"It seems to me Doctor Stein stood yesterday half an hour behind you and you did not show any great nervousness."

"Then I will rise," said Helen. She wound up with a short finale and left the piano, without paying any attention to the general Ah! of the dancers.

"That is rather strong," said Felix to himself.

"Why did Helen stop playing so suddenly?" asked the baroness, who had watched the scene from a distance, and now came up.

"I do not know. She probably took something I said amiss. She is more capricious and obstinate than I thought. Don't you think, aunt, that man Stein, with his corrupt notions, may exercise a bad influence on Helen as well as on Bruno?"

"I have always told you I have no faith in that man."

"Why don't you turn him out?"

"Without any cause?"

"Pshaw! That is easily found. Will you give me permission to find one?"

"But there must be no scene?"

"Let me manage that."

"You must bring it about that he shall himself ask to be relieved."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons.--And, Felix, do not speak of it to Grenwitz. Of late he has become very self-willed. I am even afraid he thinks of interfering with our plan. I pray you, Felix, be cautious! I should be beside myself if we fail, after having represented the whole matter everywhere as a _fait accompli_!"

"Pshaw! aunt! Anxious again? Rely on me; I'll carry out what I have begun!"

CHAPTER IX.

When Oswald came to his room, after the painful scene with Emily von Breesen,--for he found it impossible to return to the company,--he found on his table a parcel, which must have been placed there during his absence. The words: "Enclosed the books, with many thanks. Your faithful B.," told him at a glance who had brought the parcel and what it contained. And, strange! he hesitated to open it. He felt as if he had no right to Melitta's letters, since his heart was no longer entirely hers, as if, above all, she, who had never entirely given him her heart, had no right to give him this sign of her love. At last, almost mechanically, he opened the package. There were three books within. From the middle one fell two letters--one from Melitta and one from Bemperlein. Melitta's letter contained only a few cordial words, complaining "of the long separation, during which, besides the long distance, other disturbing elements also might come to stand between their hearts," and finally expressed the hope of a speedy reunion. The letter had no signature. "It might fall into wrong hands," said Oswald, bitterly. "I will be still more generous; I will destroy this witness of a love of which she begins to be ashamed." He burnt the paper in the flame of his candle. Bemperlein's letter was fuller, but it spoke almost exclusively of Professor Berger. Bemperlein had, during his residence in Grunwald, seen very much of Professor Berger, to whom he had carried letters from Oswald, and had become as enthusiastically fond of him as the professor had become attached to himself. His dismay, therefore, was great when Doctor Birkenhain informed him one day that Professor Berger had just been brought to the asylum.

Bemperlein wrote Oswald that he had at once asked permission to visit Berger; the permission had been granted, and he had since spent daily several hours with the patient, who preferred his company to any other.

Berger, he said, spoke reasonably on all subjects except his fixed idea of the Nothing. He was perfectly reconciled to being in an asylum, "for," he said, "the difference between the people inside and the people outside is only this, that the latter may and probably will soon become what the people inside already are. If, for instance, Doctor Birkenhain would just have the kindness to take his head to pieces, he would perceive its utter emptiness with his own eyes, and choose a nice, sunny room in his house, in order to meditate undisturbed on the great Original Nothing." Bemperlein wrote that Berger's aberration of mind was considered only temporary, and that Doctor Birkenhain hoped to be able to restore the great man very soon to his friends and pupils.

"As for us," concluded Bemperlein, "the baroness will have told you all that is of interest. I only add that we shall (G.o.d willing) not remain here much longer. Baron Berkow is sinking fast; the consumption makes rapid progress. Birkenhain gives him only a few days more. We shall stay here, at all events, until all is settled. I antic.i.p.ate that moment with some impatience, which is perfectly disinterested. The death of this unfortunate man, who has for long years already ceased to live, will give new life to two persons--two persons who are unspeakably dear to me."

"Really," said Oswald, letting the letter drop in his lap, "are you quite sure of that, good Bemperlein? To be sure, your innocent heart knows nothing of most n.o.ble treason and baronial cunning! And yet: Why does he also say nothing of Oldenburg's presence? Why does he keep it secret, when he knows of how much interest it must be for me? Is he too in the plot? Well, then I will henceforth trust no one except myself.

We must howl among the wolves, and he is a fool who would be honest among cheats and liars. If you deceive, I can do so too; if you play a farce, I won't sit in the pit; if you laugh at others, I do not mean to cry, and all's well that ends well. Ha, ha, ha!"

"I am glad to find you in such excellent humor," said a voice behind him.

Oswald started up from his chair and stared, frightened at the tall, slim form which seemed to have come out of the ground.

It was Baron Oldenburg.

"I beg your pardon," he said, offering Oswald his hand, which the latter took with some hesitation, "that I present myself thus unannounced, and coming, like Nicodemus, by night. But I have this moment returned from my journey, and learnt from a servant who pa.s.sed me in the hall, with a waiter full of gla.s.ses and cups, that you had gone up to your room. The man had just time to tell me the way, and to go on with his gla.s.ses.--And here I am, and, as I said, delighted to find you so merry; otherwise I should hardly have the courage to tell you what brings me here. Do you know where we were a month ago this day? It is the night which the Brown Countess appointed for our rendezvous. If you are still sufficiently interested in myself and our little ward to follow me, we can go to the appointed place."

"I shall be at your disposal in a few minutes," said Oswald; "permit me only to change my dress."

He took one of the two candles that stood on the table and went into the adjoining room.

"Dress yourself warm," cried Oldenburg after him; "it is very cool now towards morning, especially in the woods."

"Hm!" he murmured, when Oswald had left him; "he looks pale and haggard, and was less friendly than usual. I hope he has heard nothing of my having been at Fichtenau. I wanted to keep it from him. I must try to find it out. It would be unpleasant, for I do not like to talk to anybody about Melitta and myself, and least of all to him."

In the mean time Oswald said, while dressing, to himself:

"Now, be wise as the serpent. If you play with me, I can play with you."

He came back to Oldenburg.

"I am ready."

"Then let us go.--My carriage is at the door," said the baron, as they went down the staircase that led into the garden. "The Czika is sitting inside, wrapped in my cloak. Don't you agree with me that it is better to take the child with us to the interview? If the gypsy woman is really the child's mother, we owe her at least this attention. At all events she can see that the child is alive and well, and tolerably well contented with her new home.--But what does all this stir mean at the chateau? Anna Maria is not ordinarily a friend of festivities. Did Malte run away and come back, and is this the feast of the fatted calf?"

"The question is not about a lost son but upon a returning daughter,"

said Oswald, forcing himself into a light tone; "Miss Helen has come back from school. Since then there has been no end of festivities."

"_Tempora mutantur_," Oldenburg said, laughing, as they were crossing the lawn; "I am exceedingly curious to see this marvel. I hope n.o.body will notice us."

He went towards the steps which led up to the terrace. The doors were now closed, as the air had cooled off outside; the windows likewise; but the curtains had not been let down, and one could see from the outside all that was going on in the brilliantly lighted rooms.

As they approached the window, they saw Helen sit just opposite to them at the piano. Felix was standing behind her chair. He bent over her and seemed eagerly to speak to her. Oldenburg's sharp eye had instantly caught the group.

"Who is that young man?" he asked.

As Oswald made no reply, the baron looked at him and saw that he was biting his under lip, while his eyes were fixed upon the two at the piano. Felix was bending still lower; Oswald bit his lip till the blood trickled down. Suddenly Helen rose and walked through the group of dancers, who were startled by the sudden ceasing of the music, straight to the window where Oldenburg and Oswald were standing. They moved back into the shade. When she reached the window she remained quiet, crossing her arms on her bosom and fixing her large gray eyes on the moon, whose golden disc was floating in the deep blue night sky. It was a face of irresistible power, mysteriously lovely and fatally beautiful.--A gentleman--Adolphus--approached her and spoke to her. She answered briefly, without changing her position, without scarcely moving her lips. He bowed and went away. Then, as if she had reconsidered, she turned round, went back to the piano, sat down and began to play again. As if touched by a magic wand, the dancers resumed their dance, and the gay picture which Oldenburg and Oswald had seen at first was quite restored.

"Who was the fool who caused this intermezzo?" asked Oldenburg, as they were going down the garden.

"Felix Grenwitz, her cousin."

"A nice little puppy; and the young beauty is to have him for her husband--is that so?"

"I believe so."

"And what do you say to that?"

"What Hamlet said: 'Weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of the world!'"

"My evil antic.i.p.ations are about to be fulfilled," said Oldenburg, through his teeth.

"You said?"