These descriptions had prompted quite a lively chat between Fessler and Franziska. He asked to hear about the social life in the small North German town and posed one question after another. What he found most interesting were the scenes from the Lutheran parsonage: the many children, the games of whist, and the pastors’ conferences. All of this garnered his unmistakable interest, and that of the countess, as was clear from their expressions; and only Count Adam, usually the most vocal admirer of such descriptions and exchanges, had fallen strikingly silent. He was obviously pondering other matters and questions, as he gave absentminded replies and toyed with a curtain tassel that hung down by his chair. He did not demur when the guests left earlier than usual or indulge in teasing or objections when Fessler requested the honor of accompanying Franziska to her lodgings. In fact he hardly smiled, and when the two guests left, he withdrew to his room which was directly above his sister's salon.

She was used to seeing her brother's nervous vivacity change into its opposite without any particular reason, and so she felt no surprise until the next morning, when he excused himself from breakfast without further explanation. At the same time she could hear him pacing back and forth in his room, like a man tormented by some deep inner disquiet. What could it be? What had happened to put him in this humor? She was still turning this over in her mind when the old count walked into her salon, more elegantly clad than usual, and in every way carrying himself like someone about to appear at an audience or to deliver a speech of great import.