"Impossible!" cried Albert, forgetting for a moment his assumed indifference.
"As I tell you. Rose wrote to me at once, and I could have killed myself laughing at the fun of the thing. First, she is great aunt; and then--ha! ha! ha!" Toby was so very much amused at the thing that he could not help laughing aloud, contrary to all his principles.
"Ha, ha, ha!" chimed in Albert. "Very good! Ha, ha, ha! Perhaps Mrs. Rose knows also what became of the child?"
"Maybe," replied Toby; "but I rather think she does not want to know anything about it. Otherwise she would no doubt have presented herself at the time when Baron Harald offered in all the newspapers a very liberal reward for any information concerning Marie's present residence, etc. I think she was afraid of the consequences, and has done as I have done--kept her counsel for twenty odd years, till the grass has grown over the whole affair. Well, but now, Albert mine, it is your turn to tell me how you have managed to be such a rich man of late?"
"Upon my word! I just remember I must attend the meeting of the Rats to-night!" cried Albert, starting up. "Why, this is foundation-day! Good-by, Toby; another time. I cannot stay, upon my word!"
And Albert put on his hat and hurried off, paying no attention to the grumbling of his friend and hospitable landlord, the honorable Toby Goodheart, who at once went to work drowning his anger in his favorite beverage--a plan in which he succeeded so well that the watchman, who was sent about midnight to fetch the key of the vestry, had to knock half an hour before Mr. Toby could disentangle himself from between the legs of the table, under which he had fallen after his sixth tumbler.
"The season" had not been as brilliant in Grunwald for many a year as it was this winter. It seemed as if the people were already feeling the first breath of coming spring, and as if they could not make enough of the little time that was still remaining. Party followed party, and Heaven alone could tell how the old gentlemen and ladies could stand the incessant whist and the young people the incessant dancing; and how all of them could find pleasure in meeting night after night precisely the same company, for the circle which was thus kept in constant commotion was quite limited, and consisted of perhaps twenty or twenty-five families, including the highest military and civil officials, the family of the commandant of the fortress, Grunwald, his excellency von Bostelmann, and that of the president of the province, von Fitzewitz, etc. It may have been that the smallness of the circle favored to a certain extent the stupid delight with which these select fashionables were continually turning around themselves, although everybody knew everything about everybody else, or thought at least he knew or wanted to know it, so that there was never a lack of topics for gossip.
Each week had a special topic of its own, however, which was discussed with much animation. During the last but one, the strange conduct of Emily Cloten had furnished the favorite subject. There had, of course, been two parties--one in favor of the young lady, and another in favor of her husband. The former claimed that Emily had become crazy because of Arthur's faithlessness; the latter insisted upon it that, on the contrary, Arthur had been made crazy by his wife's faithlessness and was, in this state of mind, seeking consolation in the arms of his former favorite, Hortense Barnewitz. Emily's friends seemed to be sure of success, for the young lady--was it from caprice, or from better reasons?--reappeared suddenly in society, and began to play her former part as a reckless coquette more zealously than ever, utterly ignoring all that had occurred in the meantime.
Thus the spies, cheated out of this scandal, as it seemed, were compelled to turn their sharp eyes during the present week upon the relations between Prince Waldenberg and Helen Grenwitz, which had been already canvassed by everybody, and which yet, far from being exhausted, had only become more and more interesting, for it was believed that during the last few days these relations had assumed a definite form.
The spies had seen correctly. Since yesterday Helen was engaged to His Highness, Prince Raimund Waldenberg. Count of Malikowsky, hereditary Lord of Letbus.
For the present only in secret, since much time was required before all the preliminaries of an alliance between the princely family of Waldenberg and the most noble family of Grenwitz could be satisfactorily settled. Besides, the public announcement of the engagement was to take place in the capital, to which the prince was to return soon after New Year in order to join his regiment again, and where the prince's parents had promised to meet him, the mother from St. Petersburg, the father from Paris.
The baroness had, then, attained the goal of her wishes, and her exulting joy at her success amply compensated her for all the humiliations and disappointments, for all the sleepless nights, full of care and anxiety, of the past months. She carried her head as high as ever. Did she not owe all the successes she had ever had in life to herself alone, and so also this last one? Did she not owe it solely to her own prudence, moderation, and discretion that she, the simple nobleman's daughter, who had no fortune whatever, had become Baroness Grenwitz and mother-in-law of Prince Waldenberg? Had she not had to struggle through all her life, not only with circumstances, but also with those who stood nearest to her; with her weak husband, who had no energy and no sense for great comprehensive plans, and with her haughty, self-willed daughter? Had she not been forced to think and care for them all; to compel them almost to accept their good fortune? Truly, if these people were not grateful for their happiness, which they owed to her alone--well, it was not her fault!
Were they grateful? Any one but the baroness would have doubted it. The happy ones showed little of joy and elation in their features; on the contrary, since the decisive word had been spoken, a veil of embarrassment, if not of annoyance, seemed to have fallen upon their faces. The prince's dark countenance looked a shade darker, and his black eyes rested often with a strange, inexplicable meaning upon the fair, haughty features of his betrothed, who walked about in startling silence, very pale, and looking much more like a marble bride than like a happy girl. Still, those who chose need not have looked far for an explanation. The deep melancholy seemed to be justified by anxiety for the father, who had long been an invalid, and who had suddenly been taken seriously ill.
In the night which followed the day of the betrothal the old gentleman had had an attack of his old complaint, the gout, and the physicians who were called in declared at once that, this time, they could not answer for the result. From that moment Helen had been chained to her father's sick-bed, especially as the latter would allow no one else to be near him, to hand him his medicine and to smooth his pillow.
The early winter evening had come already. The streets were covered with deep snow and perfectly silent; only now and then the jingling of bells interrupted the stillness. No one happened to be near the patient but Helen. She was sitting near the bed, holding her father's withered hand trembling with feverish excitement, in her own soft hands, and trying, as well as she could, to soothe the increasing restlessness of the patient.
"Where is mother?" he asked, suddenly.
"She has gone to her room."
"And your--and the prince?"
"I asked him to take a walk."
"Raise my head a little!--that's it! Now give me both your hands!"
The patient paused a few moments, and then he spoke with great clearness and decision, so that it was evident he had long contemplated what he was about to say and turned it over in his enfeebled mind.
"My dear child! It is a good thing to be rich, when he who is rich has also a good heart; but I believe it is very rare to find the two together, or to see them stay together. And to be clever is also a good thing, but without a good heart it is worth little.
"Look here, dear child! Your mother and I--we have lived together eighteen years, and, next to God, I have loved and honored your mother more than all things. I think she has taken pains to love me back again, and I do not blame her if she has not succeeded. No, not her, only myself. I ought to have taken a wife who was more suitable to my age and to my ways; but I was vain and proud, and I wanted a handsome, stately, and clever wife, such as the world admires, and your mother was handsome, stately, and clever; far too pretty and too clever for me, an insignificant, simple man, who never was made for the great world. I felt it, therefore, all the time in my heart that I was not the man to make your mother happy; but she never let me know it distinctly until quite recently."
The old man bowed his gray head sadly, and repeated:
"Quite recently--when she wanted you to marry your cousin Felix, and I could not say Yes! and amen! to it--then I saw very clearly that we thought and felt in the most important and most sacred things so very differently; and whether I was right or she, that does not matter now; but, my dear child, it is a bad thing when those who ought to love each other cannot do it--a bad thing, my dear child, which may easily break a heart!"
And as the old man spoke these words the tears were rolling down his pale, wrinkled cheeks.
Helen sat there, silent and pale. Her hands trembled. Her father's words had apparently touched her to the heart.
"Therefore," continued the baron, after a short pause, "it has always been my principle, that parents ought not to interfere with the affections of their children, but only to pray to God that He would lead their hearts to choose well. Thus I have left you your choice, then and now. Then you could not decide; now you have decided. I cannot conceal it from you that I cannot understand the prince, and that I wish your future husband were less grand and less rich; but, as it is, I hope God will turn it to the best. You are a good, clever girl, and I think you cannot have chosen thoughtlessly, or from mere ambition; no! no! not thoughtlessly, nor from ambition, for you are my good, clever girl!" repeated the old man, as Helen, unable to control her emotion any longer, hid her beautiful head on his bosom, and gave way to a passionate fit of weeping.
"What is the matter, girl?" he said, frightened by this sudden vehemence; and then, as if a flash of lightning had lighted up for an instant the dark places in his daughter's heart, "For God's sake, child, you have not let your eyes be dazzled by Mammon! You do not love the prince? You have not followed the voice of your heart, which warned you against the stern dark man, but the counsels of your mother? Oh, my child! my unfortunate child! My fears, then, were not groundless! But it is time yet to turn back. I will speak myself with the prince; I will speak with him at once; he will have pity on a poor old man, who is sick unto death."
And he raised himself with spasmodic efforts in his bed.
It was a terrible struggle which was raging in Helen's heart while the baron said these words. Was there really a way yet out of this horrible labyrinth, in which she had lost herself? Could the step, the fatal step, be retraced? At what price? At the price of seeing her pride humbled! Her proud betrothed was to have pity! Pity with her poor old father! Pity with herself! Never ... Never!
"No, no, no!" she cried, seizing both of her father's hands. "You are mistaken, father! I am not unhappy! I have not been dazzled and tempted! I--I love the prince--I shall love him--I will try to love him--I will----"
She could not continue; her throat was closed by a spasm; her pale lips moved, but were unable to shape the words with which she uttered her own sentence of death.
"Oh, great God!" prayed the old man, "enlighten my child's heart! Child! child! Do not let your father leave this world with such a terrible doubt on his mind! Oh, if I could but tell you all as I feel it. Ah, this pain! My God ... My ..."
The sufferer fell back on his pillow.
Helen held him in her arms.
"Papa! dear papa! I will do all you ask; for I will tell the prince--great God! what is that?"
The hands of the old man began to tremble; cold perspiration bedewed his brow.
It was Death! Helen saw it with horror, and no help at hand--no help! She rushed to the bell and pulled, but the bell-rope remained in her hand. Then she rushed back to the bed, but the cold hands trembled no longer: the rolling eyes were fixed. Whatever help might come now, it came too late; and Helen threw herself, sobbing aloud, upon the body of the kind old man, whose brave and true heart had beaten to the last moment so warmly for her, and now stood still forever.
While death was settling, up-stairs, life's account by a single dash, the question of credit and debit had been most actively discussed down-stairs in the apartments of the baroness.
The baroness's whole life was given up to this great question, and she had naturally a sharp eye for all that was going on upon the market. Her husband's death, which she was expecting as a certainty, was likely to change her position entirely, but on the whole she was not displeased with the prospect. It is true, her savings from the revenues of the entailed estates, which had so far benefitted herself and Helen, and which, after the baron's death, had to be carried to the principal till Malte came of age, would be lost; but the sum total of these savings amounted already to nearly a hundred thousand dollars, all invested in first-class securities--a sum small enough, in comparison with the whole estate, but quite sufficient if the two farms belonging to Harald's bequest were added.
She had apparently arranged everything to her satisfaction, and if Grenwitz should really die now, why ...
At that moment a letter was brought in. "From Felix!" she said, in a low voice, and casting a glance at the direction; and then she stepped to the window to read the letter.
It was a short note, evidently written with pain by the trembling hand of a sick man, and ran thus:
"Dear Aunt: I have been in such a wretched state for some days, that when this letter reaches you I may possibly have ceased to exist, if this way of living, amid pain and misery, which is fast coming to an end, can be called an existence. But whatever may come, it is high time for me to enlighten you on the subject of the * * * affair. * * * has not been satisfied, as I told you. He has a right to demand four hundred dollars a month till the claim to Uncle Harald's legacy expires by prescription, and besides six hundred dollars, if he keeps silent until then. You will do better to pay the fellow, if you do not wish him to get you into no end of trouble. I sent him his four hundred for the month of November before I left Greenwood. I am exhausted.
"Yours faithfully, Felix.
"P.S.--If you love me, I pray you will let my rascally creditors wait a little longer. Moses Hirsch has a note of mine for one thousand dollars. Offer him two hundred for it; he will still make fifty per cent."
The baroness came back from the window, went to the fire-place, laid the note carefully on the burning coal and waited till the flames had seized and consumed it. Then she walked slowly up and down in the room, which began to grow dark. This twilight was most favorable for a face which was downright disfigured by anger. She murmured curses against Felix, against Albert, against Oswald, through her teeth. "Not a farthing the scamp shall have! Not a red cent! I'll send for him and tell him so to his face; and, besides, I'll warn him not to say a word ... What is it?" she interrupted her monologue, as the servant once more entered the room.
"Mr. Timm desires to wait upon you on business."
Anna Maria started. This unexpected call of the young man looked like a threat. All of a sudden she lost all desire to tell Mr. Timm to his face that he need not expect a red cent from her.
"Tell Mr. Timm I regret not to be able to see him; the baron has been taken ill very suddenly."
"I have told him so; but he said he must see you on very important business, and would detain you but for a moment."
"Well, show him in; but--you had better bring lights; and--John, stay in the next room, in case I should want you."
"Yes, ma'am."
The servant immediately ushered in Albert Timm, and then went out, closing the door behind him.
"Good-day; or rather, good-evening," said the young man, approaching the baroness apparently with an air of perfect unconcern; "I beg ten thousand pardons if I interrupt you. The old gentleman is sick, they tell me! I hope it is not much. I should have gone away again, but I have to inform you of an important discovery I have made in the affair--you know--which admits of no delay. Shall we sit down in the meantime? Allow me!"
And Mr. Albert Timm pushed an arm-chair toward the baroness, and the next moment was comfortably seated himself.
Anna Maria had not quite decided yet in her mind how she should treat the young man. But she felt very clearly that it would not be very easy to get the better of him. She sat down, therefore, in the seat he offered her, and said, in her most solemn tones:
"You will excuse me if I beg you to be as brief as possible; the sad state of things here, which the servant has mentioned to you----"
"Pray, pray!" said Albert; "exactly my purpose. Only two words and I have done. The thing is this: I have learnt quite accidentally--for it is wonderful what a great part accident plays in the whole matter--I have learnt that two persons who were in Baron Grenwitz's service at the time when Miss Marie Montbert was at Grenwitz, are still alive. They were honored by Baron Grenwitz with his special confidence; and, for instance, initiated into the whole story of the elopement. Now they are quite ready, I dare say, to appear as witnesses in a suit which might possibly arise out of the question of the legacy. The evidence of these two persons would be all the more weighty as they are both persons of excellent standing in society, and enjoy the confidence of a large circle of friends and acquaintances. One of them is sexton here in town--a man who is universally respected; the other--a woman lives in the capital, and is, in spite of her advanced age, still actively engaged in her profession, which, by the way, is that of a superior nurse. If I had ever had any doubt that the young man in question is really that is, legally--the son of the late Baron Harald, my doubts would have been completely removed by this last discovery; and I am sure, baroness, you will agree with me."
If anything else besides Felix's letter had been needed to kindle in Anna Maria's heart the flame of wrath, it was the manner in which Albert Timm was presenting to her the topic which she so bitterly hated. Nevertheless she answered with a calmness which she observed strictly in all matters of business.
"May I beg to know, Mr. Timm, why you honor me with this communication?"
"Certainly, baroness; certainly. That is what I came for. You know that a bird in hand is worth a great deal more than a bird on a tree, and that a man who sells his property for less than its value is entitled to the name of a fool. Now you know under what conditions I have promised Baron Felix to keep my counsel with regard to that legacy----"
"Pardon me if I interrupt you, Mr. Timm. I know nothing of such conditions. I directed my nephew to pay you a certain sum, solely for the purpose of getting rid of you; and my nephew assured me, shortly before he left us, that the matter was finally settled. I must therefore beg you will please not return to matters fully settled; and excuse me if I cannot see you any longer."
The baroness was on the point of rising, when Albert said, in a most decided and incisive manner: "Pray, keep your seat for a moment longer, baroness!" She obeyed his request, half wondering and half frightened.
"I am tired of being played with in this manner," continued Albert, in the same tone. "If Baron Felix has not told you the arrangement on which we agreed, he was afraid of you, or he had a purpose of his own. After all, it does not matter much whether you know the former agreement; for I have come for the very purpose of telling you that, after what I have recently discovered, I am no longer disposed to let you off so cheap. I now demand nothing less than thirty thousand dollars, payable within the next fortnight, and request that you will with like candor tell me whether you are ready to pay or not?"
"This impudence exceeds all bounds," said Anna Maria, rising from her seat and seizing the bell, which was standing by her on the table.
"Let that thing alone," said Albert, coolly; "that bell might cost you pretty dear. Consider well what you are about to do! If we cease to be good friends we become mortal enemies, and you may rest assured Albert Timm gives no quarter. Once more: Are you willing to pay or not?"
At that moment the door opened. The servant entered with two lighted candelabra, and close behind him came the prince. The servant placed the lights on the table and went out; the prince had come up half-way before he became aware that the baroness was not alone!
"Ah! pardon, madame," he said. "I thought the servant said you were alone. Do you wish me to leave you alone?"
"By no means, prince," replied Anna Maria. "I have nothing more to say to this young man." And she made a motion with her hand, as if she wished to intimate to Albert that he was dismissed.
Mr. Albert Timm wagged his hat, which he held in both hands behind his back, and said with imperturbable indifference, putting one foot a little forward:
"It seems, baroness, you wish me to repeat my last question in the presence of this gentleman!"
"Who is the young man?" asked the prince, somewhat astonished at Albert's manner and the excited state of the baroness.
"A man," replied the latter, "who has annoyed us for some time with impudent demands for money, under the pretext of possessing certain pretended family secrets. I am afraid I shall have to invoke the assistance of the police to get rid of him."
The prince looked at Albert from the height of his lofty figure, went slowly towards the table, took the little silver bell, and touched it.
The servant entered immediately.
"Show this man out!" said the prince.
The servant was so amazed by this order that he did not trust his own ears. He looked, with a face full of embarrassment, first at the prince and then at Mr. Albert Timm, who was still standing quietly there, wagging his hat after the manner of a dog's tail, and again from Mr. Albert Timm to the prince.
"Did you hear me?" said the latter, contracting his brows in a threatening manner.
The servant came a step nearer to Timm.
"My good friend, I will spare you the alternative either to have your nose knocked into your face or to be dismissed from the army," said Albert, good-naturedly, "and prefer, on that account, to go myself. As for you, baroness, we shall see each other again shortly, but upon a different footing; and as for you,young man, I should like to advise you hereafter not to meddle with matters which do not concern you in the least, in spite of the great airs you are giving yourself."
The prince made a motion towards his left side. Fortunately he had left his sword in the hall. Albert did not wait for any further measures on the part of the lion he had roused, but made an ironical bow and left the room.
The prince, who had never in his life been treated in this way, looked aghast; the baroness cast down her eyes.
"That could not have happened at home, in Russia," said the prince.
"I regret," said the baroness, "that accident should have made you witness so unpleasant an occurrence."
At the same moment the servant re-entered the room, deadly pale, and cried, breathlessly:
"Oh, ma'am! come quickly! The baron is dying!"
"Oh, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the baroness, and seemed on the point of fainting.
"Compose yourself madame! compose yourself!" said the prince. "Bear what has to be borne. Will you take my arm? Ho, there! show us the way!"
About the same hour--perhaps a little earlier two gentlemen displayed at the billiard-table, in the restaurant near the main guard-house on the square, that industry which is so becoming to busy idlers. The two gentlemen who met at this favorite lounging place of thejeunesse doréeof Grunwald, were Cloten and Barnewitz. The former, who excelled in all the arts which required a sure eye and a steady hand, and no head work, had beaten his adversary in every game, and hence the young man was in excellent humor, while the other was nearly angry.
"Another game, Barnewitz?" asked Cloten, triumphantly, after having finished the twelfth with a brilliant carom.
"Thank you; no!" said Barnewitz, throwing his cue on the billiard-table; "am not in the right humor for it to-day. I cannot play well anyhow in this miserable twilight!"
"We can have the lamps lit."
"No, thank you! Another day! We can play quits to-morrow."
Cloten now laid down his cue also, stepped before the looking-glass and twisted his blonde moustache, while Barnewitz threw himself upon the sofa and yawned.
"It is wretchedly tedious here," he said; "don't know how on earth to kill the whole afternoon!"
"Let us take a walk."
"It is too abominably cold."
"A game at piquet?"
"Too tiresome."
"A bottle of claret?"
"Well, that's better."
"Waiter! a bottle of Pichon and a light."
The waiter brought what was ordered. Cloten threw himself into an arm-chair opposite to Barnewitz, and stretched out his legs.
"Well?"
"Well!"
"Don't you know anything?"
"No! Do you?"
"No!"
After this exchange of bright thoughts there followed, as a matter of course, a pause of exhaustion, and the ship of conversation remained for a quarter of an hour stranded on a sandbank, while the two men smoked their cigars and sipped their wine.
Cloten and Barnewitz had been apparently excellent friends ever since their terrible collision in summer, but in reality they had watched each other with unbroken distrust. It is true, the distrust was but too well founded in this case. Hortense Bamewitz had no sooner come to Grunwald than she cast out her net--experienced fisher of men as she was--after her old lover, and Cloten had at that time already discovered that happiness in the arms of his former lady-love was far more attractive than the honor of being the husband of the most fashionable lady in town. Barnewitz, on the other hand, gave the noble couple ample opportunity for meeting; for he threw himself, at Grunwald, head foremost into a vortex of amusements, of which there was no lack there for a rich nobleman who cared more for quantity than for quality. Nevertheless, he was as much the victim of jealousy now as before, and he was therefore highly pleased to see, what all others saw as well, that Emily treated her husband like a school-boy, and had evidently found a worthier object for her loving heart.
Barnewitz had long wished for an hour when he might inform Cloten under the mask of friendship of the reports which filled the town about him and his wife. The day before he had accidentally heard of some new scandal, and to-day Cloten's superiority at billiards had greatly annoyed him. After thinking the matter over for some time, therefore, he exploded:
"How is your wife, Cloten?"
"Thanks! Pretty well; why?" replied Cloten, not a little astonished at the brusque question.
"Well, I suppose it is permitted to inquire after your wife! Or do you allow no questions to be asked?"
"Certainly; but what do you mean?"
"Because she has been so very charming for a little while past."
"Is that so very uncommon?" asked Cloten, slightly embarrassed, and torturing his moustache.
"Yes; for she had just before treated everybody, yourself included, so very badly, that one could not help wondering at the sudden change. At all events, I was not the only one to notice it; the whole world is full of it."
"The whole world ought to pull its own nose," said Cloten; and his hand trembled with annoyance as he filled his glass.
"Certainly; but they don't do it."
"---- the whole world!"
"Certainly; if you wish it. But if you would rather talk about something else;--I only thought that, as your oldest friend, it was my duty to call your attention to certain things."
"Well, then, come; out with your story," said Cloten, with nervous vehemence. "What is it? Out with it!"
"I shall take good care not to say anything more, if the first word puts you into such a state."
"I am not in any state," said Cloten; and to prove it, he dashed his glass upon the table, so that the foot broke to pieces and the wine flooded the marble top.
"You are a queer fellow," said Barnewitz. "Wait till you have cause to get angry. What does it amount to? They say that you are not exactly Darby and Joan; that your wife has her own way; that you quarrel occasionally so that the servants hear it in the kitchen, and the like."
"Who says so?"
"The whole world!"
"And you believe it?"
Barnewitz shrugged his shoulders.
"I shouldn't like to hurt your feelings, Arthur; but I cannot deny it that the way your wife acts looks very suspicious to me. I should not wonder, and no one in our circle would wonder, if she had some littleliaison, and I rather think I know the person."
"I insist upon it that you tell me all you know," said Cloten, with great pathos.
"Do you recollect the party at my house last summer? But of course you do, for we came near killing each other on that occasion. Ha, ha, ha! Well, on that evening already your wife began to flirt with that confounded fool--that Doctor Stein--in a way which struck everybody, and me too. But I had totally forgotten the whole affair till I was reminded of it yesterday. You recollect I had left Stilow's because, to tell the truth, the wine was too bad, and I was very thirsty. I found in my way to the city cellars, where the company is low enough but the wine excellent. There were a dozen people--authors, actors, and such stuff--sitting round a table and drinking; among them our old friend Timm the surveyor, who talked very big. I sat down at some distance, ordered a few dozen oysters and a bottle of champagne, and listened, because I could not help listening. They talked, heaven knows what stuff. I did not understand a word, and was just thinking what a lot of sheep they all were, and my eyes were beginning to be heavy, when I suddenly heard somebody mention your name, or rather your wife's name. Of course, I was wide awake in a moment. 'Who is she?' asked somebody. 'A wonderful creature,' said Timm. 'Well, and friend Stein is in love with her.' 'That's it!' 'What a fellow--that man Stein!' 'How did he get hold of her?' 'Oh, that is a long story!' said Timm; and then they put their heads together and talked so low that I could not hear the rest. At all events they laughed like madmen, and I had a great mind to pitch a few bottles at their heads."
"Why didn't you do it?" asked Cloten, angrily.
"I do not like to get into trouble in a strange establishment; I have had to pay for it often enough," replied the philosophic nobleman, pouring the rest of the bottle into his glass.
Then followed a pause, after which Cloten cried out with much vehemence: "I don't believe a word of it."
Barnewitz shrugged his shoulders.
"That's the best for you to do."
"Don't say so! I won't have it!" exclaimed Cloten, furiously.
"I only say what the world says," replied Barnewitz, sipping his wine leisurely.
"And you think the world says nothing about you?" asked Cloten, ironically.
"What do they say about me?" cried Barnewitz, starting up. "---- the fellow who dares say a word; and I think you, of all men, ought to be most careful not to open your mouth."
"Careful or not, I don't see why I should not talk as well as you."
"What! a fellow like you?" said Barnewitz, thrusting his hands into his pockets with an air of contempt "I suppose you think you are wonderfully successful with the sex?"
Who knows what serious consequences might have arisen from this word-combat if the door of the billiard-room had not opened just then to admit Professor Jager, who crept in cautiously, after having first reconnoitred the room through his round glasses.
Professor Jager's appearance was never specially inviting, but on this evening there was something peculiarly unpleasant about the man's pale face. His stereotyped smile, and the drooping corners of the mouth, contrasted with his effort to give an air of solemnity to his forehead, and to look as melancholy as possible through his spectacles, so that he appeared on the whole not unlike a black tom cat who glides purring and with raised back around a person's leg, preparing to scratch his hands the next moment furiously.
Thus he drew near to the two noblemen, made a very low bow, and said:
"I beg ten thousand pardons if I am disturbing theentente cordialeof two bosom friends, but----"
"Come here, professor," said Barnewitz, who welcomed the interruption; "join us in a glass of Pichon. Waiter! another----"
"Pray, don't; many thanks. Regret infinitely that I should have interrupted you in your cozy talk; but I heard at your house, Baron Cloten, that I should find you here, and a matter of importance which I had to communicate----"
"Don't mind me, gentlemen," said Barnewitz. "I'll go into the reading-room till you have done."
"Pray, pray; I have only two words----"
"Well, all right. Call me when you have done!"
With these words Barnewitz went into the adjoining room, where he rested his elbows on the table and his head on his hands, and then plunged into the mysteries of the Grunwald official journal.
He had no sooner left them than Professor Jager turned to Cloten and said, whispering mysteriously:
"Baron Cloten, I have to tell you something that will frighten you."
Cloten turned pale and stepped back. His first thought was that his stables had been burnt, and Arabella and Macdonald, his two thoroughbreds, had perished in the flames. The professor did not leave him long in this terrible uncertainty; but with a low, spectral voice, and drawing the corners of his mouth so low down that they seemed to meet under the chin, he said: "Your wife----"
"Ha!" cried Cloten. "What is it? What has happened?"
"I don't know," replied Jager, "but I fear for the worst. Look at this paper [he searched his pockets and produced a folded-up piece of paper]. I found it just now on my wife's writing-table. But before I read to you what is on the paper you must swear you will never tell from whom you have heard it."
"I'll swear anything you want," said Cloten, with nervous excitement. "What is the matter with the paper?"
"Directly, directly! First, let me tell you that for some weeks now your wife and mine have become great friends, an intimacy which from the beginning has puzzled me sorely. Their meetings, I was told, had a purely poetical purpose--you know my wife is president of the Lyric Club--but I was struck by the fact that a third person appeared there always, or at least very frequently, a person against whom I have ever felt an unconquerable aversion. This person is----"
"Doctor Stein! I know! Go on," said Cloten, breathlessly.
"You know!--ah, indeed!" replied the professor, with a Mephistophelian smile, which gleamed unpleasantly behind his glasses. "Oh, well; then the hardest part of my task has been performed by others. Well, sir, if you know it already I will not detain you by telling you how the first spark of suspicion fell into my simple soul; how subsequent observations fanned this into a bright flame, which threatened to consume this heart of mine, that only beats for the welfare of my brethren [here the professor laid his hand with its black glove on the left side]. I dared not forbid my wife all intercourse with the person in question. You know, sir, poetic minds are apt to be eccentric, and the æsthetic standpoint from which----"
"But I pray you, professor, come to the point," said Cloten, who was standing upon coals. "What was on the paper?"
"Why, you see," said Jager, opening the paper, "it is the rough sketch of a poem, which I found quite wet yet on my wife's bureau; the servant told me she had just left the house to pay a visit. Shall I read it to you?"
"Yes; in the devil's name!" cried Cloten, who hardly knew what he was saying.
Professor Jager arranged his spectacles carefully on his nose, drew the light somewhat nearer, and read, in a half-loud, rattling voice, while the young nobleman was looking over his shoulder: "'Grunwald, December 10, 1847.' You see the date corresponds exactly.
'FOR THE ALBUM OF AN ESCAPING PRISONER.'You flee!--by the light of the twinkling stars,In rapturous flight through Cimmerian night;You flee! and alas I would break all the bars,I, who have watched over you day and night!But terrible bonds have forged me a chain,Which ever in bondage will here me retain.You flee!--and I stay in Cimmerian night.'
'FOR THE ALBUM OF AN ESCAPING PRISONER.
'You flee!--by the light of the twinkling stars,In rapturous flight through Cimmerian night;You flee! and alas I would break all the bars,I, who have watched over you day and night!But terrible bonds have forged me a chain,Which ever in bondage will here me retain.You flee!--and I stay in Cimmerian night.'
"You see this poetical eccentricity of a soul generally chaste and full of affection," said the professor, who had read the last lines with a somewhat unsteady voice.
"Go on! go on!" urged Cloten, whose sufferings made him indifferent to the sufferings of others.
The professor continued:
"'You flee! and the icicles glitter so bright,The hoofs now thunder on quivering ice,You are not frightened by terrible night,You follow the lurings of glorious price.You flee! and you do what is proper and right!Why should you remain with a wretched wightA puppet of wood on a couch of ice?'"
"'You flee! and the icicles glitter so bright,The hoofs now thunder on quivering ice,You are not frightened by terrible night,You follow the lurings of glorious price.You flee! and you do what is proper and right!Why should you remain with a wretched wightA puppet of wood on a couch of ice?'"
"That is meant for me!" said Cloten, furiously, grinding his teeth.
"Certainly, certainly!" said the professor; "but listen:
"'You flee! and yonder on rockiest strand,In nurse's familiar house by the sea,There falls in a moment the hampering bandThat bound you before, and there is he!There love in a thousand fiery brooks,Breaks forth in caresses and tenderest looksIn Nurse's familiar house by the sea."'You flee! and alas 'tis not to the port,Where spies are no more nor watching eyes!Oh flee to the safe, to the only resort,Where wait for you milder and happier skies!Oh flee to the banks of the beautiful Seine,Where love is at freedom, amain! amain!And free from society's hateful lies!'"
"'You flee! and yonder on rockiest strand,In nurse's familiar house by the sea,There falls in a moment the hampering bandThat bound you before, and there is he!There love in a thousand fiery brooks,Breaks forth in caresses and tenderest looksIn Nurse's familiar house by the sea.
"'You flee! and alas 'tis not to the port,Where spies are no more nor watching eyes!Oh flee to the safe, to the only resort,Where wait for you milder and happier skies!Oh flee to the banks of the beautiful Seine,Where love is at freedom, amain! amain!And free from society's hateful lies!'"
The professor folded up the paper again, pocketed it, and said:
"This poem troubled me sorely, for I know the way my wife makes her poems. She takes the subject from actual life. But I was much more startled yet, when I went on using a husband's right and examined the papers that were scattered all over her table. I found this little note [here the professor put his hand in his waistcoat pocket]. Do you know the hand-writing, Baron Cloten?"
"That is my wife's hand," cried the young nobleman, casting a glance at the paper. "What does she say? Let me see! 'All remains as agreed upon, dear Primula. Everything is ready. We meet at Mrs. Lemberg's. Tomorrow at this hour a world divides us. Shall I be able to embrace you once more? I shall be at home at three. I should like to see you so much, but--can you venture to come without rousing suspicion? I leave the matter to you. Good-by, good-by, dearest! Free to-day! Oh, I can hardly conceive such happiness! Good-by--a thousand farewells!' By the Almighty!" cried the happy husband, crumpling up the paper and pushing it into his pocket. "Now I see it all! I never could understand why she was all the time going to see that old woman in Ferrytown! But I'll spoil the fun; I'll----"
As the happy man did not exactly know what he was going to do, he broke down, and walked up and down, like a man suffering with a furious toothache.
Professor Jager looked at him, his head inclined on his right shoulder, and folding his hands in sympathetic emotion; but he had the air of an ear-owl, gazing with big, staring eyes at a poor foolish bird that has been caught in a snare.
"You may believe me, my dear sir," he said; "I am heartily sorry for the whole thing; and I assure you I would have kept it all to myself if I did not think it was the good shepherd's duty to snatch the lamb from the jaws of the wolf. For this man is a raving wolf. I found him out at first sight, but they would not believe me. Now they see it clear enough. Only this morning Doctor Black, one of the trustees of the college, came to see me, and to tell me that Doctor Clemens had called for an official inquiry into the conduct of the terrible man, which could not fail to end in his dismissal--his dismissal in disgrace. And while I was still considering how we could best make it known to all the world that he was a wolf in sheep's clothes, chance came to my aid and caused these papers to fall into my hands, which prove clearly that the worst that was reported about this man was not as bad yet as the truth. I knew at once what my duty was. Certain that my wife would never hear of the exposure to which I had been morally forced, and relying on the discretion of a nobleman, I hastened----"
"I must consult Barnewitz," said Cloten, suddenly; and he made a motion as if he were going into the room where Barnewitz was waiting.
"For God's sake, my dear sir," cried the frightened professor, "are you going to ruin me? Consider, I pray, you have solemnly promised not to expose Mrs. Jager----"
"Nonsense!" said Cloten; "you surely would not have me go into such a serious matter alone. Barnewitz!"
"What's the matter?" said the latter, looking up from his paper.
"Just come this way! I have something important to tell you."
Barnewitz came, and Cloten told him rapidly what the matter was, while the professor stood by, rubbing his hands, in great embarrassment.
"It cannot be doubted," continued Cloten. "I must tell you frankly I had my suspicions; but, to be sure, I did not guess that rascal--that man Stein ... But I see it all now. I knew she was going over to Ferry town again to-day; and now I remember she said, contrary to her usual way, she would not be back before night. And then you saw last night--oh, no doubt it is all so! What am I to do? What ought I to do?" And the young man struck his forehead with his closed fist.
"What ought you to do?" said Barnewitz. "Let her run!"
"Pardon me," said the professor; "that would cause an unheard-of scandal, which even now, I think, can only be prevented by very energetic measures."
"The professor is right," said Cloten; "we must not let them get off; but I cannot prevent it alone. Will you help me, Barnewitz?"
"Avec plaisir," replied Barnewitz. "I never could bear the fellow!"
"Butpericulum in mora, gentlemen. You must go to work at once!" chimed in the professor.
"Well, we will," said Cloten. "Come, Barnewitz; I'll tell you on the way what I think we had better do. The professor will accompany us part of the way."
"With pleasure; with great pleasure!" replied the professor. "To be sure, my time is very limited now; very limited. Ah--here is the door; I pray, after you, gentlemen!"
And the three gentlemen hastily left the restaurant.