Chapter IX: Part 9

He had risen and was now pacing up and down the room; then he stepped to the open window. Kurt had kept his seat, thinking that Bertram would turn to him again. But he did not. The young man grew embarrassed. Reverence forbade him to disturb the dreamer. Never before had Kurt met one whose presence had thus thrilled him as with a breath of highest, purest vitality. And to this consciousness, which seemed to lift him out of and above himself, was joined the painful feeling which humiliated him in his own sight: that he had but just now been petty enough to say a bitter word about the woman of whom he yet knew, that she had come here to bring the greatest of all sacrifices that a loving heart can bring. And he, Bertram, knew this too; for Alexandra had said to Kurt: I have confessed all to Bertram! What a painful discord his own evil words must have been in the pure and high-souled Bertram's ear! And now Bertram, who had in all good faith shown him so much sympathy, had found him ungrateful, had turned from him, now and for ever.

He would, he must go!

But invisible fetters seemed to chain him to the spot; and as he sat there, angry with himself, in gloomy thought, it was no longer only the heavy, weary limbs that refused to obey him. His thoughts, too, flitted and wandered beyond his control. Something like a dense veil sunk upon his eyelids, and he saw surrounding objects but momentarily, indistinctly; the lighted candles upon the table seemed to be far-off bivouac fires, then they turned to dim and distant stars, then were lost in night and darkness.

Bertram had carried the candles to the writing-table, and shadows now rested upon the weary sleeper. Then he returned to the sofa and spread a coverlet over him.

"Poor lad! I saw how you were struggling against your sleepiness. The examination was a long one. But I could not spare you, and you have done well!"

He stood gazing upon him.

"And, like this, his head will rest by the side of hers--on one pillow!"

He drew his hand over his eyes, stepped noiselessly back to the writing-table, and presently his pen was gliding lightly and gently over the paper.

"My dear child,--I may henceforth with good right call you so, since Fate gives me one opportunity after another, to prove myself a good, and, I hope, also a thoughtful, father to you. But an hour ago I had to calm and comfort my beloved child, and yet dared not give her true comfort, dared not express my full and firm conviction that a good, upright heart always makes choice of the right thing at once. For good and upright as my dear child's heart is, yet it is a very defiant heart too, and would rather be miserable in its own way, than happy and blessed in other people's way; and it would have steeled itself against my persuasion and against my testimony, and would again and again have reverted to this: You do not know him! But now I say to you: I do know him; and you must accept my testimony as that of a man of great experience and knowledge of the human heart, of a man whose eyes--sharp as human eyes go--love for you and care for your welfare have filled with divine perspicuity. I know him now, after one hour spent here in my room in confidential conversation, as though I had known him from childhood, stalwart young man as he is; and even as I sit writing this, he is sleeping, under my watchful care, the sweet sleep of exhausted youthful vigour, notwithstanding his painful anxieties and the bitter sorrow of his heart. I have been watching him in his sleep. Sleep is a terrible betrayer of narrow minds and feeble hearts. Here there is nothing to betray, and sleep can but put its soft yet sure seal upon the beauteous image of a great and noble soul. And even as this soul, helpless and resistless as it were, is in my keeping, receive it, loved one, from my hands, as a great and glorious gift of the gods on high, who have deemed me worthy to be their envoy and the executor of their sacred decision.

"I promised you not to leave as long as you had need of me. You need me no longer, and I shall leave in the morning without bidding you farewell. From your mother, too, I shall take leave in writing; she knows my weakness for vanishing noiselessly from society. It is a long journey that lies before me, and we shall not soon meet again. Separation is death for a time, and time, again, is nought but a tiny speck, and its complement is eternity. A noble human being should plan his thoughts and action not in reference to the former, but the latter. Let, therefore, what I now say to you, for the brief space wherein we shall not behold one another, be said for evermore: Fare thee well, _Lebe wohl!_ that is, live according to the bidding of your heart, as you hear it when you listen to it in secret silence and reverence! Howsoever this our life may be shaped, it is no longer our concern, but that of the powers on high, over whom we have no influence, and therefore it matters nothing to us. Once more then: _Lebe wohl!_

"My kindliest greetings to sweet Agatha! She is your true friend. I always felt that she would counsel nothing that I would not counsel myself.

"And another is your friend, too, though you do not think her to be one. You know I am speaking of the Princess. She also will leave your house to-morrow, not without making an attempt to prove to you that she is your friend. Be good to her for my sake; in that case I feel convinced that you will part from her with kind and grateful feelings, and that she herself will have inspired them. Whatever she may say to you, I guarantee its truth. Hers is one of those natures that may go astray, but that can never be untrue.

"Should you have a message to send me, send if through your father, whom I shall see in W---- tomorrow. Should I have anything else to say to you, I will send my message through Kurt, whom also I shall meet again to-morrow.

"And now remember your promise to be my good and obedient child; and again, and for the last time: _Lebe wohl!_"

He had put the letter into an envelope, and now turned in his chair, looking towards the sofa. His young guest was still lying in the same position, only his head had fallen back a little. Perhaps deeper shadows were now falling on the forehead and on the closed, eyes, whilst chin and lips stood out in brighter light and bolder relief; anyhow, the features that appeared so soft awhile ago seemed sharper, and the expression of almost feminine gentleness was turned to one of manly resolution, nay, of angry indignation.

"Thus Simon Peter may have contracted his brows, thus his lips may have quivered that night! And yet he could sleep, although he knew what was to happen. Even as this one, knowing, yet sleepeth!"

Again he stood by the open window, leaning against it.

A dead silence; only at times the night wind came rushing past, and there was rustling and roaring among trees and shrubs. In the village, veiled in mist, a dim red light gleamed faintly here and there. At times confused sounds, as of far-off horses' tramp and the measured step of soldiers on the march, with clashing of arms. Then deep, dead silence again, and then, piercing the deep silence, the half-smothered crow of a cock. Over the edge of yonder mountains the moon--almost at the full--hung, bloody-red, in the vapour which came steaming up from the woods.

"Did you look so mournfully up to it that night? And had all the heavenly stars to expire for Him too, that He might remember the heaven within His heart?

"Alas! He knew that He was dying for the world. I humbly claim but to die for her,--she is my world.

"One cannot choose one's own Gethsemane. One must take it as it comes, whether to the sound of the last trump on the Day of Judgment, ringing through the hearts of all the generations of men, or in deep and world-forgotten loneliness and secrecy, whither human eye shall never penetrate, any more than it penetrates into the nethermost depths of the sea.

"And this is my silent Gethsemane!"

The moon had sunk behind the hills, and the cool morning breeze came floating along. Bertram was about to close the window when he heard from afar a short, sharp sound, soon succeeded by other similar sounds, succeeding each other so swiftly that the echo could clearly continue the scattered noises and reverberate them as thunder. And now shrill, long-drawn trumpet-blasts were heard, mingling with the beat of the drum.

Bertram quickly turned to the sleeper, who was not, for his sake, to neglect his military duties. But already Kurt had staggered up from his sofa-corner, his eyes wide open, though still veiled by slumber, and his arms stretched out, clutching the air, as though in search of some weapon.

"I--I--not you! I will fight him! Give me the pistol!"

Bertram touched his shoulder.

"They are sounding the assembly in the village!"

"Oh! I thought ..."

He brushed his hand across his eyes.

"I have been asleep! Pardon me. How good you are! You have been watching for me. Is it long since ...?" and he pointed to the window.

"Not half a minute."

"Then I am in good time!"

He had already fastened his sword, and seized his helmet.

"Excuse my hurry. You know ..."

"No excuses! A matter of course. _Au revoir_."

He held out his hand to the young man, in whose fine features, now full of life again, he noticed a strange quiver. Kurt evidently wanted to say something, and could not hit upon the right word. So he only pressed Bertram's hand vigorously.

"Well, _au revoir!_"

He hurried away. Bertram stood gazing at the door through which the slender young figure had vanished.

"Heaven be thanked! It is at least no disgrace to yield to him. He is thoroughly sound and sweet,--mind and body alike!"

XXIII.

In the mansion-house which had until now been hushed in slumber, many voices were heard shouting, and the tramp of horses came echoing from the court-yard. A smart, heavy step was heard below in the passage.

"Which door?"

"The second, Colonel. Allow me, Colonel."

But Bertram had already opened the door, and Colonel von Waldor came rushing in.

"Good evening, friend, or rather good morning. A good thing that I met your servant at once--otherwise I might have been hunting for you ever so long--I have only one minute to spare--where is Ringberg? Your servant said he was here."

"He left five minutes ago, when they were sounding the assembly."

"That came unexpectedly, eh?" cried the Colonel. "An hour before the time--I did it on my own responsibility. His Excellency will be furious--wait for the attack, forsooth!--in such an exposed situation--not if I know it!--we shall have to retreat ultimately as it is--so I'll give them some trouble first. But that does not concern you. Here is something that does, a little, and which will greatly please you. Read this!"

Waldor drew a folded paper from between a couple of buttons in his uniform and handed it to Bertram. The telegram was in French, and in the following! words:--

"I sincerely congratulate Madame la Princesse. Lawsuit definitely gained.

Your obedient servant, Odintzov."

"Odintzov," Waldor explained, "is our Petersburg lawyer and business-man, a most trustworthy fellow. What do you say now?"

"That I do congratulate you heartily. How did you get hold of this?"

"See what it is to be in luck! I knew that the lawsuit would soon be decided, though Alexandra refused to believe it. So I gave orders that any telegram arriving, by day or by night, was to be straightway sent here by mounted express. Returning just now from the outposts, close to Rinstedt, I overtook on the high-road a fellow trotting along in front of me. 'Telegram from Rinstedt?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Princess Volinzov?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Give it to me.' The beggar had got rid of the telegram before he knew what was up. I read it by the light of my cigar; hence this stain. May I trouble you for an envelope? Or perhaps you would be so kind as to hand it to the Princess with my respectful compliments? It would give her double pleasure. I can assure you that you are still as fortunate as ever with the sex! Alexandra quite raves about you. Good! Now, you may both put your wise heads together and settle how and when the battle, which is won, is to be utilised for the benefit of our young _proteges_. I give you two _plein pouvoir_. I should say, let them dangle a little longer. I could come over with Kurt, never saying a word of this to him. We would have a nice little supper. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have the exquisite pleasure of presenting my future wife to you--the Princess Alexandra Paulovna.' Capital! The amazed look in the eyes of our beautiful hostess is worth doing it for. And then the young ones immediately afterwards--only, of course, you must first pitch into the little girl properly; she seems to have a bit of a will of her own. All right, you'll see to it all between you, no doubt. Good-bye, _mon cher_! You are looking deucedly fagged. That's the result of being so much indoors. I have been on my legs since four o'clock yesterday morning, and feel as fresh as paint. Is this Kurt's glass? Oh, bother all ceremony! It is not the first that he and I have been using the same glass."

He filled the glass and drained it at one draught.

"Capital wine that! Well, good-bye, and _au revoir!_"

The Colonel had rushed off again.

"And thus," said Bertram with a smile, "one conquers the world. Perhaps it looks harder than it really is."

He again sat down at the writing-table and took up a fresh sheet of paper.

"Gracious Princess,--Waldor has just left me, after handing me, for transmission to you, the enclosed telegram, on the contents of which I beg to offer my hearty congratulations. I am sorry I must do so in writing, for a few hours hence I shall leave this--secretly--not to return. Business that will brook no delay makes this imperative, and I have not told Waldor of it. He hopes to find me here this evening, that I may be a witness to the amazement which the announcement of your engagement will cause in this friendly circle, as all obstacles to it are now removed. I am sincerely sorry that I cannot afford him that pleasure--for to him it would really be a pleasure.

"I regret it the more, because I must prepare a worse disappointment for him. For I consider it, in the interest of our _proteges_, to be desirable--necessary, if you wish--that you, My Lady, should also leave to-morrow; without waiting for Waldor's evening visit. The communication which you were resolved to make to our fair young friend Erna, before Waldor had given you _plein pouvoir_ (which he now begs to do through me), will only have the right calming effect if you strike the proper note on Erna's heart, and then let it ring out full and clear. In life, as on the stage, a good ending has to be provided for. This is missed if one lingers on the stage, when once the decisive word has been spoken.

"And what about the communication itself?

"I should deem it presumptuous on my part, were I to venture to advise Claudine's clever friend on this point. She knows that one is compelled to say the whole truth only in a court of law. In life it is sufficient, nay, it is often requisite in the interest of humanity, to say nothing but the truth, to be sure, but, of the truth, only what is needful and useful--to use the words which Lessing puts into the mouth of his wise Jew Nathan.

"And, now, let me add to my requests, a word of deep and sincere gratitude that you deemed me worthy to make the acquaintance of Claudine and of yourself. Your friend is perhaps more interesting and intellectual--at least you said so--but your heart is a thousand times more noble.

"I have always paid due respect to intellectual capacity; but before a noble heart I gladly and reverently bend my knee."

Silence had for a long time been reigning again in the mansion-house. The combat, too, though it had commenced in the immediate vicinity, was now being continued a long way off, and one only heard something like the rumbling of a distant thunder-storm. The candles on Bertram's writing-table had all but burned down to the sockets; he turned his wearied eyes towards the window, through which the dull grey morning light was coming. Konski came into the room.

"What time is it?"

"Just five, sir."

"So late? Well, I am ready. Did you get hold of a carriage?"

"It is waiting at the bridge below."

"Did you get if from the mayor?"

"Yes, Herr Doctor. At first he was making no end of excuses; for they all want to drive to the man[oe]vres, every man of them; and Herr von Busche has ordered a trap, too, for the afternoon. He'll have to be content with a common cart and a sack. Never mind that, though!"

"Why should you look so miserable about that?"

"It isn't about that at all, Herr Doctor."

"Well?"

"It is because I do not like to let the Herr Doctor drive away like this. Can you not take me with you?"

"Impossible! You see yourself that you have a couple of hours' work before you yet. These sealed packets are to go into the small portmanteau which you keep by you. These letters you will deliver, when the ladies have risen. This money is for the servants. Do not forget any one, and do not be stingy, Konski! And remember me kindly to your Aurora. And now my cloak, please, and so good-bye, Konski."

"Am I not at least to see the Herr Doctor to the carriage?"

"No."

"Herr Doctor, do not be angry; I really mean so well by you, and Aurora does too. We have been speaking of nothing else. And she swears that the Herr Doctor, if he wished it, could have Miss Erna for the asking."

"Then tell your Aurora that the Herr Doctor does not wish it, and that the Herr Doctor has better things to do than to spoon and fool about, like you and her."

He had held out his hand to the faithful servant, and now he was gone. A minute later, Konski, standing mournfully by the window, saw the dark figure striding swiftly past the lawn, and vanish behind the terrace-wall. He closed the window with a sigh.

Bertram lessened his pace, as soon as he knew himself unobserved. Slowly he descended the steps to the second terrace. Here was the leafy grove which, on the left, led to the platform beneath the plantain-tree. He glanced timidly that way. His foot had already touched the next step, he wanted to get down,--to get away,--but something like a magic spell drew him to the spot.

There, in this chair, she had sat; he was facing her; and the golden sunbeams had flitted through the dense foliage, and the birds had been holding a gleeful festival in the branches, and from the gardens below fairest fragrance of flowers had been wafted up, and his heart had been full of light and joy, and of all the blissfulness of spring. And now! and now!

"Thou sacred dawn of early morn, forgive me! You quiet trees and bushes, tell it not! I have borne what man can bear; more, I cannot."

And pressing his hand to his face, he wept.

XXIV.

In the little-garden, under wide-spreading chestnut-trees, the lawyer and Bertram were sitting, about four o'clock in the afternoon, at a table covered with books, documents, and papers. From, the small garden one could look across a narrow court-yard, at the windows of the office, where they had just begun to make a fair copy of the will, which had been settled after long deliberation.

"And now, most grave and most conscientious of men, seeing that you go into this election campaign as into actual war, let us drink that victory may be on your side--that is, on ours, on the side of liberty, and right--and that the victor be granted, over and above his allotted time, as special allowance for special services rendered, a respectable series of not inglorious years, at least as many as this '68 Ruedesheimer wine numbers!"

The lawyer took a venerable-looking bottle, from a side table, filled a couple of green goblets, and touched Bertram's with his own.

"I thank you for the kindly wish, and drink to its fulfilment, although as you know, I have well-founded reasons for assuming that it will not occur."

"Nonsense!" cried the lawyer. "I am not a giant either, but I confidently expect to outlive all the giants among my contemporaries. What does Wallenstein say?--'Es ist der Geist der sich den Koerper bauet' (It is the mind that builds, this frame of ours). And I would add, that also keeps the building together, even if it were shaky in every joint; and that is assuredly far from being the case with you."

Bertram smiled absently. His looks were wandering away to the garden gate.

"I wonder where Otto can be?" he said. "I urgently asked him to be here at four o'clock at the latest."

"I am in no hurry at all," replied the lawyer. "After having had to keep you waiting the whole forenoon, my entire evening is at your disposal instead; or, if you insist upon leaving at five, we can have another second witness in, and you can communicate to our friend in writing those points which have special reference to him."

"I am most anxious to do so by word of mouth."

Upon the wretched pavement of the narrow street which lay behind the garden wall, a carriage came hurriedly thundering along.

"_Lupus in fabula!_" exclaimed the lawyer. "Any one coming from Rinstedt would have to pass this way."

As he spoke, Otto's broad-shouldered figure appeared in the little yard.

The two men had meanwhile risen from their seats below the chestnut-trees, and had gone to meet the newcomer.

"What tricks are these of yours?" Otto was saying, "to cut away from the village in the middle of the night in a trap? What will people think? Why, that I am driving my guests from my house! But, of course, you intellectual people never can do things like the rest of us mortals; always something out of the way! Eh, old fellow?"

He brought his hand with a laugh down upon Bertram's shoulders; but the laugh was forced, and, indeed, in all his look and manner there was painful unrest.

"I am sorry that I must leave you gentlemen alone for a little," said the lawyer, with a meaning look at Bertram; "but you can call me at any time from the office. By the way, there is an empty glass here, Bermer. You must be thirsty after your drive along the hot road, and you have not in your own cellars at Rinstedt a better Ruedesheimer than this."

He turned his back upon the friends now, and forthwith the last trace of forced mirth vanished from Otto's face. He had flung himself into a garden chair, and there he sat, his elbows leaning on his knees, his hands put to his full round cheeks, staring fixedly in front of him.

"This has been a day which I shall remember!" he said.

"You have spoken to your wife?"

Otto nodded.

"In detail?"

"Well, yes; that is to say ..."

"That you might have spoken in greater detail. It does not matter, however, as long as you have informed her of your situation in the main. That has surely been done?"

"Been done!" exclaimed Otto. "Great Heavens! it was fearful! At first she seemed to think that I had gone mad; at least she looked so ... so frightened at me, don't you know, and wanted to ring the bell. But I told her that I was, unfortunately, still quite in my right mind, and perfectly sober, although yesterday I did perhaps, in my despair, drink a little too much. And then, I do not know how it came about, but one word led to another; and when she told me that the whole thing was my own fault, and the outcome of my bad economy and my costly foibles,--she could not mean anything more by this, than that I like to drink a good glass of wine and to smoke a decent cigar;--why, then, something passed within me that I cannot describe. I felt as though my very heart were turning, and as though I had never loved her in all my life. And then there was no longer any need to hunt for appropriate words; they came fast enough, and harder, too, than I liked at last. It was horrible!"

Otto gave a deep sigh and drained his glass.

"This is really good wine," he said, taking up the bottle and looking at the mouldy label. "I wonder where he got hold of it. But what does it matter to me? All grapes are sour for me henceforth."

"I hope not," said Bertram. "Anyhow, I thank you for having taken to heart and faithfully carried out what I wrote to you last night. This was indeed the first needful step, if the execution of my plan, the details of which I will immediately communicate to you, was to be possible. But one question first: you have not let Erna hear anything of the subject of the conversation between you and your wife? And, as I know your wife, she will surely keep as long as possible from Erna, what she considers less a misfortune than a disgrace?"

"You can rely on that," replied Otto; "she would rather bite her tongue off. But how long will it be before Erna has to learn all?"

"I hope that will never be the case!" replied Bertram. "Now, to come to the point. I have asked you to come here to-day to be a witness to my last will and testament. I might have told you its contents yesterday, but I did not do so, because--to speak quite frankly--I was afraid you would not keep the secret entirely, and thus the impression upon your wife, on learning the whole truth, might have been considerably lessened. If, after all, things come round again and change for the better, then--for she is not bad, your wife, only spoiled and not given to looking beneath the surface--then something like gratitude will stir within her. And should this really not be the case, then I am, as it were, master of the situation and you will both yield; you willingly, she, because she must. Well then: in this will of mine, of which they are now making a fair copy in the office, I have made Erna my residuary legatee, except some smaller legacies, among which there is a suitable annuity for Lydia. From her future inheritance, there will at once be taken and made immediately available the sum which you require to set your affairs thoroughly right again, with our legal friend's help. He guarantee's that with this sum the greater part of your fortune may yet be saved, if you agree to his arrangements, above all about the factories. This sum will be advanced as a mortgage on your estates--our friend will explain to you how it can be done--at a moderate percentage, and the total revenue accruing from it is to be Erna's from the day of her marriage. Concerning that marriage, Erna has of course absolute freedom of choice, although I for my part hope that she will fall in with the wishes which I have expressed to her on this subject. And now shake hands, old man, and pardon me if I have had to add another unpleasant hour to the one which I already caused you to-day. _Tu l'as voulu!_ From me you would not accept anything; with your own child you will, I trust, stand upon less ceremony."

"It is your money for all that," murmured Otto.

"As long as I live; who knows how long that will be! And there is our legal friend coming, bringing the document in question with him, which you are now to hear read, and which afterwards you are to adorn with your signature, as one of the two witnesses."

"The other," said the lawyer, now approaching the group with his chief clerk, "will be Mr. Kasper here. Sit down, Kasper, and read away."

During the reading of the somewhat lengthy document Otto's countenance kept changing colour; his eyes were very wet, and he repressed his tears with difficulty. When the lawyer handed him a pen for signature, his big powerful hand trembled to such an extent, that he could scarcely produce a few strokes in lieu of writing his name.

The document in question was now legally completed, and the lawyer had left the friends, to put it himself into a safe place of keeping. He came back at once. Would the gentlemen kindly excuse him? His Excellency the Herr Oberhofmarshal von Dirnitz had just appeared in the office, and desired to see him on business of importance.

"It probably will not be so very important, after all," said the lawyer, "I hope to settle, it in a very few minutes, and then we can talk at our ease."

Again the friends were alone. Otto seemed to have paid no heed to the lawyer's coming or going. He sat still at the table, supporting his head upon it, and staring gloomily before him. Bertram bent over him, and said, laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder--

"Otto, old man, you must not view the matter in too tragic a light."

"Perhaps I ought to look upon it as a joke having signed my own death-warrant," murmured Otto, without stirring from his position.

"You have done nothing of the kind," replied Bertram. "I should rather say, that now a new life was beginning for you; a life of purpose, sobriety, energy, independence, however strange the last word may sound to you. Until this day you were not living an independent life; nothing but a sham existence, in slavish subjection to the caprices of your wife, to whom you sacrificed your fortune, and, worse than that, your own better judgment. Now, having come to see this, you are enabled, by means of some assistance, to re-conquer your fortune, or at least the greater part of it; and this surely is no alms, but a mere loan, for which you are responsible in every respect; and, perhaps, in addition, you may conquer what you never possessed before--I mean, the love, or, at the very least, the respect of your wife, which she only denied to the husband who had no will of his own, but which she will not refuse to grant to the husband who is strong, determined, and who respects himself."

"Yes, yes," Said Otto; "it all sounds very well, and I surely mean to try to atone for my miserable shortcomings; but this I know already to-day, it will not do. I mean, I shall not have the energy you speak of, nay, I shall look upon myself as a downright scamp, and I shall not dare look my wife or any one else in the face, far less confront them energetically, as long as I see no chance of paying off my whole stupendous debt to you. Not to the uttermost farthing, that may perhaps be made possible--but in my heart. I do not know how to express it aright, but you will understand my meaning--by giving you in exchange something that no one else could give you."

He lifted his eyes to Bertram in anxious inquiry. Bertram shook his head.

"I thought we were not to mention it again," he said.

"Nor should I, to be sure, have done so," replied Otto; "however fond one may be of a man, and however indebted to him, one's only child is of course one's only child; and just now, above all, to have to give her up, to live in the big house alone with--but I cannot give up the thought that now, after all, nothing is to come of it, after they, Lydia and my wife, have tried to prove to me in writing--in black and white, don't you know--that you loved each other, and that at least Erna ..."

"I hardly know what you are talking about," Bertram impatiently interrupted his friend; "and what do you mean by 'in black and white'?"

"A stupid story," Otto made answer, embarrassed, "in which those women have got me involved, and which; yesterday, I did not wish to refer to, as I was desirous of sparing Hildegard. But now let the whole thing come out; it may as well. Listen, then!"

So he told him of the letter which Erna had written to Agatha, and which Lydia had purloined for a few hours. Hildegard had read the letter to him, and his excellent memory enabled him to reproduce it now, if not literally, at least in its general bearings. He also had remembered well the passage referring to some _liaison_ which Erna would seem to have had, and to which the ladies had not attributed any special significance.

"Now," he concluded his report, "you see why my wife, who was so bent upon having Lotter for a son-in-law, was so annoyed with you during the last few days; nor do I know what would have come of it all, if the Princess had not yesterday brought, her round to reason: how she managed it is a riddle to me, but it is a fact, there, is an end of Lotter, for good and all. This morning Hildegard went the length of saying that it had been I who had favoured Lotter, and--for I may as well tell you all now--you suddenly appeared to her not only as an acceptable husband for Erna, but rather she saw in your union the only possibility--if my carelessness had really wrought our ruin--to save Erna at least, and to preserve for her such a position in society as she was born for. Well, old man, it's off my mind at last, and for all that, and, all that, it would be the grandest day in my whole life if you were able to say to me: 'Well, better late than never!'"

"It is too late!" Bertram replied.

He had ejaculated those words, in intensest excitement, bounding from his chair as he did so, and now he was, with uneven step, pacing up and down beneath the chestnut-trees. But presently he returned to Otto, who, frightened, had not stirred from his seat, and said in his usual calm tone--

"It would be too late, even if everything were--as it is not. I did not mean to speak about it, because I am not commissioned to do so, and because, therefore, those interested might have had good reason to be annoyed, if I told you before they themselves thought the time had come for doing so. I meant to rest satisfied with paving the way, so that there should be no obstacle to the fulfilment of their wishes. But now, since you seem unable to rid yourself of the curious idea of an alliance between Erna and myself; since, oddly enough, your wife finds pleasure therein; and since now, perhaps the fact of my making Erna my heiress, might seem to both of you an indirect confirmation of your opinion, I had better tell you this. I know that Erna has already given away her heart, that for more than a year she has loved Lieutenant Ringberg, and has been loved by him. It is my most earnest wish that the union of the lovers may meet with no obstacle, and I firmly believe that this marriage will lead to Erna's supreme happiness. And now let me confess one thing more, so that I may have nothing whatever on my conscience with regard to you. It was not for nothing that I have thus hastened to put order into my own, and, I trust, into your affairs, and to secure Erna's future. In the very next hour I have to go forth on an errand from which, in all human probability, I shall not return with my limbs whole, and where, very possibly, I may lose my life."

Then he briefly told his friend of his quarrel with the Baron last night and of its consequences. The true reason he did not refer to any more than he had to Kurt.

Otto was quite beside himself when he heard of it.

"It must not be, it shall not be!" he cried again and again. "It is sheer madness. How can you go and fight a duel with pistols when you scarcely know how to fire one? And with Lotter, of all men, who hits an ace at twenty paces. This is no duel, it is downright murder. I will not allow it!"

"Please do not speak so loud, anyhow," said Bertram; "they can hear you in the office."

"All the better!" cried Otto; "every one may hear that you cannot fight the fellow. Why, Ringberg is far more sensible than you, for he pretended last night not to notice the fellow's impertinence, and left the card table without replying a word."

"Who told you that?" cried Bertram, terrified.

"The forest-ranger," replied Otto, "He came over to breakfast this morning. Yesterday's events were discussed; I did not pay much attention to the talk, for the scene which I expected to have with Hildegard was weighing upon my mind; but I remember now. The ladies were discussing, whether Ringberg had done right in ignoring Lotter's impertinence. Lydia thought yes, but the Princess declared that it could not be thus, because ... I cannot remember why not; it had no interest for me. If I had been able to divine that Ringberg and Erna--that you ..."

"Was Erna present?"

"Erna? No. That is to say, I do not know--I was very absent--she went out riding afterwards with the Princess, who sent me word that I had better drive to town alone. Confound the fellow! Picking quarrels with everybody! And we are to blame; good Heaven, it is my fault that you ... I thought the worst had already come, but this is far worse than anything. But I cannot allow it, and I will not. Never! When did you say it was to come off? And where?"

"I shall tell you nothing more, and I am sorry I told you anything at all."

Bertram rose swiftly, Otto sprang up too, exclaiming as he did so--

"I shall go with you."

"You are about to leave, gentlemen?" a thin voice behind them was asking.

In their excitement neither had noticed that the lawyer and the Herr Oberhofmarshal had entered the garden, and had already approached within a few yards of them.

"Will you very kindly introduce me to the Herr Doctor?" said the Marshal, after he had courteously tendered his hand to Otto.

The introduction was made.

"It is not quite right," said the Marshal, "that only now I have the honour ... I hear you have been for more than a week at Rinstedt, and yet you have not had a minute to spare for us! Not for our theatre, our school of art, our museum! Not to mention my humble self, although I have for years been accustomed to no stranger of distinction passing my threshold. You must make up for this yet, you really must."

Bertram answered the old gentleman in a few courteous words, looking at the same time entreatingly at the lawyer.

"Your Excellency will excuse me," said the lawyer, "if, considering how pressed the Herr Doctor is for time, I venture ..."

"Quite right, quite right," said the old gentleman. "Indeed, I already noticed myself that the gentlemen were leaving. Let us come to the point--a very, very disagreeable point, in reference to which, acting on the advice of our common legal friend, with whom I originally intended only to discuss the judicial bearings of the case, I should now like to be allowed to claim also your assistance, my dear Mr. Bermer."

"In that case," said Bertram, who in his impatience almost felt the ground burn beneath his feet, and who also thought this a splendid opportunity for getting rid of Otto Bermer, "you will perhaps allow me to take my departure."

"Pray remain, Herr Doctor, I entreat you!" exclaimed the Marshal eagerly. "Quite apart from the painful interest which the matter will have on psychological grounds for such a profound student of human nature, I feel a moral necessity to have an affair, which it is desirable to withdraw from the cognisance of the judge, adjudicated upon by a forum of men of enlightened intelligence and honourable character--adjudicated upon and,--alas, alas!--condemned. The case is this ..."

"If your Excellency will allow me?" said the lawyer, in response to another still more entreating glance of Bertram's.

"Please, please," replied, the Marshal, conveying the pinch of snuff, which he had just, taken from his box, somewhat abruptly to his nose.

"The case is this," the lawyer went on, without heeding the old gentleman's annoyance: "your friend Baron Lotter, my dear Burner, has been guilty of an action which amounts to fraud and forgery. He had been commissioned to, buy a couple of race-horses for the Court during the summer, somewhere in Bavaria, and had drawn the money for them--three thousand thalers--from the Grand Duke's privy purse, upon an order signed by His Excellency; but he appears not to have paid the money, but to have given a bill of exchange instead, with the forged signature of His Excellency, as representing the Marshal's office."

"Is not this monstrous?" cried the old gentleman, "as if the Upper Court Marshal's office ever paid, with bills of exchange!"

"The daring of the deed is indeed tremendous," continued the lawyer, "considering the fact which His Excellency has stated just now, and which was also known to the Herr Baron. And indeed he had taken the precaution to inform the clerk of the privy purse--into whose hands the bill of exchange would necessarily come first--when presented for payment, that the affair was all right; that he would hand him the money a week before it was due; the little service would not remain without its reward, as soon as the Baron had got his foot in the stirrup, in other words, as soon as he was Chamberlain. The poor fellow was weak enough ..."

"It is incredible!" murmured the Oberhofmarshal; "quite incredible!"

"To be sure, your Excellency," said the lawyer; "nevertheless, he was weak enough to consent to what was evidently a fraud, until to-day, two days before the bill was due, and when the money promised by the Baron had not appeared, his terror compelled him to make a clean breast of it to His Excellency. Meanwhile the bill had, yesterday, been sent to a local banker for collection. This banker, who, of course, had never seen anything of the kind occur in business, thought it advisable to make private and confidential inquiries of His Excellency as to the state of affairs, just before the clerk made his confession, and now His Excellency has the proof in his own hands."

The little old gentleman, who accompanied the lawyer's report with many a nod and with eager play of features, was opening his mouth, but the lawyer continued swiftly--

"His Excellency at once went to His Highness ..."

"I beg your pardon!" cried the Marshal. "I struggled for an hour as to whether I could not spare His Highness this grief. Moreover the young man's father was my dear old friend, who would turn in his grave if he could hear that a Lotter, his own son--it is terrible! And be assured, gentlemen, if I were a rich man--every one knows I am not--I ..."

"Your Excellency would in that case not have gone to Serenissimus," the lawyer went on; "but it was not to be avoided. His Highness, with his customary generosity, resolved at once ..."

"That is," the Marshal interrupted him, "in consequence of my report and recommendation."

"Of course, in consequence of His Excellency's report and recommendation, resolved at once that the bill was to be paid as if everything were in perfect order, under the condition that the Herr Baron should never show his face at Court again, and depart straightway. This latter point, the Grand Duke declared with very natural anger ..."

"I really must beg ..." objected the Marshal.

"Declared with considerable emphasis to be the _conditio sine qua non_, if he were to show a merciful forbearance, in lieu of allowing the law to take its course. And now we come to the point when ..."

"When," the Marshal said, turning to Otto, "I must claim your kind services. You have the ... I can only say the great misfortune to be a friend ... I mean an acquaintance of the Herr Baron, who is at present a guest in your house. My appearance there, however greatly I should esteem such an honour, would perhaps cause some sensation, the very thing His Highness wishes to avoid at any cost. Serenissimus himself suggested and our common friend here ventures to propose directly, that ..."

"That you, my dear Bermer," resumed the lawyer, "might give the young gentleman the requisite strong hint, to which a letter which His Excellency has just drawn up in my office ..."

"And which I beg herewith to produce," said the Marshal.

"Would give additional emphasis," concluded the lawyer.

"I would beg your Excellency to intrust the letter to me," said Bertram. "I chance to know where the Herr Baron, who left my friend's house last night, is to be found at this present moment. To be sure I must leave at once, lest I miss him. You are coming with me, Otto?"

"Of course," cried Otto; "my carriage is at the door."

"And your horses are swifter than the hired ones, which I had ordered to be here at five. It is a quarter to five now. We have not a moment to lose."

"But tell him it as gently as possible, I entreat you," the Marshal called out after the two friends, who were already crossing the little courtyard.

Bertram waved his hand in assent.

A minute later the carriage was rattling along the narrow lane behind the lawyer's garden towards the broad street leading to the town gates.

XXV.

Bertram, on entering the carriage, at once told Otto of the place in the wood where, by the shore of the little lake, the meeting was to take place, and Otto replied that they could easily reach it in half an hour, going first along the high-road, then turning off to the right and driving along some country lanes, and at last, for a brief stretch, through the forest.

But they had scarcely left the gates when unexpected obstacles intervened. The high-road, which had been perfectly free and clear a little while ago, when Otto was driving to town, now swarmed with troops belonging to the corps which had made a victorious advance; they were now utilising this convenient road for taking up their position for the sham-fight which was to be resumed tomorrow. This was the gist of the information conveyed to the friends, with due military politeness, by an officer who had hurriedly ridden up to their carriage, whilst Otto was vainly storming at some artillerymen in charge of a gun which they had managed to upset in a ditch, and of which the horses were blocking the road. The officer pointed out that the gentlemen would do better to deviate from the high-road than to try and force their way, and he said that, farther on it was occupied in even greater strength, and was likely to be absolutely impassable for the next half hour.

The advice seemed very sensible, and it was possible to follow it at once, for there was a country lane branching off to the right in that very spot.

"It is a deuced deal farther," said Otto. "We shall have to drive by way of Neuenhof and Viehburg; however, there is no help for it now, and after all we shall be in good time."

"We have already lost a quarter of an hour," said Bertram.

"We'll easily make up for that," replied Otto; "you see the road is in good condition and quite clear. Make haste, John--as quick as the horses can go!"

Otto was very far from really feeling the energy which he was displaying. On the contrary, he was cherishing the hope that the round-about way would ultimately prove too long; and that, even if they were to arrive in time, this insane duel should not come off. Thus the one care which had still been weighing somewhat upon his elastic temperament was gone. As for the rest, why all had come about as nicely as possible. Could he have anticipated anything of the kind when, an hour ago, he was driving to town in his despair, with the remembrance of that awful scene with his wife upon him like a nightmare? What would she say now? How would she take it? Not well, of course. She would call it a terrible humiliation--disgraceful. Nonsense! It was the simplest and most loyal arrangement in the world. Why should not Bertram make Erna his heiress, for he had neither kith nor kin, and had always been so fond of her? Hildegard had never liked Erna to call Bertram uncle. In future, perhaps, she would not object to it. And what about the big loan? Well, the bigness was its chief merit. A few thousand thalers here, a few thousand thalers there, how ignoble, how mean! But a hundred thousand thalers, that was decent; there was nothing derogatory about that. Hildegard would herself see that; and moreover, if Erna was to inherit the money anyhow, it remained, as it were, in the family. Then he wondered how his wife would get on with the young lieutenant, whom yesterday they had both seen for the first time. Only yesterday! But a man must see his son-in-law once for the first time. And he seemed to be such a charming fellow! What a pity that he was not of noble birth, for that had, after all, been Lotter's chief merit in Hildegard's eyes. Poor beggar! he really was sorry for him. That is what a man may come to when he is seriously embarrassed! Awful! And all for a mere trifle--those dirty three thousand thalers! If he had given him the money yesterday, or if Lotter had won them at play, the whole business might have been hushed up, and the beggar would not have run a-muck at everybody. The fellow was not a bad sort, hang it, quite a jolly fellow to get on with! Now, what fiend had possessed Bertram on this occasion; Bertram, who, on principle, made a point of avoiding all social conflicts, or, if the worst came to the worst, always knew how to make a courteous and clever diversion; Bertram who, even as a student, had never fought a duel, and had never concealed his aversion on the subject? And where on earth was, in this case, the necessity for fighting the man? Bertram must have known that Lotter's farce at Rinstedt was played out, that Hildegard had given him up for good and all. The foe who is running away should have golden bridges built him, not be impeded in his retreat. Well, well, it was to be hoped that Lotter at least had meanwhile come to his senses and gone away. To be sure, this was the most likely thing to have happened. Lotter, cunning fellow, had set all this duel business a-going, by way of putting them on the wrong scent, knowing that his pursuers would presently be on the alert, and now, whilst he was being looked for in the wood, he had most probably decamped altogether.

If Otto, good easy-going fellow, on arriving at this comforting conclusion, did not actually rub his hands in sheer glee, he refrained solely out of regard for his companion, who was sitting by his side in silent gloom, as though he were most terribly grieved at the prospect of the duel not taking place after all.