“You can’t do it, Lotte! Remember--Papa is sixty, and since that dreadful war took our son he has only you. You can’t expect him to let you go out into an uncertain future, however fond he is of Leo. Just think: Leo is going to Paris; with the depreciation of the krone we couldn’t possibly support you with francs, and you might come to want without Papa’s being able to help you. But if he’s alone Leo will make his way, and you’re both still so young that you can wait for better times. Now hush--Father’s coming! And the bell’s ringing--that must be Leo.” Herr Spineder, who now came into the room to light the candles, was typical of the old Austrian Hofrat at his best. Fond of music and a skilled instrumentalist, highly cultured, well groomed without and within, always seeking beauty, loving life and affirming it, just, conscientious, and tolerant--yet a little narrow-minded, cautious and hesitant. He still wore his beard in the antiquated fashion of Francis Joseph, for he considered it beneath his dignity to make any concession on his person to the new conditions. Though he was a Democrat through and through, and a loyal servant to the Republic, Angeli’s beautiful portrait of the Emperor still hung over his desk. As he entered the room now the old gentleman with his snow-white hair and his gentle grayish-blue eyes represented the genuine Old Austrian whom we soon will know only from books. “Leo is outside, scraping off the snow from his shoes,” said Herr Spineder as he slowly lighted the candles. “Go out to him--I’ll prepare the presents, and ring when I’m ready.” Frau Spineder paid a brief visit to the kitchen to look after her carp, cake, and apple-fritters; but Lotte, throwing her arms about Leo’s neck, was weeping silently on his breast. Leo Strakosch--slender, dark-haired, and smooth-shaven, with sparkling brown eyes that flashed forth wit and humor--was ten years older than Lotte. During the last year of the war he had entered the army for his year’s service, and at the front had met Rudolf Spineder, the Hofrat’s son; soon the young men, who were of the same age, were fast friends. In the last battle of the Piave Rudolf had been wounded in the head and had breathed out his young life in the arms of his friend--but only after begging him to convey a last message to his parents and little sister. This is how Leo had come into the house of the Spineders; and the poor son of a petty commission-agent felt entirely at home in the cultured bourgeois atmosphere. When Lotte grew from childhood into beautiful blooming girlhood, he determined: “This one, or none!” And Lotte returned the love of the bright, clever, talented young man with all her heart.