“You received a letter from your grandfather, did you not, Marietta?” she said, changing the subject.  “Good news?”

“The very best.  Grandpapa is quite well, and is delighted at the thought that he’ll be here with me in another month.  He writes that it’s the quietest summer he has known for a long time around Waldhofen.  Rodeck has been desolate and deserted since the prince’s death.  Ostwalden is closed and Fuerstenstein will be empty soon, too.  Toni is to be married in two weeks, and then uncle Schoenau will be all alone.”

The last words were spoken in a peculiar tone, and Marietta gave her mother-in-law an odd glance, which the latter did not notice; she only said: 

“It does seem singular for Hartmut and Ada to spend the first weeks of their marriage here in that little villa when they could go to the great castle at Ostwalden or one of the Stahlberg palaces.”

“They wanted to be as near the general as possible,” said Willibald.

“Well, in this case, Falkenried could have gotten leave and gone to them.  God be praised!  The man seems to live again since he has his son with him.  I knew better than any one how the boy’s flight struck him, for he fairly worshipped his son, notwithstanding his severity.  That famous ride which saved his father and his troops, absolved him from all his boyhood’s errors, for which, after all, his mother alone was accountable.”

“If we only had some wedding festivities in the family,” said Marietta.  “Will and I were married without any, because the war had commenced, and now when the war is happily ended, Hartmut and Ada are married just as quietly as we.”

“My child, when a man has gone through all that Hartmut has endured, he has little desire for gaieties,” said Frau von Eschenhagen, earnestly.  “Besides, he has by no means recovered his strength yet.  You saw how pale he was when they were married.  Adelheid’s first marriage was very different from her second one.  Her poor father gave her away, although he was so ill, and she in her train and lace and diamonds looked like a queen; but her face was pale and cold.  Now, she seemed like a different creature as she turned with Hartmut from the altar in her simple white silk gown and gauzy veil.  I have never seen so peaceful, so happy a face!  Poor Herbert!  He never possessed his wife’s love.”

“Who could love so old a man?  Always with his diplomatic coat and manner on, too.  I shouldn’t have been able to do it, I’m sure,” cried Marietta, thoughtlessly.

Her mother-in-law, who held her brother’s memory sacred, said tartly: 

“Such an opportunity would never have come in your way.  A man like Herbert von Wallmoden would scarcely have chosen you, you little insolent thing—­”

The little insolent thing threw her arms around Frau Regine’s neck, and said, flatteringly: 

“Now, don’t be angry, mamma!  I wouldn’t exchange my Will for all the great ambassadors of the world, and neither would you.”