“And then he’s a young husband of six and fifty, don’t forget that,” interrupted the forester spitefully.

“Yes, he took his time about marrying, but he made a dazzling match at last.  For a man of his years it was no easy matter to win such a wife as Adelheid, young, beautiful, rich—­”

“And of common birth,” added Schoenau.

“Stuff and nonsense!  Who asks any questions now-a-days about birth when an immense fortune stands behind it?  Herbert can use money now, too; he has been hampered for means his life long, and now, as ambassador, he needs more to keep up the position than he could possibly supply.  But my brother need never be ashamed of his father-in-law.  Stahlberg was at the head of one of our greatest industries, and a man of honor, through and through.  It was a pity he died so soon after his daughter’s marriage.  At all events they made a very sensible choice.”

“So that’s what you call a sensible choice, do you, when a girl of eighteen marries a man old enough to be her father?” asked Schoenau, who, in the heat of discussion, came back to his sister-in-law again.  “To be sure she has a high place in society now, as the wife of His Excellency, the Ambassador, and is a baroness and all that.  But to me this beautiful, cool Adelheid, with her ‘sensible’ ideas, which would do a grandmother credit, is not at all sympathetic.  A thoughtless maiden, who falls over head and ears in love, and then declares to her parents, ‘This one, or none,’ suits me far better.”

“Those are fine opinions for the father of a family to express,” cried Frau von Eschenhagen, much ruffled.  “It’s a good thing that Toni inherited my sister’s good sense, otherwise she would be coming to you with some such a speech one of these days.  But Stahlberg educated his daughter better.  I know it from himself.  She was trained to follow his wishes, and accepted Herbert at once when he offered himself.  But of course you know nothing about educating children; it stands to reason that you should not.”

“What?  I, a man and a father, and know nothing about educating children?” cried Schoenau, red with anger.  They were now both on the fair way to have another pitched battle, when they were happily interrupted by the appearance of a young girl, the daughter of the house, who stepped out on the terrace at this moment.

Antonie von Schoenau could never be called beautiful, but she had her father’s fine figure and a fresh, glowing face, with clear brown eyes.  Her nut-brown hair was laid in smooth braids around her head, and her attire, although perfectly suitable for a girl of her station, was yet quite simple.  But Antonie was in the first bloom of youth, and that charm outweighed all others.  As she stepped out now, looking so fresh and rosy and healthy, she was a daughter after Frau Regine’s own heart, and that lady immediately brought the strife to an end and gave her a smiling nod.

“Father, the carriage is on its way back from the station,” said the young lady, in very deliberate, almost drawling tones.  “It is at the foot of the castle hill already, and Uncle Wallmoden will be here in fifteen minutes.”