She waited impatiently for an opportunity to speak alone with Otto, which he, however, seemed to avoid. But one evening she was on the castle steps as Otto galloped into the court-yard. She told him that the others were in the garden, and went with him to look for them. For a while they walked along together in silence; at last she asked in a low voice, without looking up, "Have you forgiven me?" "Forgiven?" he repeated, surprised. "What do you mean?" "About the note. What else could I mean?" And her eyes flashed as she asked, "Do you mean this pretence of forgetfulness for magnanimity?" Then, falling back into a sad, gentle tone, "Yes, it is magnanimous. I am guilty of this betrothal, perhaps of the unhappiness of your whole future life." "You are mistaken. I am not unhappy," he replied, and his manner betrayed a slight embarrassment that did not escape Magelone. She paused, laid her hand upon his arm, and looked him full in the face. "Let me look at you," she said. "A happy bridegroom in his own despite. Oh, if you but knew how queer you are!" She laughed, the old wayward child-like laugh; but the next moment her eyes were veiled, and, turning from him, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. "Magelone, what is the matter?" Otto cried, trying to pull her hands down from her face; but with a scarce audible "Let me alone! let me alone!" she turned and fled back towards the house. Otto was surprised beyond expression. He had wronged her, then, when he thought her incapable of any depth of feeling. The cold calculation of which he had accused her had been forced upon her by circumstances. Now, in spite of her apparent indifference, her foolish heart had asserted itself. Poor Magelone! When Otto saw her next in the domestic circle she seemed cool and gay as usual, and she continued to appear so, but him she could no longer deceive. He knew now what lay concealed beneath this outward seeming; he noted and interpreted every half sigh, every absent smile, every fleeting moment of abstraction, from which she would rouse herself with a start, and the half-angry glance which she bestowed upon him now and then was quite as comprehensible to him as was her evident avoidance of him.