Page:Poet Lore, volume 4, 1892.djvu/470

 in thin mist, hovered above Petřín, and in its silvery beams the moist pavement glittered like the surface of a lake curled by a gentle breeze. Now and then I felt the breath of a cold north-wind. As the wind was blowing directly against my face, I hastened my pace, and in about a quarter of an hour I stood before the grated entrance of the Kinský park. The main gate and the side-doors were wide open; and an old porter, an old acquaintance of mine, dressed in a fur-coat, as though it were midwinter, was impatiently walking up and down. “Are there many guests to-night?” I asked the porter.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured in answer.

“Is it long since the celebration began?”

“Possibly; but Iam not sure. About half an hour ago Frederic, the young gentleman, rode out and has just returned.”

“What do they celebrate?”

“I do not know; but the young gentleman whom they thought dead came back, and undoubtedly it is in his honor.”

“Really!” I whispered unwillingly; and first now was I fully convinced that all I had shortly before witnessed in my study was no delusion, but reality.

“I may go upstairs, may I?” I asked formally, knowing beforehand that the old porter would let me in, even if he had an express order not to admit any uninvited guest.

“Why, you are in the first place on my list of guests,” he answered.

“Good-by, then!” I said, and walked up the broad gravel drive.

The cold of the autumnal nights had left evident traces of its implacable destructive power in the park. The leaves of trees and bushes were yellow, and had mostly fallen. Here and there a tree stretched out perfectly bare branches. The dead silence of the night was broken only now and then by a blast of the cold north-wind. I hurried on and soon saw the palace, about five hundred paces before me.

All the windows were lighted; in front of the villa I saw dark figures coming and going, and farther on stood a long row of