"P.S.--As the papers are scarcely quite safe in my own rooms, I mean to place them in the hands of a lawyer, in case _you should not, very promptly, dispose of them otherwise_.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Felix; "there the fox shows his cunning! In case you should not otherwise dispose of them, underscored: _i. e_., have the goodness to name the sum which you think you can afford to pay for these papers, and the secret goes no farther!--Ha, ha, ha! Yes, yes, Timm is a clever fellow, I always knew that."

"Then you think he has really found the papers?" asked the baroness, in astonishment.

"Why not?" said Felix. "The thing looks extremely probable, and I advise you to buy the papers before they rise in the market."

"And do you also think that this--that this man--I can hardly speak of it calmly--that this Stein is really Harald's son?"

"It is by no means impossible," said Felix.

"No, it _is_ impossible," cried the baroness, with great vehemence; "the whole is a wretched plot, an abominable conspiracy between the two sharpers. The letters are forgeries; they have been concocted and written by the two rascals when they were here together. It is a mere invention to frighten us and to extort money from us--or perhaps, ha!

now I see! Don't you see, Felix, what they are after? They want Helen!

One is to have the money, the other the girl! Ha, ha, ha! Capital! What a pity Helen did not say anything of that also in her letter to Mary Burton, for I wager she is in the plot too. But they shall not get anything, not a dollar!"

"Do not take the matter too lightly, dearest aunt," said Felix. "I tell you Timm is a clever fellow, and if the letters are really forgeries, you will find they are prodigiously well done. They will give you trouble. Will you listen to my advice?"

"Well!"

"Let me go to-morrow, or at some time, to Grunwald and talk with Timm.

I have had, in former times, many a conversation with him, and he knows that I am not easily hoodwinked. We shall have to pay something, I am sure, but I can get the papers cheaper than anybody else."

"And what is to be done with Mr. Stein?"

"He must be turned out in disgrace. Will you leave that also to me?"

"Yes, do what you like. Only relieve me of that man."

"I'll do it. There will probably be an occasion for it this very night.

The more noise is made about it the better. He shall lose all desire to have anything more to do with us. But you must not say a word of it to uncle."

"For heaven's sake no!" said the baroness. "He is capable of introducing Mr. Stein, this very night, to the whole company as our esteemed relative. He is almost childish now, and I can no longer trust him in anything."

"Well then," said Felix, kissing his aunt's hand, "rely upon me. We'll carry the matter through, I am sure. But I think, dear aunt, it must be high time to get ready. For heaven's sake, it is five o'clock, and some of the guests will come at six! How can I get ready in an hour?"

CHAPTER XIX.

Carriage after carriage came thundering through the great portal, drove round the courtyard, and stopped before the door. Ladies and gentlemen in full dress got out and followed the servants into dressing-rooms. A few minutes later the folding-doors were thrown open, and they were received by the old baron and Felix in the great reception-rooms in the lower story.

Thus the whole n.o.bility of the neighborhood had gradually a.s.sembled.

Not only the gala carriages in which they had come,--some with four, and a few even with six high-bred horses, to say nothing of the outriders in bright liveries,--but also the evening dress of the gentlemen and the brilliant toilettes of the ladies showed that they had come prepared for a magnificent entertainment. They thought, moreover, they could tell what was the special occasion for this party, as the baroness and Felix had not been sparing of allusions to an event which might possibly take place in a short time! The baroness and Felix had got themselves into a serious difficulty by these allusions, and were now on the point of learning how much more troublesome it is to silence gossip than to start it. The more modest among the guests looked full of expectation, curious friends ventured upon allusions, and a few impertinent neighbors even asked direct questions, till they could scarcely preserve their polite equanimity during such a cross-fire of examination. The company seemed to be determined to believe in the engagement, and patiently waited till supper-time, when they thought the truth would come out at last. A few only were sharp-sighted enough to notice certain indications which made them think the end not quite so near yet. They pointed out the unusually formal manner of the baroness, who was at times almost embarra.s.sed; the frequent mistakes of the old baron, who was more absent-minded than ever, and by no means looked like a happy father; and, above all, the distance at which Baron Felix kept from Miss Helen, who looked more like a beautiful statue of cold marble than like a young girl on the day on which her engagement was to be made public.

For a time, however, the attention of the company was somewhat preoccupied by the appearance of a lady and gentleman who were in good earnest engaged, and presented themselves to-day for the first time as such in public: Miss Emily Breesen and Arthur Baron Cloten. The young couple had already paid the visits usual on such occasions in that province, but the neighborhood was very large and some had not been reached at all, while others had been unfortunately away from home.

There were, therefore, countless congratulations yet to receive and to return. Emily and Baron Cloten formed the centre of a large circle of ladies and gentlemen respectively, who found little else to talk of but their happiness. Cloten seemed to be overjoyed; he was talking and laughing incessantly, and it seemed to be miraculous that a single little hair was surviving in his diminutive moustache--so very industriously did he twist and twirl it through his fingers. Emily seemed to bear her good fortune with more composure; the minority of sharp-sighted observers even thought they noticed a dim cloud on her brow, in spite of the efforts she made to smile upon everybody; they also fancied that her eye was ceaselessly examining the company, without ever resting for a moment on her happy betrothed.

There was evidently abundant food for gossip to-night.

The intimacy between Baron Cloten and Baron Barnewitz's lovely, but dangerous wife, Hortense, had of course remained no secret in a society so full of spies and tale bearers, and the last large party at Barnewitz, with its unpleasant scenes between Cloten and Hortense's husband, during which the unlucky lady fainted so inopportunely, had lifted the last thin veil from this liaison. Everybody, therefore, was full of curiosity to see how Hortense would bear her loss, and especially to find out whom the blonde Loreley would choose for Cloten's successor. Some supposed it would be Count Grieben, others Adolphus Breesen. Both were equally eager to win the good-will of the dangerous Circe. The former was a rejected lover of Emily's, and therefore seemed to be specially fitted to become Cloten's successor; the latter was by far the handsomest and cleverest young man in the whole set--qualities which Hortense, with her own cleverness, appreciated fully.

"I bet upon Grieben," said young Sylow; "a basket of champagne. Who takes the bet?"

"I," cried Nadelitz; "pshaw! Don't I know Breesen?"

"Six bottles forfeit, up to the cotillon to-night?"

"Ha, ha! Do you hear? He is losing courage already; but I take it.

Done!"

"Really a famous woman, the Barnewitz," said Hans Pluggen; "I wish I were one of the candidates!"

"Well, that wouldn't be so very difficult," said somebody else.

"I cannot imagine what you see in the Barnewitz," replied young Sylow.

"Now, if it were the Berkow! I wish she were here!"

"I dare say there are plenty who wish so," said one, laughing. "But you know, I suppose, that Berkow is dead and the widow has come back?"

"Old news!"

"Well, do you know, too, that Oldenburg is going to be married?"

"Nonsense!"

"You may rely upon it. I have it from the Barnewitz. She surely must know."

"Is Oldenburg coming to-night?"

"Felix said he had promised to come; but Oldenburg has his own ways."

Melitta's return and her husband's death were discussed in other circles also besides those of the young men. Melitta was one of the most popular ladies in society, and yet she had, strange enough, few enemies and rivals. Now and then people spoke of her "eccentricities,"

of a desire to be apart and different from others; some said she was too learned, others, she was coquetting with liberal politicians--but generally her loveliness, her kindness, and unpretending manners were readily acknowledged. Aside from such remarks, moreover, the charms of her person were above all criticism. Hence, everybody seemed to be glad that she had at last been relieved of the terrible burden, which she had borne so sweetly, and was eager to know whom she would make happy by giving him her hand. For no one doubted that so young a widow would soon marry again. In some indefinite way a report had of late obtained currency that Baron Oldenburg had the best prospect; it was even whispered quite secretly, and as a mere _on dit_, for which no one wished to be held responsible, that the intimacy between the baron and Melitta was of old date, and that Baron Berkow had lost his mind very opportunely. A few details even were mentioned, by those who claimed to be particularly well informed, which could not have been true without compromising Melitta's reputation very seriously. No one knew with whom these reports originated. The sharp-sighted observers, again, ascribed them to Hortense Barnewitz, who, they said, had thus avenged herself on Oldenburg for a piece of advice he had given Cloten, which had led the latter in his blind obedience to find himself engaged to Emily Breesen before he well knew what he was doing.

In the mean time eight o'clock had come, and with it the hour at which the ball was to commence. The baroness opened it with Count Grieben.

Count Grieben found it difficult to make himself heard, in spite of his screaming voice, as the music preceded them during the old-fashioned polonaise through all the rooms, and then, thanks to a happy inspiration of his genius, across the lawn, through the darkest parts of the garden, and back again into the princ.i.p.al ball-room, where it ended in a solemn slow waltz.

"That is a good old fashion, baroness!" he screamed, delighted, into his partner's ear; "my sainted father had it so, and my sainted grandfather, and a great many more, no doubt. The old ones knew a thing or two. Young folks are stupid folks. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, indeed, indeed!" replied the baroness.

Dance followed dance. The violins screamed, the ba.s.s growled. The faces of the dancers began to look heated; the ladies used their fans vehemently, and the servants, who continually went around with large waiters of refreshments, saw them disappear more and more rapidly--but there was no real enjoyment, and it seemed as if a cloud were resting on the whole company.

"What on earth can be the matter to-night?" said young Grieben, wiping his forehead during one of the pauses, and addressing a group of dancers who stood in the very centre of the room; "we work ourselves to death and nothing comes of it; there is no _en train_ in the matter."

"Well, you can dance a long time before your long legs are tired," said young Sylow; "but you are right; I have drunk a couple of bottles, and yet the more I drink the sadder I become."