Ottilie was able to give the Baron the most satisfactory answer to his inquiries as to the relation of the Architect with their family.  Charlotte had already, as she was aware, been exerting herself to find some situation for him; had it not been indeed for the arrival of the party, the young man would have left them immediately on the completion of the chapel, the winter having brought all building operations to a standstill; and it was, therefore, most fortunate if a new patron could be found to assist him, and to make use of his talents.

Ottilie’s own personal position with the Architect was as pure and unconscious as possible.  His agreeable presence, and his industrious nature, had charmed and entertained her, as the presence of an elder brother might.  Her feelings for him remained at the calm unimpassioned level of blood relationship.  For in her heart there was no room for more; it was filled to overflowing with love for Edward; only God, who interpenetrates all things, could share with him the possession of that heart.

Meanwhile the winter sank deeper; the weather grew wilder, the roads more impracticable, and therefore it seemed all the pleasanter to spend the waning days in agreeable society.  With short intervals of ebb, the crowd from time to time flooded up over the house.  Officers found their way there from distant garrison towns; the cultivated among them being a most welcome addition, the ruder the inconvenience of every one.  Of civilians too there was no lack; and one day the Count and the Baroness quite unexpectedly came driving up together.

Their presence gave the castle the air of a thorough court.  The men of rank and character formed a circle about the Baron, and the ladies yielded precedence to the Baroness.  The surprise at seeing both together, and in such high spirits, was not allowed to be of long continuance.  It came out that the Count’s wife was dead, and the new marriage was to take place as soon as ever decency would allow it.

Well did Ottilie remember their first visit, and every word which was then uttered about marriage and separation, binding and dividing, hope, expectation, disappointment, renunciation.  Here were these two persons, at that time without prospect for the future, now standing before her, so near their wished-for happiness, and an involuntary sigh escaped out of her heart.

No sooner did Luciana hear that the Count was an amateur of music, than at once she must get up something of a concert.  She herself would sing and accompany herself on the guitar.  It was done.  The instrument she did not play without skill; her voice was agreeable:  as for the words one understood about as little of them as one commonly does when a German beauty sings to the guitar.  However, every one assured her that she had sung with exquisite expression, and she found quite enough approbation to satisfy her.  A singular misfortune befell her, however, on this