To the initiated reader the remark will be almost superfluous that the practices at Schloss Trockenau must have been characterised by a certain unconventionality and _laisser faire_ not always found in German or any other country houses, whether belonging to the nobility or to the _Bürgerschaft_. This was the case, and the guests of the countess were by no means confined to persons who were her equals in rank, many of whom, she was wont to say, might be excellent creatures, but were often old, and, when they lived in the country, were wont to be dull. And dulness was the bane of the countess’s existence. In their hatred of it she and her husband were sworn allies; they were never known to oppose one another’s schemes for killing time, though it often happened that in their zeal in that cause they would both have provided some entertainment for the same time. When this occurred, the rule was that each should give way in turn, and this plan was found to answer admirably, and to be productive of the greatest harmony, conjugal and social. On the evening after that meeting in the _Kurgarten_, a large company, or _Gesellschaft_, was assembled in the rooms, or wandering about the gardens and terraces of the Schloss. It was a mixed and motley society. There were friends of the count, brother officers who were staying in the house, or who had come over from Coblenz for the occasion; young men from Berlin, fashionable or otherwise; some gay cousins of Countess Carla, very stylish young ladies indeed, who, with their pretty cousin as a chaperon, were creating havoc by their accomplishments, and by their airs and graces, in the hearts of all the shy young _Junker_ in the vicinity, except in that of Hans von Lemde, who was irresistibly drawn in another direction. There were some young Englishmen from Bonn, fellow-students and friends of the count’s younger brother. There were two learned professors, and a poetess whose verses were _fades_, and who was rightly and universally voted a bore, but who was amongst the _von_-est of the _vons_, and who distinctly and unmistakably belonged to the _genus irritabile_, and apparently to no other. There was Jerome Wellfield, who had just arrived, and who was talking to his hostess; there was Herr Rudolf Falkenberg, the great banker and picture-critic, who had arrived that morning. There was a knot of stout, oddly-dressed, _gauche_-looking ladies of a certain age, who clubbed together in a corner, and represented the local nobility and squirearchy. ‘No one knows who else may be coming,’ said one. ‘I think die Trockenau is much too careless. She does not consider the dignity of our position.’ ‘_Ach, lieber Himmel!_ Who is that?’ murmured another.