who was it that said," interposed Von Tönnchen. All eyes turned to Fink.
"It was you, Herr von Fink, who—" Frau von Baldereck majestically began.
"I, my dear lady!" said Fink, with the composure of a just man unjustly accused. "What have I to do with the report? I have always contradicted it as much as possible."
"Yes," said several voices; "but then you used to hint—"
"And you certainly did say—" interpolated Frau von Baldereck.
"What?" coldly inquired the imperturbable Fink.
"That this Mr. Wohlfart was mysteriously connected with the Czar."
"Impossible!" cried Fink, earnestly; "that is a complete misunderstanding. In describing the appearance of the gentleman, then unknown to you, I may possibly have mentioned an accidental likeness, but—"
"But the American property," chimed in Herr von Tönnchen; "why, you yourself made it over to him, and requested us to keep the transaction a profound secret."
"As you have kept my secret so well," replied Fink, "as to tell it every where, and now in my presence, before all assembled here, you and Zernitz are evidently answerable for the whole foolish rumor. And now listen, gentlemen; my friend Wohlfart having once expressed a playful wish to have land in America, I amused myself by making him a Christmas-box of a certain possession of mine on Long Island, near New York, which possession consists of a few sand-hills and a tumble-down hut, built for wild-duck shooting. It was natural that I should ask you not to mention this, and I am very sorry that, from such a trifle, you should have spun a web that excludes a delightful man from our circle." And then a cold irony spreading over his features, he went on: "I rejoice to see how strongly you all share my feeling, and despise the low snobbishness of soul which could consider a man more fitted for society because a foreign potentate had evinced an interest in him. And, since we have begun this evening's dance with explanations, let me further explain, that Mr. Anton Wohlfart is the son of a late accountant in Ostrau, and that I shall consider any further allusion to this misunderstanding as an insult to my most intimate friend. And now, my dear lady, I am engaged to your daughter for the first quadrille, and can positively wait no longer."
In the course of the evening Lieutenant von Zernitz came up and said, "Fink, you have made fun of us, and I am sorry to be under the necessity of demanding satisfaction."
"Be rational, and do nothing of the kind," replied Fink. "We have shot together so often, it would be a pity now to take each other for a mark."
Fink being by far the best shot in the room, Herr von Zernitz allowed himself to be convinced.
Anton had vanished from the fashionable circle like a falling star, and he never reappeared therein. True, it did occur to Frau von Baldereck, rather late in the day, that it would be proper occasionally to invite the young man, to prove that he had not been tolerated merely as—what he was not, and some other families thought the same; but as these invitations came, as before said, rather late, and as Anton declined them, his fate was that of many a greater man—society forgot him. For a short time the two chief hatchers of the grand report, Messrs. von Tönnchen and von Zernitz, spoke to him when they met him in the street; for a whole year they bowed, then they too knew him no more.
The following day Anton told the merchant all that had passed, begged him to forgive his late remissness, and promised greater attention in future.
"I have no fault to find," replied the merchant, kindly. "And now let me see the amount of your debts, that we may get your affairs in order." Anton drew a slip of paper from his pocket, the cashier was called, the sum paid, and put down to Anton's account, and that was settled.
In the evening Fink said to Anton, "You went off with flying colors; the oldest man there declared aloud that you had behaved admirably."
"Who said that?" Fink told him it was the Baron Rothsattel, and did not appear to remark his deep blush. "It would have been better," continued he, "if you had not taken such a decided step. Why avoid the whole circle, in which there are some who have a strong personal regard for you?"
"I have done what my own feelings prompted," said Anton; "perhaps one older and more experienced might have managed better; but you can not blame me for not taking your advice in this matter."
"It is singular," thought Fink, as he went down stairs, "what different events teach different men to have and exert wills of their own. This boy has become independent in one night, and whatever Fate may now have in store for him, he is sure to acquit himself well."
It spoke highly, both for Anton and his friend, that their intimacy was by no means decreased by the circumstances just related. On the contrary, it was deepened. Fink behaved with more consideration, and Anton gained more freedom, both of opinion and action. The influence of the younger of the friends weaned the elder from many an evil habit. Anton being more than ever zealous in his office duties, and more obliging to his colleagues, Fink insensibly accustomed himself to greater application and punctuality. There was only one subject that he never touched upon, though he well knew that it was always uppermost in Anton's mind, and that was the lovely young girl who had shown so much heart and spirit on the occasion of his last dancing-lesson.
CHAPTER XII.
Never had the flowers bloomed so gorgeously, never had the birds sung so gayly, as they did this summer on the baron's estate. The season spent in town had greatly extended the family acquaintance, and the castle was, in consequence, almost always full of guests. Dances, rides, acted charades, amusements of every kind, filled up the laughing hours.
What happy days these were to Lenore! True, she still remained something of an original, and her mother would at times shake her head at some daring freak or over-emphatic speech. It came naturally to her to play the gentleman's part whenever there was a lack of gentlemen. She was the leader in every expedition, delighting to carry off all her young female friends to some distant spot whence there was a fine view, to force them into some little village inn, where they had only milk and black bread for supper, and then to carry them all home dead-tired in a wagon, which she herself would drive standing. She had a way of treating young men with a sort of motherly kindness, as though they were still little bread-and-butter-eating urchins; and on the occasion of a certain dramatic representation, she horrified her mother by appearing in a male character, with a riding-whip and a little beard, which she twisted about in the most fascinating way. But she looked so wondrously lovely, even thus attired, that her mother could not chide in earnest.
If, however, there was any one not entirely satisfied with this way of life, it was the baroness. A certain preoccupation and restlessness had stolen over her husband—the cloudless serenity of former years was gone. It was but a slight change, visible only to the wife's eyes; and even she owned to herself that she was hardly justified in grieving over it.
Just at this time, too, a great joy awaited her. Eugene had passed his examination, and promised them a visit to show them his epaulettes. His mother had his room newly fitted up, and his father placed some first-rate guns and a new hunting-dress in it as a present for him. On the day of his arrival he rode out to meet him, and it was a pleasant sight to see the two noble-looking men embrace, and then ride home together.
"We will surprise the ladies," said the baron, and soon the baroness clasped her son in her arms. This was the climax of happiness at the castle. Both parents' eyes glistened whenever they rested on their son. True, some of his expressions and gestures savored of the riding-school, but the baroness only smiled at them all. From time immemorial,
