To confirm his statement, a profound hush fell upon the assembly. Those who could find chairs sat down, the others lined themselves along the wall and stood in various attitudes of attention or indifference. Bauer had discovered an empty alcove at the back of the room, and from this point of vantage Nora studied her surroundings with the keenness of her new vision. She had written home of her "brilliant life" and had not been hypocritical. For her it had at first been brilliant. The resplendent uniforms, the constant social intercourse, the courtly gallantry of her husband’s comrades, the ring of grand names—all these features in her daily life had bewildered her, accustomed as she was to the stagnation and general dullness of Delford society. Now the thought of Miles’s advent steadied her critical faculties. She saw behind the first glamour an almost extraordinary simplicity, a total indifference to what she had always looked upon as the refinements of life. These people cared for other things: the women thought little of their appearance—they gloried in their name and position; the men, beneath the polish of their manners, were something primitive in their tastes. Nora thought suddenly of her husband. How little he seemed to mind the narrow dimensions of his home, the ugliness of the furniture! How satisfied the elegant staff-officer seemed with his supper of cheap wine and sausage! Nora’s sense of humour won the upper hand. She laughed to herself, and suddenly realised that the long sonata was at an end and that Bauer was speaking to her under cover of the renewed hubbub. "_Gnädige Frau_, do you know why I am here to-night?" he asked. Nora looked up. "Probably because you were invited, and wished to enjoy a pleasant evening," she said, still smiling at her own thoughts. "A pleasant evening!" he laughed. "_Gnädige Frau_, in an ordinary way I avoid these festivities like the plague. I came to-night because I had heard that you were coming. Please, do not frown like that—the statement is wholly innocent of impertinence. I wanted to meet you again because I wanted to apologise." "To me?" "Yes. Do you remember a certain morning in the forest at Karlsburg—a few weeks before your return to England? You were out riding with Captain von Arnim, and I galloped past you. I was told after wards that my furious riding had frightened your horse and that but for your future husband’s presence of mind there might have been an accident. The thought has troubled me ever since." Nora felt a pang of remorse. She felt that she had misjudged this man. Her previous conduct to him appeared inexcusably childish and prejudiced. "You did not do it on purpose," she said gently. "No; that is true. I did not see you until it was too late. Still, I had no business to ride like that—I was in the devil’s own mood that morning." "With a reason?" "Yes; with a reason. Perhaps one day I will tell you about it—but not now. Am I forgiven?"