"Do I weary you with all I give you to do?" asked Thea.

Werner laughed. "For heaven's sake, my dear Countess, do not take me, as your brother-in-law does, for a mere bookworm in uniform."

"Not at all; I take you for a profound philosopher."

"Greatly obliged, I'm sure; but really, Eichhof, I cannot see why I should not like to unpack and arrange these pretty little things, or why my books, which you so despise, should hinder me from winning some of them in the cotillon."

"I know how well you dance, and ride too, and that is just why I cannot understand how you can read so much. When did you learn that habit?"

"I learned it when my income would not allow of my pa.s.sing much time outside of my four walls."

Lothar was silent, and Werner went on very composedly: "At the time of the universal money-panic, after those years when gold seemed to be lying about by millions in the streets, and when many a man, in stooping to pick up what he fancied he saw, lost his own hard thalers out of his pocket, I suddenly found my modest income reduced by one-half. All the choice I had was either to make it suffice or to leave the service, and as I was a soldier, and nothing but a soldier to the very marrow of my bones, I got through."

"Couldn't you give me a receipt for the process?" asked Lothar.

Werner laughed. "The receipt is simple enough: 'Determine to do what you must.'"

"And then it was that you began to read?" said Thea.

"Oh, I had tried somewhat before to fill up the gaps in a cadet's education, but then it was that I began to read in earnest, for my books had to indemnify me for so much else. Now that I have no longer that reason for study, my taste leads me in the same direction. Did you look through the book I sent you the other day, Countess?"

Here they were again launched upon one of those confounded literary topics that made Lothar feel his presence so superfluous. He gave a vicious dig to the pin by which he was fastening a knot of ribbon to the cushion, and then went and worked away among the flower-pots, wishing fervently that Herr von Rosen would come and interrupt this bookish talk, and altogether getting himself into a desperately bad humour.

When at last the carriage from Schonthal drove up, he hurried out to meet the guests. Thea observed for the first time this afternoon that Lothar was certainly attentive to Alma; he devoted himself to her exclusively, and no wonder, she looked so bright and pretty that it was but natural that Lothar should be fascinated.

Thea brought out Walter's last letter, from which she wished to read a few extracts to her father. As she opened it, two photographs fell out of the envelope and made the round of the table about which they were sitting over a cup of afternoon tea. One was a late picture of Walter; the other, which he asked to have returned to him, was Dr. Nordstedt.

"A fine, earnest face," said Werner, looking at the latter.

Lothar glanced at it over his friend's shoulder. "By Jove, that is a beard!" he exclaimed. "Look, Alma: how do you like that?"

He handed her the picture. She looked at it with a smile. "He has fine eyes," she said, "but otherwise the picture does not please me. I detest those huge beards."

Lothar stroked and twisted his handsome blonde moustache, and Alma cast a glance at him as if to compare the two heads,--heads so dissimilar that there was absolutely no comparison between them.

"Does Walter say nothing of the Hohensteins?" asked Herr von Rosen.

"Adela and her father have been two weeks now in Berlin."

"Walter does not seem to have seen them," replied Thea; "he never mentions them."

"I should like to see how papa Hohenstein comports himself towards his new relatives," said Lothar.

"He does not comport himself towards them at all," Alma answered him.

"Adela wrote me that her father seems very well, and is very amiable to everybody, except that he will neither hear nor see anything of the Kohnheims, and if his affairs did not compel him to be in Berlin, he would, owing to them, far rather never have gone there."

"I am very curious with regard to Hugo's wife," said Lothar. "I really never dreamed that he would make such a marriage. In the spring the happy couple are to come to Rollin, because papa-in-law Kohnheim absolutely must see his daughter installed there as a n.o.ble chatelaine.

Aha! our part of the country is growing excessively interesting; we have a Polish countess already, we are going to have a Jewess, and we may hope shortly to have a third,--a j.a.panese."

"Matters are bad enough," Herr von Rosen said, seriously, "when the salvation from ruin of a young n.o.bleman and of an ancient family must be sought at the hand of a Jewish heiress."

"Before resorting to such means it surely would be better to send a bullet through one's brains," said Lothar.

"Or to live within one's income," Herr von Rosen gravely corrected him.

"Of course; and Hohenstein might have done so, since he was the only son of a man who certainly some years ago possessed considerable wealth."

Herr von Rosen fixed his eyes earnestly upon Lothar for a moment, and then said, "My dear Lothar, I think it can be done in every case. He who has but little must rely solely upon that, and not try to build himself a house of cards."

A flush mounted to Lothar's forehead; he pa.s.sed his hand through his hair in some embarra.s.sment, but said nothing. It seemed to him that Herr von Rosen had laid special emphasis upon the word 'cards,' and it awakened in his mind all kinds of disagreeable memories.

"I am so sorry for the poor rich girl,--I mean Hugo Hohenstein's wife,"

said Alma; "although, for Adela's sake, I cannot but be glad that matters are to be arranged at Rollin."

Lothar had conquered his embarra.s.sment. "Nonsense!" he said. "The 'poor rich girl' is my lady Baroness von Hohenstein, wears Parisian toilettes, and will be quite content if you do not all treat her too badly. Why, Rollin is being turned inside-out to make it worthy to receive her. A regiment of tradesfolk are at work there, and the Rollin wagons are rolling to and from the railroad station every day, transporting the adornments of the cage that is to imprison the golden bird."

"Adela will be unhappy if much in Rollin is changed," said Alma.

"Oh, Adela will be a lovely sister-in-law for the little Jewess; she is not to be pitied so far as Adela is concerned," Lothar declared.

"Most certainly not," said Thea.

"Werner had taken no part in the discussion. He looked at his watch, and rose to take leave.

"I am seriously concerned about Lothar," said Herr von Rosen, when the young officers had departed. "There are a couple of incorrigible gamblers among the officers of the frontier posts, and it is reported that Lothar lately played with them all night long."

"But that would be horrible, papa," exclaimed Thea, "when he promised Bernhard so faithfully that he would be prudent----"

"He is too heedless!"

"And yet such a dear good fellow withal," Thea said, affectionately, inwardly resolving to entreat Werner on the morrow to have an eye upon her brother-in-law while Bernhard was away.

"Yes, he is an amiable fellow, but thoroughly untrustworthy," Herr von Rosen rejoined.

Alma said nothing, but her cheek flushed and paled. She knew her father was right, but then she could find so many reasons for excusing Lothar.

Thea looked very grave and sad. She suspected how it stood with her sister. She had honestly taken pains to know Lothar, and, although she could not but be prepossessed by his frank amiability, she had arrived at the conviction that he was wavering and uncertain in his views and principles. She had not sufficient experience of life to judge whether his character would ever become firm and stable, but with true feminine instinct she suspected what she could not know, and felt instinctively that it would cost her many an anxious fear to see her sister's happiness intrusted to a man like Lothar. Often when Alma had involuntarily betrayed her affection Thea had wished for an instant that Lothar might reciprocate it, but the next moment she would gladly have known them miles asunder. And on the morrow they were to dance together in her house, and to enjoy all the opportunity for familiar intercourse afforded by an entire evening! She wished Alma had fallen in love with Werner, who she could see was attracted by her. Else why should he come to Eichhof whenever Alma was there? And why else had she so often surprised that dreamy expression in his eyes? Oh, if Alma had only loved him! He was so trustworthy and honourable! Long after she had retired for the night her thoughts were occupied with her sister and the young officers.

CHAPTER XV.

IN BERLIN.

The chorus was intoning a grand polonaise, to the strains of which a glittering train of splendidly-attired couples was marching around the magnificent ball-room of the Berlin Opera-House. The Emperor's tall, venerable figure was followed by the various royal pairs, at whose approach the guests of the opera-ball stood in line and bowed respectfully while the court pa.s.sed by. Twice the royal party made the circuit of the room, and then for the most part retired to their private boxes. Meanwhile the glittering crowd of the public--the truly mixed metropolitan society--thronged the foyers and public boxes.

Magnificent toilettes surged up and down the broad flight of steps that to-night replaced the box usually appropriated to the court, and that led down to the parquette, now floored over for the dancers, the number of whom was still on the increase. At the head of these steps stood a couple who had already been the subject of frequent remark. The cavalier was a distinguished, aristocratic figure; the lady, unique in air, with bright sparkling eyes and a bewitching smile upon her delicately curved lips, wore a robe of sea-green satin, that suited well the red gold of her abundant hair.

"Count Bernhard Eichhof, the youngest member of the Reichstag, and Frau von Wronsky," whispered one of the initiated to a guest from the provinces.