Paul was in the best of humours; he brought chairs for the ladies, placing them where they could have the finest view of the Schwarzenbach valley, and then gave a humorous account of all the friends had gone through on their walk from the Zillerthal. His talent for conversation was undeniable, and Eva felt the charm of it for the first time. Meeting him only at balls and large assemblies in K----, she had always regarded him as a _blasé_ man of the world, probably because his dislike of the haughty heiress had never permitted him to think it worth the trouble to let his light shine in her presence. To-day, however, resigning himself entirely to his natural mood, he soon overcame the prejudices of his listeners. His dry humour even provoked the grave Eva's frequent laughter, and she soon almost forgot how unpleasant had been the first few moments of their meeting. Aline too was much interested in Herr Delmar's talk, but what provoked her special admiration was his constant care and consideration for Herr von Herwarth, and the conscientious fulfilment of his duties as nurse. The appearance of Uncle Balthasar on the balcony was no interruption to the pleasant conversation. He greeted Delmar and Herwarth with his usual kindly good humour, and they returned his salutation in kind. Eva was especially pleased to see that Delmar, who was generally so ready with the sharp arrows of his sarcasm in view of any silliness or weakness, had neither sneering word nor look for Uncle Balthasar. And yet the young man might well have thought Uncle Balthasar fair game, as he came tripping out upon the balcony in his trim elegance of costume, in one hand his fine straw hat, and in the other a delicate cane, addressing Delmar in the richest Saxon patois: "Aha, my good Herr Delmar, monstrous glad to see you in the Tyrol, I'm _suah_." But Delmar never seemed to hear Uncle Balthasar's mistakes either of grammar or pronunciation; he treated him with all the respectful courtesy due from a young man to one much older, thereby taking the kindly old man's heart by storm. A couple of hours flew swiftly by; the sun had long set behind the mountains, the valley of the Schwarzenbach lay in dim shadow, from which only the distant peaks of the Weisshorn emerged, glowing in crimson light; soon it, too, faded, and a dull ashen gray followed upon the last shimmer of departed day. The increasing darkness warned Eva that it was time to leave the balcony, and she arose. "We must not leave Aunt Minni alone any longer," she said. "She will certainly be waiting for us at her tea-table."