"I am sure," she said at last, "that he does not even know that she is here, and--you are sure, too."

"And were it so," cried Erna, "what does it alter? The sting lies in her daring to do it at all. She would not do so, did she not know from the beginning how he will take it. Perhaps he will be terrified just at first--I dare say he will--and then he will thank her for having had the base courage to help him to achieve this vile triumph. In fact, they are a worthy couple!"

"It would be quite too terrible," said Agatha, shaking her head.

"People cannot be as bad as that; it is impossible."

"Oh, of course!" cried Erna scornfully; "quite impossible; as impossible as that he will himself be here to-morrow."

"But, Erna, an officer is surely bound to go to any place to which he is ordered. In such a case he has no will of his own."

"Then he should have a pistol of his own, and rather put a bullet into his head than let a shameless woman make him figure in such a spectacle, if indeed she, the wretch, has arranged a spectacle for my humiliation. But she is very much mistaken. I shall not let her have her triumph. I, even I, shall triumph. Let her boast of her conquest, I shall outshine it and her by far. Oh! how I look forward to to-morrow's joy! What are a thousand like him to the best of men, the only one?"

"Erna! Erna!!" cried Agatha aghast, lifting both her folded hands in agonised entreaty, "I conjure you, do not go too far. Do not make yourself for ever unhappy. Do not make Kurt unhappy...."

"Do not mention his name!" Erna exclaimed. "I wish to hear no more."

"I must mention his name, for I must speak of him, and you must hear me, lest you do something of which you will for ever and ever repent."

"Why repent? I love Bertram!"

"You do not."

"Can you read in my heart?"

"Yes, dear, better than you can yourself, being now blinded by pa.s.sion.

And however angrily you may look at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, that I myself am in love with, and though you send me away for good and all, and though I cry myself to death for love of you--I should not be loving you, and I should not be your poor, unhappy 'Granny' if ..."

Poor child! She could get no further. Like Erna half an hour ago, she was now sitting, her hands pressed to her face, weeping convulsively, and now Erna was kneeling by her side, and tried to draw those hands away from her countenance, and begged her to calm herself, and to be fond of her again, and to be once more her own good 'Granny.'

Then--neither could have said how the change of scene had been brought about--Erna was lying in her bed, and Agatha, in her nightgown, was sitting on the edge of the bedstead, and all they had discussed during these last days in many a fragmentary talk was once more, and now connectedly, discussed between them. But if clever Agatha had flattered herself that she would thus induce the fair penitent to see that her little soul was not, after all, as black as she thought in her excitement, that hope was not destined to be fulfilled; the very contrary happened. With every word she uttered Erna seemed to talk herself more and more into a pa.s.sion, in the existence of which Agatha would not, and yet all but had to, believe, when her friend now recapitulated all her relations to Bertram, beginning with that first meeting in the woods, and continuing her account, to this very evening, and when Erna tried to prove from a hundred minute details, which she strung together with marvellous logic, that there was on her part no whim, no caprice, no aberration of an extravagant fancy, no satisfaction of injured pride, no despair, no, nought but true and genuine love that knew no bounds, and knew only the one doubt whether she herself was worthy of the man she loved. But not unworthy because she had once before thought herself in love. That was a necessary error for the sake of getting her to understand herself; to convince her that love was not an intoxication, but a deep and clear sentiment attracting and absorbing all other feeling and thought, even as a mighty stream absorbs the springs and brooks around; and now in her love, like banks in the waves of a stream, were mirrored her whole existence, her past and her present, mirrored and beautified, made far more glorious than reality.

Erna's words flowed on, not unlike the object of the image in which she saw her life and love; and her voice, although pitched so low, had such a curiously intense ring, and her great eyes, which were opened wide, shone so strangely in the flickering light of the tall candles upon the dressing-table, that poor Agatha was almost beside herself with terror.

Was Erna still aware of what she was saying? Was she raving? And, horrible to think of, could she be going mad?

"Erna! Erna!" she cried aloud, seizing and pressing both her hands.

"Awake, awake! I have just been counting it up--when you are eight-and-thirty, like your mother now, he will be seventy--only he will never reach that age."

Erna gave a contemptuous smile.

"I thought so!" she said. "As if time had anything to do with love! As if one year during which I can serve him, love him, did not outweigh a century! O Agatha, how meanly you think of love! And if he dies to-morrow, I'll die with him! There, that is the way I count, and I think it is simple and plain enough."

Despair lent Agatha courage enough to revert to the one point on which, as she had observed more than once during the last day or two, Erna was most sensitive.

"I will grant it all," she said. "I will believe all you a.s.sert about yourself, for I cannot read your heart. But Herr Bertram's heart is not your heart, and what is going on in his heart, Heaven only knows; you do not know it, at least he has never betrayed it to you by word or look. And I hold that he would have done so long ago if he loved you.

What reasons should he have for hiding his love?"

"A thousand!" exclaimed Erna. "Or is it not a reason that he should have tortured himself for days with the idea that I might be fond of the Baron?"

"That idea he has a.s.suredly given up ere this."

"Then, that mamma will be furious."

"For all that, he might tell you what he feels for you."

"And what if he doubts whether I love him?"

"Good Heavens, dearest! how can he doubt that?"

"He can indeed. During the first few days I was not clear about it myself. And when I was feeling that I loved him, I often was odd and capricious and defiant; and above all, when I discovered that the letter was missing from my blotting-book, and I hunted for it everywhere, and when suddenly it turned up again, having in the meantime pa.s.sed through I do not know how many hands, and having very surely been read by mamma too--I was so indignant, I could see that he sometimes did not know what to think of me."

"You did not make him feel your indignation; on the contrary, you gave him one token of your favour after the other."

"And in that I did right, for I was determined to let mamma see that I was not afraid of her wrath."

"And that rose to-day! and your prayer that he should stay--for your sake! Was that right too?"

"Was I to let him go to-morrow?"

"If he wanted to go, was it for you to keep him? Erna, there is but one thing wanting now. Why not say to him: 'Will you marry me?'"

"And I should not think it shame to say so, if I were sure that he wished me to do so. Yes, yes; he does wish it; I see it clearly now; he wishes to avoid even the semblance of suspicion of having beguiled and over-persuaded me; he wishes it on account of my father and mother.

Well, G.o.d be thanked, now I know what I have to do to-morrow."

"Nay, the pity of it, Erna, the pity of it, that you can talk in such a way; for it is impossible that you should really think so, really do it. My proud Erna cannot forget herself so far. I entreat you, by our great friendship, Erna, follow my advice in this one thing; if it must be, let him at least say the first word--the word that then will be decisive of your fate; and then let come what G.o.d will!"

She had folded her hands as if in prayer; big tears were coursing down her cheeks. The simple expression of her great grief touched Erna. She embraced "Granny" and kissed her, and promised at last that she would do what Agatha kept asking of her again and again.

"And now get to your bed, you poor child! You are so wearied, and I too."

Agatha had already lain quietly in bed for an hour or so, mournfully thinking it all over again, and a.s.suming that Erna, who did not stir either, had fallen asleep, when suddenly she thought that she heard subdued sobs.

"Erna!"

No answer.

"Erna! If it comes out that Kurt is really innocent, what will you do?"

Again no answer.

Had she been mistaken? Had Erna wept in her sleep? Had she really asked that question of Erna? Or had she only thought of it?

XVII.

It was a day of tremendous excitement for all the in habitants of Rinstedt. True, the arrival of the soldiers was not to occur before four o'clock in the afternoon, but it was known that the corps to which the 99th belonged had been on the march from the north since four o'clock in the morning, in order to take possession of certain positions whence they were to operate against the fortress. And that might turn out an awkward job, for not only was the fortress strongly manned, but there was also approaching from the west, in forced marches, a large hostile corps, and against them the 99th would have to be on their guard, if they did not mean to get wedged in between them and the garrison, who were simply awaiting the moment for making a sally. Thus the attacking party being themselves attacked, might get into desperate straits.