"Do you not really understand that it is precisely on his account that I don't want to go to the reception? It would be simply impossible for me to talk to him naturally and pleasantly after Fritz's letter and our conversation." Suddenly, however, she changed her mind: "No, you are quite right. I will not allow the day, to which I have so greatly looked forward, to be spoiled." Her aunt embraced her tenderly: "That is quite right, my child. Come along now, the carriage is at the door." They drove immediately to the embassy. They were somewhat late, rows and rows of carriages were drawn up before the gates, and it was long before their carriage could drive in. Herr and Frau von Warnow conversed about the occupants of the other carriages, which were close by them, exchanged remarks concerning the elegance of their various acquaintances, and passed the time in wondering which of the royalties would put in an appearance to-day. Hildegarde sat silent in her corner. In answer to her uncle she had pleaded a headache, and Frau von Warnow had given her husband a sign not to pursue the matter. So she could remain undisturbed in her thoughts. What had really made her change her mind and go to the reception? A sudden desire had sprung up in her to meet George, to see and converse with an honourable man. She did not exactly know how she was to do it, but she had made up her mind to stick to her resolution and to say to him: "Pay your court to some one who is worthier of you than I am." Before she would accept any more attentions from him she wanted to tell him about her father and brother. If then he continued to treat her with peculiar chivalry, and to endeavour to win her hand, her conscience would be quite free, and she could look him in the face honestly and straightforwardly. "Aren't you ever going to get out, Hildegarde?" Hildegarde got out. She had sat in her corner with closed eyes, and did not notice that the footman had been holding open the door for a long time. She followed the others, and a quarter of an hour later she walked into the enormous reception-rooms in which a brilliant company was assembled. There were endless greetings and hand-shakings, endless inquiries after health and the events of the last few days. Everybody was constantly looking with expectation towards the door, for the court party was momentarily expected. Although no one, of course, would have confessed it, all were consumed with anxiety to see whether His Majesty would notice and talk to them, and distinguish them by shaking hands. Each one hoped that he would enjoy this distinction. Nobody wanted the other to have it, and each hoped, in secret, that he alone would be noticed by the Emperor.