rty, 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 th