presence, did not repeat her question,
but reprimanded Marguerite for her behaviour, which almost passed the
limits of the "_convenable_." The stranger put a stop to Marguerite's
chatter, turning to the others, and leading the conversation to some
event of indifference which had happened in the neighbourhood. Madame
von G. answered him. Dagobert tried to join in the conversation, which
soon dragged painfully along in detached, interrupted sentences; and
during this, Marguerite kept trilling couplets of French chansons, and
seemed to be trying steps, as if remembering the "tours" of the newest
gavotte, while the others were scarcely capable of moving. They all
felt their breasts oppressed; the presence of the stranger weighed upon
them like the sultry oppressiveness which precedes a thunderstorm. The
words died on their lips when they looked at the deathly pale face of
this uncanny guest. The markedly foreign accent with which he spoke
both French and German indicated that he was neither a German nor a
Frenchman.

Madame von G. breathed freely, with an enormous sense of relief, when
at length horses were heard drawing up at the door, and the voice of
her husband, Colonel von G., was distinguishable.

When the Colonel came in, and saw the stranger, he went up to him
quickly, saying, "Heartily welcome to my house, dear Count." Then
turning to his wife, he said, "This is Count S., a very dear friend of
mine; I made his acquaintance in the north, but met him afterwards in
the south."

Madame von G., whose anxiety began to be relieved, assured the Count,
with pleasant smiles, that it was only because her husband had omitted
to tell her of his visit that he had been received perhaps a little
strangely, and not as a welcome friend ought to have been. Then she
told the Colonel how the conversation had been running all the evening
upon the supernatural; how Moritz had been telling a dreadful story of
events which had happened to him and a friend of his, and that, at the
very moment when he had been saying, "There came a tremendous crash,"
the door had flown open, and the Count had come in.

"Very good indeed," said the Colonel, laughing; "they thought you were
a ghost, dear Count! I fancy I see traces of alarm and nervousness
about Angelica's face still, and Moritz looks as though he had scarcely
shaken off the excitement of the story he was telling. Even Dagobert
does not seem quite in his ordinary spirits. Really, Count, i