In the meantime the cab had only proceeded a short distance, to the entrance of the Bellevue Garden.
"We are quite secure here, I swear to you," Ottomar had whispered, as he helped Ferdinanda to alight. The driver contentedly pocketed his thaler and immediately drove off. Ottomar gave Ferdinanda his arm and led her, bewildered, frightened, and half stunned, into the garden. He could hear her gasping for breath. "I swear it!" he repeated.
"Swear that you love me! I only ask that!" Instead of answering he put his arm round her. She encircled him with both hers. Their lips met in a long, burning kiss. They then hastened, hand in hand, deeper into the park, till they were concealed by trees and shrubs and then sank again into one another's arms, exchanging burning kisses and words of love, intoxicated with the bliss of which they had so long been dreaming, and which was now more precious than they had ever imagined in their wildest dreams. So at least thought Ferdinanda, and so she said, while her lips again sought his, and so said Ottomar; and yet, at the very moment that he returned her burning kisses, there was a feeling in his heart that he had never known before, a dread of the flames that surrounded him, a sensation as of powerlessness in the presence of a passion which raged around and overpowered him with the irresistible might of a tempest. He had until now played at love, had looked upon his easy conquests as triumphs, had accepted the mute homage of beautiful eyes, the flattering words of gentle lips, as a tribute due to him, and not demanding any gratitude. Here, for the first time, he was the weaker. He would not acknowledge it to himself, and yet he knew it, as an experienced wrestler knows at the first touch that he has found his master, and that he must succumb, unless some accident gives him the advantage. Ottomar was already looking out for this accident, for some event to occur, some circumstance that should give him the advantage; then he blushed at his own cowardice, at his mean ingratitude towards this beautiful, gifted being, who so confidingly, so devotedly, and with such self-forgetfulness threw herself into his arms, and he redoubled the tenderness of his caresses and the sweet flattery of his loving words. And then, that uneasy feeling might be a delusion; but she who had done what he had so often, so pressingly implored of her, who had at length granted him an interview, in which he could put before her his plans for the future, she would and must expect that he would at length trace out that sketch of the future over which he had so long delayed, and which at this moment seemed to him as uncertain as ever. He did not believe what she assured him, that she wanted nothing more than to love him, to be beloved by him, that everything of which he spoke--his father, her father, circumstances which must be taken into consideration, difficulties which must be overcome--all, all was only a mist, which would disperse before the rays of the sun; trifles not worthy that they should expend upon them one moment of precious time, one breath! He did not believe her; but he only too willingly took her at her word, even now silently absolving himself from the responsibility of the consequences which might, which must follow such a neglect of the simplest rules of prudence and wisdom. And then he, too, forgot everything but the present moment, and she had to remind him that time was flying, that he was expected at home, and must not arrive too late for the party.
"But will you take me with you?" she asked. "Will you enter the room with me on your arm, and present me to all present as your bride? You have no need to be ashamed of me; there are not likely to be many women there whom I cannot look down upon, and I have always considered that to be able to look down upon others is half way at least towards being a fine lady. To you I shall always look up. Tall as I am, I must stretch myself higher to reach your dear lips." There lay a wonderful proud charm in these jesting words, and deep love in the kiss which her smiling lips breathed upon his. He was intoxicated and bewitched by this loving gentleness, this proud love; he said to himself that she was right, and he told her so, that she could bear comparison with any queen in the world, that she deserved to be a queen; and yet--and yet--if it had been no jest, if she had demanded in earnest what one day she would demand.
"That was the last kiss," said Ferdinanda. "As usual, I must be the most reasonable always. And now give me your arm, and come with me to the nearest cab, and then go straight home, and be very charming and amiable this evening, and break a few more hearts in addition to those you have already broken, and which you will hereafter lay at my feet in return for my heart, which is worth more than all of them put together." It was nearly dark when they quitted the silent, deserted park; the sky had clouded over, and heavy drops were beginning to fall. Fortunately an empty cab came by, in which Ferdinanda could go as far as the Brandenburg Gate, where she would take another, and thus destroy every trace of her road. She only allowed Ottomar to kiss her hand once more, as he helped her into the cab. Then she leaned back in the corner, closed her eyes, and dreamed over again the happy hour. Ottomar looked after the carriage. It was a miserable vehicle, drawn by a wretched screw, and as it swayed backwards and forwards in the feeble light of a few lamps, and disappeared in the darkness, a strange sensation of horror and loathing came over him. "It looks like a hearse," he said to himself. "I could hardly bear to touch the wet handle. I could not have brought myself to get into it. The whole affair gets one into very uncomfortable situations. The walk home is no joke, either; it is nearly nine, and beginning to rain pretty hard." He turned into the Grosse Stern Avenue, which was his shortest way home. Under the great trees it was already so dark that he could only just distinguish the foot-path along which he hastily walked; on the other side of the broad road, along which ran a narrower foot-path, the trunks of the trees were hardly perceptible in the darkness. How many and many times had he ridden along this grand avenue--alone--with brother officers--in a brilliant company of ladies and gentlemen--how often with Carla! Elsa was right, Carla was a splendid rider, the best probably of all the ladies, certainly the most graceful. They had been so often seen and spoken of together--after all it was quite impossible to draw back now; it would make such a frightful scandal. Ottomar stood still. He had walked too fast. The perspiration was streaming from his brow; he felt stifled, and tore open his coat and waistcoat. He had never before experienced the sensation of physical fear, but now he started and his eyes peered anxiously into the darkness, as he heard behind him a slight rustle--probably a twig that had broken in its fall.
"I feel as if I had committed a murder, or as if in another moment I should be murdered," he said to himself, as almost running he continued on his way. He did not suspect that to the breaking of that twig he owed his life. Antonio had lingered, as if under the influence of a spell, at the entrance of the avenue, now sitting on the iron railing which separated the ride from the foot-path, now pacing up and down, now leaning against the trunk of a tree, always revolving the same dark thoughts, concocting plans of revenge, delighting himself with the idea of the torments he would inflict on her and on him, as soon as he had them in his power, from time to time directing his glance across the Platz towards the entrance of the other avenue, along which the carriage had disappeared with them, as if they must reappear in that direction, as if his revengeful soul had the power of compelling them. He could have spent the whole night there, as a beast of prey, furious at the loss of his victim, remains obstinately in his lair, in spite of the pangs of hunger. But what was that? There he came across the Platz directly towards him. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, recognised him as if it had been bright day. Would the bestia be such a fool as to venture into the avenue, to give himself into his hands? Per Bacco! he would--there. After a short pause he turned into the avenue; on the other side of the road, true, but so much the better, he could the more easily follow him on this side; he had only to dash across the ride when the moment came; in the deep sand his first steps would not be heard, and then in a few bounds he would reach him and bury the stiletto in his back, or if he should turn round, drive it up to the hilt under the seventh rib! And his hand closed on the hilt as if hand and hilt were one, and with the finger of the other hand he repeatedly tried the sharp point, while he glided with long steps from tree to tree--softly, softly--the tiger's velvet paw could not have fallen and been raised more softly. They had reached the centre of the avenue. The darkness could not get more intense; it was just light enough to see the blade of the stiletto. One moment more, to assure himself that they were alone in the dark wood--that other and himself--and now, crouching low, he crossed the soft sand, behind the thick trunk which he had already selected. But, quickly as he had crossed, the other had gained some twenty paces in advance. This was too much; they must be diminished by half. And it would not be difficult. He was in the soft sand of the road, to the right of the trees, while the other was on the hard foot-path to the left, where the sound of his steps would overpower any accidental noise. But, maledetto di Dio--his foot touched a dry twig, which broke with a snap. He stepped behind a tree--he could not be seen; but the other must have heard; he was standing still--listening, perhaps awaiting his assailant--at all events no longer unprepared. Who knew--he was a brave man and a soldier--perhaps he was turning to defy his assailant. So much the better! only one spring from behind the tree, and--he was coming! The Italian's heart throbbed as if it would choke him, as he now with his left foot advanced prepared for the spring; but his murderous thoughts had affected his usually sharp hearing. The steps were not coming towards him, but going away from him! By the time he became aware of his mistake, the distance between them was quite doubled; and trebled before, in his consternation, he could decide what was to be done. Give up the chase? There was nothing else to do. His prey was now almost running, and a late cab rolled along the drive which crossed the avenue, and on the other side of the drive were cross paths right and left--he had no certainty of being able to carry out his intention or of escaping afterwards; the moment was past--for this time, but the next time! Antonio murmured a fearful curse as he replaced his dagger in its sheath and concealed it in his coat pocket. The other man had vanished; Antonio followed slowly along the same path, out of the park, along the Thiergartenstrasse, into the Springbrunnenstrasse, and to the house in which the man he hated lived, the windows of which were brightly lighted. A carriage drove up, an officer and some ladies in evening dress, wrapped in their shawls, got out; a second carriage followed. He, above, was now laughing and feasting, and whispering at that moment to one of the pretty girls who had just arrived what ten minutes before he might have whispered to Ferdinanda. If he could only pour into her heart the poison of jealousy which burnt in his own! If he could put some impossible barrier between her and him! If the whole affair could be betrayed to the sternsignor, her father, or to the haughtycapitano, his father, or to both----
"Hallo!" A man coming along the pavement had run up against him, as he leaned with folded arms against the iron railing of the front garden, and had called out rudely.
"Scusi!" said the Italian, lifting his hat. "I beg your pardon!"
"Hallo!" repeated the man, "is it you, Antonio?"
"Ah! Signor Roller, the overseer!"
"Signor Roller! overseer! No more signors and overseers for me," said the man, with a loud laugh, "for the present at least--till we have served out the old man; he and his nephew and the whole lot of them! If I only had them by the throat! If I could only do them some injury! I would not mind what it cost me, so it were not money! That is all gone." The man laughed again; he was evidently half drunk.
"I have money," said Antonio quickly--"and----"
"We'll have a drink then, Signor Italiano!" exclaimed the other, clapping him on the shoulder; "una bottiglia--capisci!--ha, ha! I have not quite forgotten my Italian!--Carrara marble--capisci, capisci?"
"Eccomi tutto a voi," said the Italian, taking the man's arm. "Where to?"
"To drink, to the devil, to the public-house!" exclaimed Roller, laughing and pointing to the red lamp over the public-house at the corner of the Springbrunnenstrasse.
The three moderate-sized rooms in the upper floor of the small villa inhabited by the General, in the Springbrunnenstrasse, were got ready for the reception of the company; the larger room at the back was for the present closed. The supper was to be served there, and later it would be used as the dancing-room. Elsa went once more through the rooms to see that everything was in order. She did not usually do this, as she could quite depend upon the care and attention of the perfectly trained August; to-day, for the first time, he seemed to have taken his duties more easily. Or was it only her fancy? She asked herself this while she moved a few candlesticks and put them back again, and altered the arrangement of some nicknacks without being any better pleased with their appearance. "I do not know what is the matter with me to-day," said Elsa. She stepped before the looking-glass and contemplated her reflection with the greatest attention: she did not think herself looking the least pretty to-day. She was disappointed in her new blue dress; her hair was done much too loosely, the rosebuds were decidedly too dark, and were put in too far back; her eyes were not the least bright, and her nose was perceptibly red on the left side. "I really do not know what is the matter with me to-day," said Elsa. She sank into an arm-chair, laid her fan and gloves in her lap, and rested her head on her hand.
"I was looking forward so to this evening; but it is all Ottomar's fault. How can any one marry without love?--it happens often enough though. Wallbach certainly does not love Louise, any more than she loves him; but Ottomar, who is so tender-hearted and can be so good and dear! That detestable money! how can one man spend such a sinful amount? I can't think how they manage it. Horses!--they always say they have sold them for so many guineas more than they gave for them; I don't believe it; I am sure they always lose; but even that would not come to so much. I do not know; they say Wartenberg cannot manage with twenty thousand, and, that Clemda, with fifty thousand, incurs debts to that amount every year--it is incredible! What good would my poor five thousand do him, and he would have to wait, one way and another, nearly five years for it. And if I fell in love with somebody who was not noble, and lost my portion--I should not care, of course not, but I could not give him anything if I had not got it myself--to say nothing of papa, who would certainly not allow it, though he is always talking about him; but it is all about the harbour, which is never out of his head--but I am so glad that he always talks so kindly of him--so glad--"
"Good heavens, child, what are you doing?"
"What is it?" exclaimed Elsa, starting up from her dreams, and looking with a startled expression at her aunt, who, no less startled, stood before her.
"Your new tarlatane dress! You are completely crushing it."
"Is that all?" exclaimed Elsa, drawing a deep breath.
"Oh, it is nothing to you!" exclaimed Sidonie. "You do not care about things that I care about very much, but I am getting accustomed to that by degrees!"
"Dear aunt!" Elsa had thrown her arms round her aunt and kissed her; the kind creature wanted nothing more. "Well, well," she said, "you careless child! You will quite spoil your pretty dress." She had freed herself from Elsa's embrace, and was smoothing and arranging her darling's dress. "There, step back a little; you look charming this evening, Elsa."
"I don't think so at all."
"Like my Princess! The evening that the Duke, her present illustrious husband, was to be presented to her for the first time, 'I don't think I look at all pretty to day,' said she."
"But I am not going to be presented to a Duke," said Elsa.
"How you do mix things up, child! As if you could marry a reigning prince, except by the left hand! Besides, we shall only have a member of a former reigning house here. Prince Clemda, and he is already betrothed. So I could not be thinking of him."
"And of no one else, I hope, aunt."
"I must be very much mistaken, Elsa, or your blushes--yes, you are blushing, my dear child, and you blush more and more, though it is quite unnecessary before your aunt. I can assure you, on the contrary, that I consider the match in every respect a most proper and desirable one, and the chance--if it is not a crime against Providence to speak of chance in such important matters----"
"For heaven's sake, aunt, if you love me, say no more," exclaimed Elsa. The terror that seized her at the idea of hearing her aunt speak of Count Golm, after Ottomar had already alarmed her in the morning on the same subject, was too evident in the tone of her voice to escape even Sidonie.
"Good gracious!" she said, "can I really have been mistaken! I had been thinking over the extraordinary dispute which we had this morning, and could only account for it by the explanation that you wished to conceal the inclination you have for the Count by an affectation of indifference, and even of want of consideration towards him."
"I did not intend anything of the kind," said Elsa.
"I am really sorry for it," said Sidonie, who now, under the pressure of her disappointment, seated herself--though with due regard to her brown silk gown--while Elsa walked up and down the room in some agitation; "really very sorry; I know nothing that would have given me greater pleasure, next to Ottomar's betrothal to Carla, which, in my opinion, has been too long delayed. The Count is thirty--a very good age for a man of his position to marry--he must and will marry one of these days, and he might seek long before he would find a young lady who would so entirely satisfy all the pretensions he has a right to make, and no doubt does make. His circumstances are somewhat embarrassed, but that is almost always the case nowadays with large properties; men always settle down when they are married. Besides, he will gain enormously by the new railroad, so Schieler says, who told me all these particulars. The Councillor was with me yesterday, and I almost fancied he must have come on purpose to tell me, and to hear what I said about it, as he has always had a great regard for my opinion. He is a charming man, and discretion itself; so I did not hesitate to tell him exactly what I thought; in these cases openness is always the best diplomacy, and when advances are made there is no harm in meeting them half way."
"It is too bad, aunt!" exclaimed Elsa, turning round and standing with her lace handkerchief crushed between her hands, while burning tears of shame and anger started to her eyes. Sidonie was so startled by this outburst, for which she was not in the least prepared, that she sat motionless and speechless with wide open eyes, while Elsa, instead of immediately begging her pardon, or calming herself, continued with flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes: "To talk me over like that with a stranger! and with Schieler, of all people, whom I detest as much as I do the other whom you have chosen for me, and whom I would never marry, not if he had a crown to lay at my feet, never--never!"
"What is the matter, Elsa?" asked the General, who entered the room at that moment and had heard the last words.
"A slight difference of opinion between me and my aunt," answered Elsa, hastily wiping her eyes.
"Well, well," said the General, "I thought you ladies left that sort of thing to us men. Is Ottomar not here?" He left the room again to inquire after Ottomar.
"Forgive me, aunt," said Elsa, holding out her hand; "it was very wrong of me. You do not know, but--I do not know myself, what is the matter with me this evening." It was with some hesitation that Sidonie took her hand; the General came in again.
"It is too bad," he said; "Ottomar went out again quite an hour ago and has not yet returned."
"He must be delayed by some important matter," said Sidonie.
"No doubt!" said the General, frowning, and pulling his grey moustaches.
"Councillor Schieler!" announced August, opening the folding-doors. The Councillor kissed Sidonie's hand and bowed low to Elsa, then turned to the General:
"I have heaps of news for you, my dear friend."
"Few things happen now to interest me, and still fewer that give me any pleasure," answered the General, with a courteous yet melancholy smile.
"I fear I cannot promise that my news will give you any pleasure," said the Councillor; "but at least it is interesting even to you, ladies, that the Baroness, instead of arriving on the 1st as she originally intended, will arrive on the 10th, and will therefore be here in three days."
"I had a letter this morning which said nothing about it," said the General.
"My letter arrived this afternoon, and is, therefore, doubtless the latest; it is not from herself, however, but----" The Councillor was interrupted by a slight cough.
"You may say the name out, my dear friend," said the General; "it cannot be avoided when once our meetings begin."
"You are right!" exclaimed the Councillor; "and I am happy----" The widowed Countess von Fischbach arrived at this moment with her two daughters; the ladies were engaged with their guests, and the Councillor was able to draw the General aside. "I was about to say that I am happy to find you so well prepared for what awaits you from Munich. I know how painful everything connected with the subject is to you, and yet I must ask your patience for a few minutes before you are called away by your other guests. My second piece of news is that the concession is granted."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the General.
"As good as granted."
"We had a meeting only this morning; it is true we were engaged upon other matters, but his Excellency would at least----"
"He knows your dislike to the project; I repeat, as good as granted, and that 'as good' is at the present moment better than good. I implore you, my honoured friend, to listen to me patiently; the matter is of the greatest importance, not only to me, who have only an indirect interest in it, but more especially and directly to you. The concession will of course only have been granted for a harbour on the north, against which you have no immediate objection; is not that true? Good. Now I know for certain that, behind your back, there was to the very last moment a hesitation between the North and the East Harbour, and that the pressure used has only just failed in turning the scale to the East. I need not tell you by whom pressure was put; you know better than any one the interest that Golm, who by the way will join the management, has in the existence of the railroad; and his connections in a certain region are better, very much better than I could have dreamt of. I tell you it only wanted the merest trifle. And just imagine, Signor Giraldi--I must mention his name now--has written to me to-day that the sale of part of the property appears to him advisable for the better regulation and easier administration of the rest; and that the Baroness--that is to say he--for here as everywhere he is the mouthpiece of the Baroness--will propose the sale at our meeting. Wallbach is in favour of it as he always has been; as a man of business I cannot oppose it; in short, the property will, as far as I can see, be sold. It is almost impossible, or at least most improbable, that Giraldi should know the state of affairs here, and that an eager purchaser is ready to hand in Golm. But if Golm sees a possibility of concluding the bargain, he will move heaven and hell to carry through the East Harbour at the last minute. And now, my honoured, my excellent friend, allow an old friend, of whose devotion you are aware, one word in confidence--a bold one if you will: you are not rich; Ottomar is extravagant; it is no small matter for Ottomar to see his portion with one stroke doubled if not quadrupled in value with the rest, and Fräulein Elsa will be richer in the same proportion; and if at the death of the Baroness they inherit the remaining half, and Fräulein Elsa makes a suitable marriage--with Count Golm for instance, to name the first that occurs to me--you may close your eyes--God in His providence grant not for many a long day--with the comforting reflection that the external well-being of your family is secured for all futurity, so far as man's foresight can determine. Be wise then, my honoured friend. You need do nothing. You have only to refrain from opposition and give in to what you cannot prevent. Lastly, you must remember the good old saying: 'Well to endure what cannot well be cured;' which you will doubtless remember in your youth." The General had listened without a sign of the impatience that was usual with him when an adverse opinion was put before him; his brow had not clouded; there was even an unusually gentle, almost sad, tone in his deep voice, as he now, without raising his eyes, said, as if to himself: "I remember the saying well. It dates from the time of the wars, of liberation, and many an oppressed heart derived comfort from it in those troubled times, and many a broken courage has been supported by it. It hung framed and glazed on the wall of my father's best room; I can still see my dear mother standing before it and reading what she had read a thousand times before:
"'To triumph not in joy nor dread the storm,Well to endure what cannot well be cured,To do good actions and rejoice in beauty,To love our lives and not to fear death,Firmly to trust in God and a better future,This is to live, yet rob death of his sting.'"
"'To triumph not in joy nor dread the storm,Well to endure what cannot well be cured,To do good actions and rejoice in beauty,To love our lives and not to fear death,Firmly to trust in God and a better future,This is to live, yet rob death of his sting.'"
The General looked thoughtfully before him. What an inconveniently retentive memory the man has! thought the Councillor.
"And look, my dear friend," continued the General--and his eyes now rested so steadily on the Councillor that the latter, in spite of all his efforts, was forced to turn away his own--"according to the true meaning of the proverb and my own feelings it would not be doing a good action. Indeed, according to my own feelings I could no longer live, and should with justice shrink with terror from death, like a dishonoured coward, if, for the sake of outward advantage, were it a thousand times as great as it here appears to be, I neglected my positive duty and obligation, and did not resist, by every means in my power, a project the accomplishment of which I am firmly persuaded would be a manifest injury to our military strength, and an unprincipled squandering of our means, which we have the strongest reasons to be careful of. I have already nearly neglected my duty when I threw the burden of the report of this odious affair on Sattelstädt's shoulders; although I knew that his opinions were the same as my own. After what I have just heard from you, I cannot do otherwise than bring forward the subject on my own responsibility at the board, and in any case acquaint the Minister with my disapproval. And now, my dear friend, excuse me! I must help the ladies to do the honours." He turned towards the large drawing-room; the Councillor looked angrily after him.
"He is incorrigible. I almost wonder he did not turn me out of the house. That will be the next thing. Do not fatigue yourself so much, Count. It is of no use."
The Count had entered a few minutes before, in his deputy's uniform, with the Cross of St. John. The room was by this time nearly full, and he had had some difficulty in making his way to the ladies of the house. Elsa had not helped him in his efforts; at the moment that he appeared in the doorway she continued so eagerly the conversation already begun with Captain von Schönau, that the Count, after bowing to Sidonie, had stood for half a minute behind her without attracting her attention, till Schönau at last felt bound with "I think" and a movement of the hand to draw her notice to the newly-arrived guest.
"I am happy--" said the Count.
"Ah! Count Golm!" exclaimed Elsa, with well-acted astonishment. "I beg your pardon for not having seen you sooner, I was so absorbed. May I introduce you? Captain von Schönau, on the staff--a great friend of ours--Count von Golm. Have you seen papa, Count Golm? I think he is in the other room. You were saying, Captain von Schönau----" The Count stepped back with a bow.
"That was rather strong, Fräulein Elsa," said Schönau.
"What?" Schönau laughed.
"Do you know that if I were not the most modest of men I might imagine all possible and impossible follies?"
"How so?"
"Why, did not you see that the Count held out his hand, and drew back with a face as red as my collar? A young lady with such sharp eyes as Fräulein Elsa von Werben could only overlook such a thing if she did not wish to see it; which can hardly be the case here, or if she--I am afraid to go on.--Who is that?"
"Who?"
"That officer--to the left, near Baroness Kniebreche--you are looking to the right! He is speaking to your father now--a fine-looking man--he has got the cross, too. Where did you meet with him?" Elsa was forced to make up her mind to see Reinhold, though her heart beat fast, to her great annoyance. She was vexed already at having laid herself open to Schönau's sharp-sighted eyes, and almost betrayed herself to him by her behaviour to the Count. It should not happen again.
"A Herr Schmidt," she said, arranging the rosebuds in her hair--"a merchant-captain. We made his acquaintance when we were travelling. Papa likes him very much."
"A very fine-looking man," repeated Schönau; "just the sort of handsome, manly face that I admire; and a very good manner, too, though one recognises the officer of the reserve at the first glance."
"In what way?" asked Elsa, whose heart began to beat again.
"You ought to know that as well or better than I do, as you see more of the Guards. Compare him with Ottomar, who is late as usual, and is trying to repair his faults by making himself doubly agreeable! Look at the finished courtesy with which he kisses old Countess Kniebreche's bony hand, and now turns and makes a bow to Countess Fischbach, for which the great Vestris might have envied him--Allons, mon fils, montrez votre talent; and how he speaks now to Sattelstädt, not a shade too much or too little. It is really unfair to compare one of the reserve with the model of all knightly graces! Do not you agree with me?" Elsa only looked straight before her. Schönau was right; there was a difference. She had liked him better as he walked up and down the deck in his rough pilot jacket. She had envied him the firmness and freedom of his movements. And when later he sat in the boat and steered it as calmly as a rider governs his fiery steed, then he had appeared to her as the model of a brave man conscious of his strength. If only he had not come now, just now! At that moment Reinhold, who had all this time been talking to her father, and was now dismissed with a friendly nod, turned, and seeing Elsa, came straight towards her. Elsa trembled so violently that she was obliged to support herself by laying her hand on the back of a chair; she wished to act a little comedy before the quick-witted Schönau, and to appear perfectly cool and unconcerned; but as he now stepped towards her, his bright, honest eyes still beaming at the recollection of her father's kind reception of him, in the open, manly features a certain embarrassment, which seemed to ask, 'Shall I be welcome to you also?' her heart leaped up warmly and generously; and though one hand still rested on the chair, she held out the other towards him. Her dark eyes glowed, her red lips smiled, and she said: "Welcome to our house, my dear Herr Schmidt!" as cheerfully and frankly as if there were no finer name in the world. He seized her hand and said a few words which she only half heard. She turned towards Schönau, the Captain had vanished; the colour mounted into her cheeks.
"It does not matter," she murmured.
"What does not matter?"
"I will tell you by-and-by if-- We are going to dance a little after supper. I do not know----"
"Whether I dance! I am very fond of it."
"Even the Rheinländer?"
"Even the Rheinländer. And notwithstanding your incredulous smile, not so badly that Fräulein von Werben need be afraid to give me the honour."
"The Rheinländer then! I have already promised all the others. Now I must go and entertain the company." She nodded kindly to him and turned away, but came back immediately. "Do you like my brother?"
"Very much."
"I wish so much that you should be friends. Do try to see more of him. Will you?"
"With all my heart." She was now obliged to go; and Reinhold also mixed with the rest of the company, without any of the embarrassment that he had felt on first entering a circle so brilliant and so strange to him. His hosts had received him as a dear friend of the house. Even the eyes of the dignified aunt had glanced at him not without a certain good-natured curiosity, stately as her curtsey had been; but the General had shaken him warmly by the hand, and after the first words of greeting, drawing him confidentially aside, had said: "I must introduce you to Colonel von Sattelstädt and Captain von Schönau, both on the staff. They are anxious to hear your opinion on the Harbour question. Pray speak your mind quite freely. You will be doing me a favour. I shall also have a special favour to ask of you with regard to this affair, which I will tell you later. Au revoir, then." That was flattering to the lieutenant of the reserve, said Reinhold to himself as he turned towards Elsa; and now she, too, had been so kind and friendly. He felt like one of Homer's heroes, who in silence hopes that the goddess to whom he prays will be gracious to him, and to whom the divinity appears in the tumult of battle and looks at him with her immortal eyes, and in words which only he can hear, promises him her assistance. What mattered to him now that old Baroness Kniebreche's gold eye-glass was so long fixed upon him with such a disagreeable stare, and then let fall with a movement that plainly said: It was hardly worth the trouble! What mattered to him that Count Golm avoided seeing him as long as he could possibly do so, and, when it was no longer possible, walked past him with a snappish "Ah, Captain! delighted to see you!" That young Prince Clemda's bow when they were introduced might have been somewhat less careless. What did it all signify? And those were the only marks of coldness which had been shown him during the hour that he had already passed in the somewhat numerous assembly. He had met with scarcely anything but good-natured, open friendliness on the part of the ladies, and almost all the men, who were mostly officers, cordially received him as one of themselves. Even Prince Clemda seemed inclined to make up for his previous carelessness by suddenly coming up to him and murmuring a few sentences, amongst which Reinhold only distinguished clearly the words: Werben--Orleans--Vierzon--confounded ride--sorry. But what pleased him most was his acquaintance with Herr von Sattelstädt and Herr von Schönau. They came up to him almost at the same moment, and begged him, if it was not troubling him too much, to give them his views on the practicability and utility of a harbour to the north of Wissow Head. "We are both well acquainted with the locality," said the Colonel, "and are both--the Captain even more than myself--opposed to the project; we have of course discussed the matter often at the Admiralty, but none the less, or rather all the more, it would be of the greatest interest and importance to us to hear the opinion of an intelligent sailor, who, while thoroughly well acquainted with the circumstances of the case, is at the same time quite unprejudiced, more especially when he possesses at the same time the soldierly eye of a campaigner. Let us sit down in the study here--there is another chair, Schönau! And now I think it would be best if you would allow us to ask you a few questions. It is the easiest and surest way of arriving at our object. We will not trouble you long."
"I am quite at your orders," said Reinhold. The gentlemen intended only to take a discreet advantage of the permission; but as Reinhold, against his will, was obliged frequently to enter into details, in order to answer the questions put to him, the conversation prolonged itself further than either of them had intended, though no one seemed aware of it but himself. Flattering though the respectful attention might be with which the two officers listened to his explanations, and sincerely as he admired the sagacity and knowledge displayed by every question, by every word they said--he could not refrain from casting from time to time a longing glance through the door of the study into the larger drawing-room, where the company were still circulating as before, and through the drawing-room into the second small room on the other side of the drawing-room, in which apparently a group of young people had assembled, amongst whom he perceived Ottomar and the lady who had been pointed out to him at the Exhibition as Fräulein von Wallbach, Count Golm, and finally Elsa. A lively dispute was going on, as could be heard right across the intervening drawing-room, though naturally the actual words could not be distinguished. Even Schönau's attention was at length caught by it. "I would bet anything," he said, "that they are quarrelling over Wagner; where Fräulein von Wallbach presides, Wagner is sure to be the subject of discussion. I would give anything to hear what she says about him this evening."
"That is to say, my dear Schönau, if I am not mistaken, I would give anything if Sattelstädt would hold his tongue," said the Colonel, smiling. "Well, we have already taken an unconscionable advantage of Captain Schmidt's patience." He rose and held out his hand to Reinhold. Schönau protested that he meant nothing of the kind; the Colonel shook his finger threateningly at him. "For shame, Schönau, to deny your liege lady! She, you must know, Captain Schmidt, is Divine Harmony. For her he would go through fire and water, and let the harbour matters take care of themselves. Be off, Schönau!" Schönau laughed, but went, taking with him Reinhold, who followed not unwillingly, as he was thus enabled to return to Elsa and to Ottomar, to whom he had only spoken in passing.
Ottomar had been fully occupied in making up for lost time. He went from one to the other, here whispering a compliment, there accompanying a shake of the hand with a jest, this evening more than ever overflowing with life and spirits and good-humour, the accomplished favourite of the Graces, and king of society. So said Baroness Kniebreche to Carla, who had just appeared in the drawing-room, with her brother and sister-in-law, and was immediately taken possession of by the old lady, one of whose "mignons" she was. "Look, my dear Carla! he is just speaking to Helene Leisewitz--how happy the poor thing is! It is not often that she is so singled out. Mon Dieu! he is positively paying attentions to her. Do look!" Carla was in despair. She could see nothing without her eye-glass, but did not like to make use of it while with the Baroness whose pince-nez, with glasses as big as thalers, were fixed to her almost sightless eyes. Besides the old lady screamed so loud that she might be heard half across the room, and she expected to be answered equally loudly, being quite deaf of the right ear and almost deaf of the left.
"Ah! at last he has fluttered off to Emilie Fischbach--à la bonne heure!She has been making eyes at him for ever so long, charming little creature! She really grows more charming every day. And how she chatters and wriggles. A little too much simplicity, but she will improve. You will have another rival next season, my dear Carla. What, going already! No, no, my dear, not so fast; I have not spoken to you for ages. You owe me a world of confidences. Do you think that an old woman like me is to go about in society as ignorant as a new-born baby, while the whole world isau courant? Out with it! When is the betrothal to be? Not speak so loud? Why I am hardly speaking above a whisper--this ear, please! It is not yet settled! Don't be angry with me, my dear Carla; but what in the world are you thinking about? Do you imagine an Ottomar von Werben is always to be had?"
"Do you want me, Baroness?" said Ottomar, who had heard his name.
"I want you to sit down by me here, on my left side, you faithless butterfly!"
"Is there such a thing as a faithful butterfly, Baroness?"
"Now none of your jokes; I am a serious, practical old woman, and want you both--why what has become of Carla?" Carla had seized the opportunity, and, rising with an expression of delighted astonishment on her animated countenance, had hastened towards Count Golm, whom, by a hasty glance through her eye-glass, she had perceived at the other side of the room engaged in conversation with Countess Fischbach, and who now turned towards her. She was determined to punish Ottomar for the neglect with which he had in the most open manner treated her. Ottomar looked after her with gloomy eyes, and his glance did not clear while the old Baroness took him to task, as she expressed it. "Yes, yes, my dear Ottomar, it is only the truth; and from whom should you hear it if not from an old woman, who knows the world thoroughly and has known you ever since you were born? I have seen other affairs come to nothing that looked quite as promising as yours. Everything has its limits, even the patience of society. If this patience is tried too long, society says nothing will come of it; and when society has said so for a certain length of time nothing does come of it, simply because it has said so. People do everything as society decides; are betrothed, marry, separate, fall in love, fall out of it again, fall in love a second and a third time, fight duels, shoot their friends, shoot themselves--society is always right."
"And supposing society should be right in our case?" The old lady let her pince-nez fall in horror: "Mais vous êtes fou, monsieur, positivement fou!" She seized her large black fan, and fanned herself violently and noisily; replaced her pince-nez, cast a sharp glance at Ottomar, who stared moodily before him, and said, while she motioned to him to put his ear near her mouth--
"Now listen patiently, like a good child, for you are children, both of you; you who sit here looking like an ensign who has had twenty marks too few at his examination for lieutenant; and Carla who is flirting over there with Count Golm, on purpose to provoke you. Don't play with fire. You might burn your fingers badly. If the affair comes to nothing it will be the greatest scandal of the season. And now go and make your peace with Carla, and tell her from me that I have known the Counts Golm for three generations, and that the present one--well, I had rather tell her myself." She rapped Ottomar on the knuckles with her fan. Ottomar rose quickly and moved a few paces towards Carla, in the full conviction that his approach was all that was necessary to appease her, as she had watched the whole progress of his conversation with the old lady, and now turned her eye-glass on him. But Carla let him come a few steps nearer and then turned completely round towards the Count, with the defiant movement of an actress who wishes to give the audience an opportunity of admiring the back of her dress. Ottomar started back and turned on his heel, murmuring between his teeth: "A formal provocation! Thank heaven!" But when he now again mixed with the company, laughing and jesting even more gaily than before, in his heart was dark night. What the Baroness had murmured in his ear he had said to himself over and over again as he hastened home through the Thiergarten, and the mighty trees over his head could as little overpower with their sighings and groanings the warning voice within him, as the hum and rustle of the company could now overpower the harsh voice of the toothless old lady. Was she only the mouth-piece of society? So, exactly so, would and must society speak, perhaps did speak already, though he could not hear. Let it! What did society know of the tall, slender figure which he had but now held in his arms, of the throbbing heart that had rested on his breast, of the wealth of kisses that still burned on his lips? If the four charming girls with whom he was talking could combine all their charms into one, they would still not make a Ferdinanda. And as for Carla, he had never admired her as much as the rest of the world did, and now he thought her positively ugly, with her coquettish airs, her eternal laugh and her everlasting eye-glass. Let her marry the Count; let them say and do what they would! And what could they do? A duel with Wallbach? Well, it would be the fourth within four years, and if he were killed, so much the better! There would be an end to the whole affair; he need no longer trouble his head with his debts, or his heart about the women! Debts, women--he would have done with them all!
"Oh, Herr von Werben! how intensely amusing you are this evening!"
"I feel intensely amusing, I assure you."
"I don't wonder, under the circumstances."
"Of course not!"
"Then do us a favour."
"A thousand."
"Do bring us your brother officer from the reserve; what is his name?"
"Schmidt!"
"Really?"
"Really!"
"How funny!"
"Why?"
"How cross you look! It is not our fault. Emilie Fischbach says he is quite delightful! We want to know the delightful Herr Schmidt. Do please bring Herr Schmidt here!"
"Oh, do!" exclaimed the other young ladies, "bring Herr Schmidt here!"
"I fly." The titter of the girls, which was not ill-meant, sounded after him like an intentional scoff. His cheeks burnt with anger and shame; that name--it was hers also.
"One word, Werben." Clemda touched him on the shoulder.
"What do you want?"
"I have had a letter from Brussels, from the Duke, and also one from Antonia. The Duke is now free. Our wedding is to be in four weeks. Antonia is very anxious that your betrothed should be one of her bridesmaids. You must of course take me under your wing; I dare not write and tell her that you are not yet betrothed. You are not angry with me for the hint?"
"Why should I be?"
"Because you look so serious over it. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"The ladies want me to take Lieutenant Schmidt to them."
"Ah! not a bad fellow--in his way!" Clemda had let the last words slip out carelessly after the others--as one might open a chink of a door one had just shut, in order to let the dog in, thought Ottomar.
"And what I wanted to say besides, Ottomar--of course, as host, one has certain duties, but then certain duties are owed to the host also; and entre nous, I consider Golm's flirtation as rather a want of consideration towards you, as he must know your situation with regard to Fräulein Wallbach as well as anybody."
"He is quite a stranger in our circle."
"Then you should explain matters to him; and Golm----"
"My dear Werben! can you spare me a moment?"
"At your orders, Colonel!"
"Ah!" said Clemda, retiring with a bow before his commanding officer.
"Only a moment," repeated Colonel von Bohl, drawing Ottomar a little on one side; "I have just been speaking to Wallbach; he was very pressing, but, with the best will in the world, I cannot give you leave before the spring. Clemda will want a long leave; Rossow must be away at least three months, as his wound threatens to break out again. I cannot spare all my best officers at once. His Excellency must understand that."
"But there is no hurry, Colonel."
"You want to marry, and I am not devoted to newly-married young officers; I grant you willingly, therefore, a year's leave for diplomatic service in St. Petersburg. And then, my dear Werben----" The Colonel cast a glance behind him and said in a lower voice:
"I should not be sorry if you could find some excuse for a short absence,"--the Colonel made a significant gesture; "those matters might be better and easier arranged from St. Petersburg than here--believe me, my dear Werben!"
"But everything is arranged, Colonel; since this morning."
"Everything?" The Colonel looked Ottomar full in the face.
"All but a trifling matter----"
"I should like even that trifling matter to be got over. His Majesty is very particularly sensitive on those matters just now, and with reason. Now, my dear Werben, we have all been young once, and you know my feelings towards you. I speak for your own sake, and may tell you in confidence that Wallbach, if not exactly prepared for any sacrifice--that would be saying too much--is ready to help you as far as he can in making any arrangement. You understand!" The Colonel held out his hand, and turned quickly away to put an end to the interview. He had in the kindest and friendliest manner said his last word, his ultimatum. Ottomar had quite understood. The blood ran hot and cold through his veins; his temples throbbed violently. He stopped a servant who was passing with a tray, tossed down several glasses of wine and then laughed, as one of his brother officers called out to him: "Leave a little for me!"
"Do you find it so hot too?"
"Tolerably! But I believe we are going to dance,"
"After supper; I don't know why it is so late. I will ask my sister."
"She is in that room." Ottomar plunged into the room, into the midst of a circle which had grouped itself round Carla. An extraordinary feeling of perversity came over him. In this little room almost all his most decisive meetings with Carla had taken place; here it was the custom, when the company was smaller, to withdraw in order to talk more at ease; and here were now gathered together all his most intimate friends: a few of his favourite brother officers--Wartenberg, Tettritz--only Schönau was absent--few of Elsa's particular friends, Elsa herself, even old Baroness Kniebreche had made her appearance, as she always did wherever she expected an interesting conversation, and, preventing Carla from rising off the small, blue silk sofa, had sunk into an armchair, in which, leaning forward, with her hand to her left ear, she listened eagerly to Carla's words. The only one of the party who was a stranger, as Ottomar himself had said a few minutes before to Clemda, was Count Golm; and this stranger stood, with one hand on the back of the small sofa, close to Carla, where he himself ought to have been standing, instead of remaining in the doorway, without the possibility of advancing a step farther into the crowded room, and not daring either to withdraw, after Baroness Kniebreche, turning her pince-nez angrily on him, had exclaimed: "There you are at last, when our dear Carla has been enchanting us with her clever talk--yes, yes, my dear Carla, positively enchanting us. Let your brother stand, Elsa; he has richly deserved it. For heaven's sake go on, my dear Carla!" Carla had hastily glanced towards the door through her eye-glass. "I cannot say any more without repeating what I have said already."
"Then repeat it!" exclaimed the Baroness. "One cannot hear often enough that Wagner is the master of all masters who have ever lived or ever will live."
"I did not say that, Baroness," said Carla, laying her hand on the old lady's; "only of those who have lived! It is not for nothing that the master calls his music that of the future; and the future is so called because it is yet to come. But who can venture to predict what will come?"
"Is it not magnificent?" exclaimed the old lady--"positively magnificent?"
"For," continued Carla, "deep as is my admiration for the master, I cannot conceal from myself, though with some trembling--only too natural in face of such incomparable greatness--that the mystical connection between word and sound--the Eleusinian mystery--proclaimed by the master, though only to the initiated, produces a deeper, more heart-felt satisfaction, in which the last remains of that barbarous separation which has hitherto existed between poetry and music entirely and for ever disappear."
"Positively stupendous!" exclaimed the Baroness.
"Magnificent!" growled Lieutenant von Tettritz.
"But Wagner himself allows that," said Von Wartenberg.
"And that speaks in my favour," answered Carla. "When we see how this splendid genius goes further and deeper with every work, how he advances with giant strides from 'Rienzi' and the 'Fliegende Holländer' to 'Tannhäuser' and 'Lohengrin;' from these to the 'Meistersinger;' from the 'Meistersinger' to 'Tristan and Isolde,' which I have only glanced at as yet, and now to what the 'Ring des Nibelungen' is to bring us--can we, dare we say, in opposition to the most modest of men, who looks upon every height that he has reached as only the stepping stone to a greater one, that with the 'Ring' the ring is closed? Impossible! 'Art,' says Goethe, who, if he understood nothing of music, always deserves to be listened to on the universal principles of æsthetics--'Art has never been possessed by one man alone;' and, god-like though he is, we must still look upon the master as a man."
"I must kiss you--I positively must kiss you!" exclaimed the Baroness. "What do you say to it, Count Golm--what do you say to it?"
"I bow my head in admiration and--silence," answered the Count, laying his hand on his heart.
"And you, Ottomar?" exclaimed the Baroness, turning in her chair with almost girlish activity, and fixing her pince-nez like a double-barrelled pistol on him.
"I consider Wagnerism, from beginning to end, to be an abominable humbug!" answered Ottomar defiantly. The company were horror-struck. "Good heavens!" "Unheard of!" "Abominable!" "Positive blasphemy!" was heard on all sides.
"What did he say?" asked the old lady, her hand to her ear, bending towards Carla. Carla shrugged her shoulders. "You really cannot expect me to repeat Herr von Werben's words. Baroness?"
"Which Ottomar did not mean seriously," said Elsa, with an imploring look at her brother, which Ottomar answered by a shrug of the shoulders.
"I thought myself bound," he said, "as the Baroness did me the honour to appeal directly to me, to give my opinion, though it can be of no importance in this 'noble circle.'" He emphasised scornfully the last words.
"Humbug!" exclaimed the old lady, who, while the others were all talking at once, had made Herr von Tettritz repeat the fearful word in her ear. "It is too bad! You must withdraw it!--you must positively withdraw it! Do you hear, Ottomar?"
"Perfectly, Baroness," answered Ottomar; "but I am unfortunately unable to comply with your command."
"It is an insult--a positive insult!" exclaimed the Baroness, waving her enormous fan violently up and down--"to us all, to Carla in particular--on my honour, my dear Carla!" Carla appeared not to hear; she was leaning back on the sofa, and laughing with Count Golm, who, leaning on his elbow, bent low over her. Elsa was greatly disturbed. She knew that her brother did not in the least care about music, and that under any other circumstances he would have put an end to the disagreeable scene with one of the light jests that came so easily to him; and that if he did not do so now--if, as was evident from his gloomy countenance, he was determined to continue it, he could only have one reason for doing so--the wish to bring about a crisis, to break with Carla irrevocably and for ever, in the presence of their friends! She did not wish for the marriage; she had spoken eagerly against it that very day; had opened her anxious heart to her brother. But Carla had not deserved this; she was only behaving today as she always did, and her laughter at this moment was doubtless forced. What could she say or do?
"Will you at least honour me with an answer?" exclaimed the angry old lady, half rising from her chair.
"Let me answer for him, Baroness?" said a voice. Elsa almost exclaimed in joyful astonishment. It was Schönau, who, laying his hand on Ottomar's shoulder, stepped into the doorway. Behind them she saw another bearded countenance, whose large, honest eyes rapidly surveyed the group, and finally rested on her. He could do no good here; but his very presence was a comfort, while Schönau's wits would bring help. Half a dozen voices at once made him acquainted with the crime Ottomar had committed.
"Now, Werben, Werben!" said Schönau, shaking his head at him. "How could you let your rash daring lead you into such danger, even if you were as much at home in logic as you are on horseback? But to confuse cause with effect--to call Bark giddiness because it produces giddiness, singing in the ears, and headache, is really unheard of!"
"You hear him!" exclaimed the old lady triumphantly, having only caught the last words. "Unheard of--positively unheard of! Get up, Tettritz; let Schönau sit down here. Go on, Schönau. Wagner is the greatest musician--eh?"
"And the greatest dramatist also," said Schönau, taking the place willingly left free for him by the Baroness.
"Go on, go on!" exclaimed the Barones, tapping Schönau on the hand with her fan.
"Undoubtedly," continued Schönau, with a smile, "it is the mission of every poet to hold a looking-glass to nature; but with a difference. 'J'ai vu les mœurs de mon temps, et j'ai publié ces lettres,' wrote Rousseau in the preface to his 'Nouvelle Héloise;' that may suffice for the novelist, the poet's half-brother, as Schiller calls him. We must be content if he presents to us good photographs of reality--instantaneous pictures; and more than content if these photographs come out stereoscopically, and appear almost like life--almost. For only the dramatist fulfils, and can fulfil, his mission in earnest, his aim having been from the first, and being still, to leave the impress of his style on the age and on the material world. The first thing necessary for this, however, is Shakespeare's golden rule--'Be not too tame.' And it is just because Wagner is not too tame--because he has the courage, which his enemies call audacity, to allow the salient points in the character of his age to appear, to allow the excrescences to grow out of the material world--it is this which raises him so far above his rivals in the estimation of all who have ears to hear and eyes to see."
"I should like to kiss you!" exclaimed the Baroness. "Go on, my dear Schönau--go on!" Schönau bowed.
"What are, however, the salient points of our age? Ask our philosophers--Schopenhauer, Hartmann----"
"This will please you, Carla!" exclaimed the Baroness.
"They will answer, the deep conviction of the insufficiency, wretchedness, misery--let me say the word--worthlessness of this our earthly life; and combined with this, the conscious-unconscious longing after the Nirvana, the sweet Nothing--the beginning and foundation of things, which appears to our troubled nature as the only deliverance and last haven of refuge from the desolation and error of this life, and to which we should undoubtedly fly were it not for our will--our gigantic, invincible, indestructible will--that cares for nothing more than to live, to enjoy, to drink down the foaming cup of life, of love, to its last bitter drops. Renunciation there, enjoyment here, both to overflowing; because each is aware of the other, each hates the other, like the hostile brothers. And in this constantly renewed contest between irreconcilable contradictions; in this sensation of being torn backwards and forwards in the wildest confusion, the maddest tumult, the most entangled whirl; in this witches' Sabbath, this will-o'-the-wisp dance, and this halo of falling stars of modern humanity, hurrying from hell to heaven, from heaven to hell, raging and vanishing into mist; in this everything, and something more, turned into endless sing-song and eternal clang--the most horrible Past painted into a rosy-red caricature of the Present, while the eyes of a spectral Future stare from the empty sockets--the flute-notes of soft enjoyment, the violin-tones of fading bliss, drowned by the crashing cymbals and the shrill sound of the trumpets--here you have the 'Venusberg' and the 'Penitent,' the 'Wedding-night' and 'Monsalvat,' the chronic sorrows of love and the magic drink from a prescription; here you have, taking it all in all, him whose like has never been seen, and never will be seen--here you have Richard Wagner! And now, Baroness and ladies, allow me to withdraw before the enchanted silence into which I have lulled you breaks into words, which might hurt my modesty, though not that of nature." Schönau kissed Baroness Kniebreche's hand and disappeared, taking Ottomar with him. A few laughed, others cried "Treachery." The Baroness exclaimed:
"I don't know what you mean; he is quite right!" Lieutenant von Tettritz, who, as an enthusiastic Wagnerite, felt himself seriously offended, and was considering whether he ought not to call out Schönau for this insult, tried to explain to her that the Captain had mystified and laughed at her in the most outrageous manner.
"Without my finding it out!" exclaimed the old lady. "You must not say that, my dear child; old Kniebreche knows better than that when she is laughed at, I can assure you."