rfectly beside himself, and the baroness vainly attempted to compose
him.

Such was Anton's entrance into the family.

He too returned sadly to his room. From that moment he felt convinced
that it would hardly be possible to establish a good understanding
between himself and the baron. He was accustomed, in matters of
business, to express himself curtly, and to be promptly understood, and
he now foresaw long disquisitions on the part of the ladies, succeeded
probably by no decision at all. Even his position with regard to them
appeared uncertain. True, the baroness had treated him with the utmost
graciousness, but still as a stranger. He feared that she would continue
the great lady, giving just as much of her confidence as might be useful
to herself, but warding off all intimacy by a cold politeness. Even
Lenore's friendly voice could not restore his equanimity. They went over
the premises silently and thoughtfully, like two men of business engaged
in making an estimate.

Such as these first days promised was Anton's life for the next few
months, anxious, monotonous, formal. He wrote, kept accounts, and ate
alone in his room, and when invited to join the family circle the party
was far from a cheerful one. The baron sat there like a lump of ice, a
check upon all free and animated conversation.

Formerly Anton used to admire all the accessories of the family, the
arrangement of their _salons_, and the elegant trifles around. Now, the
self-same furniture stood in the drawing-room suite--even the little
foreign birds had survived their winter journey--the same carpets, the
same worsted-work, even the same perfume was there; but now the very
birds seemed to him rather bores than otherwise, and soon nothing about
the room interested him but the share he had himself had in putting it
in order.

Anton had brought with him a profound respect for the polished tone, the
easy conversation, and the graceful forms of social intercourse that
prevailed in the family circle.

But, crushed and downcast as the Von Rothsattels now were, he could not
expect the same light-hearted grace that had captivated him at Frau von
Baldereck's parties. They had been torn away from their accustomed
circle; all the external influences, and the excitement which keep the
spirits elastic, and help us to vanquish sorrow, were wanting now, and
he modestly confessed that he could afford no substitute for them. But
there was more than this to disencha