"Oh, Marie!" he cried, retreating in terror, "with what fearful detestation you regard me!"

"Do you wonder at it? Have I ever concealed this hate from you, or ever given you hope to believe that a reconciliation would be possible between us?"

"No, truly you have not, but now you will forgive me, for you know how I love you, and have provided for your future. You will remain rich, and I shall be poor."

Marie regarded him with unspeakable contempt. "You are more despicable than I thought you were. You do not deserve forbearance or pity, for you are a dishonorable bankrupt, who cares not how much others may suffer, provided his future is secured. I will not, however, suffer the name which I have borne against my will, to be defamed and become a mark for scorn. I will compel you to remain an honest man, and be just to your creditors. I propose to pay the bills of exchange, which will be presented to you to-day, provided you will consent to my conditions."

"Oh, Marie, you are an angel!" he cried, rushing toward her and kneeling at her feet, "I will do all that you wish, and consent to every thing you propose."

"Will you swear it?" she coldly replied.

"I swear that I accept your conditions."

"Bring the writing-materials from the window-niche, and seat yourself by this table."

Ebenstreit brought them, and seated himself by the Florentine mosaic table, near which Marie was standing.

She drew from her pocket a paper, which she unfolded and placed before him to sign. "Sign this with your full name, and add, 'With my own free will and consent,'" she commandingly ordered him.

"But you will first make known to me the contents?"

"You have sworn to sign it," she said, "and unless you accept my conditions, you are welcome to be incarcerated for life in the debtor's prison. You have only to choose. If you decide in the negative, I will exert myself that your creditors do not free you. I should trust in the justice of G.o.d having sent you there, and that man in miserable pity should not act against His will in freeing you. Now decide; will you sign the paper, or go to prison as a dishonorable bankrupt?"

He hastily seized the pen and wrote his name, handing the paper to Marie, sighing.

"You have forgotten to add the clause, 'With my own free will and consent,'" she replied, hastily glancing at it, letting the paper drop like a wilted leaf, and her eyes flashing with scorn.

Ebenstreit saw it, and as he again handed her the paper, he exclaimed, "I read in your eyes the intense hate you bear me."

"Yes," she replied, composedly, "not only hate, but scorn. Hush! no response. You knew it long before I was forced to stand at the altar with you. I warned you not to unite yourself to me, and you had the impious audacity to defy me with your riches. The seed of hate which you then sowed, you may to-day reap the fruits of. You shall recognize now that money is miserable trash, and that when deprived of it you will never win sympathy from your so-called friends, but they will turn from you with contempt, when you crave their pity or aid."

"I think that you exaggerate, dearest," said Ebenstreit, fawningly. "You have many devoted friends among the ladies, and I can well say that I have found, among the distinguished gentlemen who visit our house, many n.o.ble, excellent ones who have met me with a warmth of friendship--"

"Because they would borrow money of the rich man," interrupted Marie.

"Of course my coffers have always been accessible to my dear friends, and I prized the honor of proving my friendship by my deeds."

"You will realize to-day how they prove their grat.i.tude to you for it.

Go, receive the good friends whom you have invited. It is time that they were here, and I perceive the carriages are approaching."

Marie motioned to the door, with a dictatorial wave of her hand, and Ebenstreit betook himself to the reception-room. Just as he crossed the threshold, the usher announced "Herr Ged.i.c.ke! Ebenstreit greeted him hastily in pa.s.sing, and the old man went on to meet the baroness, who was hastening toward him.

"You have most graciously invited me to your house to-day, and you will excuse me that my earnest wish to see you has brought me earlier than any other guest."

"I begged you to come a quarter of an hour sooner, for I would gladly speak with you alone a few moments."

"I thought so, and hastened up here."

"Did not my old Trude go to see you some days since?" asked Marie, timidly.

"She did, and you can well understand that I was much affected and surprised at her visit. I thought that you had forgotten me, baroness, and that every souvenir of the past had fled from your memory. I now see that your n.o.ble, faithful heart can never forget, and therefore has never ceased to suffer, which I ought to regret, for your sake, but for my own it pleased me to receive your kind greeting."

Marie pressed her hand to her eyes and sighed audibly. "Pray do not speak so gently to me--it enervates me, and I would force myself to endure to-day. Only tell me, did Trude communicate to you my wishes, and will it be possible for you to fulfil them?"

"Your brave, good friend brought me a thousand dollars, praying me to convey this to Herr Moritz in order to defray the expenses of a journey to Italy."

"Have you accomplished it, and in such a manner that he does not suspect the source from whence it came? He would not receive it if he had the least suspicion of it. I have seen him secretly several times as he pa.s.sed to and fro from the Gymnasium, and he appeared to me to grow paler and more languid every day."

"It is true that since you have come back he has changed. The old melancholy seems to have returned."

"He needs distraction; he must go away and forget me. It has always been his earnest wish to travel in Italy. You must tell him that you have succeeded in getting the money for him."

"I bethought myself of Moritz's publisher, represented to him how necessary it was for the health of Professor Moritz to travel, begged of him to order a work upon Italy, and particularly the works of art of Rome, and propose to Moritz the acceptance of the money for that object, as he was quite too proud to receive it as a present."

"That was an excellent idea," cried Marie. "Has it been accomplished?"

"Yes, as Herr Maurer made the proposal, and Moritz replied, sighing, that he had not the means for such a journey, the publisher immediately offered him half of the remuneration in advance; consequently he starts to-morrow for Italy, unknowing of the thousand dollars being your gift." [Footnote: This work, which was published after his return, still excites the highest interest, and is ent.i.tled "Travels of a German in Italy during 1786 and 1787.--Letters of Philip Carl Moritz," 8 vols., Berlin, published by Frederick Maurer.]

"How much I thank you!" she joyfully cried. "Moritz is saved; he will now recover, and forget all his grief in studying the objects of interest in the Eternal City."

"Do you really believe that?" asked Herr Ged.i.c.ke. "Were you not also in Italy?"

"I was indeed there two years, but it was very different with me. It is difficult to forget you are a slave, when listening all the while to the clanking of your chains."

"My poor child, I read with sorrow the history of the past years in your grief-stricken face. It is the first time we have met since your marriage."

"See what these years have made of me!--a miserable wife, whom the world esteems, but who recoils from herself. My heart has changed to stone, and I feel metamorphosed. The sight of you recalls that fearful hour, melting my heart and causing the tears to flow. At that time you blessed me, my friend and father. Oh, grant me your blessing again in this hour of sorrow! I implore you for it, before an important decision! I long for the sympathy of a n.o.ble soul!"

"I know not, my child, with what grief this hour may be laden for you; but I lay my hand again upon your head, imploring G.o.d in His divine mercy to sustain you!"

"Countess von Moltke and Frau von Morien!" announced the usher. In brilliant toilets the ladies rustled in, hastening toward the baroness, who had now regained her wonted composure, and received them in her usual stately manner.

"How perfectly charming you look to-night!" cried Countess Moltke. "To me you are ever the impersonation of the G.o.ddess of wealth and beauty strewing everywhere with lavish generosity your gifts, and turning every thing to gold with your touch."

"But whose heart has remained tender and gentle," added Frau von Morien.--"You are indeed a G.o.ddess, always enhancing the pleasures of others. To-day I wear the beautiful bracelet which you sent me because I admired it."

"And I, ma toute belle," cried the countess, "have adorned myself with this superb gold brocade which you so kindly had sent from Paris for me."

"You have forgotten, countess, that you begged of me to give the order for you."

"Ah, that is true! Then I am your debtor."

"If you are not too proud to receive it as a present?"

"Oh, most certainly not; on the contrary, I thank you, my dear.--Tell me, my dear Morien, is not this woman an angel?"

At this instant the French amba.s.sador, Marquis Treves, appeared among the numerous guests, whom the baroness stepped quickly forward to welcome, withdrawing with him into the window-niche.

"Welcome, marquis," she said, quickly, in a low voice, "Have you brought me the promised papers?"