"Well, mother, you must then take the consequences.--Herr Ebenstreit, they will force me to become your wife, they will sell me as merchandise to you, and you have accepted the bargain in good faith, believing that I agree to sacrifice my freedom and human rights for riches. They have deceived you, sir! I am not ready to give myself up to the highest bidder. I am a woman, with a heart to love and hate, who esteems affection superior to wealth. I cannot marry you, and I beg you not to teach me to hate you."

A savage curse broke forth from the general, who, forgetting his gout, rose furious, shaking his clinched fist at his daughter.

His wife was immediately by his side, and pushed him into his arm-chair, commanding him, in her harsh, cold to remain quiet and take care of his health, and listen to what his son-in-law had to say to his unfeeling and unnatural daughter. "He alone has to decide.--Speak, my dear son,"

said she, turning to the young man, who, with a malicious smile, had listened to the baroness, fixing his dull-blue eyes upon the young girl, who never seemed so desirable to him, as she now stood before him with glowing cheeks.

"Again I say, speak, my dear son, and tell my daughter the truth; do you hear, the truth?"

"If you will permit me, my dearest mother, I will," answered Ebenstreit, with submissive kindness, again regarding the daughter. "You have made me a sad confession, Marie," said he, sighing, "but I will acknowledge that I am not surprised, for your mother told me when I asked for your hand, that she feared I should never gain your consent, for you did not love me, although she herself, and the general, would grant theirs."

"Was that all that I told you?" asked the mother, coldly.

"No, not all," continued Ebenstreit, slightly inclining; "you added, 'My daughter loves a beggar, a poor school-master, and she entertains the romantic idea of marrying him.'"

"And what did you reply?" asked Marie, almost breathless.

"My dear Marie, I laughed, repeating my proposal of marriage to your mother, saying, that I was ready to take up the combat with the poor pedagogue, and that you seemed all the more interesting and amiable for this romantic love. Life is so tedious and wretched, that one is glad to have some change and distraction. I a.s.sure you, I have not been so entertained for long years, as in the last fourteen days in this silent war with you. It amuses me infinitely to see you so stubborn and prudish, and increases my love for you. How could it be otherwise? The rich banker, Ebenstreit, has never seen a woman who was not ready to accept his hand, and why should he not love the first one who resists it? You have excited my self-love and vanity. You have made the marriage a matter of ambition, and you will comprehend that my answer is: 'Fraulein von Leuthen must and shall be my wife, no matter what it costs me. She defies my riches and despises money, so I will force her to respect my wealth and recognize its power. Besides, she is a cruel, egotistical daughter; who has no pity for her poor parents, and is capable of seeing them perish for her foolish attachment. I will make her a good child, and force her to make her parents, and thereby herself, happy.' All this I said to myself, and I have acted and shall act accordingly. I have only to add that the ceremony will take place to-morrow, at eleven. We will leave immediately after. Have the goodness therefore to choose in which direction, that I may at once make the necessary arrangements."

"Lost--lost without hope!" cried Marie, in anguish, covering her face with her hands.

"Rather say rescued from misfortune," answered Ebenstreit, quietly.

"Believe me, there is but one sorrow that may not be borne, may not be conquered, and that is poverty, which is a corroding, consuming malady, annihilating body, and soul, swifter and surer than the most subtle poison. It stifles all n.o.ble feelings, all poetical thoughts and great deeds, and, believe me, love even cannot resist its terrible power. One day you will understand this. I will be patient and indulgent, and await it with hope."

"Oh, what a n.o.ble and high-minded man!" cried the mother, with emphasis.--"Marie should kneel and thank her Maker for such a magnanimous savior and lover, who will shield her from all evil and misfortune."

Sobbing and sighing, the daughter had stood with her face concealed; now she regarded the cold-hearted, smiling woman, with flashing eyes and keen contempt.

"Thank him!" she cried; "no, I accuse, I curse him. He is an atheist, and denies love. He is not capable of a n.o.ble thought or action, scorning and defaming all that is beautiful and elevated, worshipping only mammon. I will never marry him. You may force me to the altar, and there I will denounce him."

"She will kill me," cried the general; "she will murder her aged parents, leaving them to starve and perish, and--"

"Silence!" commanded his wife. "Leave off your complaints, she is not worth the tears or remonstrances of her parents. She would try to be our murderess, but she shall not.--My son, inform her of your decision.

Answer her."

"The response to your romantic language is simple and natural, my dear Marie. I have already entered into your feelings, and am prepared for this idea of refusing your lover at the altar, which is found in novels, and I supposed that it might occur to you. Money compa.s.ses all things and according to our wishes. My fortune procures for me a dispensation from public authorities to be married here in the house of our dear parents. The law demands four witnesses, who will be represented by your parents, my servant Philip, and the sacristan whom the clergyman will bring."

"And they will hear me abjure you."

"It is very possible, dearest, but the witnesses will not listen to you. Money makes the deaf to hear, and the hearing ones deaf. Old parson Dietrich knows the story of your love, and believes, with us, that it is a malady that you must be cured of. Therefore, in pity to you, he will not listen, and the others are paid to keep silent."

"Is there no hope, O Heaven?" cried Marie, imploringly. "O G.o.d, Thou hast permitted it--hast Thou no pity in my need, and sendest me no aid?"

Rushing to her father, and kneeling at his feet, she continued: "Have mercy upon your poor child! You are an old man, and may live but a few years; do not burden your conscience with the fearful reproaches of your only child, whom you will condemn to an inconsolably long and unhappy life."

"Have you no pity yourself? Do you not know that I, your father, am so poor, that I have not even the necessary care? You wish your parents to sacrifice themselves for you, and suffer want! No, the daughter should sacrifice herself for her parents."

"A beautiful sacrifice, a fine sorrow!" sneered her mother. "She will be a rich woman, and have the most splendid house and furniture and most costly equipage in Berlin!"

"And a husband who adores her," cried Ebenstreit, "and who will feel it his duty to make her and her parents happy. Resolve bravely to bury the past, and look the immutable future joyfully in the face. Eleven will be the happy hour; fear not that the altar will not be worthy the charming bride of such a rich family. Money will procure every thing, and I will send a florist who will change this room into a blooming temple, fit to receive the G.o.ddess of love. In your room you will find the gift of my affection, a simple wedding-dress, which I trust you will approve of.

Oh, do not shake your head, do not say that you will never wear it; you must believe that all resistance is in vain. You will become my wife, I and my money will it."

"And I," cried Marie, standing before him pale and defiant, regarding him with unspeakable contempt, "I and my love will it not. May G.o.d judge between us! May He forgive those who have brought this misfortune upon me! I can only say, 'Woe to them!'"

"Woe to you!" cried her mother. "Woe to the seducer who has persuaded our child to sin and crime, and--"

"Hush mother! I will not permit you to slander him whom I love, and ever shall, so long--"

"Until you forget him, and love me, Marie," said Ebenstreit. Approaching her, he seized her hand, and pressed a kiss upon it.

She drew it away with disgust, and turned slowly to the door, tossing back her head proudly. "Where are you going?" demanded her mother.

With her hand upon the k.n.o.b, she replied, turning her pale, wan face to her mother, "To my own room, which I suppose is permitted to me, as there is nothing more to be said."

Her mother would reply, and retain her, but her son-in-law held her gently back. "Let her go," said he; "she needs rest for composure and to accustom herself to the thought that her fate is unavoidable."

"But what if she should resort to desperate means in her mad infatuation and foolish pa.s.sion? Some one must watch her continually, for she may try to elope."

"You are right, dearest mother, some one must be with her, in whom she will confide. Would it not be possible to win old Trude?"

"No, nothing would gain her; she is a silly fool, who thinks only Marie is of consequence."

Ebenstreit shrugged his shoulders. "That means that she would sell herself at a high price. I beg that you will send for her."

"You will see," said she, calling the old woman, who entered from the opposite door.

Trude looked about, scowling and grumbling. "Leberecht told me my mistress called me."

"Why do you then look so furious, and what are you seeking on the table?" asked Frau von Werrig.

"My money," cried Trude, vehemently. "I thought that you called me to pay me, and that my wages were all counted out on the table. But I see there is nothing there, and I fear I shall get none, and be poor as a church-mouse all my life long. Your honor promised me positively that, as soon as the wedding was decided upon, you would pay me every farthing, with interest, and I depended upon it."

"You shall have all, and much more than the general's wife promised you, if you will be a true and faithful servant to us," said Ebenstreit.

"That I always have been, and ever shall be," snarled Trude. "No person can say aught against me. Now, I want my money."

"And obstinate enough you have been too," said her mistress. "Can you deny that you have not always taken my daughter's part?"

"I do not deny it. I have nursed her from childhood, and I love her as my own child, and would do any thing to make her happy!"

"Do you believe, Trude," cried the general, "that Marie could be happy with that poor, starving wretch of a school-master? Has she not experienced in her own home the misfortune and shame of poverty?"

"I know it well," sighed the old one, sadly, "and it has converted me to believe that it would be a great misfortune for Marie to marry the poor school-master."

"Well, will you then faithfully help us to prevent it?" quickly asked Ebenstreit.

"How can I do it?" she sighed, shrugging her shoulder.

"You can persuade my daughter to be reasonable, and yield to that which she cannot prevent. You are the only one who can make any impression upon Marie, as she confides in you. Watch her, that in a moment of pa.s.sionate desperation she does not commit some rash act. You can tell us, further, what she says, and warn us of any crazy plan she might form to carry out her own will."