to her to be
optimistic. Both she and Mathilde made a practice of withholding from
their father's knowledge the smaller worries of daily life which sour so
many women and make them whine on platforms to be given the larger woes.

She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance
to the arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity to
convey her displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows.

Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his role of host,
so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous and quick to see
a want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. It was part of his
sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal matters, and especially a
personal trouble, from public attention.

"They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt," he said with that
grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate.

Charles hardly noted what Desiree said. So sunny a nature as his might
have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, more especially the
minor trouble of another. He was unusually thoughtful. Some event of the
morning had, it would appear, given him pause on his primrose path. He
glanced more than once over his shoulder towards the window, which stood
open. He seemed at times to listen.

Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused a brief
silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse's feet and the quick
rattle of a sword against spur and buckle.

After a glance he came back into the room.

"Excuse me," he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. "It is, I think, a
messenger for me."

And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon the
conversation became general again.

"You," said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, "you, who
are now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him away. Do not
consider the 'convenances,' my child."

Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware of
this consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her.

She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter into his
pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face that
she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of the
Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass on its way. It
was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has for an instant seen a
vision of things not earthly.

"I have been sent for by the... I am wanted at head-qu