'Does anything ail you, Herr von Ettersberg?' he asked. 'You are looking so pale.'
Oswald forced a smile, and passed his hand across his brow.
'Nothing of any importance. Merely a headache, which has been tormenting me all day. If I could have chosen, I should not have appeared at all this evening.'
'In that case you were wrong to dance,' said Rüstow. 'It was sure to increase an ailment of that sort.'
The young man's lips quivered. 'You are right; I should not have danced. But it will not happen again.'
His voice was so low and agitated that Rüstow grew really anxious, and advised him to go out upon the terrace--he would get rid of his headache sooner in the open air. Oswald hastily seized the proffered pretext and went. The Councillor looked after him with a shake of the head, a little regretful that the pleasant chat was over already. Young Ettersberg's 'genius' had not displayed itself so obviously as usual on this occasion.
So the ball spent its course, noisy and brilliant as a ball should be, fully sustaining the castle's ancient renown for successful hospitality. No doubt, the Countess was a past mistress in the art of entertaining and in the ordering and arrangement of such festivities. The night was far advanced when the carriages containing the last departing guests rolled from the door, and the members of the family separated almost immediately. Edmund went down to see the Councillor and Fräulein Lina off on their return-journey to Brunneck, and Hedwig, who was to remain a few days longer with the Countess at Ettersberg, said good-night at once and retired to her own room.'
The splendid apartments, lately the scene of so much animation, were now empty and deserted, though still radiant with light and bright with festive ornament. The Countess alone remained in them. She stood before her husband's picture, absorbed, as it were, in thought. This portrait had been a present to her on her marriage, and now filled a prominent position in the great drawing-room. The face which looked forth from that richly-gilt frame was mild and kindly in its expression, but it was the face of an old man, and she who now stood gazing upon it could yet lay claim to beauty. This proud and almost royal woman, robed in rich satin, with diamonds of purest water gleaming on neck and arms, would have been no fitting consort for an old man even now, and five-and-twenty years had passed since this pair had been affianced. The story, perhaps the sorrow, of a life lay in that strange disparity between the lady and the picture.