When I began to reflect on the coming day, I remembered that it would be necessary for me to congratulate my uncle on his birthday; and I felt it would require a stretch of the forms of politeness to do this in a becoming manner. It occurred to me now that if Francis could only see through that little glass window in my breast, she would have the best of the argument in future on the subject of the conventionalities of society; for I confess to you, dear William, I had become a convert to Aunt Sophia’s opinions with regard to this same General von Zwenken, and now I admired her prudence in preventing her fortune from falling into such hands.

As the birthday fell on a Sunday we all went to the village church, a duty which the General considered his position as lord of the manor imposed upon him; and one which he performed as he would have done any other duty laid down by the military code. The clergyman was old, monotonous, and wearisome. The greater part of the congregation went to sleep under the effects of his sermon. Francis took up a Bible and pretended to read, whilst it seemed to me the wakeful part of the congregation paid more attention to us than to their minister; and the remarks they whispered about one to another struck me as not being very favourable to us. The General alone kept his eyes fixed on the preacher throughout the sermon; but whether his mind was so intently occupied with the subject matter, I will not take upon myself to say.

On our return the fÊte commenced. The village schoolmaster brought up his scholars, who recited a string of verses glorifying the Baron as patron of the school, though I doubt whether he had ever entered it. And I believe the same verses had done duty for several generations on similar occasions, when the owners of the Werve admitted the master and his scholars to an audience.

Then came the Pauwelsens from the farm, who still address the General as their landlord; after them some of the villagers. All these people were regaled with cake and chocolate. The burgomaster1 called in his turn; he was a regular rustic, and paid a good deal more attention to me than to the General. He evidently saw in me a mystery which excited his curiosity.

Captain Willibald also put in an appearance, and after congratulating my uncle, handed him a box of cigars, saying—

“They are the old sort; I know your taste exactly.”

“Certainly you do, my good fellow; it is an agreeable present. Here in the country one must lay in a stock. What say you, Leo?”

“To my shame, I must own I did not know what to buy you on such an occasion; but I will take care to make up for this omission of mine very soon.”

Uncle rejoined in a whisper—

“The one thing I should like you to do is to reconcile yourself with your uncle, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.”

Happily it was not necessary for me to reply to this remark. Francis entered the room, and quite charmed me by her manner. She was cordial to all the visitors—I thought I had never seen a better hostess. I saw how amiable she could be when quite at her ease, and not beset by fears of what envious tongues might say as soon as her back was turned.

The dinner was beautifully arranged. The Captain had put on his full-dress uniform, the General his also, and I had given some extra attention to my toilette. Francis was dressed plainly as usual, without much regard for the day or the visitors; and yet there was something original in her style of dress, an elegance which seemed to heighten her beauty considerably. I was struck by the richness and weight of the silver, all engraved with the family coat-of-arms. I felt sure that the Captain and Francis had put their money together to get it from the pawnbrokers for the occasion. At table she took her place between the clergyman and myself. The village lawyer, the postmaster, and some rough-looking country farmers, together with the churchwardens and several members of the local board, had been invited to the dinner. Rolf took his place in the midst of them, and soon loosened their tongues by pointing out the various sorts of wine, and filling up their glasses with no sparing hand. Even the clergyman I found to be much more entertaining at table than in the pulpit, and the conversation never flagged. Fritz, assisted for the nonce by one of the sons of farmer Pauwelsen, had donned a livery which I felt pretty certain was the uniform of an officer metamorphosed. He was more attentive, and more particular than ever in his manner of serving every one; it seemed to me as if he had something on his mind, he was so solemn and serious. In spite of myself I could not help thinking of the utter ruin this once opulent house had fallen into, and of the unhappy son banished from his father’s table. As for the General, I had never yet seen him in such good spirits. The table so well served, the appetizing dishes, and the wines which he had such a delicate manner of tasting—all this just suited his epicurean habits. Afterwards we drank coffee in the garden, and Rolf insisted upon our drinking a bowl of May wine; for he was most anxious to display his skill in the composition of this very famous German beverage.

This completed the entertainment, for the country people are accustomed to retire early; and the evening was still young when a great lumbering coach drew up before the hall door, to convey the visitors back to the village.

I had hoped to meet Francis and propose a walk round the garden, but she was nowhere to be found. It appeared she had run over to the Pauwelsens with some of the dainties for the old bed-ridden grandmother. And her first care on her return was to inquire the whereabouts of her grandfather.

“He must not be left alone for a moment to-day,” she said to me; “I have not been at my ease all this day.”

“Because of Rudolf?” I inquired.

“I can never be sure what whim he will take into his head next. But you are sure that he is gone?”

“Certainly, before I was awake; but he left his pocket-book on the table. I will take it to him to-morrow.”

“Don’t do anything of the sort, I am sure he will come back; this thought has pursued me like my shadow all this day. But tell me what you thought of my dinner.”

“You were a charming hostess, Francis. How I should like to see you mistress of a well-furnished house of your own!”

“And one in which it would not be necessary to take the silver out of pawn when I expected visitors,” she replied bitterly.

“My dear cousin, I know this must have been a bitter trouble to you,” I answered compassionately.

“This I feel the most humiliating of all; but I did it to please my old grandfather, upon whom I can be severe enough at times about his weaknesses. Rolf, who in spite of his faults is the best-natured fellow in the world, went to the town of——, and we polished it up ourselves. We would not let Fritz into the secret.”

“And to me, Francis, to whom you owe nothing, you have given much pleasure, by surprising me with this little Russian leather case——”

“Don’t mention such a trifle. I only wished to mark the day on which you became my friend.”

“Yes, indeed, your friend for life,” I answered, gently drawing her arm within mine. This word had given me courage, it rendered me bold. “I thank you for that word, Francis; but it is not yet enough. Let me be to you more than a friend; permit me——”

“More than a friend?” she cried, visibly agitated. “I beseech you, Leopold, let us not aim at what cannot be realized, nor destroy this relationship which is dear to me, by striving after the impossible. Promise me seriously, Leopold, you will not mention this subject to me again, or use any such language to me.”

This answer seemed very like a formal refusal, and yet I remarked an emotion in her voice which to a certain extent reassured me.

“And why should it be impossible, Francis?” I resumed, mustering up all my courage.

This time I got no answer; she uttered a shriek and rushed off to the summer-house, I following her. There a frightful spectacle awaited us.

Rudolf, the miserable Rudolf, was on his knees before his father, kissing his hand. The latter was seated on the bench, to all appearance motionless. Suddenly Rudolf uttered a cry of terror and despair.

“I warned you,” said Francis; “you have been the death of your father.”

“No, Francis, no, he has fainted. But I found him in this condition; I swear to you by all that’s dear to me that I found him thus.”

The fact was that the General had become stiff and motionless as a corpse. The trellis work alone had prevented his falling to the ground. His face had turned a little blue, his eyes were fixed and wide open, and his features distorted. Francis rubbed his temples with the contents of her scent-bottle. This friction revived him a little; but prompt medical aid was necessary.

“Tell me where the village doctor lives,” cried Rudolf, beside himself in his agitation, “that I may fly to him.”

“It will be better to send Fritz,” replied Francis, in a cold, decided tone.

I ran off in search of the old and faithful servant, to whom I explained the state of affairs.

“The General has had an attack!” he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, “and it is my fault!”

“How so?”

“I ought not to have allowed it—but I—I could not drive away the only son of the house.”

“Of course not, but keep your own counsel and make haste.”

And the old soldier started off at a speed I had thought him little capable of.

When I returned the General was in the same condition; Rudolf, leaning against a tree, was wringing his hands.

“That will do no good,” Francis said to him; “help me to carry him to his room; Leopold will give us a hand.”

“That’s not necessary—he is my father, and it is my place to carry him.”

In an instant he took up the old man with so much gentleness, and yet with such firmness of muscle, that you would have thought he carried a babe. He refused my assistance even up the staircase. He laid the old Baron on his bed, with his eyes still fixed, and quite unconscious.

“Thank God! there he is safe,” said Rudolf, falling into a chair. “I have had many a hard piece of work in my life, but never one in which my heart was so deeply concerned. May I stay here until he regains consciousness?” he asked of Francis like a supplicant.

“I feel that it is impossible for you to leave at such a moment,” she answered; “but we must call in Rolf, and if he sees you here——”

“Oh, if he makes the slightest to do I’ll twist his neck about like a chicken’s.”

It occurred to me that the more simple and prudent plan would be for me to go and make the Captain acquainted with what had happened, and obtain his promise to keep silent and to pretend not to know anything about Rudolf’s presence. He was enjoying his after-dinner nap when I found him, and I was afraid he would have an attack of apoplexy when I told him about the coming of Rudolf. His anger seemed to make him forget the gravity of the General’s position. I endeavoured to make him understand that the accident might possibly be attributed to a fit of cold, caused by drinking May wine in the cool of the evening so shortly after the copious dinner of which the General had partaken; but he had made up his mind that Rudolf was the cause of the misfortune, and he asserted that his duty as a soldier and an officer was to have him forthwith arrested as a deserter.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get this fixed idea out of his head. I succeeded, however, at length in proving to him that the duty which he owed to humanity far surpassed all others at present; that it would be an unheard-of cruelty to arrest the son now at the bedside of a father, dying, for all we knew; that even Francis herself had consented to his staying, and that we were in duty bound to cast a veil over the family secrets. Finally the inborn good-nature of Rolf triumphed, and we went together to the General’s room.

The doctor had just arrived. He considered the case serious, and said it would be necessary to bleed the patient. Fritz and Rolf were left to aid the doctor and undress the invalid. Meantime I led Francis into a cabinet where Rudolf had taken refuge and was breathlessly awaiting the doctor’s verdict.

As we had left the door ajar we heard the patient recover consciousness, and call for Francis in a strangely altered voice, and address questions to her in a frightened tone; which questions the doctor, not understanding, put down to delirium, though they made it clear enough to us that he had seen and recognized Rudolf, although he mentioned no names.

“If the patient is not kept strictly quiet, I fear it will turn to brain fever,” said the doctor on leaving.

“Would you like to see the person you referred to just now?” I asked the General in a whisper, as soon as we were alone.

“No, indeed! I know he is here; he must leave in peace, and at once, never more to appear before my eyes, or—I will curse him.”

We could hear a suppressed sigh in the neighbouring cabinet. Rudolf had understood.

Rolf and Francis undertook the duty of watching at the bedside of the patient during the night; and I led Rudolf to my room—I may say supported him, for the strong man reeled. He threw himself on the sofa and wept like a child.

“It is finished,” he said. “I could not, after all, have expected anything else, and I have my deserts.”

“Francis was in the right, you see; you ought not to have broken your promise.”

“It is not my fault I broke it. Fritz caught me this morning just as I was scaling the garden wall, and I was obliged to make myself known to him, otherwise he would have given me in charge as a housebreaker. He then offered to hide me in an unoccupied room on the ground floor until to-night. Thence, unseen, I could watch the movements of my father; and when his guests were gone, I saw him walking alone towards the summer-house, where he sat down, and, as I thought, he had fallen asleep. Then it was I ventured out of my hiding-place and approached him. It appears, however, he must both have seen me and recognized me. But now I have said enough, and this time I will go away for good. God bless him! May the Almighty strengthen dear Francis.”

I persuaded him to spend this night with me, and try to get a little rest. From time to time I went to make inquiries about the General, and towards morning I was able to inform Rudolf that his father had passed a fair night and was now sleeping calmly; he could therefore leave with his mind more at ease. I accompanied him a part of the way outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state of his father’s health. He gave me his address, as I was to write to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little kindnesses I had been able to show him.