And Ottilie Wollnow wiped away the tears that already hung on her dark lashes.

"You make me terribly curious," said Alma; "how can a story be sad which finally results in half a million?"

"It is probably not so much so now," said Ottilie; "besides, you must not ask me for any particulars, for Emil's story was very--what shall I say--very general--for reasons I hinted to you this morning, and I--from the same cause--did not venture to ask him for any farther details. We must always respect all such old German favors, and seem to think them true and genuine."

"Old German favors?" asked Alma in astonishment.

Ottilie laughed. "That's what I call our husbands' reminiscences of their old love affairs, which they treasure with such ludicrous emotion, and, so to speak, always wear secretly under their coats, in order not to shame us by their brilliancy, for we are really good, excellent wives; but how could we bear any comparison with these heroines? In this case, to be sure--"

"Excuse me for interrupting you, dear Ottilie, but you were going to tell me how Gotthold got his fortune."

"It is all closely connected," replied Ottilie; "the German favor, I mean my good Emil's old flame and Gotthold's mother, is one and the same person; but to be sure Emil declares I always begin my stories at the end, so now by way of exception I'll commence at the beginning. But how am I to do it?"

"Perhaps by stating who the lady you have mentioned really was."

"You always. .h.i.t the nail on the head! Certainly, who was she? The only child of her parents; her father was Reginald Lenz, a rich merchant in Stettin--I have forgotten her mother's name; but she must have been a dear, sweet creature, and loved her husband pa.s.sionately, too pa.s.sionately perhaps. He was probably a very attractive man--he always went by the name of 'handsome Lenz,' and such people are spoiled: the merry bachelor life is continued after marriage; a few unlucky speculations may have happened also; in a word, Herr Lenz failed at the end of a few years, or stood on the verge of bankruptcy, and the books did not balance as they ought; he would not survive the disgrace, and--it is terrible to think of--he took a cheerful farewell of his young wife to go out hunting, and clear his head after reckoning so many figures, as he said, and in the evening they brought him home with his brains dashed out. Was it not terrible?"

"Go on," said Alma.

"Ah! the rest is almost as bad. The young wife, who had had no suspicion of her husband's situation--or she would not have let him leave her--saw the body without the slightest preparation. An hour after--the unhappy woman was daily expecting the birth of another child--she was attacked by a violent fever, and in a few days was a corpse."

"How imprudent," said Alma.

"The little five-year-old Marie--"

"An ugly name," observed Alma.

"I don't think so; at any rate its bearer was anything but ugly, Emil says; and to speak frankly, I am sure that in this respect he does not exaggerate, and the little lady, who naturally in the course of years grew up to maturity, really possessed all the admirable qualities which turned the head of the poor young fellow, who was then only twenty. And he was not alone; all the other young men employed in the business fared just the same. I forgot to say, or was just going to tell you, that the poor little orphan had been received in her uncle's house, the brother of her unhappy father, but a man who was exactly his opposite in every respect; plain, stern, pedantic, an excellent business-man of the old school, as Emil says, who had entered his counting-room and at that time risen to be head clerk. His wife was wonderfully well suited to him, that is, she was not one whit less plain, or less strict and pedantic, so the poor little girl could not have found the house exactly a bed of roses."

"In spite of all her admirers?"

"In spite of all her admirers. She inherited it from her father, who always aimed too high."

"Perhaps she did not know what she wanted."

"That is possible; at any rate, none of the young men found favor in her eyes, though Emil was slightly preferred; but only, he says, because he was the only Jew in the Christian establishment, and therefore in some degree rebuffed by the others--the position of the Jews thirty years ago, you must know, was even more precarious and uncomfortable than it is now, although even now everything is perhaps not quite what it should be. At any fate, she treated the man worst whose outward circ.u.mstances ent.i.tled him to the most consideration--namely, her cousin Eduard, the only son of the house, a quiet, shy young man, who loved her pa.s.sionately. Emil says that even now it makes the tears come into his eyes when he thinks of the time that Eduard, who was his most intimate friend, spoke of what he suffered, not in pompous, high-sounding words, which would not have been at all like him, but so gently, so resignedly--"

"I can't bear these gentle, resigned men," said Alma.

"They seldom succeed, as poor Eduard's example shows. But to be sure, she refused very different people, who were by no means gentle and resigned--officers, barons, and counts: she was the wonder of the city, and the idol of all the young men, and she noticed them no more than the sun heeds the mist."

"You are really getting poetical," said Alma.

"It is one of Emil's comparisons, he always grows poetical when he speaks of her--till at last the right one came."

"The country Pastor. Gracious Heavens! _Tant de bruit pour une omelette_," said Alma.

"Excuse me, it was nothing of that sort; on the contrary, he was a very remarkable man, who had turned the heads of as many women as she had men. And it was not confined to women; many men, and those by no means the least important, were also very enthusiastic about him, among others, my Emil, who since he was baptized on our wedding-day, has not set foot inside of a church, but then, Jew as he was, attended regularly every Sunday the service held by the young Subst.i.tute--I believe that's what they call them. The whole city went, he says; people stood at the doors, and even outside, just to see him come in.

In a word, this young preacher was the right man. How they became acquainted with each other I don't know, and it is of no consequence.

To see and love each other was the same thing. Her foster-parents, who on Eduard's account were glad to get her out of the house, of course gave their consent at once, although the little parish here in Rammin on which they married was a place to starve rather than live in. So they left Stettin, and came here, and--"

"The story ends," said Alma, "as all stories which begin in such a remarkable manner usually do--in commonplace poverty. But I don't see yet from all this how Gotthold got his half million."

"It is not a half million," replied Ottilie; "about a hundred thousand, Emil thinks, and from whom should he get it but the good Eduard, who would never marry, though the rich heir, of course, could have made the most brilliant matches, but remained faithful to his early love as long as he lived, and on his death-bed left a portion of his property to benevolent inst.i.tutions, and the remainder to his cousin's son as his nearest heir."

"It must have been a very pleasant surprise," said Alma.

"Undoubtedly, although I must say that no real blessing attends the money. To be sure, he is now a rich man, or at least well to-do; but what personal benefit does he get? Scarcely any. Ten thousand thalers or so were invested in Emil's business before our marriage; since then, thank G.o.d, he has needed no stranger's money, and he has never troubled himself about them; the rest he has left in the business in Stettin, which is carried on by one of the partners of the old firm, and where it is by no means safe; but he doesn't even touch the interest, except to aid needy artists, or encourage struggling young men by enabling them to go to the Academy, take a journey to Italy, or something of that sort. Well, he doesn't need it; he easily earns as much as he wants, and moreover is such a thoroughly good man that he likes to befriend others, but I think he has already made up his mind what to do."

"What?" asked Alma.

"Why doesn't he marry? He has certainly had the best opportunities, and he is twenty-eight years old! I fear, I fear he will remain a bachelor like his foster-uncle in Stettin, and--for the same reason. And as for the money, I think I know what will become of that too. After what we heard this morning about Brandow's circ.u.mstances, it would be very well invested; for poor Gretchen probably will not inherit much from her father and mother."

"He won't be such a fool!" exclaimed Alma.

"People said just the same about good Eduard Lenz. And I think, I think--but you must not betray me when your husband returns--I think a part of his property went into Brandow's hands to-day."

"Did your husband tell you so?"

"In that case I should be sure of it; the idea of Emil's chattering--but you don't know him. It's all my own idea, but we shall ascertain when the gentlemen come home to-morrow."

"I told them when they went away that I should expect them without fail this evening," replied Alma, looking at the picture through her hand, and mentally repeating the words with which she intended to receive Gotthold.

"Why, there they are already!" cried Ottilie as the door-bell rang.

"It must be your husband back from his club."

"He does not ring," answered Ottilie; "besides, it is not his step."

Ottilie, with a "come in," went towards the door, at which they now heard a knock. Alma leaned back in the sofa corner with her head a little bent, in the act of displaying her white hands to the best possible advantage, when she was startled from her _pose_ by a low exclamation from Ottilie.

"Herr Brandow!"

"Pardon me, Madam, pardon me, ladies, for presenting myself unannounced in the absence of a servant. I hope you will bear with me a few minutes, and help me to carry out a little joke I want to play upon our friends."

He bowed; Ottilie gazed at him in astonishment, even terror. Herr Brandow did not look like a person who is trying to carry out a jest; his face was pale and haggard, his long fair moustache disordered, his dress a strange mixture of evening and riding costume, and splashed with mud to his shoulders. And to come in this plight, at this late hour, to a house where he was a stranger, nay, which had actually been closed against him for years--Ottilie had only one explanation of all this.

"Has any misfortune happened?" she exclaimed.

"Misfortune," said Brandow; "none that I am aware of; or yes, the misfortune that I have treated my friends a little uncivilly. The rudeness was very slight, but as I, although a sorely tried man, am not accustomed to this kind of misfortune, I could not rest until I had made the attempt to rehabilitate myself in my own eyes, to say nothing of my friends, who have doubtless already forgiven me."

"Then they are coming to-night, are they not? I told you so," exclaimed Alma.

"Certainly, and they will be here immediately, in--we will say twenty minutes--yes, twenty minutes. They left Dollan at exactly ten minutes of ten; it is now just half-past; with my powerful horses and so good a driver as Hinrich they will not need more than an hour, in spite of the horrible weather; so in twenty minutes, ladies, we shall hear the carriage drive up."

Brandow had taken out his watch, and did not turn his eyes from it as he made his calculation.

"And you?" asked Alma.