His companion, Herr Casper Eysvogel, had already noticed his future
daughter-in-law, recognised her by an amazed shrug of the shoulders which
was anything but a friendly greeting, and now eyed the excited revellers
with a look as grave and repellent as that of the owner of the house.
Herr Casper's unusual height permitted him to gaze over the heads of the
party though, with the exception of Count von Montfort, they were all
tall, nay, remarkably tall men, and the delicacy of his clear-cut,
pallid, beardless face had never seemed to Els handsomer or more
sinister. True, he was the father of her Wolff, but the son resembled
this cold-hearted man only in his unusual stature, and a chill ran
through her veins as she felt the stately old merchant's blue eyes,
still keen and glittering, rest upon her.

On the day of her betrothal she had rushed into his arms with a warm and
grateful heart, and he had kissed her, as custom dictated; but it was
done in a strange way--his thin, well-cut lips had barely brushed her
brow. Then he stepped back and turned to his wife with the low command,
"It is your turn now, Rosalinde." Her future mother-in-law rose quickly,
and doubtless intended to embrace her affectionately, but a loud cough
from her own mother seemed to check her, for ere she opened her arms to
Els she turned to her and excused her act by the words, "He wishes it."
Yet Els was finally clasped in Frau Rosalinde's arms and kissed more
warmly than--from what had previously occurred--she had expected.

Wolff's grandmother, old Countess Rotterbach, who rarely left the huge
gilt armchair in her daughter's sitting-room, had watched the whole scene
with a scornful smile; then, thrusting her prominent chin still farther
forward, she said to her daughter, loud enough for Els to hear, "This
into the bargain?"