Fink muttered something, which might or might not be an assent, and said, "On the whole, I am satisfied with you. Only you must, this winter, get over that confounded habit of blushing. It's bad enough in a black neckcloth, but what will it be in a white one? You will look like an apoplectic Cupid."
Frau von Baldereck, however, thought this modesty exceedingly touching; and when her daughter announced decidedly that she liked Fink much the best of the two, she shook her head, and smiling, replied, "You are no judge, dear; there is a nobility and natural grace in every thing the stranger does and says that is perfectly enchanting."
Meanwhile the great day of the opening lesson arrived, and Fink, having superintended Anton's toilette, carried him off to the scene of action.
As they went down stairs, the door of Jordan's room softly opened, and Specht, stretching out his long neck to look after them, cried out to those within, "He is gone. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Why, there are only the nobility there! A pretty story it will make."
"After all, why should he not go, since he is invited?" said the good-natured Jordan. To this no one knew exactly what to answer, till Pix cried angrily, "I do not like his accepting such an invitation. He belongs to us and to the office. He will learn no good among such people."
"These dancing-lessons must be curious scenes," chimed in Specht; "frivolous in the extreme, mere love-making and dueling—for which we know Wohlfart has always had a turn. Some fine morning we shall have him going out with pistols under his arm, and not returning on his feet."
"Nonsense!" replied the irritable Pix; "they don't fight more than other people."
"Then he will have to speak French?"
"Why not Russ?" asked Mr. Pix.
At which the two fell into a dispute as to what was the medium of communication in the great lady's salon. However, all the colleagues agreed in considering that Wohlfart had taken an exceedingly bold and mysterious step, and one pregnant with calamitous consequences.
Nor was this the only discussion on the subject. "He is gone!" announced the cousin, returning from an interview with some of the domestics.
"Another trick of his friend Fink," said the merchant.
Sabine looked down at her work. "I am glad," said she at length, "that Fink should use his influence to give his friend pleasure. He himself does not care for dancing, and I am sure that to attend these lessons is in him an act of self-denial; and I am also truly glad that Wohlfart, who has hitherto led such a solitary life, should go a little into society."
"But into such society as this? How is it possible!" cried the cousin.
Sabine tapped the table with her thimble. "Fink has spoken highly of him, and that was good and kind. And, in spite of the grave face of my dear brother, he shall, as a reward, have his favorite dish to-morrow."
"Ham, with Burgundy sauce," added the cousin.
Meanwhile Fink and Anton were entering Frau von Baldereck's lighted rooms, and Fink, whispering, "Come, summon all your courage; you have nothing to fear," led his unresisting friend up to the lady of the house, by whom they were most graciously received, and who, saying at once to Anton, "I will introduce you to Countess Pontak," led him off to a gaunt lady of uncertain age, who sat on a slightly-elevated seat, surrounded by a small court of her own. "Dear Betty, this is Mr. Wohlfart." Anton saw at once that "dear Betty" had a nose of parchment, thin lips, and a most unpleasing countenance. He bowed before her with the resigned air of a prisoner, while she began to cross-examine him as to who he was and whence he came, till his shyness was fast changing into annoyance, when Fink stepped in.
"My friend, proud lady, is half Slavonic, though he passionately protests against any doubts cast upon his German origin. I recommend him to your kindness. You have just given a proof of your talent for investigation, now give my friend the benefit of the gentle indulgence for which we all admire you." The ladies smiled, the gentlemen turned away to hide their laughter, and Betty sat there with ruffled feathers, like some small bird of prey whom a larger has robbed of its victim.
As for Anton, he was hurrying away into a corner to recover, when he felt a light tap on his arm, and heard a fresh young voice say, "Mr. Wohlfart, do you not remember your old friend? This is the second time that I have been obliged to speak first."
Anton turned, and saw a tall, slight figure, with fair hair, and large dark blue eyes, smiling at him. The expression of delight on his face was so unmistakable that Lenore could not help telling him how glad she too was to see him again. Soon they were in full conversation; they had met but three times in their lives, and yet had so much to say. At last the young lady reminded him that he must now speak to others, told him to join her when the music began, and, with the majesty of a queen, crossed the room to her mother.
Anton was now hardened against all social terrors, and his embarrassment over and gone. He joined Fink, who introduced him to a dozen gentlemen, not one of whose names he remembered, caring for them no more than for poplars along a high road.
But this audacious mood vanished when he approached the baroness. There were the delicate features, the unspeakable refinement, which had so impressed him when he saw her first. She at once discovered that he was unaccustomed to society, and looked at him with a curiosity not unmingled with some misgiving; but Lenore cut the interview as short as she could by saying that it was time to take their places in the dance.
"He waltzes tolerably—too much swing, perhaps," muttered Fink to himself.
"A distinguished-looking pair," cried Frau von Baldereck, as Anton and Lenore whirled past.
"She talks too much to him," said the baroness to her husband, who happened to join her.
"To him?" asked he; "who is the young man? I have never seen the face before."
"He is one of the adherents of Herr von Fink—he is alone here—has rich relatives in Russia or America; I do not like the acquaintance for Lenore."
"Why not?" replied the baron; "he looks a good, innocent sort of youth, and is far better suited for this child's-play than the old boys that I see around. There is Bruno Tönnchen, whose only pleasure is to make the girls blush, or teach them to leave off blushing. Lenore looks uncommonly well to-night. I am going to my whist; send for me when the carriage is ready."
Anton heard none of these comments upon him; and if the hum of the company around had been as loud as that of the great bell of the city's highest steeple, he would not have heard it better. For him the whole world had shrunk to the circle round which he and his partner revolved. The beautiful fair head so near his own that sometimes they touched, the warm breath that played on his cheek, the unspeakable charm of the white glove that hid her small hand, the perfume of her handkerchief, the red flowers fastened to her dress—these he saw and felt; all besides was darkness, barrenness, nothingness.
Suddenly the music stopped, and Anton's world fell back into chaos. "What a pity!" said Lenore, as the last note died away.
"I thank you for this bliss!" said Anton, leading her back to her place.
As he moved to and fro in the crowd like a rudderless ship amid the waves, Fink took him in tow, and said, "I say, you hypocrite, you have either drunk sweet wine, or you are a quiet sort of Don Juan. How long have you known the Rothsattel? You have never spoken of her to me. She has a lovely figure and a classical
