Carriage after carriage came thundering through the great portal, drove round the courtyard, and stopped before the door. Ladies and gentlemen in full dress got out and followed the servants into dressing-rooms. A few minutes later the folding-doors were thrown open, and they were received by the old baron and Felix in the great reception-rooms in the lower story.

Thus the whole nobility of the neighborhood had gradually assembled. Not only the gala carriages in which they had come,--some with four, and a few even with six high-bred horses, to say nothing of the outriders in bright liveries,--but also the evening dress of the gentlemen and the brilliant toilettes of the ladies showed that they had come prepared for a magnificent entertainment. They thought, moreover, they could tell what was the special occasion for this party, as the baroness and Felix had not been sparing of allusions to an event which might possibly take place in a short time! The baroness and Felix had got themselves into a serious difficulty by these allusions, and were now on the point of learning how much more troublesome it is to silence gossip than to start it. The more modest among the guests looked full of expectation, curious friends ventured upon allusions, and a few impertinent neighbors even asked direct questions, till they could scarcely preserve their polite equanimity during such a cross-fire of examination. The company seemed to be determined to believe in the engagement, and patiently waited till supper-time, when they thought the truth would come out at last. A few only were sharp-sighted enough to notice certain indications which made them think the end not quite so near yet. They pointed out the unusually formal manner of the baroness, who was at times almost embarrassed; the frequent mistakes of the old baron, who was more absent-minded than ever, and by no means looked like a happy father; and, above all, the distance at which Baron Felix kept from Miss Helen, who looked more like a beautiful statue of cold marble than like a young girl on the day on which her engagement was to be made public.

For a time, however, the attention of the company was somewhat preoccupied by the appearance of a lady and gentleman who were in good earnest engaged, and presented themselves to-day for the first time as such in public: Miss Emily Breesen and Arthur Baron Cloten. The young couple had already paid the visits usual on such occasions in that province, but the neighborhood was very large and some had not been reached at all, while others had been unfortunately away from home. There were, therefore, countless congratulations yet to receive and to return. Emily and Baron Cloten formed the centre of a large circle of ladies and gentlemen respectively, who found little else to talk of but their happiness. Cloten seemed to be overjoyed; he was talking and laughing incessantly, and it seemed to be miraculous that a single little hair was surviving in his diminutive moustache--so very industriously did he twist and twirl it through his fingers. Emily seemed to bear her good fortune with more composure; the minority of sharp-sighted observers even thought they noticed a dim cloud on her brow, in spite of the efforts she made to smile upon everybody; they also fancied that her eye was ceaselessly examining the company, without ever resting for a moment on her happy betrothed.

There was evidently abundant food for gossip to-night.

The intimacy between Baron Cloten and Baron Barnewitz's lovely, but dangerous wife, Hortense, had of course remained no secret in a society so full of spies and tale bearers, and the last large party at Barnewitz, with its unpleasant scenes between Cloten and Hortense's husband, during which the unlucky lady fainted so inopportunely, had lifted the last thin veil from this liaison. Everybody, therefore, was full of curiosity to see how Hortense would bear her loss, and especially to find out whom the blonde Loreley would choose for Cloten's successor. Some supposed it would be Count Grieben, others Adolphus Breesen. Both were equally eager to win the good-will of the dangerous Circe. The former was a rejected lover of Emily's, and therefore seemed to be specially fitted to become Cloten's successor; the latter was by far the handsomest and cleverest young man in the whole set--qualities which Hortense, with her own cleverness, appreciated fully.

"I bet upon Grieben," said young Sylow; "a basket of champagne. Who takes the bet?"

"I," cried Nadelitz; "pshaw! Don't I know Breesen?"

"Six bottles forfeit, up to the cotillon to-night?"

"Ha, ha! Do you hear? He is losing courage already; but I take it. Done!"

"Really a famous woman, the Barnewitz," said Hans Pluggen; "I wish I were one of the candidates!"

"Well, that wouldn't be so very difficult," said somebody else.

"I cannot imagine what you see in the Barnewitz," replied young Sylow. "Now, if it were the Berkow! I wish she were here!"

"I dare say there are plenty who wish so," said one, laughing. "But you know, I suppose, that Berkow is dead and the widow has come back?"

"Old news!"

"Well, do you know, too, that Oldenburg is going to be married?"

"Nonsense!"

"You may rely upon it. I have it from the Barnewitz. She surely must know."

"Is Oldenburg coming to-night?"

"Felix said he had promised to come; but Oldenburg has his own ways."

Melitta's return and her husband's death were discussed in other circles also besides those of the young men. Melitta was one of the most popular ladies in society, and yet she had, strange enough, few enemies and rivals. Now and then people spoke of her "eccentricities," of a desire to be apart and different from others; some said she was too learned, others, she was coquetting with liberal politicians--but generally her loveliness, her kindness, and unpretending manners were readily acknowledged. Aside from such remarks, moreover, the charms of her person were above all criticism. Hence, everybody seemed to be glad that she had at last been relieved of the terrible burden, which she had borne so sweetly, and was eager to know whom she would make happy by giving him her hand. For no one doubted that so young a widow would soon marry again. In some indefinite way a report had of late obtained currency that Baron Oldenburg had the best prospect; it was even whispered quite secretly, and as a mere on dit, for which no one wished to be held responsible, that the intimacy between the baron and Melitta was of old date, and that Baron Berkow had lost his mind very opportunely. A few details even were mentioned, by those who claimed to be particularly well informed, which could not have been true without compromising Melitta's reputation very seriously. No one knew with whom these reports originated. The sharp-sighted observers, again, ascribed them to Hortense Barnewitz, who, they said, had thus avenged herself on Oldenburg for a piece of advice he had given Cloten, which had led the latter in his blind obedience to find himself engaged to Emily Breesen before he well knew what he was doing.

In the mean time eight o'clock had come, and with it the hour at which the ball was to commence. The baroness opened it with Count Grieben. Count Grieben found it difficult to make himself heard, in spite of his screaming voice, as the music preceded them during the old-fashioned polonaise through all the rooms, and then, thanks to a happy inspiration of his genius, across the lawn, through the darkest parts of the garden, and back again into the principal ball-room, where it ended in a solemn slow waltz.

"That is a good old fashion, baroness!" he screamed, delighted, into his partner's ear; "my sainted father had it so, and my sainted grandfather, and a great many more, no doubt. The old ones knew a thing or two. Young folks are stupid folks. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, indeed, indeed!" replied the baroness.

Dance followed dance. The violins screamed, the bass growled. The faces of the dancers began to look heated; the ladies used their fans vehemently, and the servants, who continually went around with large waiters of refreshments, saw them disappear more and more rapidly--but there was no real enjoyment, and it seemed as if a cloud were resting on the whole company.

"What on earth can be the matter to-night?" said young Grieben, wiping his forehead during one of the pauses, and addressing a group of dancers who stood in the very centre of the room; "we work ourselves to death and nothing comes of it; there is no en train in the matter."

"Well, you can dance a long time before your long legs are tired," said young Sylow; "but you are right; I have drunk a couple of bottles, and yet the more I drink the sadder I become."

"That is exactly my case," said a third; "I do not know what it can be, but the ball at Barnewitz was a good deal merrier."

"What it can be?" said Breesen. "Well, I should think that was clear enough. The old baron looks like a wet chicken in the rain; the old baroness like a dethroned Hecuba--isn't it Hecuba? Felix quarrels with everybody who comes near him, and Miss Helen has not said three words all the evening. And you expect people to enjoy themselves? I feel as if it were a funeral."

"Well, there is a sick man at all events," said Pluggen; "the old baron just told me: Bruno has been sick in bed since yesterday."

"Ah, I suppose that is the reason why Doctor Stein has not come down?" said Count Grieben; "I thought he was correcting exercises, perhaps, and would come down after a while, ha, ha, ha!"

"Hush, Grieben," said Hans Pluggen; "the other day you spoke very differently about the doctor."

"I said he was a consummate fool, whom I would enlighten on the subject of his position, and I say so again."

"Why, that is word for word what Felix was saying just now; the doctor seems to be a great favorite with the gentlemen."

"He is all the more liked by the ladies," observed Nadelitz, ironically.

"Yes, indeed," added Breesen; "he is said to have made three sisters at once unhappy at the ball the other day."

"At least they have not cried their eyes out, as they say Miss Emily has done," replied Nadelitz, annoyed by Breesen's allusion to his three sisters.

"You must not say such things!" cried Breesen, angrily.

"What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

"I called no names."

"Because everybody knew idiom you meant."

"But, gentlemen, tant de bruit pour une omelette!" said Pluggen. "I wonder if you are going to quarrel about that man? why, that would be the very way to make people believe that he is a favorite with the ladies."

"Do you know the last news?" said Cloten, suddenly pushing his blonde moustache into the group.

"Well?"

"Just imagine that Stein--but hush, there is Grenwitz--not a word, I pray you!"

"Well, gentlemen!" said Felix, "will you please form a cotillon? I have already twice given notice!"

Felix said this in a somewhat irritated tone of voice. His face, generally pale, was deep red. He had evidently taken a good deal of wine.

When the dance was over the same gentlemen, whose conversation Felix had interrupted, met once more as if by agreement.

"Well, where is Cloten with his last piece of news?" asked Sylow.

"Here," said Cloten, coming up. "Just imagine this Stein--we are quite entre nous here?"

"Oh yes! Go on!"

"Has the impudence--well, guess! to fall in love with whom?"

"Ah, Cloten, you are unbearable! Are you going to tell us or not?"

"With Helen Grenwitz!" said Cloten, in a hollow voice.

"Well, not so bad!" said Sylow.

"That is just like the fellow," added Grieben.

"Hinc illÆ lacrimÆ!" laughed Breesen, who had retained a few Latin phrases from his school-days.

"And the best of it is," continued Cloten, "Miss Helen is by no means averse; au contraire, she is head over ears in love with him. Now, is not that charming?"

"Who on earth has made you believe that bloody story?" asked Breesen.

"I have it from very good authority," replied Cloten, with a significative wink of the eye towards that part of the room where Emily was standing in conversation with Helen.

"Hm, hm!" said Breesen.

"The story is not improbable," remarked Sylow. "That explains the deep melancholy of all the Grenwitz family; they look like mutes."

"Did not I always say there was something the matter tonight?" remarked Breesen, again. "I am quite glad now I did not become more intimate with the fellow; at first, I confess, I liked him very well. The man has really something very winning about him."

"He is a famous shot!" said Sylow, meditatively.

"Famous or not famous!" said Cloten, "I verily believe you give him a wide berth, gentlemen, because he is a tolerably good shot. No, gentlemen, that will not do, really, that will not do! I propose that we make amends for our first blunder and treat the man, if he should ever show himself again among us, as he deserves--with the utmost contempt."

"'Pon honor!" said Grieben, "Cloten, is right I shall make the fellow acquainted with my hunting-whip."

"It is a pity he is not here, so that you could carry out your threat at once!" said Breesen, ironically.

"Quand on parle du loup," said Sylow; "there he is! And his Pylades, Oldenburg, as a matter of course, by his side."

The open folding-doors were really just then showing Oldenburg and Oswald in the adjoining room. They conversed for a few minutes with each other; then Oldenburg entered the ball-room, while Oswald was held back by the old baron.