He saw that her eyes were fixed upon some one who approached them; her lips were gravely set, yet in their sweet and gracious curve there was an expression which, though it was not for him, made the simple young baron’s heart beat faster. His glance followed hers. The silent watcher had arisen from his hiding-place, and was advancing towards them. He met Sara Ford’s eyes, and took off his hat. In another moment they were shaking hands, and though she was self-possessed, and almost distant in her manner, poor Hans von Lemde’s heart fell. ‘Good-evening, Miss Ford.’ ‘Good-evening, Mr. Wellfield. I did not see you at the concert. Were you not there?’ ‘No; I have been sitting here by the river instead. I hope you are well?’ ‘Quite well, I thank you. And your——’ The countess had seen and accosted him, and he turned towards her. ‘You stay late to-night, _gnädige Frau_,’ said he, kissing her hand with sedate gravity. ‘Mr. Wellfield! ah, that reminds me—your _Herr Vater_, how is he—any better? I sent one of my men to inquire while we were in the concert, but have not seen him yet.’ She was a very pretty woman of eight or nine and twenty—a small, brilliant brunette; and Jerome Wellfield was dark too, yet the contrast between them was a startling one. ‘I thank you,’ he answered; ‘my father is somewhat stronger to-night. I trust he will soon be quite well again.’ ‘I hope so; and your sister, she is not with you to-night?’ ‘Avice—she did not wish to leave my father; and then, she is a child as yet.’ ‘Is she? I should have said—What is it?’ ‘See, _liebe_ Trockenau, his majesty is coming,’ said a German lady of the party, and with a quick movement the group was divided. The German ladies, being both of rank, and _geborenen_ of distinguished families, and Hans Lemde, stood stock-still by the roadside, waiting until the emperor should pass, to make their reverences and receive a recognition; while the English girls, Jerome Wellfield, and a German man who was not a _von_, strolled off down a side-walk. Sara Ford and Jerome Wellfield insensibly, but as if by general consent, dropped a little behind. The underlying sparkle of malice and mockery had died out of the young lady’s eyes, as she turned to her companion, saying: ‘I am glad your father is better, Mr. Wellfield, for I had heard that he was very ill.’ ‘You are very kind. He really does seem better to-night, and I am in hopes that the attack will pass over, as all the others have done, though it has certainly been a severer one than usual.’ ‘You look as if you had been watching and sitting up—have you?’ ‘Oh, a mere trifle. My father gets nervous, and, as you may easily imagine, a large hotel is not the most comfortable place in which to be taken ill.’ ‘No, indeed.’ ‘Avice insisted on my coming out to-night. And you, Miss Ford, are you enjoying yourself at Count Trockenau’s?’