got up quietly and stole towards the door, knowing that I was expected
upstairs.

"Where are you going, Gretchen?" said my father, sharply.

It was the first time he had opened his lips since the orderly had
clattered out of the courtyard.

"I am going up to Monsieur Maurice," I replied.

My father shook his head.

"Not to-day, my child," he said, "not to-day. I have business with Monsieur
Maurice this afternoon. Stay here till I come back."

And with this he got up, took his hat and went quickly out of the room.

So I waited and waited--as it seemed to me for hours. The waning day-light
faded and became dusk; the dusk thickened into dark; the fire burned red
and dull; and still I crouched there in the chimney-corner. I had no heart
to read, work, or fan the logs into a blaze. I just watched the clock, and
waited. When the room became so dark that I could see the hands no longer,
I counted the strokes of the pendulum, and told the quarters off upon my
fingers.

When at length my father came back, it was past five o'clock, and dark as
midnight.

"Quick, quick, little Gretchen," he said, pulling off his hat and gloves,
and unbuckling his sword. "A glass of kirsch, and more logs on the fire! I