Wolfgang looked her full and darkly in the face: "In other words, you detest my work and–myself?"

Erna was silent: she had long outgrown the childish waywardness that had once prompted her to tell the stranger to his face that she could not endure him or his sneers at her mountain-legends. The young lady never dreamed of conduct so unbecoming, and she confronted him now in entire self-possession. But her eyes had not forgotten their language, and at this moment they declared that the girlish nature was quelled only in appearance,–it still slumbered untamed in the depths of her soul. There was a lightning-flash in them which uttered a quick, vehement 'yes' in answer to Wolfgang's last question, although the lips were mute.

It was impossible for Elmhorst to misunderstand it, and yet he gazed into the blue depths of those hostile eyes as if they had the power to hold him spell-bound; only for a few seconds, however, for Erna turned away, saying, lightly, "We certainly are having a very odd conversation, talking of sacrifice, blame, and hatred, and all on the day of your betrothal."

"You are right, Fräulein Thurgau; let us talk of something else," Wolfgang rejoined.

But they did not talk of anything else; on the contrary, an oppressive silence ensued. Erna seated herself and became apparently absorbed in an examination of the pictures on her fan, while her companion walked to the door of the next room as if to admire its magnificence. His face, however, no longer showed the proud satisfaction which had informed it a quarter of an hour before: he looked irritated and ill at ease.

Again the drawing-room door opened and Alice and Frau von Lasberg entered, the latter with a certain air of resignation; a darling wish of hers was to be frustrated to-night. She had looked forward to seeing Alice, whom she had trained entirely according to her own ideas, enrolled in the ranks of the aristocracy, and one of the young girl's distinguished suitors, the scion of an ancient noble line, had enjoyed the Baroness's special favour, and now Wolfgang Elmhorst was carrying off the prize! He was indeed the only man without a title whom Frau von Lasberg could have forgiven for so doing,–he had long since succeeded in winning her regard,–but it was nevertheless a painful fact that a man so perfectly well-bred, so agreeable to the strict old lady, possessed not the ghost of a title.

Alice, in a pale-blue satin gown rather overtrimmed with costly lace, and with a long train, did not look particularly well. The heavy folds of the rich material seemed to weigh down her delicate figure, and the diamonds sparkling on her neck and arms–her father's birthday gift to her–did not avail to relieve her want of colour. Such a frame did not suit her; an airy flower-trimmed ball-dress would have been much more becoming.

Wolfgang hastened to meet his betrothed, and carried her hand to his lips. He was full of tender consideration for her, and he was courtesy itself to the Baroness Lasberg, but the cloud did not vanish from his brow until the president returned and the guests began to arrive. Gradually the rooms were filled with a brilliant assemblage. Those present were indeed the foremost in the capital, the aristocracy by birth and by talent, those distinguished both in the world of finance and in the domain of art, the best names in military and diplomatic circles. Splendid uniforms alternated with costly toilets, and the throng glittered and rustled as only such an assemblage can,–an assemblage thoroughly in keeping with the magnificence of the Nordheim establishment.

The centre of attraction was found in the betrothed pair, or rather in the lover, who, an entire stranger to most of those present, was doubly an object of interest. He certainly was an extremely handsome man, this Wolfgang Elmhorst, no one could deny that, and there was no doubt of his capacity and his talent, but these gifts alone hardly entitled him to the hand of a wealthy heiress, who might well look for something more. And then, too, the young man appeared to take his good fortune, which would have fairly intoxicated any one else, quite as a matter of course. Not the slightest embarrassment betrayed that this was the first time he had been thus surrounded. With his betrothed's hand resting on his arm he stood proudly calm beside his future father-in-law, was presented to every one, received and acknowledged with easy grace all congratulations, and played admirably the principal part thus assigned him. He was entirely the son of the house, accepting his position as such as a foregone conclusion, and even at times seeming to dominate the entire assembly.

Among the guests was the Court-Councillor von Ernsthausen, a stiff, formal bureaucrat, who in the absence of his wife had his daughter on his arm. The little Baroness was charming in her pink tulle ball-dress, with a wreath of snow-drops on her black curls, and she was beaming with delight and exultation in having, after a hard combat, succeeded in being present at the entertainment. Her parents had at first refused to allow her to come, because Herr Gersdorf was also invited, and they dreaded the renewal of his attentions. The Herr Papa was armed to the teeth against attack from the hostile force; he kept guard like a sentinel over his daughter, and seemed resolved that she should not leave his side during the entire evening.

But the lover showed no inclination to expose himself to the danger of another repulse; he contented himself with a courteous salutation from a distance, which Baron Ernsthausen returned very stiffly. Molly inclined her head gravely and decorously, as if quite agreed with her paternal escort; of course she had devised the plan of her campaign, and she proceeded to carry it out with an energy that left nothing to be desired.

She embraced and congratulated Alice, which necessitated her leaving her father's arm; then she greeted Frau von Lasberg with the greatest amiability in return for a very cool recognition on that lady's part, and finally she overwhelmed Erna with demonstrations of affection, drawing her aside to the recess of a window. The councillor looked after her with a discontented air, but, as Gersdorf remained quietly at the other end of the room, he was reassured, and apparently conceived that his office of guardian was perfectly discharged by keeping the enemy constantly in sight. He never suspected the cunning schemes that were being contrived and carried out behind his back.

The whispered interview in the window-recess did not last long, and at its close Fräulein von Thurgau vanished from the room, while Molly returned to her father and entered into conversation with various friends. She managed, however, to perceive that Erna returned after a few minutes, and, approaching Herr Gersdorf, addressed him. He looked rather surprised, but bowed in assent, and the little Baroness triumphantly unfurled her fan. The action had begun, and the guardian was checkmated for the rest of the evening.

Meanwhile, the president had missed his niece and was looking about for her rather impatiently, while talking with a gentleman who had just arrived, and who was not one of the habitués of the house. He was undoubtedly a person of distinction, for Nordheim treated him with a consideration which he accorded to but few individuals. Erna no sooner made her appearance again than her uncle approached her and presented the stranger.

"Herr Ernst Waltenberg, of whom you have heard me speak."

"I was so unfortunate as to miss the ladies when I called yesterday, and so am an entire stranger to Fräulein von Thurgau," said Waltenberg.

"Not quite: I talked much of you at dinner," Nordheim interposed. "A cosmopolitan like yourself, who after the tour of the world comes to us directly from Persia, cannot fail to interest, and I am sure you will find an eager listener to your experiences of travel in my niece. Her taste is decidedly for the strange and unusual."

"Indeed, Fräulein von Thurgau?" asked Waltenberg, gazing in evident admiration at Erna's lovely face.

Nordheim perceived this and smiled, while, without giving his niece a chance to reply, he continued:

"You may rely upon it. But we must first of all try to make you more at home in Europe, where you are positively a stranger. I shall be glad if my house can in any wise contribute to your pleasure; I pray you to believe that you will always be welcome here."

He shook his guest's hand with great cordiality and retired. There was a degree of intention in the way in which he had brought the pair together and then left them to themselves, but Erna did not perceive it. She had been in no wise interested in the presentation of the new-comer,–strangers from beyond the seas were no rarity in her uncle's house,–but her first glance at the guest's unusual type of countenance aroused her attention.

Ernst Waltenberg was no longer young,–he had passed forty, and although not very tall his frame was muscular and well-knit, showing traces, however, of a life of exposure and exertion. His face, tanned dark brown by his sojourn for years in tropical countries, was not handsome, but full of expression and of those lines graven not by years, but by experience of life. His broad brow was crowned by close black curls, and his steel-gray eyes beneath their black brows could evidently flash on occasion. There was something strangely foreign about him that set him quite apart from the brilliant but mostly uninteresting personages that crowded Nordheim's rooms. His voice too had a peculiar intonation,–it was deep, but sounded slightly foreign, possibly from years of speaking other tongues than his own. Evidently he was perfectly versed in the forms of society; the manner in which he took his seat beside Fräulein von Thurgau was entirely that of a man of the world.

"You have but lately come from Persia?" Erna asked, referring to what her uncle had said.

"Yes, I was there last; for ten years I have not seen Europe before."

"And yet you are a German? Probably your profession kept you away thus long?"

"My profession?" Waltenberg repeated, with a fleeting smile. "No; I merely yielded to my inclination. I am not of those steadfast natures which become rooted in house and home. I was always longing to be out in the world, and I gratified my desire absolutely in this respect."

"And in all these ten years have you never been homesick?"

"To tell the truth, no! One gradually becomes weaned from one's home, and at last feels like a stranger there. I am here now only to arrange various business affairs and personal matters, and do not propose to stay long. I have no family to keep me here; I am quite alone."

"But your country should have a claim upon you," Erna interposed.

"Perhaps so; but I am modest enough to imagine that it does not need me. There are so many better men than I here."

"And do you not need your country?"

The remark was rather an odd one from a young lady, and Waltenberg looked surprised, especially when the glance that met his own emphasized the reproach in the girl's words.

"You are indignant at my admission, Fräulein Thurgau, but nevertheless I must plead guilty," he said, gravely. "Believe me, a life such as mine has been for years, free of all fetters, surrounded by a nature lavish in beauty and luxuriance, while our own is meagre enough, has the effect of a magic draught. Those who have once tasted it can never again forego it. Were I really obliged to return to this world of unrealities, this formal existence in what we call society, beneath these gray wintry skies, I think I–but this is rank heresy in the eyes of one who is an admired centre of this same society."

"And yet she can perhaps understand you," Erna said, with a sudden access of bitterness. "I grew up among the mountains, in the magnificent solitude of the highlands, far from the world and its ways, and it is hard, very hard, to forego the sunny, golden liberty of my childhood!"

"Even here?" Waltenberg asked, with a glance about him at the brilliant rooms, now crowded with guests.

"Most of all here."

The answer was low, scarcely audible, and the look that accompanied it was strangely sad and weary, but the next moment the young girl seemed to repent the half-involuntary confession; she smiled and said, jestingly,–

"You are right, this is heresy, and my uncle would disapprove; he evidently hopes to make you really at home among us. Let me make you acquainted with the gentleman now approaching us; he is one of our celebrities and will surely interest you."