She was now once more the radiant beauty; her countenance was rosy and joyous, her blue eyes were bright and clear, and bore no evidence of the tears which had flowed back to her heart. A smile played about her rosy lips, and merry, jesting words escaped the mouth which but now had uttered wails and lamentations. Count Ehrhard von Kunheim was completely captivated by her grace and beauty; his gaze was fastened immovably on her lovely countenance. The homage she received from all sides was a flattering tribute to the lady of his choice--the lady he now firmly resolved to make his bride. It was very pleasant to see his future wife the object of so much adoration. He would gladly have seen the whole world at her feet, for then his triumph would have been so much greater in seeing himself favored above all the world. He gazed proudly at the array of rank by which his love was surrounded; the expressions of admiration were sweet music in his ear. He mentally determined to address her this very evening; in a few brief hours it would be in his power to cry out to his rivals: "The lovely Marie von Arnim is mine! She is my bride!" How great, how glorious a triumph would that be! It was a pity that _he_ was not present! To have carried off this prize before him would have crowned his triumph. "Miss Marie," asked the count, interrupting the joyous conversation which she was carrying on with several officers, "you have graciously promised to make me acquainted with your protégé, Mr. Schiller? Is he likely to come this evening?" The smile faded from her lips, the lustre of her eyes was dimmed, and she looked anxiously around, as if seeking help. Her eyes met the keen, threatening glance of her mother, who at once came forward to her assistance; she felt that escape was no longer possible--the hand of fate had fallen upon her. "I fear Councillor Schiller is not coming," said her ladyship, in her complacent manner. "No, he is not coming," repeated Marie, mechanically. Regrets, and many praises of the genial poet they so much admired, and whose latest poems were so charming, now resounded from all sides. "It is really a pity that you have never been able to gratify us by producing this celebrated poet," said Count Kunheim to the beautiful Marie. With a forced smile, she replied, "Yes, it is really a pity." "And why is he not coming?" asked several gentlemen of Madame von Arnim. "Pray tell us, why is it this councillor only comes when you are alone, and is certain of meeting no company here?" "He avoids mankind, as the owl does the light," replied her ladyship, smiling. "We gave him our solemn promise that we would not receive other visitors when he is with us; we promised, moreover, that we would let him know when we had company in the evening by giving him a signal." "And do you really give him the signal, my lady?" asked Count Kunheim. "Yes, we do," replied Marie, in a low voice.