Oswald was most pleasantly surprised by this silent and yet eloquent welcome. It was like a warm hand which kindly pressed his own,--like a breath that whispered his name. The storm in his soul, which had been roused by the doctor's words, had passed away, and its place was filled by melancholy sadness. Oswald had been sitting at the window, leaning his head on his hand. Suddenly he thought he heard voices from the lawn on the other side of the château. He recollected that it was time he should seek out the company and speak to them. He dressed, took a carnation from the bouquet, and went down. As he opened the door of the sitting-room, from which the glass door led upon the lawn, he heard the voices more distinctly, and when he had entered the empty room, he saw a part of the company busy upon the lawn with the favorite game of the baroness. He softly went up to the door, and remained standing at the very spot from which Melitta on that afternoon had seen him for the first time, when he came from under the trees, arm in arm with Bruno. The company consisted of the baron and the baroness, Mademoiselle Marguerite and Mr. Timm, Malte and Bruno, and a young lady who was turning her back to Bruno, so that he could only see the slender, lithe figure, whose charming outlines a simple white robe set off to great advantage, and the luxuriant, slightly curling black hair, which, parted in the middle, was taken up behind in countless braids and plaits, following the contour of the marvellously well-shaped head. Oswald's eyes were attracted, as if by magic spell, by this youthful figure who stood there motionless, without leaving the place for a moment, and who only at regular intervals raised the arms in order to receive the graces sent to her with unerring accuracy by her neighbor Bruno, or to send them on to Malte, who let them as regularly drop, and bitterly complained that Helen was throwing so badly. He added that she only did it to spite him, and that somebody else ought to take his place. "Then come here, Helen," said the baroness. "You really throw too badly." Mother and daughter exchanged places, and Oswald could now see Helen's face. It was one of those faces that are never forgotten again; one of those faces which we remember with melancholy pleasure half a century later, as we remember a warm summer evening on which we little school-boys were playing in a garden and the laughing of the big girls came from the garden-house; one of those faces which smile upon us when we are most sad, like a ray of the sun on a dismal autumnal day, which, when all is sad and sorrowful in our hearts, make us believe once more in poetry, and in all that is good and divine.