"And until then," said Melitta, in her usual playful manner, pushing Oswald's hair from his brow, "until then, you dreamy dreamer, and incorrigible censor of the world, we will enjoy the fleeting moments, and that is why you must go to Barnewitz to-morrow. Pray, pray, dear Oswald, come,--and I will talk with no one else, dance with no one else,--I must go to this party in order to gain the right to refuse ten others, at which I--at which I--would feel less free than here. And without you I shall not have the least benefit from going; on the contrary, I shall be as sad as a little bird that has been caught and put in the cage. But if you are there, dearest, I will be cheerful and dance and sing--no, not sing--but I will look pretty, very pretty, for your sake. Shall I go in white? with a camellia in my hair, or a rose? You have never told me yet how you like me best. Oh! what a wooden knight you are!" Next day, it was a Sunday, in the afternoon, at five o'clock, the gala-coach was waiting at the portal of the château at Grenwitz. The heavy bays had the best harness with the silver ornaments; the silent coachman wore his state-livery; the baron appeared in evening costume, with the decoration in his button-hole, which one of the many German princes in miniature had long ago bestowed upon him; and even the baroness appeared in a costume which made her exceptionably look only five years older than she really was. After the necessary ballast of cloaks and shawls for the return had been stowed away, and the baroness, already seated, had once more invested Mademoiselle Marguerite with the dignity of châtelaine--she would have much preferred going too--she stopped the coachman in order to examine the pretty French-woman once more for ten minutes on all the points on which she had obtained precise orders and regulations. Then only the order to start was given, and the coach moved with that solemnity which happily suited the disposition of the bays and the temper of the silent coachman equally well. As they passed under the bridge Bruno appeared above, at the head of Malte and a lot of hired boys who were weeding in the garden, and gave three cheers, an idea which induced even the grim baroness to smile. However, the good lady seemed to be to-day in an unusually mild and even communicative humor, perhaps in order to prepare herself for the party. She thought the weather quite fine, only a little too warm; the road excellent, only rather dusty; she hoped for cooler weather on the return, only she feared there might be a thunderstorm brewing, for a cloud on the western horizon looked to her very suspicious. Then they discussed the question whether Miss Marguerite, if the storm should really come up,--a case for which no instructions had been left,--would have the good sense to order the upper windows to be closed, and then, whether she would generally do her duty. As it was not feasible to obtain a majority of votes, the