Three days later, a telegram came: “Arriving on noon steamer. Egon.” And even though the preceding days had been filled with airing and cleaning, shifting and straightening, the zeal of preparation was now redoubled. Countess Judith was to have the rooms next to her brother’s, while for Egon, as on earlier visits, they prepared the small room at the top of the old tower, whose lower part was entirely taken up by a staircase. Egon, when he stayed here, delighted in going up to the observation platform to take in the magnificent prospect of the lake from there. The old count viewed this as “German Romanticism,” and made fun of it, even though he was susceptible to other things which were more romantic yet.

And now the day of their arrival had dawned. Franziska rose early and made one more inspection, ending in the tower room. She was about to return to her quarters through the great dining room when she noticed Hannah, standing on the balcony opposite the old chapel, and looking intently at something happening in the courtyard.

“What is it?” Franziska asked. But Hannah only made a half-mysterious gesture, beckoning her to approach as silently as possible, and when Franziska complied, she saw a pigeon struggling to unwind a large ball of yarn lying in the middle of the courtyard, where one of the maids apparently had forgotten it.