"Because I consider the whole thing quite inexplicable."

"Are you enthusiastic about Miss Helen?"

"Infinitely so."

"I suppose you take a special interest in all girls who are fresh from school?"

"Only when they are really interesting."

"Not always. Or do you really mean to say that Emily von Breesen deserves being called so?"

"I have never been enthusiastic about her."

"Well--but then she has been all the more so about you. Lisbeth was the confidante of her grief, and Lisbeth has of course told me the whole story."

"Oh, that is simply impossible."

"Don't be excited! You see the child has found consolation. To-day she is hand in glove with Cloten; to-morrow she will have somebody else.

That girl has talent. She will do much in that line. I am only sorry for poor Cloten."

"But why does he expose himself to the danger?"

"Certainly--and without his Mentor's advice?"

"Who is that?"

"Baron Oldenburg. He probably has misunderstood his friend's advice, and will marry little Emily from mere blundering."

"You are pleased to speak to me in unfathomable riddles."

"I beg your pardon. Tell me, have you really become the baron's bosom friend in this short time, as report says?"

"Report has, as usually, changed the mote into a beam."

"Do you think I mean it well with you?" said Hortense, and looked Oswald full in the face.

"I have no reason to suppose the contrary," replied the latter, who began to be peculiarly interested in the conversation, which he had begun without any purpose whatever.

"Then follow my advice: have a care of the baron as of your bitterest enemy."

"Why?"

"Because he is false to the core of his heart."

"Do you know him well? And--pardon me if I cannot at once believe so grave an accusation of a man whom, I confess, I have esteemed very highly until now--have you any evidence of his being false?"

"A thousand!"

"Can you mention one?"

"You will not betray what I am going to tell you?"

"I promise."

"Then listen. You know my cousin Melitta. Well, she has foibles as well as all of us, but at the bottom she is a charming woman, whom I love dearly, and whom I should be extremely sorry to see once more in hands from which I thought I had rescued her forever. If Melitta is not as good as she could be, Oldenburg alone has that on his conscience. He turned her head, when she was quite young, with his foolish notions, so that at last she knew no longer what was right and what was wrong.

Then, when she made that capital match with Baron Berkow, he disturbed their good relations by his interference, and it was no wonder that Berkow at last lost his mind from jealousy. I saw how that came about.

At last I succeeded in persuading Melitta to send Oldenburg away for a few years. He went, but when we shortly afterwards were travelling in Italy he reappeared, I know not whether by accident or called in by Melitta. From her manner I should have supposed the latter. The old story began once more. Solitary walks, low whisperings and vows, which took place even in the presence of third persons--in short, it was a downright unpleasant sight for one who, like myself, thinks rather strictly in such matters. In vain I begged and besought Melitta to think of her sick husband and of her child. I preached to deaf ears.

Then I determined to use desperate means. In order to prove to her Oldenburg's worthlessness--of which I had heard on all sides fabulous accounts--I pretended to let him fall in love with myself. It did not require much effort, for the baron is both treacherous and reckless in his pa.s.sions. After a little while he pursued me with his adoration--of course without committing himself before Melitta. At the same time he spoke so heartlessly, so wickedly of my poor cousin, that I was scarcely able to wear the mask which I had a.s.sumed. And yet I had to do it till Oldenburg should be impa.s.sioned enough to run blindly into the net which I had prepared. I managed it so that one day, in the garden of the villa Serra di Falco, near Palermo, he made me a declaration of love, while Melitta was standing a few feet from us behind a myrtle hedge. Poor woman! It was a painful operation, but it was necessary.

Oldenburg disappeared of course the next morning. I tried to amuse Melitta as well as I could, and I must confess she bore the bitter disappointment, the cruel humiliation, better than I had expected. I hoped the severe lesson would have opened her eyes, as to Oldenburg, forever, especially when I found that the baron gave her time for reflection by staying away for several years. But suddenly he turns up again a few weeks ago. I antic.i.p.ated evil at once--for the appearance of this man is always the signal for some calamity. How he has managed to regain Melitta's favor, and how it is possible that Melitta could be weak enough to readmit him to her house, is more than I can tell. Both of them possess a remarkable talent of concealing their actions from the eyes of the world. I only know that a reconciliation has taken place,--which I presume must have been a complete one between two persons of such experience,--and, to keep the solemnity duly secret, they have made a journey together, and where? To Fichtenau, the place where Melitta's husband has been confined for seven years! Really, I am sorry for Melitta. If she intended to ruin her reputation, she could not have done more. For even if Berkow is really on the point of death, what can Oldenburg have to do there, he who is the cause of the whole misery? And does Melitta really think she can marry Oldenburg after Berkow's death? Alas! If Oldenburg had to marry all the women to whom he has vowed love in his life he would have a nice seraglio, from the d.u.c.h.ess to the maid, in which all nations and all races would be represented. But, heavens! what is the matter with you? You look like a corpse. Are you unwell?"

"It is only the excessive heat," said Oswald, rising. "Pardon me, I pray, for leaving you so abruptly. I must try if the cool evening air will help me."

He made Hortense a very formal bow, and went without waiting for her answer.

"Well, what does that mean?" asked the latter, looking after him as he hastened out. "Has my excellent cousin made another conquest there? And have I unwittingly killed two birds with one stone? I meant only to rob Oldenburg of his new friend; but if I have robbed Melitta at the same time of a new admirer, so much the better. I should think that young man could be made useful. To be sure, I must be a little cautious, for Barnewitz has become a real Oth.e.l.lo since that affair with Cloten--there he is now.... My dear Barnewitz, do you look a little after your poor, forlorn little wife? I have been sitting here all the evening waiting for you."

"Why don't you dance?"

"Do you think I like to dance when you are away?"

"I have arranged a little game at cards with Grieben and some others, but I can jump about with you some little time. Come! They are just beginning a waltz! That is exactly my forte."

And the happy couple entered the room where the dancers were.

In the mean while Oswald was wandering about in the garden, restless, like one who suffers terrible pain. From the open doors and windows came bright lights and merry voices; around the lawn colored paper lanterns had been hung by Anna Maria's direction, and the moonlight became almost superfluous. From time to time a few couples would come out and promenade in the balsamic night air. It was a pleasant, festive scene, which, however, offended Oswald in his present frame of mind, as when a friend smiles at our suffering. He went up on the wall, sat down on a bench and stared, his head resting on his hand, into the water of the moat, on which the rays of the moon were dancing in weird confusion.

"Would it not be better you made an end to your miserable life?" he murmured, "than to drag the burden of life still farther, to your own harm and to n.o.body's joy? Will you vegetate on and on till every illusion has been killed, and you have thrown everything overboard that was once dear and sacred to you? Will you wait till your patience is fully exhausted, like poor, great-hearted Berger? That, then, is the true portrait of the woman before whom you knelt as before a saint!

That is the man whose hand you thought it an honor to press! You never were anything but a foot-ball for her high and n.o.ble caprices; and he condescended to make glorious baronial fun of you. But it cannot, cannot be! Why not? Is not their whole life an unbroken intrigue? Here the wife betrays the husband, and there the husband the wife? The father sells his daughter for money, and the mother disposes of her own flesh and blood. The friend cheats the friend. One coquette proclaims aloud the secrets of another coquette, and you think they would treat you better--you, the plebeian, who have to work for your daily bread?--And yet! and yet! It is horrible! The wife whom you adored like a G.o.ddess, perhaps even now in the arms of another, deceiving him, deceiving you, only to be deceived by him in her turn! And you, good-natured fool, you struggle like a madman against your pa.s.sion for the sweet, the glorious creature, the only pure one among these witches; for she is pure and good, or there is nothing pure left in this world. No, no! And if all around you is cheat and deceit, if all betray you, look up to this high star; it is your star, for only what is unattainably high is worthy of your love! Let the lizards and the toads quarrel about the will-o'-the-wisp as they dance over the mora.s.s."

A slight noise near him made him start up. A tall, slender figure in a white dress was standing before him. Through a little opening in the foliage above, a ray of the moon fell upon the slim form.

It was Emily.

"Hush!" she said, as Oswald rose with a suppressed cry of astonishment "Keep where you are! I saw you leave the salon; I followed you, because I wish to speak to you. I must do so. I shall not detain you long. I only ask one word--one single word--that is to decide my whole life. Do you love me? Yes or no?"

The young girl had seized Oswald's hand and held it with nervous violence. "Yes or no?" she repeated, in a tone of voice which betrayed but too clearly the intensity and madness of her pa.s.sion.

But there was no echo to that voice in Oswald's heart; it remained closed, like the house of a man who has been robbed the night before.

"You mistake no doubt the person," he said, with cutting sarcasm. "My name is Oswald Stein; Baron Cloten is, as far as I know, somewhere in the house," and he tried to loosen his hand from that of the girl.

"Have I deserved that?" she said, in a voice almost stifled by tears, and let her arms sink in utter despair.

"The night is cool," said Oswald, rising; "the dew begins to fall; you will take cold in your light dress. May I have the honor to take you back to the house?"

"Oh my G.o.d! my G.o.d!" murmured Emily; "I cannot endure this! Oswald, do not treat me thus! How I have longed for this moment! How I have repeated to myself a thousand times all I would say to you. How I hoped you would again take me in your arms as ... oh G.o.d! what am I saying?

Oswald, have pity on me! You cannot wish to punish my thoughtlessness of this evening so cruelly! I only wanted to tease you a little. I thought every moment you would come up and tell me,--but you did not come, and I had to keep up the comedy, _bon gre, mal gre_."

"Are you quite sure, Miss Emily, you are not playing comedy at this very moment?"