"Hope you will enjoy yourself," cried Ottomar. "Same to you," said Justus; and to himself he added, "poor boy!" He knew the sad story, and had besides heard lately from Reinhold, with whom he kept up a constant correspondence, new and worse things of Carla, which Meta, who had arrived quite unexpectedly this morning, fully confirmed. "You will see," said Meta, "it will turn out badly. Dear Elsa suspects nothing; but I have a pair of sharp eyes, you know, and I am sure that the Count and Carla have got some understanding between them. If only Ottomar would let her go! but he is the sort of man who, if any one tries to take from him what he ought to be thankful to let go, says, 'No, not now.' He is not so sensible as we are, you know. And now make haste and be off to your great party!" How laughing and beaming were his Meta's eyes, who by her great good sense had overcome all obstacles--"To-morrow we will order the furniture to suit your artistic tastes, you know!"--and how darkly and restlessly gleamed the eyes in which he had just looked! "The handsome face sunken and wasted as if in the last ten weeks he had aged twice as many years," thought Justus, "and in spite of his gay words, how bitter a look there had been upon his lips! Poor boy!" "What are you making such a wry face for?" cried Kille, the architect, as the new comer approached the table. "No mooning allowed here!" cried Bencke, the historical painter. "He is thinking of the left hip of his 'Industry,' which is so much awry that it is almost dislocated!" cried friend Bunzel. "Or of Lasker's speech, which has been cutting everybody up!" cried the architect. "I am thinking just now of what you are always thinking of, nothing at all!" said Justus, taking a place next to Bunzel's "cousin," and passing his hand over his bald forehead to brush away the unpleasant impression.