainty garb, with that lovely rose in her dark hair.
At the first glance, he had perceived that those were his roses that she wore, and a happy smile played about his lips. He wondered if her brother had already given her a hint? She was so free from embarrassment, laughed so heartily at his absence of mind, and treated him with the same pretty insolence as usual–she could not possibly know that he meant to address her!
In Cecilia's manner, there was most assuredly nothing of the sweet shyness and embarrassment of a young girl who, for the first time, listens to the addresses of a lover. In fact, it hardly seemed that she comprehended the seriousness of the situation. She would soon be twenty years old, at which age girls in her circle often married or, rather, were given in marriage, for their families usually decided the matter for them. Individually, moreover, she had no objection to marrying. It would be very pleasant to enjoy the freedom allowed a married woman, to be wholly untrammeled as to expenditure in dress, jewels, etc., and to be no longer obliged to submit to the will of a brother, who was at times very despotic, only–how much handsomer and more agreeable was Viscount de Marville than this Dernburg, who had not even rank to recommend him. It was really outrageous, that a Baroness Wildenrod would, in future, have to bear the name of a simple citizen!
She had just taken up the last bouquet, preparatory to decorating the hearth with it, when she heard her name breathed softly but fervently.
"Cecilia!"
She turned around and met the gaze of Eric, who stood beside her, and continued in the same tone:
"You have only eyes and thoughts for the flowers–have you not a single glance
