CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 E.L.Mchols 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 arV10218 
 
 Quisisana or Rest at last 
 
 olin.anx 
 
 3 1924 031 341 906 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924031 341 906 
 
Q_U I S I S A N A 
 
 OR 
 
 REST AT LAST 
 
 jFwm tjje ffierman of tf. Spfeljjaflen 
 
 BY 
 
 H. E. GOLDSCHMIDT 
 
 OJttF TRANSLATION SANCTIONED BY TBS AUTHOR AND BT THE 
 INTERNATIONAL LITERARY ASSOCIATION 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 JAMES B. MILLAR & CO., PUBLISHERS. 
 
 1885. 
 
MINTING AND BOOKWND1Na'»CWMNr t 
 NEW YOJUC, 
 
Q.UISISAN A. 
 
 " Why have you roused me, Konski ?" 
 
 " You were lying on your left side again, sir," the ser- 
 vant, who held his master clasped by the shoulder, 
 replied, as he completed the task of restoring him to a 
 sitting posture on the sofa ; " and you have been drink- 
 ing champagne at dinner, more than a bottle, John says, 
 and that surely is . . ." 
 
 Konski broke off abruptly, and turned again to the 
 travelling boxes, one of which was already unlocked ; he 
 commenced to arrange its contents in the chest of 
 drawers, and went on, apparently talking to himself 
 rather than to his master — 
 
 " I am merely doing what the doctor has insisted upon. 
 Only last night, in Berlin, as I was showing him to the 
 door, he said': ' Konski, when your master is lying on 
 his left side and begins then to moan, rouse him, rouse 
 him at once, be it day or night. I take the responsi- 
 bility. And, Konski, no champagne ; not for the next 
 six weeks, anyhow, and best not at all. And when you 
 have once got into Italy, then plsnty of water to b« 
 mixed with the wine, Konski, and . . .'" 
 
 6 A 
 
2 QUISISANA. 
 
 " And now oblige me by holding your tongue." 
 Bertram had remained sitting on the sofa, his hand 
 pressed to his brow; he now rose rapidly and strode 
 impatiently about the room, casting every now and then 
 an angry glance at his valet. Then he stepped to one 
 of the windows. The sun must be settings now. The 
 high woode^l hiljsjyonderitill shone fOrtfi in^sjunny splen- 
 dour, but the terrace gardens sloping towards the valley, 
 and the valley itself, with the .yillage within, lay already 
 in deepest shadow. The picturesque view, the graceful 
 charm of which he was wont to appreciate so heartily, 
 had no charm to-day for his dulled brain. Konski was 
 quite right ; the champagne whieh he had to-day taken 
 for the, first time since his illness, in direct defiance of 
 the doctors injunctions, had, not agreed with him. WelJ, 
 he had taken champagne because his throat had got 
 unbearably dry from much. .talking, and he.had talked so 
 much because the frequent pauses in the dinner conver- 
 sation were making him nervous. The whole thing had 
 been a positive bore; the, genial host, the fair hostess 
 had surely fallen : offj changed sadly for the worse during 
 the last three years. Or . . .could he possibly have changed 
 himself? Did he re,ally begin to grow aid ? If you get 
 seriously ill at fifty,' you are apt to go downhill with 
 startling rapidity .! 
 
 This had been the second emphatic memento mgri — 
 after an interval of twenty years! The first — the first 
 had been her work, , Aye,, and she had kissed him a 
 thousanjd times, and had vowed deathless fidelity yonder 
 on the mountain-slope, where the giant oak still, lifted its 
 mighty crown of foliage above the bronze-coloured leafy 
 roof of Jhe beeches. Why the deuce did they always 
 give him these rooms? He'd better ask Hildegard this 
 
QU ISIS AN A. ,3 
 
 very evening for other ipoms — at once, before that block- 
 head Kon ski had unpacked everything. 
 
 "Leave tljese things alone," he exclaimed, turning 
 round from the window ; " I do not intend to remain in 
 theserooms. I do not intend to stay here at all, I think. 
 We shall probably be off to-morrow." 
 
 Konski, who was already deep in the recesses of box 
 number two, believed he had not heard aright, , He 
 lifted his head out of the box and looked in amazement 
 at his master. 
 
 " To-morrow, sir ? I thought we were to stay a week 
 at the least." 
 
 " Do what I bid you." 
 
 Konski replaced, the shirts which he was holding in 
 the portmanteau and rose hastily from his knees. His 
 .master was evidently in a very bad temper ; " but that 
 kind of thing never lasts long with him," Konski was say- 
 ing to himself, "and then the champagne . . ." 
 
 Aloud he said— 
 
 "You can be sure, sir, that there won't be much 
 trouble about the officers who are^oing to be quartered 
 here. I know all about it from Mamsell Christine. Only a 
 colonel, a major, a couple of captains, and some six 
 lieutenants or so, and perhaps a surgeon-major. None 
 of our princes, and certainly none of theirs. A mere 
 handful for a large place like this; they'll be lost, like 
 currants in a bun. And you can remain in these rooms, 
 where we always have been, and you'll see none of them, 
 for I don't suppose they'll have this blessed manoeuvre 
 in the garden below.'' 
 
 " I do not know at, all what you want with your ever- 
 lasting manoeuvres," Bertram exclaimed angrily. 
 
 He had gone hack, to the open window, through 
 
4 QU IS I SAN A. 
 
 which there came a strong current of air. Konski went 
 and closed the door of the adjoining room, theri stepped 
 up to within a' certain respectful distance of his master, 
 and said modestly, lowering his voice — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but what does it matter, after 
 all, if Miss really comes . . ." 
 
 k \ "What do you mean?" Bertram said without turning 
 round. "What has that to do with my going or stay- 
 ing? Why should the little one hot come?" 
 
 Konski rubbed up his stiff black hair with a certain 
 sly smile, and said — 
 
 "Not Miss Erna; the other lady — who is never 
 allowed to come when you are here." 
 
 "Lydia? Fraulein VonAschhof? Are you mad?" 
 
 Bertram turned round with the rapidity of lightning, 
 and now uttered these words in a rough tone, whilst 
 his eyes, generally so gentle, shone out in great anger. 
 Konski was frightened; but his curiosity was greater 
 than his terror. He would gladly have at last learned 
 the real truth about the young lady who was not 
 allowed to come when his master came on a visit to 
 Rinstedt, and whom he had therefore never yet seen, 
 although in the course of years he had accompanied 
 his master half a dozen times. But he was once 
 more doomed to disappointment; his master had sud- 
 denly become perfectly calm again, or at least preserved 
 the appearance of perfect calmness, and now asked in 
 his usual voice — 
 
 "From whom have you got your information? Of 
 course from Mamsell Christine ? " 
 
 "From Mamsell Christine, of course," Konski made 
 answer. 
 
 " And she got it from My Lady ? " 
 
QU ISIS AN A. 5 
 
 '* From her Ladyship direct." 
 
 " And when is the lady expected to arrive ? " 
 
 "This very evening, along with Miss Erna; and there 
 will also come a Baron Lutter or Lotter— I could not 
 quite make the name out ; they pronounce things so 
 queerly'here in Thuringia.'' 
 
 "Well, well ! " 
 
 Bertram now remembered that Hildegard, his hostess, 
 had at table mentioned more than once the name of the 
 Baron von Lotter-Vippach. , Of Lydia, too, although he 
 made it a point never to be drawn into conversation 
 about her, she had again and again commenced to speak ; 
 clearly, as he perceived now, with the intention of pre- 
 paring him to some extent for the intended surprise. 
 But My Lady had reckoned without her host. This was 
 a downright want of consideration ; nay, worse, it was a 
 breach of good faith. There was no reason why he 
 should put up with it, and he did not mean to put up 
 with it. . , 
 
 " Where's the master ? and where is My Lady ? " he 
 asked aloud. 
 
 "The master has ridden over to the coal mines; her 
 Ladyship has gone into the village. , They left word that 
 they would be back before you were awake again ; and 
 you had not lain down on your left . . ." 
 
 "That'll do. Into the village, did you say? Give 
 me my hat" .,,. 
 
 "Please take your overcoat too, sir," said Konski; 
 " there's a nasty mist rising from the valley, sir ; and the 
 doctor, he did say that if you caught cold now, sir . . ." 
 
 Bertram had put his hat on, and waived the proffered 
 garment back. In the doorway he turned, and said — 
 
 " Do not trouble about the boxes. We leave again 
 
6 QU IS I SANA. 
 
 in an hour. And one thfrig more. If you say one 
 word to Mamsell Christine, or to anybody in the house, 
 now or later — you understand me — and I hear of it — 
 we part — for all that" 
 
 He had left. Konski was now standing by the open 
 window scratching his head, and the very next minute 
 he saw him striding swiftly down the garden. 
 
 "Upon my word!" he murmured; "who'd think that 
 six weeks ago he lay at the point of death? — And off 
 this evening again — an hour hence ! Not if I knows it. 
 First, I must Settle my little business with Christine, 
 and that is not to be done all at once. Christine says 
 that at that time the Fraulein would have nothing to 
 say to him. I can't make it out. Twenty years ago he 
 must have been a very handsome fellow ; why, he is so 
 almost still: Nor was he a poor man even then, though, 
 of course, he has inherited lots since. I am devilish keen 
 about seeing the old maid. One thing is sure and 
 certain, she will arrive this very evening." 
 
 Theri< he cast one dubious ldok at the boxes. Per- 
 haps it was taking needless pains to unpack them. 
 
 " But, but — he'll surely think better of it— he is not- 
 the One to run away from' any woman, even if she should 
 number forty years or thereabout ; and — and . . ." 
 
 And so the faithful Konski, after having given a most 
 incredulous shake of the head, Set to work* and con- 
 tinued to unpack his master's travelling boxes. 
 
( 7 ) 
 
 II. 
 
 Meanwhile Bertram, had already crossed the bridge 
 which spanned the brook at the bottom of the garden 
 terrace, and was hurrying along to the village along the 
 line of meadows. His hostess, Hildegard, had said at 
 dinner that ,she meant to-day, like every Thursday after- 
 noon, to visit her newly-founded Kindergarten; so he 
 thought there would be no difficulty in finding her. He 
 had been a frequent visitor at Rinstedt, and knew every 
 lane in the village ; and the . Kindergarten, they said, 
 was on the main road, not far from the parsonage. 
 Well, and what did he mean to say to Hildegard when 
 he met her? First, of course, make sure of the facts. 
 But there was little need for that. Konski was a smart 
 :fellowjwho was; not likely to have made a mistake; and 
 then he was on siach excellent terms with the omniscient 
 Mamsell Christine! He would ask her what had in- 
 duced her to break through the agreement to which she 
 had now adhered for the last twenty years. And yet — 
 what a needles^ question ! Why, women are never con- 
 sistent ! And in such things they always like to assist 
 each other and work into each other's hands, even if 
 they are by no means specially fond of each other. And 
 now it seemed as if there were special fondness between 
 these two. His beautiful hostess had, quite contrary 
 to her; wont, sung, L.ydia's praises in every possible 
 
8 QUISISANA. 
 
 variety of way ! And then, take the fact that she had 
 sent her own daughter to Lydia's pension, and had left the 
 girl there in the small Residenz for three years. Poor 
 Erna ! Fancy her for three years under the care of that 
 crazy woman ! Poor Erna — the beautiful creature with 
 the great, deep, blue eyes ! That should never have 
 happened.. It was a positive insult to him. He had 
 urged every argument against it; had found out a 
 supremely suitable; place in Berlin for her ; had. offered 
 to undertake careful personal supervision; :had urged 
 them to confide the! child to his- care, to give the child 
 an opportunity of seeing something of life under its 
 larger, nobler! aspect. And they had said' yes to every- 
 thing ; had thanked&im so very much for his exertions, his 
 kindness; and at the' last moment they had contentedly 
 plumped 'back into the beloved mire and 'stagnant waters 
 of the pettiness of fife-- in "the small Residenz. .To-be 
 sure; My Lady herself had been brcaight-up in that social 
 quagmire, and still cherished with plaintive delight recol- 
 lections of bygone splendour, and mourned 1 in secret 
 over her own hard fate Which had not permitted her, 
 like Lydia, to sun herself all the days of her life in the 
 •immediate rays of princely- favour, but had doomed, her 
 to marry a man who was not inobly born — a man rich 
 enough, 'forsooth, but bearing the unaristocratio name of 
 Bermer, and having friends of similarly unari'stocratic 
 names, to whom, for all- that, one had to be civil. l Yes, 
 a real Baron — a Baron von Lbtter-Vippacbj— would, 'of 
 course, be infinitely preferable ! And fancy her, fancy 
 My Lady forcing the Baron's company upon him after he 
 •■ had expressly urged that, being only half convalescent, 
 he needed perfect repose-; and would, if they were to 
 have company in the house^ rather in the meanwhile 
 
QUISISANA. g 
 
 d«ny himself the delighj of seeing his old friends, and 
 would come to them in spring instead on his return from 
 Italy! ," 
 
 Yes, something tike this he would say to his beautiful 
 hostess, in perfect calmness and good temper, of course, 
 only tinged with a touch of finest irony. . . . And this 
 new building by his side— why, it. must surely be the 
 Kindergarten ! 
 
 So it was. But the girl who was in charge of the chil- 
 dren who were playing on the garden-plot in front of 
 the building, said to him, in answer to his question, that 
 My Lady had left half an hour ago j had gone to the par- 
 sonage, she thought. A couple of boys who were run- 
 ning about told him My Lady had gone to the village- 
 mayor along with the parson. 
 
 The mayor's farm was situated at the opposite end, of 
 the village. , Bertram started, off in that direction, but 
 before he had got half way he bethought himself that 
 the, parson would probably walk back with Hildegaid, 
 and that in that case he would -of course have no oppor- 
 tunity of speaking, plainly to her. So he turned back, de- 
 termined, to wait for her near the parsonage, which she was 
 bound to pass on her way home. And yet, how could 
 he wait ? He could not tell whether he would have time 
 left to carry out his intended flight;- nay, every moment 
 brought Lydia nearer, every moment he must expect 
 to see the carriage whirl her past him where he stood. 
 What? was he to stand here like this, and be compelled 
 to bow to her? Never! To the left a narrow lane led 
 direct to the forest, which, higher up, almost bordered 
 on the mansion-house. This road back was somewhat 
 longer than the one he had come by, and was steeper 
 too; but anyhow it was much shorter than the carriage- 
 
io QUISISANA. 
 
 drive, for that branched' off from the high road in thfe 
 main valley at the entrance to the side valley, thus' inter- 
 secting the whole length of the village, and ultimately 
 wound its long serpentine road up the high hill crowned 
 by his friend's stately mansion. This way he would 
 gain ail 1 advance of a goO'd half-hour anyhow. It was to 
 be hoped- that his friend and host, Otto Bermef, had 
 meanwhile returned from the coal mines ; they lay in the 
 opposite direction. He'd make a clean breast of it to 
 Otto, and make Otto take his farewell compliments to 
 My Lady. Poor OWo !' " The grey' mare was the better 
 horse," no doubt; and poor Otto would not relish the 
 task; but what was to be done? And did not he, 
 Bertram, 'anyhow enjoy the doubtful reputation of being 
 selfishness incarnate ! Well, then, this done, they 
 Would swiftly get some conveyance Or other ready for 
 him. If required, Konski could stay behind' with 
 boxes and such-like impedimenta; and in two or three 
 hours' driving, first' through the forest, to avoid the 
 danger of meeting ' her, then along the .high road, he 
 would reach Fichtenau. He was fond of Fichtenau. 
 There he would rest in that evergreen dale for a few 
 days, and recover from the fatigue- Of the Jourriey and 
 from this day's manifold annoyances. Anyhow, he would 
 have escaped from Lydia, have broken away from the 
 snare which those women had set for him ! He owed this 
 satisfaction to' himself, and perhaps the reflection would 
 smooth 1 the rough forest path he had now entered' 
 upOn. 
 
 For it was rough, was that path ; much more' so'than he 
 remembered it being formerly. Much rougher and much ' 
 Steeper too; in fact, most, most — abominably steep. 
 Never mind; by following the tiny brooklet which was 
 
QV/STSANA. ii 
 
 murmuring in the glen by his side, arid which fell into 
 the big brook in the valley below, he must speedily reach 
 the little bridge leading to the'opposite side ; and then 
 a smooth, or at least a fairly Smooth', path would lead 
 him oh to the mansion. 
 
 What on earth could she have to do, she and the 
 parson, at the maydr's? Something, probably, about 
 getting appropriate quarters for those who were coining 
 to the manoeuvres ; to be sure, My Lad)', never idle, 
 must needs take an interest in'everything ! Or perchance 
 it was some charitable purpose, something for the sick, 
 for the poor ; in the pursuit of such noble aims My Lady 
 never spared herself now, that is never since Royalty had 
 set the example, arid made it fashionable ! And any- 
 how, it was hardly polite, in dne so uniformly polite^ as 
 My Lady, to leave the house and walk right "away to the 
 far end of the village with one guest already i'ri the house, 
 and with other gues'ts expected every minute. Possibly 
 —possibly My Lady was not unwilling to avoid the one 
 guest ; and the others, to be sure, must needs drive past 
 the mayor's house. What more riatural than, in such a 
 case, to enter the carriage "that brought the new guests ; 
 whilst driving with them through the village, what more 
 simple than to give a confidential hint or two, just the 
 merest suggestion, as to the treatment of the bird which 
 she had captured — oh, so cleverly ! N6, no, My Lady — 
 not captured yet . . . not yet ! 
 
 But where" was the little bridge ? It ought to have 
 appeared long ere this. What ! Climb down the steep 
 glen, get your feet wet in the brook' below, and climb up 
 again the opposite side ? Perish the thought ! Why, 
 everything seemed to go agairis't him to-day! 
 
 At last. And a broad' new bridge too. And pair 
 
12 QUISISAMA. 
 
 fiilly rustic, witb elaborate; rustic ornaments of. curi- 
 ously entwined and intertwisted tree branches. And, 
 worst of all, such a cop'founded bit higher up the stream 
 than where the old bridge had been. 
 
 And the path on the opposite side, too; new, new 
 like the bridge, new and fashionable, a regular pro- 
 menade path ; belonging, no doubt, to the elaborate 
 system of paths which his noble and beautiful hostess 
 had for years woven, like a complicated network, 
 through the woods around. Of course, like Charlotte in 
 the " Elective Affinities," the fair chatelaine must needs 
 have that passion for beautifying everything ; like Char- 
 lotte, but not, oh dear! no, with any tender penchant for 
 her husband's well-born ftiends. Well, well ! He him- 
 self had never doubted the unapproachable virtue of My 
 Lady: what if she; now, tried her gentle hand. ever so 
 little at this, surely it was only the outcorne of the exces- 
 sive goodness of her chaste, and cool, and philanthropic 
 heart. . . . Heart ! . . . And oh the wretched pain, the 
 horrid, horrid sensation ,in my own heart Who the 
 mischief, could be phjlanthropical if he felt like this? 
 Perhaps this insane running t and climbing has brought 
 on a relapse. The, story might then close where it 
 began, and fair Lydia would come just in the nick of 
 time to see that when people talk of a broken heart, 
 they are not necessarily r talking nonsense. . . . What 
 rubbish, though ! If my heart breaks, it will be because 
 it has gc-t.some organic fault, and because I took cham- 
 pagne when I should not have done so. 
 
 He had dropped upon a bench by, the wayside, and 
 there he crouched, almost- bent double, pressing his 
 handkerchief to his mouth, to prevent his moans from 
 being heard in the silence of the darkening woods. 
 
QUISISANA. 13 
 
 The attack passed away. Gradually the agonising 
 pains grew less. With the physical anguish much of the 
 fierce passion into which he had worked himself passed 
 away too. In its stead he felt a terrible heaviness, a 
 dull languor in all his limbs, and there was a sort of 
 stupor about his brain. 
 
 Supposing it had given way, he mused. Fancy, 
 sitting alone here in the wood, a dead' man, for good- 
 ness knows how long, and then terrifying a poor wretch 
 who chanced to pass this way first ! This was not a 
 pleasing thought. But this anyhow would have been 
 the worst. Death in itself he did not dread. Why 
 should he? Death was but the end of life. And life? 
 His life? If he could say that his living harmed no 
 one, except perhaps poor Konski whom he sometimes 
 tormented by his wayward moods — yet, on the other 
 hand, it gladdened no one, least of all himself. The 
 few poor students or struggling- artists would have their 
 allowances paid out to them for the time fixed, whether 
 he lived on or not, and a few public institutions were 
 welcome to divide the residue between them. All that 
 Would be settled in the shortest and most business-like 
 manner. Never a tear would' be shed by any human 
 being, unless perchance by old Kofiski. But no ; it was 
 impossible to think of the good, easy-going fellow in tears. 
 
 'He was sitting at the foot of a spreading beech tree. 
 A crow, perched on the top, ■ uttered a shriek. 
 
 Bertram looked up with a grim smile. " Patience I " 
 he said. ' J ' 
 
 But it was not on his account that the crow had 
 uttered that cry, but probably because somebody was 
 approaching. '. He saw a lady coming down the side- 
 path which led from the forest direct to his bench," 
 
<4 QUISIS4NA. 
 
 Again, this con v-wljsive pain at the heart ! , But,, he farced 
 himself t<); k>ok;again ; and no, it was not. Lydia. Lydia 
 was taller,. and Jier blonde hair was of ashen -hue; this 
 lady's hair was dark, very dark. And the style of walk- 
 ing, too, was different, very different-: an easy, even, 
 step, making it appear as if she were floating down the 
 somewhat steep pathj although he could, see the move- 
 ment of the feet beneath the. light summer gl,r.essi. And 
 now she had come quite close to him. She gave a little 
 start, for, gazing up to the shrieking crow, she had not 
 noticed hirn, ami. he had sprung up somewhat abruptly 
 from the bench. \ But in a moment she. was collected 
 again, an«d the flush faded as quickly fignj.her cheek as 
 it had spread. J ■ , , 
 
 "- Is, it possible ?— Erna ! " . , 
 
 "-Uncle Bertram.!", , : . , . : ;, 
 
 "^here was A something woad,i;owsJy^melbdipMs ;in ,,th© 
 voice, but; not the ^gljt^t; trace; ; ofo the glad amotion, 
 which he himself had experienced -ctn, seeing his darling., 
 H,is; heajf contracted ; he, would fain, , : haye said ; " 'You. 
 were wont to give rne a different reception;" but he 
 hjujshfid t9;%ce the young, beauty as a beggar, and let- 
 ting, go nexhands, he only sajd?— ? ,; 
 
 ", You did , npt eixpec-t, tq ftnd ime, here V 
 
 "How iqopld, I ? " was hejoreply. , 
 
 "To bjB,,sure 1" thought Bertram. <' How could she? 
 What a sillyquestiprt of mine !"- 
 
 ;He kuew not what next to .say, and, in some embar 
 rassment, he stood silent. The crow above had been 
 sjilemt during, the., la^t; hajf^minuite or, sp, and ne»;w com- 
 menced fp croak, abominably. j.Bqth,' had, involuntarily 
 gazed up ; now they, ware, iv>glkjng; silently side by side 
 along. the path. „ '..-., ., : ; t „ ,.-> , 
 
( is ) 
 
 III. 
 
 The evening was closing in around them. Through the 
 thick undergrowth of wood which bordered the path on 
 both sides but little light could penetrate ; overhead the 
 leafy crowns of the beeches interlaced and formed an 
 almost continuous roof. At a certain abrupt declivity a 
 few rough steps had been placed. 
 
 " Will you take my arm. Uncle Bertram ? " said Erna., 
 It was the first word spoken between them since, 
 several minutes ago, minutes which had weighed like 
 lead upon Bertram, they had left the bench under, the 
 beech tree. 
 
 V J was just going to put the same question to; you,"- 
 he replied. r , U1 , u 
 
 " Thanks," said Erna. " I know every step Ijere; 
 but you — and then, you have been ill." 
 
 This might, of course, have been meant in all friend- 
 liness; but there was a coldness about the tone, some- 
 thing like giving alms, Bertram thought. 
 
 " Have been," he made answer ; " but quite well 
 again — quite well.* 
 
 " I understand you are going to Italy for the winter — 
 for the sake of your health." 
 
 " I am going to Italy because I hope I shah be rather 
 less bored in Rome than in Berlin — that is alL" 
 
 " And suppose you are bored in Rome too?" . 
 
16 QUISISANA. 
 
 " You mean, bores are bored everywhere ? " 
 " No, I do not mean that ; indeed, it would have 
 been most disagreeable on my part had I meant any- 
 thing of the kind. I only wanted to know where people 
 go to from Rome, if they desire still to travel on. To 
 Naples, I should say?" 
 
 *' To be sure. To Naples 1 , to Capri ! In Capri there 
 stands amidst orange groves, with sublimest view of the 
 blue- infinity of the ocean, a : fair white- 1 hostelry, embow- 
 ered in rosesi'Quisisank. Years agb I wasthere, and I 
 have lbnged'ever since to be back again. : Qui si sand! 
 What a sound of comfort, of promise ! Qui si sdna! 
 Here one gets well! Even those' who ate fairly welli 
 physically, have something to recover from. Why, life 
 itself— what is it but a long disease, and death its only 
 cure?" ' ' -.,,.,, 
 
 Another pause. He fiad intended that 1, there should 
 be nb 1 new break in : their conversation' ; alid *yil ' 'the very 
 words he had just uttered, still under the impulse of the 
 invalid's peevish hurrMrr, "were little -likely 'to induce the 
 beautiful and taciturn girl by his side to talk. He 
 wanted to make heir talk. It 'never' occurred to him 
 that her silence was due tb "a lack of ideas', or even to 
 shyness; Quite the reverse. She 'interested' him more 
 and more. every" rnbment,' and he wais ' strongly' impressed 
 that he was dealing with a 'girl' of marked individuality, 
 reposing- securely in her *bwrr strength. ' Of her whom 
 he had known and loved as a child, an'd Whose image 
 lie' "had cherished in fondest, truest memory, never a 
 trace ! 
 
 "You know, Uncle Bertram, that you are going to see 
 Fraulein von Aschhof— Aunt 1 Lydia— td-night?" she" 
 resumed abruptly. -' - 
 
QltlSISANA. 17 
 
 Bertram started. That name— from her, fair, chaste 
 ljps— had a doubly hateful sound. 
 
 " I know," he answered ; " not from your parents, but 
 I know." 
 
 " They will have shrunk from telling you," Em a con- 
 tinued. " Mammawas most reluctant to sanction Aunt 
 Lydia's coming ; but Aunt Lydia begged so very hard 
 to. be allowed to see you once more, and she thought 
 that now,, when you have been so very, very ill, and 
 when you . are going away for such a long time, you 
 might be in gentler mood. And yet she was afraid to 
 encounter you. She grew so nervous as we were driving 
 along, that I believe she was uncommonly near getting 
 out and leaving us to continue the journey without her. 
 At last I could scarcely bear to witness her uneasiness 
 any- longer, and I felt considerable relief when I got out 
 myself in order, to walk across the hill — from Fischbach, 
 don't, you. kaow — and as I was coming along, I was 
 debating whether, if I reached home before them, I 
 might not beg. you to be a little friendly towards auntie. 
 You . . . but I am not sure whether to go on . . ," 
 
 " I beg you will do so," . 
 
 " I only;wanted to add : you owe it to her." 
 
 "Do I?" 
 
 " I should think so; for her only fault has been that 
 she has loved you and still loves you, and you ..." 
 
 " My dear child, I beg you will go on without any shy- 
 ness. I am anxious, very anxious, you should do so." 
 
 '.' And you . . . left her, after you had been engaged for 
 a whole year ! " 
 
 " And then I wrote her a letter of renunciation, did I 
 not? And the poor forsaken one, in her despair, engaged 
 herself within four-and-twenty hours to Count Finken 
 
18 QUISISANA. 
 
 burg, who had long Been vainly suing 1 for her hand? 
 And the old gentleman was so enchanted that scarce a 
 week after he died from rapture and paralysis combined, 
 without even having time to remember his fair bride in 
 his will ! Was it not so?" 
 
 " Let us change the tqpici Uncle Bertram," Erna 
 replied. " I hear from your words and from your tone 
 that you are excited, and I now feel doubly how awkward 
 I was in turning our talk, for auntie's sake, to a subject 
 I ought to know nothing of, and which I certainly- should 
 never have mentioned." -'•- - 
 
 "I cannot let you off like that, alas ! my 1 child," Ber- 
 tram sai'd in repty. " I must still ask ybii from whom 
 your information is derived. From Fraulein vori Asch- 
 hof, of course ? " 
 
 • ""I cannot find it unnatural," Er.ia said, " if Aunt 
 Lydia, in the excitement she has laboured under ever 
 since'your visit here was announced, and since she deter- 
 mined to' see you again, has unburdened her overflow- 
 ing! heart to me, and has told me all which — or the 
 greater part: of which — I knew or guessed. And she has 
 urgently entreated me not to repeat a word of this to 
 you, and I am sure she is convinced that I would do 
 nothing of the kind. But I gave her no prorriise, for 
 I have always been very fond of you, Uncle Bertram, 
 very, very fond; aiid I was so sorry that you''. . . that 
 I now could rid longer be fond of you. I have always 
 in my heart taken your side, when they were saying that 
 you were cold and selfish, and cared for nobody but your- 
 seJE, I have always thought: he has never found any 
 one worthy 1 of him !' And now I know all, I should like 
 to say : perhaps Aunt Lydia was riot worthy- of hirri either ; 
 she has many qualities which Ido 'not like at all_^-but 
 
QU1SISANA. 19 
 
 she would surely have turned out differently if you had not 
 betr . . . had not forsaken her. How can a girl remain 
 good, if she is forsaken by the in an she loves! How 
 can 'she, if her heart is easily touched, become aught but 
 a coquette, and assume manners that people will laugh 
 and jeer at; or, if she be proud, and ashamed of her 
 misfortune, she must needs grow cold and heartless, 
 and full of contempt for all men, nay, for all mankind !" 
 
 The caltn, low voice had remained the same to the 
 very last word, but in striking contrast to that calm and 
 that self-control there was the passionate gleam of the 
 great dark eyes, which now looked up to Bertram with 
 wondrous firmness, such as the ancients may have 
 imagined the gaze of the gods — " whose eyelids quiver 
 not, like those of mortals." 
 
 The narrow path had widened to a glade ; there they 
 stood for a few moments gazing in each other's eyes; 
 and Bertram felt the fascination of that wondrous firm- 
 ness, felt, too, that no consideration could condemn him 
 to stand before those eyes as a contemptible wretch, and 
 that, at any cost, he must tear to pieces the dark curtain 
 which unscrupulous lies had woven and spread between 
 her and him. 
 
 He took her arm, as though to make sure that she 
 would not escape from him, and, striding swiftly along, 
 and almost dragging her with him, he said — 
 
 " And now hear me, too, and despise me, if you still 
 can do so after you have heard me ! Forsaken, did you 
 say, forsaken and betrayed ? Yea, verily ! But she it 
 was who practised the treachery — most infamous, most 
 horrible treachery, with never the shadow of an excuse 
 for it, if indeed anything ever can excuse treachery. I 
 loved her — I will not say more than ever man did love— 
 
ao QUISISANA. 
 
 I know not hpw other men love — I only, know, that J 
 loved her with the best and purest strength, of my heart. 
 1 was no longer a youth when* at your patents' wedding, 
 I made the acquaintance of your mother's friend. , I was 
 almost thirty years of age, and was living, as you know, 
 in Leipzig as a mere private scholar — Priyat-Gelehrter 
 they call it. I had planned my scheme of study on a 
 very great scale, and, being very much, in earnest about 
 science and art, as indeed about all things I take up, I 
 was wont to devote years tp tasks which other men, with 
 less time or more genius, accomplish in as many months. 
 Moreover, I had what I required for the expenses of 
 living, perhaps even a little more — I, am not given to 
 paying attention to that kind of thing. Now everything 
 became changed at once. I loved her,, I fancied.,myself 
 loved in return. We had met here again, and, more than 
 once, and had become engaged, though at first, and at 
 my own special request, in all. secrecy. I comprehended 
 that a man engaged to so high-born and gifted, a girl as 
 Lydia von Aschhof, must needs be something better than 
 a mere obscure private scholar, and I readily 'pulled 
 myself together,' determined to reach my goal. Some 
 time, of course, was required before my great work could 
 be completed. Some time; too much for her patience. 
 Perhaps she doubted its ultimate success. Perhaps she 
 cared naught for the success, notwithstanding the enthu- 
 siasm which she pretended to feel for my efforts, not- 
 withstanding her being so very kind as to assure me a 
 thousand times that my genius, my talent, had made her 
 niy captive, and would hold her my captive, yea, though a 
 crown were laid at her feet. As it turned out, no princely 
 crown was needed ; only a plain coronet — and- one sur r 
 mounting a grey, decrepit head into the bargain. Oh ! 
 
QMS IS AN A. 21 
 
 she wrote me a most touching, most generous letter of 
 ' renunciation. ' I am but hindering you in your lofty 
 striving ; an artist, a scholar must be free, unshackled ; 
 your fame is more to me than my love,' and so on, and 
 so on. Two or three pages more, high-sounding phrases 
 in daintiest handwriting, concluding, of course, with the 
 announcement of her new engagement, by which, as by a 
 fait accompli, she must needs assist her wavering heart. 
 
 "The letter was written from here, from Rinstedt. 
 I hurried to the railway ; at the last station I got hold of 
 a vehicle. When we got to Fischbach, the poor over- 
 driven steeds could not get on any further. By the 
 shortest, steepest path I climbed to the top of the 
 Hirschstehvthe hill you have just come by ; here, on 
 the top, I fell down like one dead. I gathered myself 
 together again, and staggered on, on, until I reached 
 your father's housie. She must have had some forebod. 
 ing that I would not submit to this in all patience; she 
 had left your father's house an hour before, driving to 
 Fichtenau, taking the road by which it was impossible 
 forme to come. Afterwards I came to be grateful to 
 her for her circumspection and her precaution, for I 
 think I must have been simply raving mad ; and it was 
 well for both of us that my power was broken, that I 
 could not pursue the fair fugitive, but had to remain 
 here, a burden on your parents, sick unto death, given 
 up by the doctors, until some six or eight weeks' after, I 
 surprised them all by recovering, enabled to live on as 
 best one can with a sorely wounded heart — and a heart 
 injured, not in the physical sense alone. What good, 
 do you think, did it do me whilst I was struggling 
 with death here, and afterwards dragged myself on 
 crutches through the terrace-gardens, that my work had 
 
22 QUISISAHA. 
 
 appeared, had taken the world by storm, and. made, 
 me, once for aj), what they pall a • famous man ? 
 What good that, just at that time a childless old miser 
 of an uncle took it into his head to die s and that, in 
 default of other heirs, his whole huge fortune fell to me? 
 I had had enough of the lying and cheating of Jiumanity. 
 Fame, love — I cared no longer for these things. I be- 
 came what I am, what my acquaintances know me to be, 
 what they have called me to you — a. cold egotist. . What 
 if for all that I do not cross my hands idly in my lap 
 but work. on, and now and again utter a, word of freedom, 
 which others, less independent, might;lack the courage to 
 utter ; or if I start andencpurage wgrks of general utility ; 
 or if here and there I help some lame dog over a stile; 
 these things I surely do not for, the lpv,e of the Lord, nay, 
 solely, so as not to lose that modicum of self-respect 
 which belongs to the/ indispensable stocWn-jtrade of a 
 discreet egotist. And,talking qf self-respect, dear* I begin 
 to perceive with .pain that I am lessening the aforesaid 
 modicum considerably in telling you all this. For, in 
 affairs of the hearts a., gjentleman shoitld alvyays spare 
 the lady the utterance of the first word and Jeave her the 
 last, and if she asserts that he is Don Qiovanni and she 
 Donna Elvira, why, he has but to bow,and thank her for 
 assigning: so brilliant a part to him. And riow,- my dear 
 Ghild, now try to be fond of your garrulous old uncle 
 once more, will you. not ? " • 
 
 The girl made no reply. A feeling of shame had 
 gradually stolen over. Bertram as he spoke, and he had 
 tried in vain to weaken it by concluding with- a semi- 
 humorous turn Now this- feeling gre,w intensified by 
 Erna's silence.. How had, it been possible for him to for- 
 get himself so far as to reveal to a young girl, one almost 
 
QUISISANA. 23 
 
 a child still, one without comprehension for such sad. 
 ugly, painful experiences, the deepest secret of his heart 
 — a secret which he had trained himself to pass by, as it 
 were, with his own face turned away ? ' And he had told 
 of this, to a girl who stood to the object of his vehement 
 denunciation in the peculiarly tender and delicate relation 
 of pupil! How mean, how ignoble of him! He had 
 acted like a raw, immature lad! He wished himself a 
 thousand mUes away ; he cursed his want of determina- 
 tion, inasmuch as he might have left the place abruptly 
 an hour ago, and thus have escaped all this horrible con- 
 fusion. Now he must needs depart at once, this very 
 evening, if possible without seeing, without speaking to, 
 a soul ; most certainly without entering upon any explana- 
 tion whatever. He had just tasted the delight of such 
 explanations, and it would be long before he lost the 
 bitter after-taste of them ! . . . 
 
 They were quite cleat of the wood now, and were 
 approaching — walking across some meadowr land — a 
 tiny gate in the thick old wall, which led to the court- 
 yard. 
 
 Suddenly Erna said, " And you have told nobody all 
 this?" 
 
 " No," he answered ; and it cost him a curious struggle 
 to get the one brief word- out. 
 
 They passed through the tiny gate ; it was almost dark 
 in the yard now. Before the entrance to the house stood 
 a large open travelling carriage ; servants were removing 
 the belongings of the travellers who had already alighted. 
 Through the main gate, on the opposite side, a cart, 
 laden with the heavier articles of luggage, was entering. 
 
 " Uncle Bertram," whispered Erna. 
 
 Tust as they were about to cross the threshold of ths 
 
24 QUISISANA. 
 
 tiny gate she had seized his hand with gentle pressure. 
 He had involuntarily stopped. Again she was gazing up 
 at him, put not now, as before in the wood, with a stern 
 expression. Was it a reflection of the radiance of the 
 young moon, just then rising above the gloom which was 
 enfolding the buildings around — or could it be tears 
 that glistened in the great ey<* ? 
 
 "You want to leave us, Uncle Bertram?" 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 " Jt matters not. You want to leave us ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Stay ! Pray, stay — for my sake 1 " 
 
 She dropped the hand which she had clasped until 
 now, and hurried across the yard to the mansion-house, 
 while he ascended the stairs to the side wing where his 
 own rooms were situated, his whole soul full of the image 
 of this wondrous girl, whose words, whose looks, had so 
 potent a spell over him, that Jie no longer seemed to have 
 a will of his own as against hers. 
 
( *5 ) 
 
 His master's long absence had at length commenced to 
 disquiet faithful Konski considerably. True, he knew 
 from his ten years' experience that he heed not pay much 
 attention to any orders that master gave him when in a 
 state of great excitement; and, of course, the later it 
 grew, the more improbable it became that the departure, 
 although announced, would really take place ; but then, 
 supposing some accident had happened to him ? The 
 doctor in Berlin had most strongly urged him to take 
 every possible precaution lest, during the first few weeks 
 anyhow, his master should over-exert himself in any way — 
 and master had hurried down those terrace steps like one 
 possessed ! And all on account of this infernal old maid 
 who was never allowed to visit at this house when they, 
 master and he, were here ! Oh, why had he not held his 
 silly tongue, and not brought the great news at once to 
 his master ! 
 
 He would have liked hurrying after him into the 
 village, but dared not leave his post. And now their 
 host came in and inquired for master, and seemed greatly 
 concerned when Konski, to soothe his own anxiety as it 
 were, hinted that his master had not been over pleased 
 when told that additional guests were expected'; and 
 Konski added, as a sort of conjecture of his own, that he 
 had probably gone out for a walk, so as to avoid having 
 
a6 QUISISANA. 
 
 to be present at their reception. And meanwhile My 
 Lady had returned and had sent for him, and Konski had 
 to repeat to her Ladyship — for whom he entertained the 
 most confounded respect — what he had already told her 
 Ladyship's husband; and her Ladyship had looked so hard 
 at him with those piercing brown eyes of hers, that he 
 was jolly glad when he was back at his post of observa- 
 tion at the lobby-window, whence he could survey the 
 whole .e^ctep^iye cour.t-yard. 1 , , Aia,d, there-^-an; open carriage 
 was just, entering it; only two people "in it— a lady and 
 a gentleman-: — thank Hea;ven, one -lady only I In the 
 gathering twilight Konski could not distinguish, the lady's 
 features or figure, but, if there was only one lady, why, 
 who could it be but dear' Miss Erna ? And %p«n her, 
 master was not likely to run away ; and. all was well now, 
 ii'anlyhe. himself were safely back. 
 
 The door belpw was opened. Konski heard his 
 master's step upon the stairs and hurried to meet him, 
 joyfully telling him all that he had observed ; and did 
 Piaster know already that Miss Erna was the only lady 
 who had arrived ? 
 
 His master had thrown himself into an arm-chair in 
 the sitting-room, where careful Konski had already lighted 
 a liberal supply of candles, and was staring hard in front 
 of him, passing at intervals his hands over brow and 
 eyes. Suddenly he sat bold upright and said : 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 Poor Konski had said nothing at all during the last 
 few minutes, but inquired now whether his master would 
 not dress, for supper; he thought it was getting quite 
 late enough. 
 
 Bertram rose and passed into the, adjoining bedfroom 
 where Konski had laid out such a costume as he deemed 
 
QUISISANA. 27 
 
 appropriate for the occasion. He lent him the neces- 
 sary aid, and maryelled greatly that his master, who 
 was wont to talk to him during the process of dressing 
 more than at any other time, did not say a single word 
 to-night. Another curious thing was this : quite contrary 
 to his custom, the master looked hard at himself in the 
 mirror again and again, and, strangest sight of all, he 
 pulled and twisted his moustache about! However, 
 seeing that master, though looking very grave, did not 
 appear either annoyed or angry, Konski was quite satis- 
 fied. To-night then, anyhow, .their departure need not 
 be provided for. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Their host entered 
 as hurriedly as was consistent with his being so very 
 stout. 
 
 " Thank Heaven that you are here ! " he exclaimed, 
 shaking both his friend's hands again and again, as 
 though he had been ' long looked-for, come at last ! ' 
 "Thank Heaven; we have been quite frightened about 
 you. Hildegard was very angry that I had left you alone. 
 I said to her, ' Why, he is not a child, requiring to be 
 watched at every step ; ' that is to say, I did not actually 
 say so in so many words. I . . . thought so. My wife 
 is terribly nervous to-day. I had told her at once ... . " 
 
 Here he noticed the servant's presence, and in some 
 embarrassment broke off abruptly. Bertram having now 
 completed his toilet, the two gentlemen left the room 
 together. As they were walking through the long passage 
 which led to the main building, his host put one arm 
 round his friend's slender waist and said confidential^', 
 lowering his voice by way of precaution — 
 
 "I had tolcl Hildegard at once that you would be 
 annoyed ; at least L did not say so in so many words, 
 
28 QUISISANA. 
 
 but 1— hinted it, for, you know, my wife cannot beat 
 contradiction ; and I soon'fo'und out that the two women, 
 between them, had determined' that the meeting should 
 take place. Now Erna tells me — she is a darling, is she 
 not? a little peculiar, a little odd, but always good to 
 me; how nice thatyou met on the hills— well, Erna tells 
 me that you- were not particularly angry that Lydia had 
 accompWnied Her - ; that is to sa'y, Erria r does hot' know 
 anything of the old stories, or has only heard some vague 
 rumours that you cannot bear each other, or that you 
 cannot bear Lydia. Never mind, it's : all the same now; 
 only tell me that you are not particularly angry." 
 '" I was at first, but I am so no lohgeT." 
 
 "That's all I ask for. And after all,' old chap, well, 
 misunderstandings and all that sort of thing ! But the 
 blame is sure to be yours, or almost entirely yours. Why, 
 it's- always the man who is to blame, eh? I should 
 know that much, having been married these twenty 
 years ! " 
 
 • He laughed. '' Bertram, to change the conversation, 
 asked where the others were. 
 
 " The ladies are on the verandah ; the Baron was still 
 in his room when I came away." 
 
 "By the by," Bertram asked, "who is this Baron? 
 You Were talking about him once or twice at table, but 
 I confess I hardly listened." 
 
 " Lotter?" his friend said. " Look here ; you'll like him 
 immensely.' Stunning fellow, Lotter. Has read every 
 mortal thing; plays the piano; paints— -portraits, land- 
 scapes, anything you like. Has come home to do some 
 painting; studies at our academy, don't you know?— 
 and is a constant guest at Court, of course." 
 
 "Does he belong to these parts?" 
 
QUISISANA. 29 
 
 "Oh; dear no! hails from \yiirtemberg. A very, 
 very old ' family ; Lotter-Vippach. His father was a 
 General, I believe ; his ur.cle a Minister of State ; that 
 sort of thing, don't you know? He has been in the 
 army himself j was in the '70 campaign. But he is a bit 
 of a rover. Has been up and about a good deal j in 
 Algiers, South America ; that, sort of thing. . I pressed 
 him to come and stay here during the manoeuvres, to help 
 me to dp the honours, as I never was in the army myself. 
 He is awfully anxious to make your acquaintance ; has 
 read all your works and — and — but where on earth are 
 our ladies ? I'll go and look. You stop where you are ; 
 do not come out bareheaded." 
 
 The last words had already been spoken in the garden 
 saloon, the great French windows of which, leading to 
 the verandah, stpod wide ppen. His host had hurried 
 off to look for the. ladies, and Bertram, left alone, strode 
 up and down in the large, half-darkened room. Had 
 he not, perhaps, yielded all too readily to £rna's com- 
 mand ? If obedience was to be easy to him, nay, if it 
 was to be at all possible for him, she ought to have 
 stayed by his side. And now her very image was gone 
 from his inner eye, and its place had been taken by her 
 whom he had once so passionately loved, as if twenty 
 years had not gone by since he, last saw her, as if she 
 had only passed a minute ago with her beautiful friend 
 and hostess into the garden, thence to return immediately 
 under some pretext or other, to rush to his embrace, to 
 shower hot, passionate-kisses upon him—here, in this 
 very saloon, as she had so often, so often done — here, 
 where the faint fragrance of violets still seemed to float, 
 that she was so fond of, and which in those days he was 
 ever associating with her presence 1 
 
jo QUI SIS AN A. 
 
 He was standing in the semi-darkness, his back 
 turned fo the verandah; a gentle rustling sound was 
 corning up the steps. He turned. Framed in by one 
 of the doors against the brighter background of the 
 evening sky, appeared the shadowy outline of a lady, 
 lingering a moment or two ori the threshold, then 
 hastening with raised arms towards him, as fie stood 
 motionless, spellbound. 
 
 Before he could prevent it,' she had sunk on her knees 
 before him, had seized his "hands which he Was invo 4 
 lufitiriiy 1 "stretching "forth to lift her up, and noiv she wa3 
 pressing them to her bosom, to her lips. A dense cldvicL 
 of violet perfume came floating urj' to him. 
 " " Mercy, Charles, merc^ ! " 
 ( "I entreat you, My Lady, . . . for Heaven's sake .". ." 
 
 He had been barely able to starrjtnef out these words ; 
 he felt the most acute physical anguish at his heart ; 
 cofct beads of perspiration stood upon his foreheaid'; ice- 
 cold were' the hands which Lydia had held till then, 
 and which now she dropped, terrified, rising as she did 
 So from the ground. 
 
 ' r " My Lady ! " she murmured, " My Lady . . . Ah, I 
 knew it!" 
 
 The convulsive pain at his heart had ceased now ; it 
 beat on, but slowly, heavily ; even so his anger and'pain 
 were giving way to cornpassion. 
 
 " Let bygones be bygones," he said. 
 
 "If it were possible !" whispered Lydia. 
 
 " ft must be possible." 
 
 She knew from his gentle but firm tone that, for the 
 moment, she dare go no farther; and though she had to 
 confess to herself that' she had been deceived in her fond 
 hope of reconquering his affections by one ! grand assault 
 
QUIsrSANA. 31 
 
 at starting, something was secured anyhow, and some- 
 thing desirable and even necessary — a fairly satisfactory 
 footing when they met in society. 
 
 " The dear voice ! " she whispered ; " the old, dear, 
 gentle voice ! But . . . those hard, cruel words ! Yet 
 I have no right to complain, and I will not lament ; it 
 must, indeed, be possible ! " 
 
 Much to his relief Bertram was spared the necessity 
 of replying, for his host arid hostess were just then coming 
 in from the garden, accompanied by Erna and Baron 
 Lotter. At the same moment a servant opened the 
 folding-door which led to the dining-room; the two 
 gentlemen were introduced to each other; the Baron 
 offered his arm to the lady of the house, Lydia was 
 clinging to the master, and thus Erna fell to Bertram's 
 share. They were lingering a little behind the rest 
 
 " How good you are ! " whispered Erna. 
 
 " Am I ? " he made answer. " I feel most con- 
 temptible." 
 
( 3» ) 
 
 V. 
 
 In very truth the feeling that he had done wrong in thus 
 opening his heart to Erna had come back in renewed 
 strength to Bertram, since he had to admit to himself 
 that he had emphatically broken his own dictum that 
 bygones were to be bygones. The past was no longer a 
 secret between those concerned ; and what would hence- 
 forth happen — each word, each look which they ex- 
 changed, all, all would have a sense, a meaning for some- 
 body else — for the beautiful girl who was so grave beyond 
 her years, the girl with the great, still, godlike eyes. 
 
 Thus Bertram was profoundly in earnest when he 
 declined to accept Erna's praise ; but, anyhow, hehoped 
 that the worst was over now. 
 
 How greatly he was mistaken in this, came most pain- 
 fully home to him with the first stolen glimpse which he 
 ventured to take of Lydia's face in the pitiless radiance 
 of the bright candles which shone upon the round table 
 in the dining-room, where he sat opposite her. Was 
 that really . . . Lydia? Or had some mischievous 
 imp, by cruel witchcraft, put a caricature of herself 
 in her place, and changed the picture of the bright and 
 gifted girl, overflowing with jest and fun, with humour 
 and wit ; the girl with the somewhat irregular but most 
 piquant features, with the big, light-blue, mischievous eyes, 
 fresh and rosy of colour, with wild, fluttering, blonde 
 
QUISISANA. 33 
 
 locks, into the picture of an aging coquette, for ever pout- 
 ing her thin lips, even when she laughed, so as to hide 
 her false teeth ; now lowering, now lifting her eyelids, 
 like an actress, in vain endeavouring to give some light 
 to her eyes — a light as treacherous as the all too bright 
 pinkiness of the lean cheek, the all too dark carmine of 
 the ears, adorned though they were with sparkling dia- 
 monds? An ugly old woman, who now let the gold 
 embroidered white silk shawl glide from the scraggy 
 shoulders, only to draw it up again immediately and 
 attempt a more picturesque drapery — which was not a 
 success, so that the game had to be renewed forthwith ! 
 
 And he had once loved this painted, dressed-up, 
 revoltingly coquettish person; had loved her with the 
 best, purest strength of his heart, as, but a little while 
 ago, he had assured Erna with passionate eagerness. It 
 was horrible ! Would Erna believe that yonder withered 
 shrub had ever blossomed in vernal brightness and 
 beauty ? How could she believe it, when she looked at 
 the friend of Lydia's youth, her own mother, whose 
 majestic beauty was barely touched by Time in his flight ? 
 Her great brown eyes had lost none of their velvety 
 softness, her raven hair still shone in undimmed splen- 
 dour. And if the difference in appearance, in manner, 
 was now so great between the two ladies, must it not 
 always have existed ? And must not the taste of a man, 
 whose feelings could at any time have led him so far 
 astray, have been at all times most lamentable ? 
 
 And if the pitiless brightness had brought so terrible a 
 discovery to him, how would he himself appear before 
 Erna's searching gaze? Had not some horrible change 
 taken place with him too? Why, these twenty years 
 had altered Erna's father^ who at college had been 
 « c 
 
34 QUISISAN4. 
 
 rightly surnamed ' T}ie Beauty,' ip.to , an excessively 
 stout gentleman, with a somewhat bloated countenance, 
 and a mighty skull, which was gettjng painfully bald in 
 the region of the temple^! And- he , hirnself had never 
 been distinguished for personal attraqtipn ; true,, his hair 
 was as dark as ever ; and, before supper, in the glass, 
 he had thought that lie saw a pale and grave, "b^ut not a 
 worn, face. But then the complaisant mirror of vanity 
 might make one fancy one saw all sorts of things. Np 
 doubt Lydia had just such a mirror in her room ! 
 
 Bertram felt more and more sad at heart He no 
 longer dared lift his eyes, but kept them fixed upcm,. the 
 plates, which tlip servants changed without his haying 
 tasted any of the dishes to which he, helped himself 
 mechanically. Sio he sat on, scarcely hearing a yprdpf 
 the' conversation, which was principally carried, on by 
 Lydia and the Baron, Apparently they were talking 
 about some Court affairs,, and very amusing and piquant 
 they would appear to be. Anyhow, there was much 
 laughter, chiefly on the part of Lydia and the Baron, and 
 My Lady held up her hand once pr twice, and reminded 
 the two of the respect due to the Granjcl Ducal family. 
 Then the conversation touched, upon the approaching 
 manoeuvres, and the Baron proclaimed his minute knpw- 
 ledge of every detail, and endeavoured to explain to tl^e 
 ladies, with the help^ of spoons and forks and w.hat not, 
 the original positions hath of the attacking party and 
 the attacked, and duly weighed the various events which 
 might or must occur, according whether the commanding 
 officers did or did not take certain , steps. Under, any 
 circumstances^ the, decisive portion pf the sham-fight 
 must come off io the immediate neighbpurhocjd of Rin- 
 stedt, if apt in ^.instedt itself ; unfortunately, the ground 
 
QUISISANA. 35 
 
 being singularly unsuitable for cavajry, the ultimate, issue 
 would lie between artillery and infantry. He himself, 
 said the Baron, having formerly been a cayalry officer, 
 was very sorry for that; but, anyhow, the ladies, could 
 look forward to a glorious sight. What, a. pity, he added, 
 that in spite of his having so many friends in the arm y> 
 he did not chance, to have any personal acquaintances 
 among the officers of this particular regiment 
 
 "Well, I know a number of them," said the host. 
 " The 99th were stationed at Erfurt until a twelvemopth 
 ago. I used to meet the officers over and over again 
 out shooting." 
 
 "Then," said the Baron, turning to Lydia, "you must 
 know some of them too. They are sure to have attended 
 some of our Court balls." 
 
 " Of course," the lady replied j * and they were also in 
 the habit of coming over in shoals to the play ; but who 
 is to distinguish one red collar from another? Not 1 1 
 I love plain, quiet, civilian colours. Ask Erna ; she is 
 sure to know. She spent six weeks last summer with 
 her Aunt Adelheid in Erfurt,, and there the officers, are 
 constantly coming and going. \s it not so, Erna?" 
 
 "You are forgetting," saidErna, "that aunt was in 
 mourning at the time. Qi course there were no parties 
 then." 
 
 "But still," the Barosi observed, "people go to a 
 house without being actually bidden to parties, inspire of 
 the family being in mourning, if there are six marriageable 
 daughters in it, as is the case in your aunt's house." 
 
 " Ppssibly ; then my power of discriminating between 
 different red collars is not more strongly developed, thaw 
 Aunt Lyd\a,'s ; anyhow, I do not remember any one of 
 the gentlemen." 
 
j 6 QUISISANA. 
 
 This was uttered in such a stern tone, as of one who 
 would decline to pursue the subject, that Bertram looked 
 up involuntarily. Her dainty features were perfectly 
 composed, but the blue eyes, which she was bending 
 upon hirri, not upon her interlocutor the Baron, seemed 
 to have a deeper radiance than that of suppressed annoy- 
 ance. This was the first time that their looks had mel 
 across the table, and a curious thrill passed through his 
 frame. He felt the hot blood surging to his temples; 
 and to mask his growing embarrassment, he asked who 
 was in command of the regiment in question. 
 
 " Colonel von Waldor," the Baron replied promptly. 
 
 " I knew an officer of that name," said Bertram, " long 
 ago, in Berlin ; at that time he had been told off to the 
 Military Academy of that town. For some years I kept 
 up a correspondence with him, but somehow I lost sight 
 of him afterwards. But I rather think that was not his 
 regiment ? " 
 
 " No,'' replied the Baron. ' You are quite right; he 
 used to be in the 210th. He got the colonelcy of the 
 99th about a year ago. He made quite a name for him- 
 self in the '70 campaign." 
 
 " Even at the time I recall, my friend was considered 
 a very smart officer," said Bertram. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," replied the Baron ; " it must 
 be the same man. As far as I know, there are riot two 
 Waldors in the army, at least not among regimental 
 commanders, for I think I know all their names by heart. 
 Your Cotonel is a queer fish, anyhow." 
 
 " What is a ' queer fish ' ? " asked Lydia, touching the 
 Baron's arm with her fan. 
 
 : He laughed, and said : "Well, that question is more 
 easily asked than answered." 
 
QUI SIS ANA. 37 
 
 " Then, pray, do not answer it at all," said Hildegard, 
 the hostess, glancing at her daughter Erna. 
 
 " Why not, my Lady ? " the Baron exclaimed. . " It is 
 harmless enough to let the facts speak, and it is a fact 
 that Waldor who — I do not know him personally, but Dr. 
 Bertram will assuredly confirm my statement — was known 
 throughout the army not only on account of his gallantry, 
 but also on account of his manly beauty, and who had 
 consequently broken countless hearts, is still a bachelor." 
 
 " You say ' consequently,' " exclaimed Lydia, " and 
 consequently you think very meanly of our sex." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Well, you seem to assume that manly beauty suffices 
 to touch — or, as you are pleased to call it, to break—; 
 female hearts. Alas, my dear Baron, how little do you 
 know our sex ! " 
 
 " I beg a thousand pardons — but I really said nothing 
 of the kind. Venus and Mars — the alliance of valour 
 and beauty, you know — your poets know something of 
 this. Why, there is a poet here among us — let him 
 speak up for me ! " 
 
 With these last words the Baron had turned ,to Ber- 
 tram ; his tone and the accompanying gesture had some- 
 thing insultingly patronising about them ; in fact, in 
 Bertram's eye the whole demeanour of the young man, 
 almost a giant in stature, was saturated with an arrogant 
 sort of self-complacency, which seemed to take unanimous 
 applause for granted. Nevertheless he replied with calm 
 politeness : 
 
 " I neither consider myself a poet, nor am I, to the 
 best of my knowledge, considered one by anybody who 
 has read the few miserable trifles in verse which I pub- 
 lished years ago." 
 
38 QUISISANA. 
 
 "I protest 'against this most emphatically," exclaimed 
 Lydia. " I have read those ' miserable trifles in verse,' 
 as you call them — what a horrible expression. I know 
 them by ; hed.ft, and I consider the author to be a poet-— 
 a poet by grace divine." 
 
 "lam extremely obliged to you;" replied Bertram. 
 " However, surely what a man is born for is wont to 
 announce itself, sooner or later, in a man's own heart. 
 With me that voice is absolutely silent ; and, therefore, 
 I might Surely claim the right of refusing to give the 
 evidence reqUiied 'of me. But nb't'bemg specially qua- 
 lified, and being absolutely impartial, I would fain warn 
 "my friends ndt to repose overmuch confidence in poets 
 on that particular ptoiht. Anxious for the applause of 
 the many, as their trade seelns -to demand, they accom- 
 modate themselves but too readily to the taste of the 
 many, who, as we' all know, like very children, seize 
 eagerly upon anything bright, glistening, motley-coloured. 
 Therefore, why should they hot picture the heroine as 
 beautiful beyOfiiJ'com'pSre, the hero as valorous beyond 
 comparison, and heap any number of additional titles to 
 fame upon, their blessed heads'!' 'Whether one quality 
 does not perchance exclude another, whether the 
 measure dealt but does not, anyhow, exceed all that 
 is reasonably possible — dear, dear, there are few who'll 
 a'sk that question ; and if any one does, .why, then, "he is 
 a pedant, and for pedants the heroes 'or romance have 
 no existence, any more than real heroes have for their 
 valets.'' 
 
 "Oh! you scoffer — you wretch!" exclaimed Lydia. 
 "'Why, you will prove next that beauty, that valour, 
 that every virtue in the world, belongs, to the region of 
 romance. What a terrible thing scepticism is ! But 
 
QUISISANA. 39 
 
 our friend ; was ever thus* Did I, not. say a s-bqrt. ijfhile 
 ago: Hildegard, I cannot believe that he has changed ; 
 he cannot change ! A#d. behold,, he inexactly wbat he 
 always was. ! " 
 
 . " Well, that's coming it pretty strong* seeing it's twenty 
 years since ..." 
 
 The corpulent host had laughingly given utterance, to 
 these wor,ds, then, feeling bis wife's dark eyes bent upon 
 him in stern disapproval* he b^oke oS abruptly with 
 Ahem : l poured some wjneiinto his own g}ass»wbieh was 
 bu.t half emptied,, and- then, wanted, to know why the gen- 
 tlemen present were, not doing justice tp the wine that: 
 night. 
 
 Bertram, wishing to relieve his friends is their eyident 
 embarrassment, came to the rescue, saying, with smiling, 
 easy politeness : " Fnaulejn von Aschhqf.only proves by 
 her kind assertion of my immutability, that she is indeed 
 looking upon the;, world and mankind with a poetical 
 eye.„ But let, us remember this — the poets themselves 
 allow orrly the fair sex to participate, in the pleasing pre r: 
 rogative of the calmly careless, ever youthful gods.; a.nd. 
 the; poets] may venture on ; this deception, because the. 
 listener is- willing;, to be deceived, ' Breathes there, a, 
 man with soul so dead,' who ever ventured to count, up. 
 the yeansjCff an Antigone, an Ipbigenia, a Helena? They 
 are what they were — else they are not. But, even the 
 poet's flattering arts cannot keep the man from aging ; 
 and if the poet would 'grant perennial youth to a man, he 
 must needs let him die in his youth — like Achilles." 
 
 " I protest against this theory-;" Lydia exclaimed 
 eagerly. " I assert: that heroes age as little asberoines." 
 
 " Even that^" Bertram replied with a smile, "would not 
 help me, seeing that I am r»p hero, assuming even that 
 
40 QU1SISANA. 
 
 you were right. But I' may be permitted' to indulge in 
 some humble doubt. At best the hero of the Odyssey- 
 appears distinctly as a man of mature age, — to put it 
 mildly, — and Pallas Athene must practise upon him her 
 divine art of beautifying before she ventures to introduce 
 him among the Phseaci." 
 
 ' The Baron was meanwhile playing with his spoons and 
 forks again ; he was evidently annoyed at having been 
 so long kept but of the conversation. 
 
 Bertram went on as though he did not notice it at all; 
 he very surely was not speaking for that fellow's sake. 
 He only cared to clear himself in Erna's eyes from any 
 suspicion that he, like the aged coquette opposite him, 
 was laying claim to a juvenility which had gone by for 
 ever; and seeing those eyes steadily bent upon him, he 
 took heart of grace, and went on in the same tone of 
 easy, good-humoured banter — 
 
 " Gothe, a modern, and in this case a tragic, poet too, 
 in his Nausicaan fragments, wisely forebore to bring in 
 that art of beautifying,- which is only lawful for the epic 
 poet in his antique naivety, and in order to bridge over 
 the mighty difference and distance of years, and to change 
 the evidently improbable into something at least credible, 
 he takes refuge in illusion, causing it to arise from the 
 child's very heart, like a fog enveloping those pure eyes, 
 that clear mind — 
 
 " ' That man must ever be a youthful man, 
 Who is well-pleasing to a maiden's eyes. ' " * 
 
 Thus the aged nurse, taking the unspoken words, as it 
 were, from Nausicaa's chaste lips. A touching saying, 
 
 * " Und immer ist der Mann ein junger Mann, 
 Der einetn jungen Weibe wohlgefallt." 
 
Q.U1SISANA. 41 
 
 touching, like children's belief in the omnipotence of their 
 parents ! And about that youthfulness, which exists 
 nowhere except in the glorious dreams of a young, inex- 
 perienced, generous soul, well, Gothe has told us some- 
 thing with exquisite humour, not, as true humour indeed 
 never is, without 'a touch of melancholy, in the nove- 
 lette of the man of fifty. Poor old Major ! I have 
 always been heartily sorry for him. Remember how he 
 begs the services of the valet (skilled in the use of cos- 
 metics) from his friend the great actor ; how that adroit 
 official uses his balm, and his stays, and his wadding for 
 the aged gentleman, and yet cannot save the diseased 
 front tooth, and certainly cannot keep fair Hilarie from 
 falling vehemently in love with young Flavio, solely 
 because she sees him in raptures with the clever widow, 
 solely because in Flavio's raptures she beholds for the 
 first time a representation of genuine, ardent, youthful 
 passion. All this is as true as it is charming, as charm- 
 ing as it is melancholy, at least for the reader who is in a 
 position to test the hero's experiences and sentiments by 
 his own sentiments and experiences." 
 
 " Of course ; ' there's no fool like an old fool,' and I 
 suppose that really is the final outcome of the whole 
 business," said the Baron. 
 
 " How dare you talk of things you know nothing 
 about, you prosaic individual ? " exclaimed Lydia, bring- 
 ing her fan down upon the giant's arm. " There is no 
 talk of old people here. A man of fifty is not old, he is 
 in the prime of life, and is often ten times younger than 
 your used-up so-called young gentlemen. But I must 
 really say something forGothe against our ' learned friend.' 
 Yes, yes, my friend, I know the novelette well ; I read 
 it aloud to the Court barely a week ago. Who bids you 
 
4* QU1SISANA. 
 
 take a comedy in tftat 'tragic way ?— for the novelette in 
 Question is 'a comedy— a ' Comedy of Errors.' Hilarie 
 fancies she is in love with the uncle, and really loves 
 Flavio • Flavio fancies Tiiriiself iri love with the young 
 widow; whilst really he loves Hilarie ; and how the Major 
 — well, I think the final sCefle at the inn proves emphatic 
 cally that he had Only tarried his feelings to— to— to- the 
 wrong address, if T may venture npo'ri 'the expteBsidii'; 
 and that he and the clever widow subsequently became 
 a happy pair is perfectly clear to me. Or, do you think 
 tot?" 
 
 A warning glance flashed from Hildegard's daffc eyes. 
 Lydia positively blushed through her layers of paint. 
 She had shown her hand too plainly ! 
 
 Bertram Struggled successfully against a strong incli- 
 nation to Smile ; nay, curiously enough, something like 
 pity for her indiscretion stirred within hirta. He went 
 on— 
 
 " To be sure, you are rigbt, right, above all, in; calling 
 the novelette a comedy. How little Gothe cared to have 
 a tragic conflict is evident frtim the fact that he chose 
 c'ircUmstaiices as favourable as possible for a happy con- 
 c'lusicm, arid thathe from' the very beginning secured a 
 line of retreat for every one concerned. The Major is 
 the uncle of Hilarie, the only daughter of his widowed 
 mother, and he has doubtless acted the part of father to 
 her — has, up till how, loved her as his own child. His 
 rival, in whose favour he resigns his claims, is His own 
 only son, to whom her is also very much attached, amf 
 with'whdm he is oil excellent terms, \p horn he- fn fact 
 treats like a comrade. Again, behind Hilarie, as", she 
 vanishes from him, Stand's as it were the young wide* ; 
 arid in her arms the MajSr will speedily forget the smaff 
 
QUISISANA. 43 
 
 humiliation. And lastly, and this seerris to me to be the 
 chief point, Goethe has wisely avoided to introduce the 
 one element whereby he would have been enabled, nay 
 compelled, to turn the comedy into tragedy ; he has . . . 
 but I beg pardon of our fair hostess for being so gar- 
 rulous. To be sure, it is high time we rose from table ! " 
 
 Truly enough, the turn*' which the conversation had 
 taken had, for Erna's sake, been unwelcome to her 
 mother. Sb she seized the opportunity arid rose from 
 table. Erna, who had sat without turning her gaze from 
 Bertram, took a deep breath, like some one who is being 
 recalled from deep dreams to the consciousness of pre- 
 sent realities, and followed the example of the others. 
 She and Bertram were the last couple that left the 
 dining-room on their return to the gardeh-salooh, which 
 had meanwhile been lighted up, and Bertram thought 
 she was walking very slowly— on purpose. 
 
 " What was the one element, Uncle Bertram?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " What one element? " 
 
 He knew what she meant ; but he had broken off at 
 table, because he himself dreaded the utterance of the 
 word. So he delayed his reply, arid just then his host 
 appeared, bringing cigars : the gentlemen might smoke 
 on the verandah, whilst Lydia would give th'erri some 
 music. 
 
 li You remember, Charles, do you not," he went on, 
 " the sonata 'pathkiiqiie — that used to be your favourite 
 piece ? And Lydia has practised it often since, I think." 
 
 Lydia was ready. Bertram, however, begged'' to be 
 excused from remaining. He felt, he said, after all, tired 
 with the day's journey, and it was but the charm of their 
 Company which had made" him forget that he was still a 
 
44 QUISISANA. 
 
 convalescent. He barely gave Hildegard time to draw 
 him aside, and to say to him in a whisper-^- 
 
 " You really are most amiable. How gpod of you to 
 take it so kindly. I had not at dinner to day courage 
 enough to make my confession. Indeed I have to con- 
 fess, to say much to yon — to-morrow ..." 
 
 " To-morrow be it, fair friend," said Bertram, kissing 
 the Jady's. hand, bowing to the rest, and making hastily 
 for the door. He had not reached it before Erna was 
 by his side. 
 
 " You used to say good-night to me less formally." 
 
 He did not venture to press a kiss on the proffered 
 brow, but only took her hand. 
 
 The great grave eyes gazed at him as though they 
 would fain read what was passing in his inmost soul r 
 
 "Good-night, dear child," he said hurriedly.. 
 
 "Good-night," she replied slowly, letting his, hot, 
 trembling hand glide out of her. own cool little one. 
 
 " It is lucky," said Bertram to himself, after he had 
 dismissed Konski, and as he stood alone by the open 
 window in his bedroom, "it is very lucky, indeed, that 
 it is not very easy to read what is passing in somebody 
 else's soul. She would have found queer reading ! " 
 
 He leaned out of the window and gazed into the dark- 
 ness. Not a breath of air. From the garden below the. 
 fragrance of mignonette was wafted up ; the brook mur- 
 mured aloud; a thin white veil was spread over the 
 valley, with here .and there a dim speck of light. The 
 sky was cloudless, of deep blue, almost black colour ; 
 the moon looked like a mass of gold, and one solitary 
 star near it shone forth in red splendour. 
 
 Bertram recalled just such a night, long years ago, 
 when a friend, the assistant-astronomer, had given Erna'j 
 
QUISISANA. 45 
 
 father and himself the opportunity of witnessing, from 
 the Bonn Observatory, the transit of that same star — 
 Aldebaran — through the moon ! Afterwards he ' had 
 accompanied Otto back to Poppelsdorf, and Otto had 
 in his turn walked back with him to the Pfortchen in 
 Bonn ; and so backward and forward, all through the 
 mild summer's night, until the light of morning bad 
 come, and the birds were beginning to twitter in the 
 leafy crowns of the chestnut trees. And they had been 
 raving of friendship and love— of the love they both, 
 most fraternally, cherished for one and the same black- 
 eyed beauty, the daughter of one of their professors, 
 and they had both been sublimely happy, all ttoeir misery 
 notwithstanding, for the black-eyed one was known to 
 love another — Great Heaven, how long, how long ago ? 
 A generation, and more. And now . . . ? " 
 
 " Now," he went on, " you are about to fall in love 
 with the- daughter of the same man whom then you 
 rivalled in absurdly exaggerated, donkey-like phantasies 
 — with a girl of eighteen, whose father you could be. 
 And this time' you would not get off with raving inco- 
 herently for a night of two, and with scribbling a few 
 mediocre sonnets ! Be reasonable, old man. Let it gd-^- 
 let it go ! You know full well you can have no abiding 
 place here, any more than the horseman in the Piccolo- 
 mini. Behind you, too, as you ride along, crouches the 
 lean companion and clasps you in his bony arms, and 
 every now and again taps at your heart, to test if it is 
 still stupid enough to throb for a beauteous maiden 
 who is seated by the window among wallflowers and rose- 
 mary. 
 
 " And behind the curtain stands her lover, and bends 
 across her, that he, too, may look upon the mad horse- 
 
4.6 QITISIS4JVA. 
 
 man, who. i^ s^rejchingj, out,. his, neck to. see, his darlings 
 And thdclumsv; fellow, wjth. the bull's neck wrinklesj hia j 
 silly. Brow, Jwirls, his mustfxhio,, strokes his beard, mut : 
 texsJMior^ik^ma. vie I and- shakes bis coarse, fist, , But 
 she pouts, and giggles and bws.ts out* laughing, and: falls 
 on the neck of, the jealous one ... 
 
 "No,, no j it cannot be! Ypu only want to. hear 
 from her lips that i,t cannot be} And then — away, away — 
 ride out of tjhf ga|e — to sw^ft,, honourable , death< And ; , 
 God'Sj blessji.g on thee* thou gentle, lovely, and beloved; 
 child!" J '" ", \ 
 
 He clos.ed ,the window gently, and so to bed ; to bed, 
 but not, tp,sleep. f£e could not find that repose he stood. 
 so much in need of. T^e, brook murmured, so loudly, or 
 was it the hpl, bloody surging to, his temples.?. 
 
 And was he -about, to sink into slumber, he. would 
 start up again irnrnediately ; he seemed again,, to be 
 ho.lding.hefr by the hand, and sh^ bent her forehead to 
 be, kissed by him., ., \ 
 
 "No— no! Lead me„ not into. temptation! Po.not 
 ask me what, the one thing M: ! - J, \youl<| npt say it,, even, 
 if— Y^t. ppd forbid,! — it were,,, so. I wijl not let you 
 begujje me intq a tragedy, any more than from one 
 comedy into anpther." 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 n. 
 
 This thought, which had at length quieted Bertram's, 
 wildly tumultuous spirits, was also his first, when late 
 next morning he awoke from deep and dreamless slum- 
 bers — neither tragedy nor comedy ! Calm and clear 
 observation, as best becomes a solitary individual who 
 has done with life ; who neither hopes nor fears anything 
 from Fate for himself; maintaining a benevolent interest 
 in the fate of others, where benevolence is merited and 
 interest is justified ; cherishing throughout the conviction 
 that, after all, every one makes or mars his own life ; 
 that interference and advice are rarely of much use, and 
 generally distinctly hurtful ; and that, even under the 
 most favourable circumstances^ the task of mediator is 
 ever, of all tasks, the most thankless. 
 
 In the clear light of these contemplations and of the 
 delicious morning which was resting in sunny radi- 
 ance above the lovely landscape, last night's scenes 
 appeared to Bertram like the confused darkness of a 
 feverish dream ; nay, he derived some comfort from the 
 thought that he probably had been ill, and was there- 
 fore only partly responsible for his extraordinary de- 
 meanour. Still, he was gravely responsible for one thing 
 — he ought sooner to have become conscious of his 
 condition. He might well thank his stars that in his 
 excited state he bad not behaved even more strangely ; 
 
48 QUI SIS AN A. 
 
 above all, that to-day, for the first time since his last 
 long and severe illness, he felt as fresh and strong as in 
 his best days. Assuredly with the morning all things 
 seemed to have become better — much better than he 
 could have expected — than he deserved ! 
 
 The master's disposition was singularly serene, and he 
 gave it a most friendly expression in the course of his 
 toilet, showing himself ready for a friendly gossip with 
 Konski; but Konski, strange, to say, was out of temper, 
 and refused to be gossiped with. 
 
 At last Bertram said : " What ails you ? If you are 
 displeased, at what I said yesterday about our speedy 
 departure, you may calm yourself. We still remain here 
 for the whole time we had originally arranged., I see 
 you have unpacked already." 
 
 "We may leave to-day, for aught I. care !" grumbled 
 Konski. 
 
 "What's up now? Out with it, Konski! You know 
 I'cannot bear sour looks. Anything in connection with 
 Mamsell Christine ?'* 
 
 " Of course it is ! " replied Konski; " and I wonder 
 who's to keep from sour looks under these circum- 
 stances ! I had written to her that this was to be my 
 last trip with you/and when we returned from, Italy in 
 March we might go and be spliced. I did not want to 
 tell you at all, but don't you see, sir, one gets older 
 every year, and it has to be some time or ot;her, and ..." 
 
 "And now you wish to marry at once, and I am to 
 give you your discharge ?" 
 
 "Marry at once, indeed!" sniffed Konski; "she 
 woin't marry at all now— leastways, not me ; — and .that, 
 after we have been engaged these five years ! But there 
 is no trusting them women, and especially the old ones ! 
 
QUISISANA. 49 
 
 She is five and forty years of age, she is,— a year older 
 than I am myself; and now she's going to marry a 
 young greenhorn of five and twenty ! " 
 
 It was some time before Konski, generally so calm 
 and patient, could explain in detail to his master how 
 badly he had been treated. According to his account, 
 Mamsell Christine had written the tenderest letters to 
 him until a few weeks ago, and had declared herself 
 agreeable to all his suggestions and proposals; and now 
 it appeared from the statements of the other servants 
 whom he had cross-questioned, and whose evidence the 
 faithless one could not but corroborate, that she had 
 been " carrying on " for a long while with one Peter 
 Weissenborn, who had formerly been head-gardener at 
 Rinstedt, and who had been settled in the neighbouring 
 town for the last six months, and who was now, it was 
 said, likely to be appointed one of the Court gardeners, 
 thanks to the protection of the Herr Baron. The Hen- 
 Baron, Konski went on, had also induced My Lady to 
 give Mamsell Christine leave to quit her service at any 
 time without formal notice ; and, indeed, the servants 
 all said, that -the way to get My Lady's consent to any- 
 thing, was to get the Herr BaroD on your side ; that 
 made success quite certain. And My Lady was said to be 
 quite in favour of this marriage between Christine and 
 the future Court gardener. In that case she would 
 always have two of her former servants at hand when 
 she came to town, and that was likely to be an event of 
 frequent occurrence now ; if, indeed, she did not go to 
 live there altogether, as some of the servants asserted— 
 Aurora, for instance — My Lady's maid, who was her 
 second favourite, next to Christine. 
 
 Bertram endeavoured to comfort the poor fellow. He 
 
 6 D 
 
5o QUlSISANA. 
 
 pointed out to him that he should be glad to be rid of a 
 person who had evidently never meant honestly by him, 
 and who would in all probability have bee» as faithless 
 in marriage as she had now prftved before. This con- 
 viction led him to reject any wish there might exist to 
 get the matter rectified again, as was done sometimes, 
 and in much higher sotial circles too ; otherwise he 
 would have been willing to use his influence with My 
 Lady, which presumably would have been at least as 
 telling as that of the Herr Baron. 
 
 Konski shook his head. "I am extremely obliged to 
 you, sir," said he. " I am quite content if ycm will still 
 keep me on, after I have proved myself to be such a 
 thorough ass. And, as far as talking to her Ladyship goes, 
 that would be in vain — the Herr Baron is cock of the walk 
 there. I could tell you a good deal more about that, 
 but I know y&u do not like that sort of thing!" 
 
 Bertram was startled. The man's last remark could 
 have but one meaning, and the image of the girl among 
 the wallflowers and with the jealous lover, emerged in 
 singular distinctness frbrn last night's feverish phantasies. 
 He would fain have for once broken through his rule of 
 never going out of his way to listen to the gossip of 
 kitchen and servants' hill, but, as K.onski did not volun- 
 teer any further remarks, he was ashamed to put any 
 direct questions. Just at that moment, too, there came 
 a knock, and a servant brought a message from her Lady- 
 ship. She had learned that the Herr Doctor had risen, 
 and might she request the Herr Doctor's' company on 
 the verandah to tea? 
 
 Bertram lost -ho time in following the invitation. 
 Hildegard, who had been sitting m a shaded corner oi 
 the verandah at the 1 deserted breakfast-table, came 
 
QUISISANA. 51 
 
 forward to meet him. As shg moved towards him witli 
 well-balaftced step, he ebuld not but recall last night's 
 talk about the never-changing beauty of a poet's heroine. 
 He gazed up&n the lrjfty figure in its youthful slimness, 
 the clear, deep colouring Of the incomparably beautiful 
 countenance, the blue-black splendour of the ample 
 hair, smooth at the temples, and crowning the glorious 
 head with a dense braid. 
 
 There was a smile on her dainty lips, and if deepened 
 a little as she saw her guest's speaking eyes bent upon 
 her in undisguised admiration. She was making tender 
 inquiries about the state of his health, leading him the 
 while to the table and making him sit beside her, with 
 the kettle bubbling in front of them. 
 
 " Otto," she said, " is, as usual, somewhere about the 
 estate. The Baron is painting a portion of the village 
 from the bottom terrace, and Lydia is, I believe, keeping 
 him company with a book. Erna, you will 'probably 
 find later on in her favourite place, under the big 
 plantain tree. I have sent them all away, because I so 
 long to have a comfortable confidential chat with you. 
 Yesterday we did not manage to have one. And first 
 of all, dear friend, accept my hearty thanks for having 
 so kindly pardoned a brertch of confidence of <vhich I — 
 not from choice — had been guilty. Nay, d6 riot refuse 
 the expression of my gratitude. I saw how hard you 
 found it to appear unconscious and serene ; I thank you 
 all the more. But I knew that with your wonted clever- 
 ness you would at ortce find the only correct point of 
 view — that of pity. Whatever has been done and sinned 
 between the two of you, — she is the one to be pitied. A 
 poor girl, growing old, even if she is in favour at Court ; 
 arid although the Grand Ducal family could riot be 
 
52 QUISISANA. 
 
 kinder, yet all this cannot satisfy the cravivgr ot he* 
 eager mind — but I perceive that this is a painful topif 
 for you ! " 
 
 "It is not painful , for me," replied Bertram;. " or: at 
 least only so far as the description of a dissatisfied, un- 
 quiet soul must ever be painful for us, if it is hope- 
 lessly out of our power to bring satisfaction and peace 
 to it." 
 
 "I understand you," said Hildegard; "and you will 
 understand me when I beg. of you not quite to rob the 
 poor soul in question of its utterly foolish hopes to which 
 it clings, alas! with incredible,. tenacity.r You can do 
 this so easily : you need but be amiable and, courteous 
 to her, as you are to everybody — no more, but, to be 
 sure, no less — do you consent ? " 
 
 " I will try, since you wish it — on one condition -I" 
 
 " And this condition ? " 
 
 " I hare come to the following determination — indeed, 
 it is a matter of course for me. In the drama of human 
 life I will not. henceforth ever again leave, my well-won 
 place in the stalls, and under no circumstances will I 
 take a part on the stage itself — no tragic part — and still 
 less a comic one ! " 
 
 " From, the latter," replied his fair hostess with a 
 sniile, "you are §afe under any circumstances, through 
 your own cleverness ; from the former" 
 
 " Through my age." 
 
 "I meant to say, also through your cleverness ; or, if 
 you prefer it, through the cool, unimpassioned frame of 
 mind which you have grown into, and which I often 
 envy you ! " 
 
 Bertram looked up in amazement, and then quickly 
 busied himself with his tea-cup, Hildegard, to envy 
 
QUISISANA. 53 
 
 him his coolness ! Hildegard, who had ever appeared 
 to him the very embodiment of conscious equanimity ! 
 
 " You may be surprised to hear this from me," she 
 continued ; " but must we not all, sooner or later, learn 
 the lesson of resignation? And my time surely has 
 come. Indeed, it has been so all my life What have 
 not I had to resign in the course of my life ! Or do you 
 think that the husband's wealth can blind the wife, if 
 she be proud, to the consciousness that she is not 
 loved as she longs, and as, may be, she deserves to be 
 loved?" 
 
 Bertram knew these phrases from of old ; but he said to 
 himself that td<lay particularly he must make the best of 
 everything, so he exclaimed — 
 
 " Is it possible, my friend, that you still cherish this 
 hypochondriacal fear which. you have given utterance to 
 before, but from which I deemed you cured long ago ? 
 How can you complain of a deficiency in love, when 
 your husband positively adores you ? You can utter no 
 wish, simply because what you could wish for is already 
 fulfilled. Or you need but have a wish, and it is forth- 
 with fulfilled." 
 
 " You are pleading for the friend of your youth," she 
 made answer, raising her dark eyebrows. " Do not for- 
 get this : I am bringing no charge against him. I am 
 resigned. Were I to die to-day, what would his loss 
 come to ? What would he miss ? " 
 
 "The brightness of his life," Bertram replied gal- 
 lantly. 
 
 " As if he cared for the brightness of his life ! " said 
 his wife. "Is it so? Does he share one of my fancies, my 
 harmless penchants f Does he not vainly strive to appear 
 interested in the things of beauty with which I love to 
 
54 QUISISANA. 
 
 surround, myself and to decorate; our .d^Ujng ?, Did- 
 hei nqt consent with, ev^de^t repugnance, to have the. 
 mansion-i>ouse restored in a style .befitting, a whilom 
 princely residence— to let me seek, .out «pd renew the 
 old, tangled paths through/ the Park? Does, he support 
 rne in my humane, undertakings ? Have, I not had, to- 
 beg.thp few thousand thalers fr^om him that I required 
 for my. Kindergarten and for- my poorhouse? Why, he 
 lives splely fprv his porcelain, factory, bis sugar- refinery* 
 his coal-mines, his- new railway project,!,, • I- say again,-: ; 
 I have accepted all this as inevitable, and as a matter of ■ 
 course, as.; lqng as, I alone; was conc^rneds as long as I 
 alone suffered. But,, indeed^ to bring E,rn%,intpi this life,- 
 of trivialities, to leave the dear child, in. a spiiere where 
 she sqes. nothing,,, hears- nothing, that could, give the 
 slightest nourishment to head, or heart, where anything, 
 and everything revo.l-v,es. round Mammon, is. sacrificed to 
 Mammon.-^that is beyond me,. beyopdr m y strength !". 
 
 " Then, if I understand you aright, you wish, to get 
 Erna married ? ": 
 
 Through the soft, velvety rad-iance of the deep-brown, : 
 eyes flashed something like a deeper light. Trie ques- 
 tion-, was- evidently npt- expected— at least not yet— rbut 
 the., n&xt, moment; already her, eyes had resumed their 
 customary expression, and she forced those beautiful 
 lips to smile, as.she, said, in. a tone of, gentle, reproach — 
 
 " Let us express it rather less r egotistically. I should 
 like Erna to find a husband worthy of her." 
 
 " A most natural wish too ! One which every mother ■ 
 cherishes for a grown-up daughter And asan old friend 
 of the family I heartily join in tl.e, wish-, and|do nof-for, 
 a moment; doubt that we shall readily- agree as to, what, 
 wfrsfyajlj expect her husband, to be." . 
 
QUISISANA. 55 
 
 " I am not so sure on that poirit" 
 
 " Let us try anyhow. Firstly, he should be noble ! " 
 
 " That is not your conviction." 
 
 " Then let it be a concession. If people wish to come 
 to an understanding they must be prepared to make 
 concessions." 
 
 " This concession I accept gladly. Go on, please." 
 
 " He should not be a scholar by profession ; but have 
 a good — a man of the world's — education, and a taste for 
 the fine arts. In fact, we want a cavalier, of course, in 
 the best sense of the word." 
 
 " Agreed." 
 
 " He need not be wealthy. In fact, it would be pre- 
 ferable that he had no fortune, he would in that case be 
 all the more indebted to Erna." 
 
 " Most true ! " 
 
 " He should not be a landed proprietor, or at least 
 not a man who feels it a duty and ah absolute necessity 
 to live in the country and devote himself to agriculture. 
 Best of all, he Should have no definite calling, or, anyhow^ 
 only one which did not impose difficult and troublesome 
 duties ; say a position which should have it as a natural 
 consequence that the man in question moved in the best 
 society, and even came occasionally into pleasant con- 
 tact with Court circles." 
 
 " Best of friends, . how strangely skilled you are in 
 reading a mother's heart ! " 
 
 " Let me, then, look to the very bottom of it, where 
 possibly the name of the individual in question is already 
 written. If I read the characters correctly, they form the 
 name ..." 
 
 " Now I am truly keen to know." 
 
 " Baron Kuno von Lotter-Vippach." 
 
56 QUI SIS AN A* 
 
 "Lydia has told you!" . . -..,,., ,. 
 
 " No. Neither Fraulein von Aschhof nor any one else 
 has spoken to me, I give you my word of honour." 
 
 " But it is most strange ..." 
 
 "Why so strange? Am I 'not a very old friend, to 
 whom you have many a time talked on most important 
 topics, and whom you have many a time honoured with 
 your most intimate confidence ? " ■ , 
 
 " Then it is all the Jaetter, all the more Reserving of 
 my gratitude j and I thank you heartily, sincerely. . ."• 
 
 She had seized both his hands j^her beautiful coun- 
 tenance, now lighted up with a flush of gladness, had 
 never been more beautiful ;. yet to Bertram it appeared 
 like some hideous mask. 
 
 " I cannot accept your thanks," he said, withdrawing 
 his hands with slight and very hurried pressure. , " I 
 could but do so honestly, if I shared those wishes of 
 yours which I have, guessed, That is not quite the case. 
 The impression ;which Baron Lotter macje upon me yes- 
 terday was not specially favourable ; to be quite open, 
 the impression was unfavourable." 
 
 "That," Hildegard replied eagerly, "leaves me very 
 calm. You men, seldom like each other at a first 
 encounter, and at a second you find one another charm- 
 ing. In the Baron's case no second, encounter has even 
 been necessary ; he overflows with your praises ; he calls 
 you the cleverest and most amiable of men ; he is 
 charmed to have made your acquaintance ; and I am 
 convinced that you, too, my friend, will soon modify 
 your judgment— J should almost tike t0 § a y y° ur preju- 
 dice — once you come to know the Baron better. He is 
 somewhat spoiled, like all very handsome, men ; some- 
 what conceited, if you like ; but at bottom very modest, 
 
easily led,. ^ guiou a- goUw, Ke ivhl ^>!eu-se you, believe 
 me, aud'iuore fnaK please yoa ! You will come to esteem 
 and love him ! " 
 
 " Is the more important question, to me the most im- 
 portant, already settled ? Does Ei.ia think as favour- 
 ably of the Baron ? Does she love him ? For that he 
 loves her, I must, I suppose, assume." 
 
 " That is beyond all doubt," Hildegard wade answer ; 
 " as for Erna, I hope so, I believe so ; anyhow she does 
 not express herself unfavourably about him, und that, 
 with Erna, means a good deal, for she is not at ail easily- 
 pleased, and is not accustomed to conceal her dislike, if 
 dislike there be. It is of course difficult to form a cor- 
 rect opinion of Ema's sentiments ; doubly difficult for 
 me, because she has been so long from home, and we 
 are not always in accord in our views and tendencies. 
 Again, in Lydia she has never placed full confidence — 
 which, by the by, I can scarcely wonder at. I onl> 
 know one being whom she thoroughly trusts — and you 
 dear friend, are the one ! " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Are you surprised to hear this ? Surely not ? Hav 
 not the child always been so fond of Uncle Bertram, 
 that we, her parents, might have grown jealous? 
 Has she not ever been your favourite? -•"If. she is so no 
 longer, for goodness sake do not let the poor girl see it 
 She would be inconsolable." 
 
 " Now, you are laughing at me." 
 
 "Indeed, I am not. Ask Lydia. That Lydia often 
 speaks of you, you will find natural enough, and that now 
 and again a word of bitterness slips in, you will find par- 
 donable. Erna does not pardon it. In her eyes' you are 
 once and for good raised above all reproach. You are, 
 
S3 QMS I SANA, 
 
 as it were, her ideal. It is a downright case pf infatua? 
 tion, and it goes so far,-that she once assured us, with al) 
 a child's gravity — she was still almost a child — that if 
 ever she married, Uncle Bertram must be her husband 
 and she got quite angry when Lydia and I laughed, at 
 her." 
 
 The beautiful lady smiled, and Bertram succeeded, in 
 forcing a smile tpo. 
 
 " How very funny," he said ; " but then very young 
 girls are proverbially prone to conceive infatuation for 
 some one or other of their masters, and I think, in Lydia's 
 eyes, I have always been one of her instructors, in literal 
 ture and what not, Ppor girls ! they give their affections 
 to old Mentor, but they mean young TelemachuSi Well, 
 and there is apparently a young Teleniaehus on the stage 
 already, if you have seen aright." 
 
 "Just to decide that point," replied Hildegard, 
 " Mentor must not yet resign his functions.. On the 
 contrary, I must entreat him inost urgently to help the 
 mother with his clear vision and his advice, and to use 
 his old influence with the. daughter. I may rely upon 
 this, my trusty friend, may I not?" 
 
 She held out her hand to him with these words. He 
 raised it deferentially to his lips and said— 
 , "Yqu may rest convinced that Erna's well-being is 
 (Jfarer to me than anything else in the world." 
 
 rfildegard had wished arid had expected another, a 
 more definite, answer. It was still doubtful whether she 
 had really acquired an ally in him. However, the main 
 pqint was gained; she had taken the initiative, had 
 represented the affair- from, her own point of view, had 
 appealed to Bertram's friendship, had asked for his 
 a§sjsr3nqe, had giisen iim a proof of her confidence, 
 
QUISJSANA. 59 
 
 which he would doubtless accept as unconditional. This 
 sort of thing is always flattering to a man, always makes 
 him feel indebted. Of course, a woman must flatter a 
 man if she would make him feei indebted. 
 
 Just then it was anyhow impossible to obtain a more 
 definite assurance from Bertram, for the Baron and Lydia 
 were ascending the main steps of the terrace ; the Baron, 
 in his temporary capacity as artist, clad in a costume of 
 brown velvet, and a straw hat with a stupendously broad 
 brim, and Lydia in such a grotesquely fantastic morn- 
 ing costume as to suggest the idea that she had been 
 acting as model for some wonderful sketch of the artist. 
 And indeed she did figure upon the canvas, but only as 
 a bit of the foreground, which represented a portion of 
 the terrace, across which you looked down into the 
 valley and at the village, with the wooded hills rising 
 behincl. The Baron was evidently much pleased with 
 his work, although he declared again and again not to 
 have half finished it; it was not fair, he added, to apply 
 to a hasty sketch th,e same standard of judgment as to a 
 regular studio picture, in which everything would of 
 course turn out quite different. This, Bertram could not 
 but think, would be most desirable, but hardly very pro- 
 bable. This so-called sketch was evidently a picture 
 which had already been touched and retouched, some 
 portions had been painted over two, even three tinies, 
 and divers desultory dilettante endeavours, had failed to 
 bring anything^ like harmony into the composition. 
 Nevertheless fie politely agreed with the ladies' words of 
 praise, which flowed freely from Hildegard's lips, while 
 Lydia, as was her w,ont, launched out in extravagant 
 eulogy : wonderful, was it not, what progress the Hew 
 Baron made day by day ? M last there was once more 
 
60 QUISISANA. 
 
 a painter with a mission for historical landscapes on a 
 grand scale ! The resemblance of his genius to that 
 of a Rottmann, a Preller — became more and more 
 apparent. Nor did she alone think so. Only the other 
 day, at Court, when they were talking of the pupils' at 
 the Academy of Arts, and some one mentioned the 
 Baron's name, Princess Amelia said, and said with 
 marked emphasis, " No pupil he, ladies, hay, a master, 
 and a great master ! The Baron is a distinct acquisition 
 for our School of Arts ; he represents a triumph ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is true ; the august lady is very graciously 
 disposed towards me,'' asserted the Baron, stroking his 
 natty beard. " I wonder what she will say to my new 
 sketches." 
 
 Fortunately for Bertram, who was planning his escape 
 under some pretext or other from this painful scene, his 
 host now came up to greet his friend, and to ask if he 
 felt strong enough and was inclined to go for a little 
 drive with him ; only to the porcelain factory, they would 
 be back in an hour. Bertram declared his readiness. 
 
 " The Baron would surely like to go with you,'' said 
 Hildegard, exchanging glances with her husband ; " but 
 I fear there is barely comfortable room even for two in 
 your little trap." 
 
 The Baron hastened to assure her that he could not 
 go, anyhow, as he had promised Miss Erna to try the 
 accompaniment to some new songs with her. 
 
 Hildegard asked Bertram if he would not, before 
 starting, say good morning to Erna, who would be hurt 
 if he left without having done so. 
 
 They called for Erna in vain. It seemed to Bertram 
 that Hildegard only wished to find : t time enough to 
 beckon him aside, and to whisper to him that he need not 
 
QUISfSANA. 61 
 
 conceal from her husband what they had been discussing 
 in reference to Erna. On the contrary, she was anxious 
 to learn Otto's opinion of the whole matter ; he would 
 probably speak with less reserve to his friend than, alas ! 
 to her, and that Bertram would take her side she felt 
 sure now. 
 
 " But Erna is not coming, I see," she exclaimed aloud ; 
 " I will not keep you gentlemen any longer. Au revoir 
 —an hour hence." , , 
 
( 62 ) 
 
 VII. 
 
 The little t> ap was so light, and the road was in Such 
 good condition, that the friends were able to drive 
 at a very fair pace, in spite of the not inconsider- 
 able gradient. Soon they passed into the wood. The 
 easy, comfortable motion, the perfect beauty of the 
 morning, the fact that the friends were for the first time 
 in undisturbed companionship — all seemed to favour a 
 confidential exchange of thoughts. Yet both men were 
 silent, and barely exchanged a word or two on in- 
 different topics. At last Otto said, after he had taken 
 a stolen side-glance or two of his friend — 
 
 "What do you think, Charles — shall we walk a bit? 
 The road now will be virtually level for some distance." 
 
 Bertram nodded assent. The carriage stopped. Otto 
 bade the man drive slowly on in front of them, in the 
 direction of the factory. 
 
 "You never can be sure," he began, as they were 
 striding along the well-kept footpath by the side of the 
 ■ road, " that these beggars do not hear more than they 
 should ; and I particularly want to ask you something. 
 Tell me — but quite honestly, mind — how do you like the 
 Baron ? " 
 
 " Let us come to the point at once," replied Bertram ; 
 " I have had a talk with your wife." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed 1 " exclaimed Otto, hiding his embarrass- 
 
QUIS1SANA. 63 
 
 ment as best he could by bursting out laughing, and 
 abruptly leaving off again. "That is to say, I rather 
 thought you would. I should like to have done the 
 same — I mean had a talk with you — yesterday, in fact ; 
 but my wife told me not to . . . and, don't you know, 
 the ladies always claim precedence." 
 
 "Very well; then let me commence at the point 
 where my conversation with your wife came to an end — 
 with the questibn which she either could not or would 
 not answer when I pressed her, and which seems to me 
 of.' paramount importance — Does Ema love the Baron ? 
 Have you, between you, or have you yourself, any proof 
 of — any support of this? Have you made any observa- 
 tion from which you could conclude such 'a thing?" 
 
 "Look Here, old man," said Otto, "you are asking a 
 lot at once. I can't follow you. Proof — support — Ob- 
 servation ! Good Heaven !' Who can look into a girl's 
 head and heart? She has said nothing to me, and 
 rather than ask heiv— ask her — it's such a queer question 
 to ask, and possibly on« niight only db harm by it, and 
 learn nothing in the long run, or at least not the truth. 
 Of course She is fond enough of me, and has confidence 
 in me. Heaven knows how fond I am of her ! but 
 father and daughter, you know — or rather you do not 
 know, for you never 1 had a daughter — that's a curious, 
 business ! " 
 
 He had taken off his hat and was scratching his head 
 in his perplexity. Bertram understood that he was i)6t 
 likely to get anything out 6f him that way. After a' 
 pause Bertram said^— 
 
 " Well, let us assume — although, to say the truth, I 
 find it very hard to do so- 4et trs assume that Erha 
 does love this man. Would you then be able to Say 
 
.64 QUISISANA. 
 
 Yea and , Amen, with a good conscience? In other 
 words, are you convinced that the man would make 
 Erna happy ? That he has, anyhow, the qualities which 
 according to human reasoning and experience, render 
 her happiness at least possible ? That he is a man of 
 honour, of fit and upright disposition; — in a word,, that 
 he is a gentleman,? " 
 
 "A gentleman ! " exclaimed Otto in amazement 
 "Why, good Heayen! — a man belonging to such a 
 family — bearing such a name— a constant , guest at 
 Court— invited to every ball, every evening party there,; 
 besides joining their private circle, once or twice every 
 week — why, he must be a gentleman ! " 
 
 "The deuce he must!" exclaimed Bertram angrily. 
 " If you hay,e no better< guarantee than Court balls: and 
 such, like,, humbug !" 
 
 "But what more would you have?" said Otto. 
 "What r more would any one have? If that is no 
 guarantee I .wphder what you would- call one.- I have 
 it as a matter of certainty from Lydia, that his nomina- 
 tion as Chamberlain, is made out, is lying ready for 
 signature in the Grand, Duke's cabinet; and. Lydia 
 ought to know, for, between you and me, she, with the 
 help of our Court Marshal, an old friend of Lotter's 
 father, has been urging the matter strongly . at Court. 
 Lotter is very grateful to her, and says quite frankly, that 
 but for her he might have. had, to wait much longer ; and 
 I think |hat ijS, a trait in hjs favour^although I am con- 
 vinced — but^ypu jtnust please not, give any indication 
 that you know — although I am convinced that i Lydia- 
 has not, trjed her hardesf for Lotter's own sake, but to. 
 conciliate my, wife,,. wh,o is bent upon seeing Jjer future 
 son-in : Jaw hold,.spme Court appointment. And the 
 
QU1SISANA. 65 
 
 reason why Lydia had to keep in my Wife's good graces 
 is not far to seek 'r and, old Fellow, she has had her way 
 at last, and is allowed to sojourn once more Under the 
 same roof with ybu. You see : manus matium lavdt." 
 
 "So I see, indeed," laughed' Bertram. "And now 
 Hildegard must again keep' me in good-humour, that I, 
 in my turn, may keep you in good-humour. It were 
 strange indeed, if, under these drcumstaffces,' we were 
 not, all of us, in the very best humour ! " 
 
 " This hardly seems to beyoufcase" as yet," ! said Otto, 
 " your laughter notwithstanding." ' 
 
 " Nor, I hope, yOurs either," exclaimed Bertram. 
 
 " Why do you hope so ? " 
 
 Bertram matte no answer. His Heart was full of 
 sorrow and wrath. He saw that the "whole affair was 
 arranged — among the two women anyhow — and the easy- 
 going henpecked husband by his side would be sure 
 to say yes to everything, had probably* done so already, 
 and this was but the second scene this morning in a 
 nicely-arranged" comedy, with all the parts carefully dis- 
 tributed beforehand. Evidently the drive had but one 
 object — to give Otto an opportunity of saying his part. 
 And he, himself? — Why, barely an hour ago he had 
 solemnly protested to the fair stage-manager that never 
 more would he act again ! And she had listened to his 
 solemn protest without laughing in his face ! Well, well ; 
 there might yet be a chance of interpreting some passage 
 in a way that the clever lady had not thought of! 
 
 Otto broke the silence, after they had been walking side 
 by side for some Kttle time, by saying somewhat humbly — 
 
 "You are angry with me !" 
 
 "What right could 1 1 have to be so?" replied Bertram. 
 " I am no relation of yours. I am nothing buta'friend ; 
 
 6 E 
 
66 QU1SISAN4- 
 
 and, as such, I .have, no fight whatever. It, is only my 
 duty to give an hpnest answer \i you, consult, me on a 
 matter of importance, , c< &nd t^iere, is properly no rcpn- 
 sultation in this . case. You are not , in .tyeed^ .of -^ny 
 advice j. you, he^ parents, , are resolved.. Nothing is 
 wanting, jpuf : the merest trifle-r-Erna's. consent. And, 
 as tha,t is, sure to be, giyen in good time,, the w,hple 
 thing is clearly se.$ed, and we may as well talk-, of 
 something else." , 
 
 " No, no 1" exqlairnec} Otto, " nothing is settled;. and 
 the matter is by no means i clear— cleaiv— not .in ray 
 mind, anyhow j ajnd Hildegard^has not t;he ; faintest con- 
 ception how things really stand., -. She thinks .it; is only 
 my, want ,pf resolution that .... . ,, And . because' she 
 knows -how .mu^ch^J value., your judgment — if I could 
 only tell you everything, . . " 
 
 "But you cannot, and you would be, sorry for it-after- 
 wards. Therefore, you had better not try." 
 
 " But I must ^t length tell some one, and there, is no 
 one else in the ,wor$ .W]hom^I, couldj- say it to. , Listen.: 
 
 A kind .pf,, spasm, passed, over, the ful,l, round, good- 
 humoured fa'c^; the blue eyes, which he kept rigidly 
 fixed upon his friend, seemed to struggle .against rising 
 tears, 
 
 ""j-n-1 am. ruined 1" 
 . He had just managed to pronounce these words 
 hoarsely ; then he broke, down and sunk upon a log 
 of wood which was lying by the roadside. 
 
 Bertram had, at first to struggle against the terrible 
 notion that his friend had suddenly gone mad. But his 
 look, though., one of utter despair, was not that oi a 
 madman. 
 
QUIS1SANA. 6? 
 
 "What is this you say, Otto? Impossible, impos- 
 sible!" he said, sitting down upon the log by the side 
 of his friend, who seemed bereft of all strength. " Go 
 on, ; anyh©.w,ithat I may judge what it comes to. I am 
 quite, convinced— beforehand lhat it comes to nothing at 
 all. But speak, for goodness sake, speak ! " ; ■ ■ • i -. Y\ 
 • Otto nodded assent, and murmured — 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will speak; , Come to nothing, for- 
 sooth ! I have seen it < coming^-for a- tango time 
 past' — for ;the i last four years at least — ever since 7 1 
 started, in addition to all the other things{. that con- 
 founded sugar refinery. We mad^ it a Company ; but 
 I hold' all the shares myself now-— I could not bear to 
 ruin the ; poor beggars who, trusting in me, had taken up 
 the rest. -This has flost me untold money 5 and the whole 
 thing was a failure, and the building is ready to be pulled 
 down again — would< albeadyobave been ^pulled down if 
 that, again, did not require moneys Besides^ a thonsand 
 acres of my best soil planted with beetroot — food for 
 the. pigs- now.. And- yonder is that porcelain factory, 
 year by year a balance on the wrong side ; =and then the 
 mines-^yes, yes, formerly, but not now . 7. ." ;, - 
 
 There had been one longiseries of enterprises, each of 
 which had turneHiout more unsatisfaictoilyj and, in the 
 lobg. run, more- ruinous than . the other ; and with in- 
 creasing swiftness they had swallowed up ever bigger 
 sums, and' had now at length given at least a most 
 severe shpck to a very considerable fortune. This much 
 Bertram gathered •< clearly from the statements of his 
 friend, althoughlhe only understood a small part of the 
 technical and mercantile details. 
 
 " But how on earth/' he exclaimed, " could a quiet, 
 sensible man like yourself ever dream of venturing on 
 
68 QUISISANA. 
 
 this 'inclined plane'? How could' you graft one reckless, 
 foolhardy speculation upon another ; negleet, ruin those 
 splendid estates, the legacy of' your fathers ; stake your 
 peace of mind, your happiness? And if it had been aques- 
 tion of yourself only ! But your child — your wife . , ." 
 
 He paused abruptly. 
 
 " Poor chap ! '' he murmured. " I think I understand 
 after all — poor, good chap ! " ' ; "■ ■ i ■' ■ 
 
 .He was pressing Otto's hand warndy.? Thefr eyes' met 
 His unhappy friend was smilingj and a most melancholy 
 smile it was. ;•-'.= 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," he said j " I did not want 
 it cried from the house-tops ; I knew you would find the 
 reason. I myself-^dear, dear — I would- not have cared 
 to increase my gains: I shonld have been more than 
 satisfied with the estates and 1 the mines, or with the 
 estates alone, if the mines ceased to yield a profit. You 
 know how as a young man I'used to be quite ashamed 
 of having so much money, never a farthing tof which.;! 
 had earned, when I saw how my betters had to toil and 
 
 moil And I knew too that I was not good enouglr far 
 
 her — that it was great condescension on her part- to 
 marry me at all — that I must needs ever be in her 
 debt. From the very commencement I let her have her 
 own way — she should never be able- to say that • I, the 
 bourgeois proprietor's son, was ignorant of what befitted 
 and became a beautiful young lady of high degree. I 
 even — don't laugh at me, man — even tried to proeure a 
 patent of nobility, she wished it so very much; and I 
 have made many a sacrifice with that object This 
 whole, ill-starred porcelain factory, for instance-^I had 
 been told that at Court they would like me to establish 
 one.'.and indeed they buy here what they.require, thoughy 
 
QUISISANA. 69 
 
 to be sure, only for kitchen and servants' hall — and there 
 was many another thing besides. And then she wanted 
 the terraces and the park and the mansion-house restored 
 — in> the true style, I think they call it — and she takes 
 delight in all this, trumpery rubbish of dim old mirrors, 
 and shaky old chairs, and worm-eaten old cabinets, and 
 coffee-coloured, pictures, and abominable old pots and 
 pans ;■ and I, great God ! would willingly buy the whole 
 worldjor her: — lay it at her feet — if only she would Jove 
 me a little in return. But — you see, Charles, it has all 
 been in vain — quite in vain !." 
 
 , The big man had buried his face in his hands, and 
 was sobbing like a child., Bertram's soul was filled with 
 pity. The wretched weakness of his friend in reference 
 to his beautiful and beloved, but cold, unloving wife, and 
 its mournful consequences — he now understood it all too 
 well not to be ready, to pardon— to a certain extent 
 But that, husband and wife must settle, must bear, among 
 them — only Erna should not be dragged to ruin, should 
 not also be sacrificed to her mother's unbounded selfish- 
 ness. And perhaps this was the one bright spot in the 
 dark picture which his friend had drawn of his position. 
 
 " You have not endeavoured to give the Baron a. clear 
 view of.your situation ? •' he asked. 
 
 '■ l For goodness sake— no ; certainly not," exclaimed 
 Otto, rising in terror from his stooping position. " Any- 
 thing but that ! " 
 
 "Amd yet ypu will .have to do' so as soon as he for- 
 mally asks Erna's hand from you." 
 
 .',' How can I tell him the truth ? He would withdraw 
 immediately." 
 
 " Qtto, are you not-ashamed of yourself? And you 
 would really give Erpa to, such a cur? " 
 
70 QUISISANA. 
 
 "What am I to do?" 
 
 "What you are simply obliged to do as a man' of 
 honour, not to say as a father ! " 
 
 "And. he'll -talk about it — here, in the town, at Court 
 — andieverything, everything depends upon my credit 
 remaining .unquestioned, at least -a little longer. IP -the 
 projected i railway is made to pass through here in lieu 
 of through the valley below, it would be done mainly 
 on account of my establishments,! my factories, and what 
 .not.. . And in that case I am saved—nay, I must needs 
 grow wealthier than ever I have' been. (But the ultimate 
 granting of thei concession — our local Parliament not- 
 withstanding— irests with the Government; and Lotiter, 
 with ;his divers relations, his welMsnowri influence . . ." 
 
 He paused, then resumed- in a somewhat less confident 
 tone — ■•■ -■ ■'• 
 
 " If, therefore, t do not 'reveal everything to him at 
 presentT^and,.;bji the by,' there is no need for it yet — 
 I am not acting dishonestly, but in everybody's interest 
 You will grant me this much." 
 
 " To be sure," replied Bertram. ." I only fear you will 
 not be able to continue this profitable silence for any 
 length, of time. • For any j day it may happen that the 
 young people come to an understanding, and — to-mor- 
 row, perhaps;- of this very day— they may come and ask 
 for your blessing." 
 
 " It would kill me ! " " : ' 
 
 " It would, anyhow, be extremely awkward ! There- 
 fore, I beg to make the following proposal to you. I am 
 already authorised by your wife to sound Erna; I 1 now 
 ask you to give me the same commission ; and you 
 will tell'- yotatt -wife that you have spoken to me aibout 
 it Thus you will both have placed the matter into my 
 
QVTSISANA. 71 
 
 bands, as it were. Now. I srvaJl find fjrna either dis- 
 tinctly favourable, to; your plan,, or- else distinctly, un- 
 favourable, or undecided,. In the latter qase, I will. 
 try to Gonfir#n her , in that state of mind,;, and would; 
 prove,, to your wife, -that to advance with inconsiderate 
 rashness- must njeed$. be*, risking, and, probably, spoiling 
 everything. But even 1 if Erna, really.-loves the Baron, 
 or,;on the other 7 jhand, if she; is satisfied; in. -her own mind 
 that he is notthernaan w-ho corresponds, tp; herrideal — all 
 girls -cifeate,?5uch,. an. ide,4i(qr.theinselves — well, I -think 
 I have influence enough wifh herp-ror,, in case of need, 
 I possess diplomatic talent enough* to get the* ultimate 
 decision put off one way or the other. For how long — 
 we shall judge by and by, once you and I are so far 
 agreed." 
 
 " My dear boy, I put myself entirely in your hands. 
 I'll not take a step without you. Gracious me — what 
 a lucky thing that you have come ! I do not know 
 what would have become of me, and of the whole 
 business." 
 
 He shook and pressed both his friend's hands in the 
 excess of his gratitude, looked upon his situation already 
 in a much more hopeful light, turned the conversation 
 again to the new railway and to the stupendous chances 
 which would come to him in case the decision was 
 favourable, and that it would be so, he suddenly assumed 
 to be probable, nay, certain. He never noticed that 
 Bertram had made the little carriage turn which was 
 waiting for them at the end of the wood, and that now 
 they were driving back the way they had come. The 
 suggested inspection of the factory had only been a 
 pretext for having an.undisturbed hour with Bertram. 
 
 His friend was now sitting in silence by his side. 
 
72 QU1S1SANA. 
 
 Otto kept on talking to him, lowering his voice 1 on 
 account of the driver's presence. 'Bertram hardly heard' 
 what he said. He hardly saw, either — or if fee saw, it was 
 like in a dream— the golden lights flash down through 
 the top of the giant firs^ and play around the brown stems 
 and along the mossy ground ; he saw but as in a dream 
 the lovely vistas which opened here and there, giving 
 glimpses of loveliest landscape beauty in the Valley far 
 below. His busy mind was working and modelling 
 away at the part in the family drama which had, after 
 all, been forced upon him, and which he had not dared 
 to decline— ^for Erna's sake. '• 
 
( 73 ) 
 
 vni. 
 
 For Erna's sake ! How often he repeated that phrase 
 to himself in the course of, the day ! He wanted nothing 
 for himself. What, indeed, could he have wanted for 
 himself? Nothing more than a man who should see a 
 child lost, in danger, among a crowd of carriages, and 
 who shpuld, bound to the. spot and carry the child away 
 to some place of safety ; nothing more than a wanderer, 
 who sees a fellow-traveller start upon a road of which 
 he knows of old the insecure state, and who warns the 
 heedless man to take some other road instead. One 
 does so because it is one's duty as a human being ; 
 one does so because one's heart urges one to do it, 
 because one cannoj: help doing it. 
 
 Yes, a man aijts and speaks in sucjh situations as he 
 would hardly act or speak for his own sake. He is 
 more courageous or more anxious than he would be, if 
 his own weal or woe were at stake. One grows beyond 
 one's self, or else sinks beneath one's , own everyday 
 moral level. 
 
 "'And the latter is meanwhile my case," said Bertram 
 to himself, as he played his part with due zeal, .and, 
 as he„ thought, with great success. It was a natural 
 consequence, of that part that he lectured Hildegard 
 (after the event), because she had not yesterday taken 
 hipi at once into her confidence ; that he exchanged 
 
74 ~Q,UIS1SANA. 
 
 with his friend Otto looks of the completest accord and 
 understanding ; that he used with Lydia — to her evident 
 delight — a tone of mingled melancholy and fun, which 
 appeared half to express and half to hide a deeper emo- 
 tion ; and that with the Baron he completely dropped 
 his calm manner of the day jpreceding. How else could 
 he form an opinion of the;nrirf? And how could he be 
 a faithful counsellor to Erna without haying formed an 
 opinion ? 
 
 So he examined 1 the Bardn'S portfolio with patient' 
 attention, whilst that nobleman turned over the leaVes 
 and gave explanations. The collectibn wouldhave" beb'n 
 a priceless treasure if the quality 1 had" corresponded with' 
 the quantity: There were sketches from almost every' 
 country in Europe ; the northern coast of Africa, too— - 
 Algiers, Tunis— was largely' represented.' And then the* 
 painter's talent embraced all styles and ki'nd^ of paint- \ 
 ing : — landscape,* architecture', still -life', portraiture — : ' 
 nothing had escaped the unwearied brtfsh, nothing had' 
 ap'peared too difficult. On the contrary,' there were tn'e' 
 most unlikely effects Of light" 1 and shade, the oddest 
 scenes, the most risq uk situations, involving the wildest 
 inroad's on the laws of perspective and the most reckless 
 foreshortening"— arid the daring sketcher seemed post' ' 
 tively to have • revelled in the'se. Arid yet Bertram had 1 
 to confess to himself that a hot "inconsiderable talent, 
 which, With patient and careful schooling, might have 
 borne beautiful fruit, had been recklessly wasted— and, 
 indeed, generally recklessness did seem to him to be the 
 Baron's leading characteristic. Anyhow, the painter's 
 fluent comments on his own sketches quite corre- 
 sponded to trie reckless style of painting. Everywhere his 
 ideas, good ones and bad ones, and some really original' 
 
QUISISANA. 75 
 
 ones, were clothed in the same hurried, flurried, some- 
 times absurd form, showing a ready, but never a profound 
 insight into human relations, into manners and customs 
 of nations ; much, but most desultory reading ; extensive, 
 and yet scattered knowledge. The man spoke as he 
 painted, and painted as he' played music. Reckless, 
 superficial, inconstant, like his work and his talk, will 
 arid must his love be too, thought Bertram. 
 
 Could love like that lastingly suffice for Erria? It 
 seemed impossible. But is there such a wfjfd as impost 
 sible in connection with the magic world of the human 
 heart ? - Are not the natures of truly noble women at times 
 visited by irresistible and undying passion for wavering, 
 unstable, yes, even for morally worthless men ? Does it 
 not well-nigh seem to have all the stability of a law of 
 nature, that totally opposed characters, all inward resist- 
 ance notwithstanding, feel drawn to and fascinated by 
 each other? 
 
 Was 'this' fatal fascination visible in Erna? 
 
 Bertram kept his attention unconsciously fixed on that 
 one decisive point, but without being able to come to 
 any definite result. True, he had to confess to himself 
 that even -a still keener observer would have vainly tried 
 his hand at the task. Ema joined to-day even less 
 directly than on the previous day in the gerieral conver- 
 sation ; nay more, he thought he noticed what had not 
 been the case yesterday, or what had at least escaped him 
 then, thather gaze, usually so firm, seemed at tlrries fixed 
 on vacancy,' then again appeared directed inward, any- 
 how was not dwelling on her surroundings— a symptom 
 which by no means pleased the observer, because from 
 it one niight surely conclude that there existed a deeper 
 sentiment, one which absorbed her inner life. And this 
 
p QUISIS4N4: 
 
 se^tipient was np^iikeby^tc-. bet one of. aversion,. to, the 
 Baron, to r whom she talked more, in her own calm way, 
 than to anybody else; with whop she played mus^c two 
 or. three tjmes during .the, day ; and with whom she, played 
 chess after supper in fher own graye, attentive manner, 
 Hildegard came and explained all these .details to Ber- 
 trarn , - u . r .„ ■ ..,.., , . ,,.- 
 
 "Believe me,"„jshe said, !fI v know Erna. Mind, my 
 words of this., morning. : She, may .fee.longin. confessing 
 her preference for any. man, but if she were to, dislike, any 
 one, he would, find it out pretty soon." 
 
 " I fear that I am experiencing something of-the sort,"; 
 Bertram replied. ,, 
 
 '. ; "How so?" 
 
 "Haye you not , noticed that she has not said three 
 words to me all the evening ? " . , ,,,. 
 
 t " Insatiable man ! . Ar,e you not satisfied with Lydia 
 who is ransacking her repertory for your sake? Would 
 you have all womankind at your, feet? I shall warn 
 Lptter against you as against his worst rival.", - .. .,- 
 
 " Do not destroy our budding friendship. But, joking 
 apart, can .there be a rival ? " 
 
 r "What are ; you thinking of? And if there were, L 
 should be sure tp knowiit through Lydia, who, like all 
 elderly girls, is apt to err on the side of seeing too much 
 rather than too little. Moreover,, we two, Lydia and 
 I, have never lost sight of the child, and in Erfurth, 
 where, it p is true, she went alone once or twice during 
 the .,las8|j_f"e,w„ years, she was always in the company of 
 my sister and her six girls, and I never heard, a word, 
 nor the slightest bint. , One of the girls, Agatha, the 
 third, Erna's bosom, friend,. is coming here, by the way, 
 in a day .or two ; and a good, modest, sensible girl she is, . 
 
QUISISANA. 77 
 
 though not as pretty as the rest. But you surely remember 
 Agatha ? Well, I'll question her a little when she comes, 
 but' I know beforehand that she will not have anything 
 to tell. Oh, you'd better concentrate your jealousy upon 
 Lotter!" 
 
 Hildegard surely felt very certain of her ground, else 
 she would not have jested— ?a rare occurrence with her. 
 Bertram took up a similar tone, and during the game of 
 whist to which he and Otto soon afterwards sat down 
 with the two older ladies,, he was remarkably merry and 
 talkative. 
 
 But two hours later Konski found 'him all the more 
 gloomy and taciturn, and so silent that he did not even 
 reply to the "good-night, sir," of that faithful servitor. 
 
 " It's the old one-," soliloquised Konski, as he medi- 
 tatively brushed his master's boots in his own little room, 
 "who is bothering him. 'Dear Mr. Konski,' herey.' Mjr 
 good Mr. Konski,' there — I know what she is after. And 
 then, to give me a whole dollar ! And she has not any 
 to spare, I can see that much, in spite of her grand airs 
 and her trimmings. And she to rule the roast for master 
 and, me ! Not if we knows it! And now we'll both 
 marry; and marry smart young ones tool And may 
 the devil fly away with all old women ! " 
 
( 7« ) 
 
 IX. 
 
 For this -morning, after breakfast, a general expedition 
 had been planned— a drive to a certain eminence, from 
 which the Baron was desirous of expounding to them all 
 the» arrangements for the forthcoming manoeuvres. Ber- 
 tram had at. the last moment made an excuse : much to 
 his regret,. -he'seat.Konski to say, that he had forgotten 
 to write some really^ important letters, and must needs 
 stay at home todo so*, now. Would the- others, please, 
 on no account give Jdp. their drive for his sake. 
 
 "At first they would not go without you, sir," Konski 
 reported ; " but- 1 gob them to do it, and they are getting 
 the.horses ready now; the ladiesiar& to drive, the gentle- 
 men will go; on horse'back. '•■ So'you'' may. stay quietly in 
 bed and try to get another 1 hour's sleep/ I am afraid, sir, 
 yoahave had another awful night !' 'ft" 
 
 And indeed it had been a worse night for Bertram than 
 the preceding one, and this time the morning had not 
 improved him. That he had to admit to himself when, 
 after having first vainly endeavoured to follow the faithful 
 servant's advice, he had at length risen in very low spirits 
 and dressed, trying whether a stroll along the terrace 
 garden-walk would cool his fevered brow and refresh his 
 weary heart 
 
 He had no right to be wearied. He was bound, when 
 they came back, to meet them merrily and serenely ; that 
 
QUISISANA, 79 
 
 belonged to his part. How could they give their confi- 
 dence to one who appeared to have none in himself, in 
 his own strength, his own courage ? 
 
 And he would need all his courage to look, if- it could 
 be done, deeper than> hitherto into Erna's eyes, into 
 Erna's heart : and he would need all his strength if that 
 look were to confirm -what, yesterday, he had deemed 
 impossiblej-but what, during the awful nighty: had come 
 to appear to him as thoroughly possible, nay, as probable. 
 If it were so, then the whole elaborate plan which, lie 
 had yesterday confided to his friend,. had therewith fatten 
 to the ground. - Otto's embarrassments were scarcely as 
 great' as he had represented them ; and even if he had 
 not, according to his wont, exaggerated things, what 
 would be.: the use of delaying the decision? On the 
 contrary, the more swiftly it, came, the better for all. If 
 the Baron was a man of honour; he would not withdraw 
 onlearning that the maiden of his choice was not wealthy; 
 if he : had influence at Court, if this influence really 
 amounted to something considerable, he would now try 
 all the more to use.it: tor his /uture father-in-law..' > They 
 might then make, their- own arrangements*: as best they: 
 could ; and they would make arrangements ; sacrifice 
 sorne things on both sides, give up some hopes. What 
 would one not sacrifice, what would one not.give up, if 
 one loved from one's very heart? , But to have- to look, 
 on at SsBch hearty love, love delighting in sacrifice — 
 never ! To run away would be cowardly,: no doubt. 
 But then valour, like honesty, is appropriate only when 
 it is needed, and ■ when it will be of some use. He 
 would haye to think beforehand of some suitable pretext 
 which should render a sudden departure possible. 
 
 Thus lost in mournful thought, Bertram was pacing 
 
8o QU IS IS ANA. . 
 
 backward and forward along the terrace-walk, now past 
 sunny espaliers, along which ruddy grapes' 'were already 
 commencing to shine through the dense clusters of 
 vine-leaves, anon between rows of beeches, which were 
 entwined overhead' and formed dusky . arbour-like 
 groves. 
 
 Having reached the end of one of these groves, 
 he: paused as one terrified. In front of him, on the 
 platform where the terrace widened, - Erna .was seated 
 beneath, the great plantain tree which overshadowed 
 the whole place with its "broad branches. An open 
 volume day upon the round table before' her; she 
 was writing busily, bending over r a blotting-boo*k: The 
 graceful form, the' finely-chiselled features, stood out in 
 'clearest profile against the green terrace above her. In 
 this subdued light the dainty cheek seemed even paler 
 than usual; and as she now paused, pen in hand, lifting 
 a long, eyelash' and glancing meditatively up at the 
 leafy. ; xoof. above,, the great eyes shone like those of an 
 inspired Muse. 
 
 *'One draught before I pass onward — ^on the shadeless 
 remainder of my dreary road," Bertram muttered to him- 
 self. . 
 
 He might have stepped back without being noticed, 
 but he did not do so ; his motionless eyes clung to the 
 beautiful pieture before him, as one perishing of thirst 
 might gaze upon a brimming cup, when, lo ! she turned. 
 
 "■ Uncle Bertram ! " 
 
 She had said it quite calmly, and now, slowly, she 
 laid down her pen and- closed her blotting-book, rising 
 at the same time and holding out her hand to him as he 
 came up. i 
 
 v I felt that somebody, was looking at me." r 
 
"And you wished,, to remain unseen, pi at least un- 
 disturbed*, But could", J have, guessed thajt I should find 
 you here ? Why are you not away with, the others ? " 
 
 A smile flitted over her face. 
 
 "... .- ,;i., 
 
 " I had important lexers to write, too." 
 „• "Well, you, have written, anyhow." 
 
 " And have you not ? For shame. If you make any 
 excuses .ypUf should yourself ^tak^, them in earnest; (then 
 you will come to fancy .afterwards tha£ the excuses were 
 really valid," , ^ „.,-.-- 
 
 " I'll remember this in future. But what makes you 
 tell me to my face that my important letters were but 
 an excuse ? " 
 
 ',' I, .thought ^at you did not care ,to go ; and I think 
 I know the reason why." 
 
 " Indeed ! I am curious to hear it from you." , 
 
 " I will tell you. I wanted to say so la.si night already, 
 for then, I noticed quite well how gladly you would have 
 made an excuse, only you could wot at the moment 
 think of a suitable one ; but I could , not have said what 
 I wished, to. say in a few words, and so I determined to 
 try andhave an undisturbed, talk with you. .Shall we not 
 sit down?" , „. , , ; ; 
 
 They sat dawn,, Erna,- with herblotfing-bpok before 
 her, Bertram on the spat opposite. Her large eyes ; were 
 lifted up to him. But a minute before T foe had greatly 
 longed to be able to see deep, deep into these eyes, right 
 to the innermost recess of her soul ; and now, when it 
 could.be, when it was to be, he shrank from it, he wished 
 the time deferred. He would in .any case learn the 
 secret all too soon. 
 
 "Uncle,. Bertram, I wanted to Jell, you that . . .» 
 
 The dark eyelids had clpsed after all ; well, she any- 
 
 6 F 
 
(8a QUISISANA. 
 
 how did not See the breathless excitement with which 
 he hung upon "her lips. 'In' his hiihd he heard already 
 the words — " that— I engaged thyself last night to be 
 married to the Baron." The pause' she made— of a 
 second or two — : se'eme"d to Him in "eternity. 
 
 " My dear child," he said in a voice Well-nigh 
 inaudible . ; :" '; '' 
 
 "'That . . . yon shall not for my sake lay upon yourself 
 a burdVri which you can no" longer bear." 
 
 The large eyes were gazing firmly at him again, while" 
 he bent Wis own in 'deadly" confusion. ■ 
 
 He" murmured— ,1,1 ' ' 
 
 " I— I do not understand you." ;B 
 
 " You are tob'go6d to wish to understand" me ; but the 
 excess of your goodness weighs me down and ! frightens 
 -me. I know that yOu are fond of me,' that you doit 
 only because ybu love me. But I love you too, Uncle 
 Bertram, love/you- very much, more than formerly, when 
 I did not really krtow you, did not at all understand you. 
 I am no' longer a child, and therefore you should not 
 treat me likea spoiled child and do what I ask, espe- 
 cially wheti J I see -that T ask for somethitfg to which I 
 had no right. I had no right to ask — I should not 
 have entreated yoU to be kind to Aunt Lydia. And 
 now I beg of you" not to 'be: so any longer, or to the 
 same extent. 1 cannot bear it. She has harmed you as 
 terribly, as terribly as only an evil heart can harm a godd 
 one. And she to be allowed to take yoiir hand, look 
 into youreyes, jest with you, as if nothing had occurred! 
 If ftifs had : happened to' me, I would not tolerate it— 
 never, never I " 
 
 Her Voice quivered, her lips trembled; the pale cheek 
 was flushed now, the great eyes were flashing, She said 
 
QUISISANA. 83 
 
 she had not known him, had not understood him— and 
 he? What, had he known of 'her? of the strength of 
 feeling of tihat-beart ofhers which' had seemed -to -him to 
 beat in suck steady measure? His gaze was fastened 
 on her now ia< raptured amazement, like the gaze of a 
 mortal to whom something divine is j bemg revealed. 
 
 But next moment the wondrous girl had conquered 
 that: passionate impulse, her features regained their usual 
 expression, and she went 00, calmly enough-- 
 
 . " And you, Uncle Bertram, should not tolerate it 
 either — you, fcast of all. You cannot lie, cannot play 
 the hypocrite. Let others do so; it befits you ill, it is 
 unworthy of you. I cannot, will not see anything 
 unworthy in you.- I will have one human being whom 
 I can believe anid trust unconditionally. This one you 
 are, you must be; is it not so, Uncle Bertram?" 
 
 She held out her hand to him across the table He 
 could not refuse it, and' yet, as he touched those slender 
 fingers,, something thrilled through him as though he had 
 been' guilty of some act of desecration. 
 
 " You think me too good, too great," he said. " I 
 can only reply, I will try to deserve your confidence." 
 
 "And I will give you an opportunity at once. I am not 
 contented with myself either. I too^-for the sake of 
 others,. to. please papa and mamma who seemed greatly 
 to wish it — 'have been kinder to somebody than at heart 
 I felt justified in being, and I must henceforth change 
 my conduct towards him." 
 ■ " He has proposed to you ? " 
 
 "Proposed? Tome?" 
 
 A scornful smile played round her exquisite lips. 
 
 " I beg your pardon * dear Em a. He was so remark- 
 ably assiduous in his attentive to you yesterday;' You 
 
.84 QUISISANA. 
 
 atknit yourself that you. have been kinder to him than 
 ; now you cargi to have been,:andi Jie .strikes me as being 
 one of those, men who grasp the;whole hand the moment 
 you hold- out yo.ur -little finger. to them. And. moreover, 
 ,1 know that- your parents encourage him much,andne 
 is surely aware of that too. Thus my question was not 
 wholly: groundless j still, I beg youn pardon." > 
 
 "And; indeed you need it in this case, Uncle Bertram. 
 Or, have I per-haps behaved so nshMishly that even a 
 clever man like you could deem: such a thing possible?" 
 
 "No, no ; pray, try to forget what I said without 
 thinking, or take it for a-= proof that I was right, that I am 
 neither so good nor so clever as you thoughts" - 
 
 The words sounded diffident, almost. submissive, but 
 his, heart was swelling with- proud delight* and the 
 songsters, perched above in the shady recesses of the big 
 plantain tree seemed-, to have been silent till now, and 
 to be then, commencing i all at once to twitter and sing 
 and make,, sweetest melody; and from the terraces 
 beneath there was. wafted up to them in fragrant cloud- 
 lets the- perfume of carnation and mignonette* What a 
 beautiful, divinely beautiful morning it was ! 
 
 " Henceforth," said , Erria, " we will, be open to each 
 other, and then such misunderstandings will not occur 
 again. This one, truly, should make me blush... The 
 Baron is the very last man in whom I could take the very 
 slightest interest I -find nearly everything' he says stupid 
 and silly, and if a fairly good idea turns up, -as it does 
 every now and then, it is impossible to enjoy it, for the 
 question is sure to obtrude itself:. 'What nonsense will 
 he talk next?' I am only now making his acquaint- 
 ance ; he, it is true, has been often here before, but in my 
 absence ; a,nd in town, when he came, as he sometimes 
 
QU IS IS AN A. 85 
 
 did, to see Aunt Lydia, I always avoided having to meet 
 him." -v. . 
 
 " You have met few young men yet ? " 
 
 "And those few have not made me anxious to meet 
 any more." 
 
 "This sounds very hard; but, to say the truth, you 
 are not the first girl whom I have heard talk like 
 this." 
 
 '•" My only wonder is that all do not talk, or, at least, 
 think like this. My own idea is, that men are naturally 
 selfish, frivolous, and vain, and only become with advanc- 
 ing years good, and noble, and amiable, and this applies 
 only to the few exceptions'; for I suppose the bulk remain 
 as they were." > '-'-'- 
 
 " Are you serious ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. And that is why, the night before last, I 
 could not agree with- you at all when you asserted that a 
 young girl could" not love a much older man, or was at 
 least committing an act of folly if she did so, which, to 
 her sorrow, - she was bound to realise sooner or later, 
 and therefore the sooner the better. Nor is it at all this 
 consideration which makes Hilarie change, and. which 
 throws her into the arms of that youth who is behaving 
 so childishly and insanely, that Flavio ; — there is quite a 
 different reason for it." 
 
 " Then you know the novelette ? " 
 
 " No ; I only read it now ; and I had to hunt a long 
 time for it, until I found it in the Wanderjahre. The 
 book is lying there. And now I also understand the 
 ' one element,' which you said the: night before last that 
 Gothe had excluded, or had not made use of^-which 
 is the right expression in this case ? — because otherwise 
 the comedv would have been turned into a tragedy." 
 
86; x QUISISANA. i 
 
 "And this 'one element,' what is it?"l }.<»;/- s^s »i ,hih 
 
 "The fact that her uncle is not in love with her at all -{ 
 Was not that' it ? '* i >iv(-ti:,m yeu' v war Jem * ' -t («.- /" 
 
 "To he sure..-; e I only: wondertafc your, haying found it 
 out." "aiv.. vras 
 
 "And my only-, wonder is that Hilarie did not discover 
 it sooner. She- must have been very* blind not tec have 
 seen that her uncle returns — or rather does not return: — : j, 
 her love from sheer kindliness of disposition ,; that at 
 best- his penchant is but the fain test .reflex of her pas- ) 
 sionate love. Look at this passage: ' You are rtnaking 
 me the happiest; man beneath the sun! < Exclaiming this, 
 he fell at her feet.' How feeble,s,hp.Wi§£i!3ftir*e<l ! , And it 
 contents her, makes her happy. I should. &&ve been 
 ashamed of the whole business." " S tiie h: - -m r *tA •" 
 
 " Yoh'must'raakets'orne allowance* for the spirit of the 
 time, for the manner and expression -of. tte period ; in 
 that case, these things do not look or jsourid quite as bad. » 
 But now for the other side of; the raedah: You,hold>that 
 Hilarie did truly love^her uncle, and would have remained 
 faithful to her love, in spite of awy^BJ««bfir.o_f ffeyjiO^fif s 
 her'passion had been returned? "soj d-si <■■ flOJijn-'H,' •'<:.■■-• 
 g"Most certainly,!" , ierb 50 atmr. •■Hi orni r-.rf-'fc-w^ 
 
 "Wqll.-beitso; Heflovesvlo.vjes -passionately: Enter 
 Flavio, loving, loving passionately, too. The 1 father 
 perceives it. He sees that his own love would /seal 
 the doom of the son whom he loves.-. Moreover^ he-is 
 sure— if he is not a conceited fool, but a man of heart and 1 
 head, he must be sure — that Hilarie would undoubtedly, 
 return his son's passion, if he, the. father, the .uncle, did* 
 not unfortunately stand between them ; that the girl's > 
 love for the young man, and vice versa, is the only j 
 natural— that means, the only right thing; that therefore i 
 
QUISISANA. 87 
 
 Hihtrie cannot truly love him; that her love rather, if 
 it be not absolutely unnatural, is anyhow an error, an 
 aberration, from which she shall and must turn. Given 
 these things, am I wrong in asserting that then, indeed, 
 the comedy changes to tragedy — a tragedy the secret 
 and silent stage of which, I admit, will be 1 solely . . . 
 the elderly man's heart? Doyou not agree with me?" 
 '. "I must, I think ; if I have first granted your supposi- 
 tions and assumptions, particularly this : that a girl's 
 love for-a man much older than herself must needs in 
 every case be an error, an aberration. But then, again, 
 I do not see why the elderly man's love for the girl does 
 not also tend to self-deception, to a fact which he, being 
 more faj>sighted, clever, experienced; is bound to realise 
 all the sooner. And then, where is your tragedy ? " 
 
 Once more the great eyes flashed, the dainty lips 
 quivered, an angry cloud lay on her brow. There was a 
 wild voice in his heart crying: " Where ? — here, here — 
 for I love, I love thee ! and it is impossible that into thy 
 maiden heart, there should ever fall one spark of the 
 wild conflagration raging here." But-he succeeded this 
 time, too, in subduing the tumult in his heart, and he 
 said smilingly — 
 
 "I hoped, nay, I knew that you would make this 
 objection, which is absolutely correct, and which helps 
 the Master to regain that absolute sovereignty and un de- 
 viating correctness in matters of the heart -in which I, 
 wantonly, tried to argue Gothe was deficient. Of course, 
 so the matter stands, turn and twist it as you will — 
 Hilarie's love is an illusion ; or, more correctly, it is a 
 foreshadowing of that true and genuine passion which 
 she will feel one day. The Major's love is a reminis- 
 cence of what his heart once, in the bygone days of his 
 
88 QUISISANA. 
 
 far-away youth, was glowing with, and what >it, nevei 
 again will glow with now. Anything of a warmer feeling 
 that haply- still survives, may be- sufficient for a sensible, 
 reasonable marriage, with the clever widow, in whose 
 sentiments. towards him again reminiscence acts. the part 
 of, a kindly mediator, and . . . but surely ■, . . why, they 
 are back already ! Shall we go and meet them ? " ,. 
 
 From the verandah Lotter's loud: voice was heard. 
 Lydia, too, was calling out ; she was calling Erna. 
 Bertram had risen, glad of. the interruption^ he felt his 
 strength very nearly, exhausted. He was resting his 
 hand on the back of her chair, lest Erna,- if they^shook 
 hands, should feel how his hand trembled. But Erna was 
 gazing straight before her with a very gloomy expression 
 of countenance. > ' f 
 
 : "I should like to finish my letter first," she said. > 
 "Then I will disturb you no longer.". .^ t.,. - 
 He had gone ; had gone without offering her his 
 hand. Erna sat for a while without' .looking up ; then 
 she re-opened her blotting-bookj and read; the Jast page 
 she had written : — •■• ■ .,.:•., 
 
 • ,"I see him always, absent or present; I see.his noblej 
 pale countenance, the deep, thoughtful eyes, that mouth 
 which can jest so delicately, and which yet (for me) 
 quivers so often jn sorrow for a wasted life, a lost, happi- 
 ness. For me ! • The > others never see it ; how should 
 they? To them he is the cold-hearted egotist, the -bitter 
 jester, who believes in nothing, least of all in lqwe.ii To 
 be sure— ori£e betrayed as he'Jiasbeen — alas L Agatha, 
 that is the very thing which draws me irresistibly to him. 
 I can now gaze deep, deep into his noble heart, can feel 
 all the pangs that have torn it, and; must be tearing it 
 again now in the presence of the viper who — oh, I 
 
QUIS1SANA. 89 
 
 do hate her ! . . . And he manages to be quite friendly 
 in his demeanour to her, because I asked him to, before 
 I knew all the circumstances. But he shall do so no 
 longer. I cannot bear it, when he turns his good, truthful 
 eyes to me, as though he would ask : ' Is it right thus ? ' 
 No, it is wrong, a' thousand times wrong ! But is it not 
 wrong, ; too, that I should be allowed to read in his heart, 
 and he not l \n mine? Shall I tell him ... all? It is 
 ever on my lips, but then ... no. I should iiot be 
 ashamed in his presence, he is so kind, and he would 
 understand me ! Resting on his protecting arm he would 
 let me shed the last of those hot, angry tears, which will 
 yet persist in sometimes rising to my eyes, and which I 
 brush away indignantly ; and I would gratefully accept 
 his mercy, but on one condition only, that I may go on 
 resting on that arm, that he would permit me to love, 
 to serve him, to-day and for ever, as his friend, his 
 daughter, his slave ! . . . Shall I tell him ? " 
 
 Erna gave a bitter smile, and took the sheet of paper 
 in both her hands in order to tear it in pieces. Then 
 she laid it down again, and seized her pen once more. 
 
 "She who has written this is a conceited little fool, 
 and deserves exemplary punishment for her conceit, and 
 the said punishment is to consist in her sending these 
 lines to her granny, in order to receive by return of post 
 the requisite scolding, even if granny, and this is an 
 urgently repeated request, is coming here the day after 
 to-morrow. For between granny and me there shall not 
 be said one word on this subject, and even less about 
 the other thing and the other one; and now, dearest 
 granny . . ." 
 
 "Ah, there is Miss Erna I" exclaimed the Baron, 
 issuing with Lydia from the terrace walk. 
 
90 QUISISANA. 
 
 "We .have been looking everywhere for you," sajd 
 Lydia. " Heavens ! hpw the chjld- has flushed and 
 ,bea<ted, herself over her writing ! To Agatha, of course If 
 
 "Ah, if one could read the letter!" exclaimed the 
 Baron. > -_ -- ,. . 
 
 ''There is nothing. about you in it, I can give you that 
 assurance, if it will set your mind at ease," said Erna, 
 closing her blotting-book. with the unfinished letter in it, 
 and rising. ' 
 
( 9* ) 
 
 X. 
 
 " Have you availed, yourself of the opportunity to talk 
 to E.rna£" HUdegard asked. Bertram as soon as they 
 were alone. 
 
 Bertram had expected this, question,, and had sought 
 and found time,; to prepare hi^ answer to it. His first 
 impulse has be;e,n,. to ,tas,te ithe full delights of triumph, 
 and to assure Hildegard,, in strict accordance with the 
 actual truth, that the Baron need never expect to gain 
 . Erna's affection. But dienhe considered that so brusque 
 a revelation, would, without the slightest doubt, cause 
 the proud lady to burst forth, in to a tempest of indigna- 
 tion, would bring Erna into a disagreeable position, and 
 possibly involve ber in. extremely awkward scenes. , Her 
 feeble, .father would be no support to her whatever— on 
 the contrary, he wished the decision to be put off as long 
 as possible. And, .lastly, he saw now quite clearly that 
 Hildegard's pressing invitation to make a lengthened 
 stay had had the very definite aim to secure in him, as 
 in a very influential friend, an ally in the execution of 
 her plans. Now he had failed in his diplomatic mission, 
 and though they would not openly deprive him of his 
 confidential position, they would very surely not Consult 
 him again. Future events would then occur behind his 
 back, and the sooner he went away the better for them. 
 And was he to go now ? He felt as though he could as 
 readily bid farewell to life and light. 
 
9 2 QU ISIS ANA. 
 
 And so his answer came to be nothing but an adroit 
 evasion. He had, he said, done his best, and Erna had 
 met him in the heartiest and most confiding manner. 
 But on this very ground he considered himself justified 
 in stating that there was at present no trace of any de- 
 finite penchant for the Bajon on Erna's part, and that 
 he could only advise them all to possess their souls in 
 patience^ to' Mde-their time, and to hope'fof the best from 
 the ^gradual, -but all the more sure, influence of daily 
 intercourse. 
 
 1 The 1 apparent genuineness of conviction with which 
 all this was expressed deceived Hrldegard completely. 
 Her assimipf ion that Erna took a special interest in the 
 Baron was" chiefly founded on Lydia*s assertions, and 
 Lydia, poor soul,' was for ever weaving matrimonial pro- 
 jects,' was much addicted to exaggeration, and to the 
 making' of molehills into mountains, and would, in this 
 particular ease, to get into Hildegard's good graces 
 and maintain herself there, amply confirm anything 
 she might be desirous of hearing. Now, when Hilde- 
 •gard was for the moment looking at things through 
 friend Bertram's ' clearer and, as she thought, perfectly 
 unprejudiced ' eyes, she was bound to admit the justice 
 of his observations ; indeed, in Erna's manner to the 
 Baron there was very little indication of anything like 
 a warmer sentiment, so little in fact, that the varying 
 ways in which she treated him might "almost seem 
 matters of congratulation. Bertram asked himself why 
 Hildegard did not ! give up a project which looked so 
 very unlike fulfilment, since Erna, in all the charm of 
 her young beauty, would'' assuredly have no lack of 
 suitors, while .her mother, not haVtrig the slightest sus- 
 picion of her husband's awkward financial situation; must' 
 
QUISISAWA. 93 
 
 needs, as indeed she did in her mat»inonial plans in 
 reference to Erna, reckon wealth among the attractions. 
 There seemed to be something self-contradictory here, 
 anyhow it was passing strange ; and yet, as he went on 
 meditating, ' he thought he had found the key to the 
 enigma. Fair Hildegard herself was most pleasantly 
 impressed by the Baron's striking appearance and con- 
 fident manner, and was much flattered by the homage he 
 paid to her beauty, her cleverness* her kindness, a hom- 
 age to which, he gave even in company a very percep- 
 tible, and in their not infrequent tete-a-tites probahly even 
 a more emphatic expression. And .then the circumstance 
 which, by the by, the Baron by no means concealed, 
 that, to use his own words, he was as poor as a church 
 mouse, she looked upon . as a distinct point in his 
 favour. 
 
 " Herein," she said to Bertram, " I sea the finger of a 
 just and compensating Fate. I know, my friend, that 
 you are too wise and enlightened not tp. pardon an aris- 
 tocratic fancy of mine, namely, that it is best if the aris- 
 tocracy marry among themselves, and the bourgeoisie,, for 
 whom I have the greatest respect, also among themselves. 
 Well, I, being a very poor lady with a long pedigree — for, 
 indeed, the traditions of our family are reckoned by cen- 
 turies* — have had to break with these traditions, and was 
 in this way the first to contract a bourgeois alliance. I do 
 not complain of my lot ; it was my lot^ and there's an end 
 of it; but I have never ceased to pray to God that my 
 only'-daughterniight be granted a different fate. And if 
 a family, which is still older than minev is enabled to 
 resume its rightful position in the world, I really do not 
 know what- better I could wishj assuming .always that 
 Erna, as would doubtless be the case, gets a husband 
 
94 QUISISANA. 
 
 who loves her, and who — not to reckon his little cava- 
 lier's foibles, in reference to which 1 a wise woman will 
 be judiciously blind, knowing that this kind of thing is 
 sure to stop of its own accord — is in -every way worthy 
 of her love." 
 
 "And whom," added Bertram mentally, " I hope to 
 bring as completely under rhy control as my husband." 
 
 Be was convinced that this thought was the leading 
 one in the calculations of the selfish lady,, iri spite of the 
 great care with which she endeavoured to avoid even the 
 faintest appearance of any egotistic motive. Even asshe 
 was fond of representing- her. life as one long chain of 
 sacrifices madejby heron behalf of others, so she would 
 now appear prepared to give up her own comfort for 
 Erna's sake. Of course, she explained, it would not be 
 possible to leave the poor child alone in town, among 
 indifferent > strangers; and she and :Gfcto must in con- 
 sequence make up thehi minds to spend -the winter there 
 in future. Thisy to be sure, would necessitate the pur- 
 chase of a house of their own in town; but the question 
 of expense was not to be taken into consideration where 
 the happiness of. their child was concerned; and, by a 
 lucky accident there,! happened to .be for sale, and 
 at quite a, reasonable price,, a newly -erected Villa close 
 to ftbe Park,, surrounded by a pretty garden, and- roomy 
 endugh to enable .them all, parents and children, to live 
 comfortably together. And it would be quite feasible 
 and not very expensive either, to build a studio for the 
 Baron, she ad'decL Perhaps Bertram would not mind 
 driving to town with Otto, to look at the house ? When ? 
 Why not to-day.?: Otto, as usual, could not make up his 
 mind, although it would be an excellent investment, even 
 supposihgr-tsupposing— rbut no, that case was not likely 
 
QUISISANA. 95 
 
 to occur, the momentary, somewhat unfavourable, aspect 
 of things notwithstanding. 
 
 " For in this, too, my friend," she said, in concluding 
 her explanations, "you will agree with me: the more 
 carefully we prepare all things needful, and thus show 
 the child, as it were, an image of the safe and sure and 
 peaceful happiness awaiting her, the more swiftly and 
 fondly her fancy will busy itself with that image, and 
 from the fair image to the fairer reality — il riy a. qu'un 
 pas. But first we must settle about the villa. There 
 will he no difficulty if you speak seriously to Otto." 
 
 "I promise," replied Bertram. 
 
 The incident was most opportune, he thought Here 
 Otto, already harassed on all sides, was threatened, with 
 huge additional expenditure, before which even his fatal 
 readiness to yield must needs pause at length, as before 
 an absolutely insuperable obstacle. The consequences 
 were clear. He could not simply meet his wife's request 
 by a refusal. There must be a full explanation between 
 husband and wife; there would be a fearful storm, 
 but it had to come, it was absolutely required to clear 
 the sultry atmosphere, to disentangle the wretchedly in- 
 volved situation. Hildegard's frivolous scheme would 
 burst like a soap-bubble, and at one stroke Erna would 
 be freed from an importunate suitor, and her father from 
 an unworthy and intolerable position. Yesterday already 
 he had been. determined to stand by his friend through 
 all the anxieties, embarrassments, and perils which were 
 bound to ensue. To-day his heart beat anxiously, eager 
 as he was to face those perils, for every peril cleared 
 out of her path and victoriously conquered, was a trophy 
 laid at her feet, hers, for whom he would have willingly 
 shed his heart's blood drop by drop. 
 
96 QUISISANA; 
 
 Fancy his terror and his indignation when, driving to 
 town with Otto later in the day, he found his friend more 
 removed than ever from any manly resolve. 
 
 " The purchase of this villa, dear me — why, if Hildegard 
 cares for it so much — would, after all, be a comparative 
 trifle — really. And then, what I told you yesterday re- 
 garding my situation, why, dear me, you know me well 
 enough, old man, to ... to know how I am influenced 
 by passing moods. That makes me look at all things 
 accordingly ; things are either black or white to me. And 
 yesterday, why, I had a black, a very black mood. To be 
 sure, my factories are not a success, and, indeed, may 
 now and again involve a loss. But, then, look at those 
 fields, and think of the crop we'll have ; and with such a 
 prospect I can afford to leave myself a very fair margin, 
 the more so as the harvest in Russia and in Hungary 
 promises to be very bad — so the reports say— and in that 
 case we shall make no end of money. And then-^look 
 here-s-just you read his paragraph in the paper about the 
 railway question. Eh — and the paragraph, I feel sure, 
 is from the pen of the President of our own local Parlia- 
 ment, who is, by the by, a great friend of mine, and has 
 for years been my lawyer. Well, what do you say now ? " 
 
 " 1 say," replied Bertram gravely, " that things are 
 exactly in the position which you described yesterday. 
 Your friend here clearly represents only his own, or, if 
 you like, your views and wishes; and will, moreover, 
 naturally put some pressure upon Government, by re- 
 presenting it as impossible for them to decide differently 
 from your wishes and hopes." 
 
 " But the Government — which means the Court- 
 is already more than half won over. Lotter assures 
 me. . • ." 
 
QUISISANA. 97 
 
 " For Heaven's sake 1 leave him out of the business." 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course ; if you are so prejudiced 
 against him that you refuse him even the common 
 credibility which you allow otherwise to everybody ! " 
 
 " There is no question here of credibility or incredi- 
 bility," exclaimed Bertram indignantly ; " but the thing 
 is this : you are mistaking your illusions and hopes for 
 realities and facts ; you are voluntarily blinding your- 
 self lest you see the abyss into which you • are about to 
 plunge. And mind this : by your miserable hesitation 
 you are really accelerating the coming of the dreaded 
 moment ; nay, you render it only the more dreadful. 
 There is still time ; this very day you can go and say to 
 your wife : I have met with losses, terrible losses, and we 
 must needs retrench, and therefore. . . . Why, man, 
 you will let it come to this, that you must confess to her: 
 We have nothing further to lose ; all is gone ! Think of 
 this, friend, I entreat you. Your boat is overloaded; 
 away with the ballast which all but sinks it now ; over- 
 board with it all ! Were it a question of yourself alone, 
 you would be manly enough not to hesitate ; and with wife 
 and child on board, whose ruin is certain unless you act 
 at once, you .... cannot, will not act ! " " 
 
 Otto would say neither yea nor nay. Bertram was 
 silent in his despair. What would come of it all ? 
 
 And so they arrived' in town, having hardly exchanged 
 
 a word more. They looked over the villa, and again 
 
 hardly a word was exchanged ; just an indifferent remark 
 
 here and there, nothing more. Otto was apparently 
 
 annoyed at something, but Bertram saw well enough that 
 
 this appearance of annoyance was but assumed to hide 
 
 his irresolution. 
 
 "I know, I know," Otto said at last grumpily, "w» 
 6 a 
 
98 QUISISANA. 
 
 are nqt likely to agree as it is. Had we not better call 
 together upon, my lawyer and hear his opinion about the 
 whole business? He is, moreover, on your side, in poli- 
 tics, and will be delighted to make your acquaintance." 
 
 Bertram seized eagerly upon so sensible a proposal, 
 and to the lawyer's they drove accordingly; but when 
 they had got to the door, Otto remembered that he had to 
 do some commission for Hiidegard : he even explained — 
 
 " About those officers who are going to be quartered 
 upon us, don't you know?— extra provisions and that 
 kind of thing. She can never, she thinks, have too 
 much on hand, in case. . . . Well, well, it's her nature 
 to . . ." 
 
 . And so the broad-shouldered figure of his friend passed 
 down the lonely sunlit street ; and Bertram added, speak- 
 ing to himself, this comment, " And your nature is . . . 
 to do things by halves only, unless you mean, in this case, 
 to throw the whole responsibility upon my shoulders."- 
 
 And in this view his friend's lawyer completely con- 
 firmed him. 
 
 "Look here," said the latter to Bertram, when, after a 
 hearty, mutual welcome, the two had swiftly grown to be 
 confidential with each other, " you may take my word 
 for this, he is most anxious we should have a perfectly 
 unrestrained talk about his affairs, and has backed out of 
 being present simply to avoid having to hear all the dis- 
 agreeable things .we could not spare him; moreover, he 
 might oppose to you and to me, separately, a certain 
 resistance which he would not have the courage to 
 do if he, found us confronting him together. Under 
 these circumstances I do not consider it indiscreet, but 
 I think I am acting according to the wishes, and I 
 know I am acting in the interest of our common friend, 
 
QUISISANA. 99 
 
 if I now add a few words of explanation to what you 
 know already; then, indeed, you will be thoroughly * 
 acquainted with the state of his affairs." 
 
 The lawyer then proceeded to describe Otto's posi- 
 tion in detail j and to his amazement Bertram found 
 his own conception confirmed throughout. Why, even 
 his own image of the ballast which required to be heaved 
 overboard to set the ship once more -afloat, figured in 
 the exposition. To be sure, Bertram now learned for the 
 first time how weighty that ballast really was. Thus, to 
 give but one example, Otto had never mentioned, had 
 not even hinted at the fact that Hildegard's elder sister, 
 the widow of the late Secret Counsellor von Palm, and her 
 whole family, lived entirely upon Otto's bounty. " And 
 that," said the lawyer^ " is an awful item ! For the lady in 
 question is, in every respect, a true sister of your friend's 
 wife. She thinks that death and the end of all things must 
 needs be at hand, if she and tiers cannot live on a very 
 grand scale indeed; And then her house in Erfurth is a sort 
 of gathering-place for all who, by rank or position, may 
 aspire to the honour of appearing in such sublime sur- 
 roundings 5 half-pay general officers and colonels galore — 
 and the little town was ever full of them — and, of course, 
 the whole number of officers actually on duty in the garri- 
 son, and so on, and so on. The girls — and there is half-a- 
 dozen of them— are as bad as their mother, always except- 
 ing one dear, sensible creature — not one of t)ie pietty 
 ones, though-— whom, I understand, you are about to 
 meet in«Rinstedt Well, if the daughters are extravagant, 
 the two sons — both, as you know,, in the army, go on as 
 though their uncle's cashbox had no bottom to it. Three 
 times, four times, already he has paid the debts of those 
 young men, whom, by the by» he cannot bear at all, and 
 
ioo QU IS IS ANA. 
 
 this, and all this, simply in majorem gloriam HUctegardis, 
 his well-beloved wife, a lady of such an old family that 
 the scions thereof cannot, of course, be measured by the 
 same standard as common mortals." 
 
 " And do you not perceive any way of escape from 
 this vicious circle our friend is wandering in ? " Bertram 
 asked. 
 
 "Only the one you have already pointed to," the 
 lawyer made answer. " But how the deuce can you 
 advise a man who will not be advised, or rather, who 
 accepts all the advice you give him and never acts upon 
 it for all that . . . ? And there is one thing yet in which 
 ' you have, too, judged aright. It is by no means too late 
 yet ! If he give up those factories of his which will 
 never pay, even if — and on that his whole hope is now 
 centred — the new line of rails passes straight through his 
 estates, and if he meets My Lady with a sic voleo, sic 
 fribeo, and if, with one determined cut, he severs the 
 boundlessly costly train from My Lady's garment, leav- 
 ing it, for all that, a very respectable garment, he would 
 be- enabled to discharge his other liabilities gradually, 
 or at once if somebody would, at fair interest, lend him 
 a biggish capital. This, of course, times 1 being bad, 
 will not be very easy to manage, more particularly . if 
 people begin to talk about his being embarrassed." 
 
 "And how large* think you, should that capital be?" 
 
 "I think that I could settle everything if I had a 
 hundred thousand thalers at my disposal, without there 
 being any formal arrangement with his creditors) or even 
 a voluntary surrender." 
 
 " In that case I beg to put the sum mentioned at your 
 disposal." 
 
 The lawyer looked up in amazement 
 
QUI SIS AN A. 101 
 
 " I had no idea that you were so wealthy," he said 
 simply. 
 
 " It does not represent half my fortune. Anyhow, 1 
 am not running any risk." 
 
 "No, to be sure," replied the lawyer; "I should be 
 able to secure you against any loss ; the rate of interest, 
 as I observed before, would be low. But I may tell 
 you beforehand that your generous offer will be refused. 
 I know our friend. He would rather borrow from the 
 most unscrupulous cut-throat of a usurer than from you, 
 for whom he has, as I know, the profoundest respect. 
 For, though you may be the best of friends, you are not 
 his brother, not his cousin, not a kinsman at all. If you 
 could say to him, you owe it to our family to do so — 
 such an appeal to the family honour, which he halds in 
 the highest esteem, he would comprehend much better. 
 But as it is, his very pride, or his vanity rather — for 
 vanity is distinctly his ruling passion — will be hurt ; he 
 will appear to be immensely grateful to you, will say 
 that you are his good angel, and — will not accept a 
 farthing from you, as long-as he sees, or fancies he sees, 
 any other way out He may possibly come to his senses 
 when his last hope, the railway, proves illusory. I fear 
 — I am a keen promoter of the project myself, but on 
 different grounds — I fear that will occur presently. 
 Meanwhile, try your luck, or his rather, by all means. 
 But I repeat, you will not succeed with the mere appeal 
 to your friendship?' 
 
 Bertram, as previously arranged, then called for his 
 friend, and as they drove home together he made his 
 attempt The lawyer's prophecy was literally fulfilled. 
 Otto overflowed in expressions of the greatest gratitude 
 for an offer so thoroughly characteristic of his generous 
 
102 QUISISANA. 
 
 friend, and which, for the sake of their long friendship, 
 he would unconditionally accept — if there were any 
 occasion for it. But that, thank goodness, was not the 
 case. 
 
 And then came the wretched old story which Bertram 
 knew by heart already, and to which, for all that, he now 
 listened ; not, as before, with disgust, but with an odd 
 feeling of anxiety and doubt. To be sure, mere friend- 
 ship was not sufficient. He would have required an- 
 other title, one giving the right to demand what now he 
 begged for in vain. Should he venture upon the word 
 that was trembling on his lips, and that yet was ever 
 beating a cowardly retreat to the tremulous heart? 
 Cowardly? No! It would have been cowardice, 
 miserable cowardice, if he had spoken it; cowardice, 
 trying to take by miserable money-bribes a fortress 
 invincible to valour and high courage; cowardice and 
 treason, treason to the sanctity of a love which had 
 hitherto been unselfish and as pure as the heart of the 
 great waters. If things came to the worst, if it was a 
 question of guarding the beloved child 'against common 
 want, she would be noble enough not to refuse the 
 helping hand of a protecting friend. But woe to him if 
 that hand were not unsullied ; if even the shadow of a 
 suspicion of selfishness fell upon it ! . 
 
 And as they thus drove homewards, with the evening 
 darkening around them, he fixed his eye on high, where 
 now the heavenly lights were appearing in ever-increasing 
 numbers, with ever-growing splendour ; and he reverently 
 repeated to himself the poet's great saying of the stars 
 above, in whose majestic beauty man should rejoice 
 without coveting their possession. 
 
( 1*3 ) 
 
 XI. - * 
 
 But bo poet's word could henceforth stay the wild con- 
 flagration which raged in his heart ; and every thought 
 by which his mind strove to obtain rest and clearness 
 proved a faint-hearted hireling soldier that takes the first 
 opportunity of deserting to ttoe ranks of the more potent 
 foe. In vain did he recall the arguments by which, in a 
 certain memorable conversation, he had tried to refute 
 Erna's assertions — it had been a lie, a lie — or, at best, 
 mere theoretical twaddle. His love a reminiscence 
 merely? And of what, pray? Perhaps of that mournful 
 aberration when his hearty his thirty years notwithstand- 
 ing, was still full of faith and devoid of experience? 
 Or of the coquettish phantom-fights and ugly caricatures 
 of passion with which a heart that has ceased to believe, 
 in love, endeavours to deceive itself regarding its own 
 needs? Thee, he 'exclaimed, thee I have always" loved. 
 My whole life has been one unbroken longing for thee ; 
 and when now at length I have reached the land of 
 promise, am I solely to see it, bless God, and die ? I 
 am no longer weary of life. Nay, life has never yet 
 appeared so fair to me, and never yet have I so felt the 
 desire and the power to enjoy it. Die we must ; die, 
 however empty Life may have been ; but oh, how. better 
 far to die in the full bliss of love ! No, no ! If I love 
 her, My only reminiscence is one of weary deserts 
 
104 QUISISANA. 
 
 traversed until I reached her : if she could love me, her 
 love should be no mere mirage of an oasis in the future ; 
 palms should rustle above her fair head, silvery brooks 
 should run at her feet. Jl.ove surely has this potent 
 spell : it can create a paradise on earth ! 
 
 And from these fairy dreams of future bliss he was 
 startled by the thought that Erna's heart must have already 
 once received some mighty impression. For it was 
 surely passing strange that she fcwew so well how to 
 interpret some of the mysterious , symbols in the book 
 of passion; that she evidently liked to read in that 
 book. But since all his cautious questioning led to no 
 result, since she spoke -of the few young men whom she 
 seemed to know at all either with indifference, or even,. 
 as in the case of her two cousins, with a perceptible 
 touch of irony, he .could not but conclude that his sus- 
 picion was unfounded, and he became more and more 
 familiar with' a fond hope, from which he at first recoiled 
 as from a temptation to sheer madness. ; 
 
 But he still had the full use of his senses, and they, 
 had never been so acute as now. How was he to ex- 
 plain that her voice, whenever she turned to him, and 
 particularly when they were alone, was quite different 
 from its usual tone — softer, deeper, more intense ? • How 
 was he to explain that she — surely without being aware 
 of it — kept sometimes, at table, if he happened to speak, 
 eagerly, her gaze fixed upon him for several minutes — 
 that strange, fixed gaze which he- had never before met 
 from any human eye, and which reminded him again and 
 again of the gaze of the gods, — 
 
 " Whose eyelids quiver not like those of mortals ; " 
 and then when he ceased to, speak she was like one 
 
QUISISANA. 105 
 
 awakening from a dream, drawing a long breath, which 
 caused her maiden bosom to rise and sink ! 
 
 Nor were other promising tokens wanting. He had, 
 for good reasons of his own, disregarded Erna's request 
 to be henceforth less kind to Lydia ; nay, he had doubled 
 his attentions and courtesies, not only towards the 
 coquettish lady, but towards the Baron too. It seemed 
 so easy now to pardon, to show indulgence, to look at all 
 things from the best and most amiable point of view ; and 
 politeness is a veil behind which one may hide so much. 
 At first he had been prepared for opposition or serious 
 displeasure on the part of the proud, self-willed girl j 
 but nothing of the kind occurred; she either seemed 
 not to notice his disobedience, or actually to approve 
 of it; and once or twice, when he somewhat overdid 
 his part, a meaning smile played about her mouth. 
 Nay, more, she followed, though with evident hesitation, 
 his example ; she no longer met Lydia's fantastic exag- 
 gerations with short and sharp replies, or with that frigid 
 non-recognition which is more cutting than direct blame : 
 she continued, as on the first evening or two, to sing. and 
 play with the Baron ; she even suffered herself to be put 
 into the famous terrace picture, and was patient enough 
 to sit to him for a couple of hours, in which the Baron, 
 with his brush, was constantly taking one step forward 
 and two backward, as it were ; while he vowed again and 
 again that this was the most grateful, but also the most 
 difficult, task which he had ever undertaken in his life. 
 
 .And there was yet one thing more which had struck 
 him as peculiarly strange and important. Erna was 
 accustomed to repeat her interlocutors' names frequently 
 in the course of conversation, and to add them, even to 
 quite trivial phrases or questions. From the first days of 
 
io6 QUISISANA. 
 
 his visit he still recalled with delight her sweet " How 
 are you, Uncle Bertram ? J '-^" Yes, Uncle Bertram" — 
 " No, Uncle Bertram." But sweeter, sweeter far it 
 seemed to him that he now no longer heard it— no, -not 
 once— 'that her conversation now was plain yea and nay,' 
 as enjoined in Holy Writ, and quite in accordance with 
 the wild wish of his heart. Hilarie, too, had surely 
 ceased to call her lover-^Uncle. Poor Major! But it 
 served him right, after all, for it was not youth so much 
 that he lacked, as the courage and force of genuine 
 passion. 
 
 " That man must ever be a youthful man 
 Who is well-pleasing to a maiden's eyes 1 " 
 
 And he does please her well, because she feels with the 
 unerring instinct of true love that he can and will give 
 love for love. 
 
 And as though he would force Fate to grant him all, 
 because he was staking his all upon it, he looked on 
 with a happy smile, whilst the fire of his great love 
 burned up with increasing vehemence with every day, 
 with every hour, spreading around and engulfing his 
 entire being. He was proud that he could no longer feel 
 anything else, think of anything else, but always her, and 1 
 her alone. If she was away, how empty, how barren did 
 the whole world seem ! With what painful impatience 
 did he await the moment when he should behold her 
 again; and when he beheld her again, it seemed as 
 though he had never beheld her before — as though the 
 Creator had but just uttered the command : " Let there 
 be light 1" and as though the world lay before -him in 
 all the dewy freshness and brightness of the, morn of 
 creation. • 
 
QUISISANA. 107 
 
 Then, when the torment of delight became overpower- 
 ing, he fled from her, to dream, often for hours, in the 
 solitude of the forest, in lone, rocky caves, or on sunny 
 summits — to listen in the deep silence around for the 
 echoing of her sweet voice within his heart, to whisper 
 her loved name to the discreet herbs and trees; to hear 
 that name in the murmur of the brooks, in the rustling 
 of the breezes, in every note of the birds'. songs; to see 
 her fair image smiling down upon him from among the 
 dainty white cloudlets that flecked the deep-blue sky, 
 or gazing at him with musing gravity from the dusky 
 shadows of the towering trees, gazing with those great,' 
 still, potent, godlike orbs. 
 
 That those orbs were now smiling more rarely, that 
 they were fuller of gravest thought, often gazing with a 
 certain sweet fixity of intensest concentration, he had 
 not failed to observe, and he- had not interpreted it as 
 a symptom unfavourable to himself; how should, how 
 could it be otherwise, if there fell into her young soul 
 even the faintest reflex of the bright radiancy that was 
 filling his own to its deepest depths? 
 . But he had not failed to observe either, and this he 
 knew not how to explain, that this musing gravity from 
 which his own love in its hopefulness drew sweetest" sus- 
 tenance — like a bee from the chalice of a budding blos- 
 som — was turning to a gloomy indignation, which not 
 only was for ever veiling the beloved eyes, but was not 
 unfrequently enfolding the fair face with its fine, ener- 
 getic features in darkest night, luridly illumined by 
 wrathful flashes. 
 
 This startling change had occurred quite suddenly, 
 coincident, strangely enough, with the day, almost with 
 the hour, of Agatha's arrival. 
 
( io8 ) 
 
 XII. 
 
 On the occasion of former visits at Rinstedt Bertram 
 had repeatedly seen Agatha, and had always Jaeen on the 
 best of terms with the ever equally pleasant, amiable 
 child. Now, of course she had, like Erna, developed 
 during the last few years into a maiden, though one 
 could not say that she had gained by the process of 
 metamorphosis. The blonde hair now was almost red, 
 freckles abounded unpleasantly on brow and cheek, and 
 an awkward tendency to one side had become an un- 
 doubted lurch ; so that, taking all these things together, 
 one might indeed be tempted to take the nickname 
 " Granny," which Erna had bestowed upon her cousin 
 and bosom friend, not in its moral meaning alone. But 
 the bright blue eyes had faithfully preserved the old, 
 dear expression ; nay, even more openly than of old, 
 there spoke out of, them a heart full of kindliest good- 
 will to all men, desirous of riving in peace and friendship 
 with all men, and seeming not so much to loathe as 
 simply not to comprehend the evil emotions and pas- 
 sions of the human heart. 
 
 So gentle a creature, made but for sympathy in joy or 
 in sorrow, could scarcely have found the requisite courage 
 to destroy even the commonplace illusions of a common- 
 place heart, and would most likely have recoiled from 
 the mere attempt to lay violent hands upon a heart like 
 
QUIStSANA. 109 
 
 Erna's, deviating as it did so greatly from the humdrum, 
 everyday pattern. And, again, Bertram had to drop 
 the suspicion which at first had come to him in his per- 
 plexity ; to wit, that Agatha had, whether in carelessness 
 or intentionally, blabbed about something confided to 
 her by Erna. Such a thing would have been in down- 
 right contradiction to the character of the girl, who was 
 as clever as she was good ; and, lastly, that he himself 
 should have betrayed his feelings to the rest — that was ■ 
 absolutely impossible. He was only too painfully con- 
 scious of having from the vefy first moment put a most 
 careful guard on his conduct, of having weighed his 
 every word, controlled his every smile and look: of 
 course he had 1 Why, he recoiled in horror from the 
 very thought that Erna might discover his great secret ; 
 it was certain that she had not discovered it, and how 
 could others have done so? 
 
 But why should they, again, not have seen, and seen in 
 envy, uncharitableness, and terror, what it was the utmost 
 delight to him to see ? Though he, in the full conscious- 
 ness of his love, in the anxious doubt as to whether that 
 love was not a folly, a crime even, had put the utmost 
 restraint upon himself, yet Erna had assuredly not been 
 equally careful in expressing her feelings, whose real sig- 
 nificance she might guess at, though most assuredly she 
 could not measure it. Why, the most harmless. and in- 
 nocent things in the attentions she was spoiling him with, 
 the manj kindly little offices which she did for him without 
 any fuss, en passant, as it were — all these things might 
 have been malevolently criticised and viciously explained, 
 suspicion being once aroused one way or the other ! 
 
 And that such must be the case he could scarcely 
 doubt any longer, when he submitted the demeanour of 
 
no QUI SI SAN A. 
 
 the others towards hkn during, the last few days to a sab- 
 sequent examination. Thus, in "tb'e light of newly-won 
 knowledge, sundry things stood out in a very marked way, 
 which, under other-: circumstances, -he would either not 
 have heeded, or anyhow have interpreted differently. His 
 beautiful hostess>. who used to avail herself of every tete- 
 a-tete with him to turn their talk to Erna and the Baron^ 
 had not resumed her favourite topic of conversation ; 
 and, on the other hand, Lydia now manifested infinite 
 interest in Erna, and never wearied of starting contem- 
 plative .talks in reference to the qualities of her former 
 pupil, wondering .how one should represent to oneself 
 ' the future of such a singular being as likely to develop 
 itself. The Baron had still, on each Occasion when Ber- 
 tram and he had met, overflowed with civility, but had 
 yet tormented him less often with challenges to billiard- 
 matches and to contests in pistol-shooting, but had on 
 the other hand undertaken more frequent solitary shoot- 
 ing expeditions — neither: Bertram nor Otto, their host, 
 cared for shooting, as it happened^— and had extended 
 them farther too. Otto himself had certainly and most 
 clearly avoided him. At first he had thought that 
 Otto did it to avoid new and painful discussions in 
 reference to his financial position, but Bertram now 
 assumed that it was done lest Otto should distinctly 
 show that he was angry with his friend for Erna's sake, 
 or* what — with his natural weak readiness to yield— came 
 virtually to the same thing, that he had been bidden 
 by the ruling spirit to be angry with Bertram. 
 
 These were curiously mixed feelings which were 
 roused within him by his recognition of the new posi- 
 tion he so suddenly found himself in. He said to him- 
 self that the things which caused anxiety and terror to 
 
QUISISANA. 1 1 1 
 
 his adversaries were for himself objects of joy and 
 triumph, and constituted the clearest proof that he had 
 not only dreamed a dream of rapturous delight. And to 
 be sure, his love could not for ever remain in the far- 
 off regions of starry splendour ; it was bound some 
 time to approach this earth, to become visible to the 
 dull, mole-rUke eyes of these men. But then again, 
 putting himself in the place of these others, and ex- 
 amining himself and his love, as these others were un- 
 doubtedly doing, he would hear anew, and this time from 
 the lips of unjust accusers, the old evil questions which 
 he thought had long ago been done with, to wit — Is your 
 longing and your desire really and truly free from every 
 vestige, of selfishness, from every frivolous admixture ? 
 Has the satisfaction of your own vanity, inasmuch as 
 you may prove that you, a man of fifty, are able to win 
 the love of such a youthful, and, in every respect, such a 
 highly-favoured and gifted girl* against the wishes of her 
 own parents, before her who had once spurned your love, 
 in the presence and to the shame and discomfiture of so 
 much, more likely a rival — have these considerations 
 nothing, nothing whatever to do with your love ? 
 
 And supposing he were to allow himself to be urged 
 by pressure on the part of his foes to make a declaration 
 before the right time ; or supposing there never had 
 been and never would be such a time at all — supposing 
 he and all of them had blundered.; — supposing Erna's 
 heart knew nought of love, and rejected his love, 
 amazed, terrified, insulted — what then ? Ye Heavens 
 above ! what then ? Where was then that line of retreat 
 which Gothe had so wisely secured for his hero? 
 
 He realised it to be one of those horribly hideous 
 contradictions of human life that, while before his inner 
 
ii2 QUlSISANA. 
 
 eye the possibilities of his future fate concentrated them- 
 selves as in a focus, he was busied before the mirror in 
 exchanging the cravat which Konski had put out for him 
 for the early dinner, for another (the first dfessing- 
 bell having just rung), in reference to which Erna had 
 once said that it suited him particularly welL 
 
 He stepped, annoyed, from the mirror to the open 
 window. There came floating through the balmy, sunny 
 air a gossamer thread and fixed itself on his shoulder. 
 He sighed wearily, he felt unutterably sad. 
 
 There was always one line of retreat open, and that 
 was — Death. Perhaps his life was really hanging on as 
 slight a thread as this bit of gossamer. But then, was 
 not his love for that very reason both madness and 
 sacrilege ? Was that love which at bottom thought, after 
 all, of itself only, and thought not first and last of this ? 
 Could one, according to human judgment, really undertake 
 the guarantee for the well-being of those whom one . . . 
 made believe one loved? Whether, for her, weal would not 
 swiftly change to woe, whence, even though time and 
 that youthful vigour which refuses to be crushed -were 
 to heal the grievous wounds* there could never again 
 blossom forth a full, whole happiness ? And thus, and 
 for this reason, to have henceforth, like humdrum every- 
 day folks, to dread death, when he had already again and 
 again looked into his hollow eyes ! 
 
 There was some noise behind him, and he started in 
 terror. It was only Konski who had come back bearing 
 a letter. The post which was due in the morning had 
 arrived now, and there had been lots of letters for 
 the other ladies and gentlemen too, and some of them 
 would seem to be mighty important^ for My Lady 
 had given orders to put dinner back half an hour, 
 
QUISISANA. 113 
 
 so the Herr Doctor could anyhow read his letter in 
 peace. 
 
 Konski had gone away again, and Bertram held the 
 letter still unopened in his Jiand. How odd that his 
 physician and friend should write to him just now — that 
 the busiest of men should so swiftly reply to his own 
 letter, in which, on the second day of his visit, he had, 
 as requested, given news of his state. of health, a letter 
 which really called for no reply at all. Was his friend 
 now going to tell him that he . . . was doomed to speedy 
 death ? Well, the letter could not have come at a more 
 opportune moment. 
 
 With trembling hand he broke the seal and read 
 this — 
 
 " Dearest Frienjj, — Laugh if you like. On reading 
 your letter a second time — your letters are not, like most 
 others, consigned to the waste-paper basket — I have 
 even more strongly the same impression which the first 
 perusal had given me ; namely, that, possibly unknown 
 to yourself, there is to be read between the lines of your 
 letter a question, which can be answered only by omni- 
 scient Fate and by "Yours Truly;" and which, seeing Fate 
 is not altogether to be relied upon in this respect, Yours 
 Truly has the honour and likewise the great pleasure of 
 answering herewith. Reduced to its simplest formula, 
 then, the question comes to this : May I marry ? Seeing 
 that you do not laugh, but, on the contrary, look 
 extremely grave, I will not keep you needlessly on the 
 tenter-hooks of expectation, but will reduce my reply, 
 too, to the simplest form, viz. : — Yes, best of friends, you 
 may marry, in spite of your late serious attack ; nay, oddly 
 enough, all the more because of it. For although even 
 before your illness I had no doubt that your curiously 
 6 H 
 
1 14 QUISISANA. 
 
 powerful nature would for years continue to hold its own 
 against the severe damage done (to deny or reason away 
 the existence of which was unfortunately impossible), I 
 now have hardly any misgiving in that respect. For 
 your last illness was simply and solely a remarkably 
 energetic attempt at self-help on the part of nature, and 
 the attempt has all but succeeded. What remains to be 
 done to complete the cure is but little, and that this 
 little be done as swiftly and thoroughly as possible, you- 
 can yourself greatly helpi How so? Well, by marrying! 
 You, having always been over-conscientious and abnor- 
 mally scrupulous, having ever lived but for ideal aims 
 and for the benefit of other folk, should now at length 
 begin to live for yourself, should now at length find that 
 quiet happiness which you so richly deserve, and be 
 happy in that happiness ; though, to be sure, for the 
 last condition more good sense is required than what the 
 majority of mankind have been ready to employ. You, 
 niygood friend, have that amount of sense. Ergo — 
 marry for goodness* sake, marry for your own good, 
 marry for the good of those whorn you love, and, lastly, 
 marry with my full consent, without which I know you 
 would not do it at all. 
 
 " But now, seeing that you are too accustomed to 
 suffering of some sort to be able to dispense with it alto- 
 gether, I owe you a fresh supply to make up for what I 
 am depriving you of, and I am going to saddle you with 
 one of the most awful kinds of suffering a free man can 
 be tormented with in these hard and distressing times 
 — you must stand for Parliament. There is no help for 
 it ; we must have you in the Reichstag. Good old S. 
 can bear the burthen no longer; he is going to retire. I 
 should have insisted' upon it on medical grounds if 
 
QUISISANA. n S 
 
 he had not at length come to see himself that there was 
 no help for it. He is done for, and doomed to speedy 
 death. And you, who are vigorously advancing to com- 
 plete restoration of health, shall and must take his place 
 — by order of the Electoral Committee, who met at a 
 late hour last night and ultimately came to a unanimous 
 conclusion on the subject, all, finally, voting for you! 
 There Is no reason why I should keep back the fact that, 
 to begin with, O. and B. were opposed to it, and so 
 were a few others, asserting that you could be of greater 
 use to the common cause as an outsider. They went on 
 arguing that your absolutely independent position within 
 the part/ had hitherto enabled you, and would continue 
 to enable you, to ventilate certain grievances which 
 really require to be ventilated, and which it is impossible ' 
 for ourselves, sitting as members of the Reichstag, to 
 bring forward, because, sitting there, we must pay a cer- 
 tain regard to . . . what not. This great and invaluable 
 activity of yours, they wisely contended, would be ren- 
 dered absolutely barren by your entering the serried 
 ranks of a definite political phalanx within the House 
 itself. Right they are, I know well enough, none 
 better; for I have, as you know, always maintained 
 the same view. But, for all that, you must stand. The 
 need is imperative. We have, alas ! none but you ; and 
 therefore our arguments prevailed : and the requisition I 
 am now forwarding to you in the name of our common 
 party is, as aforesaid, unanimous. Knowing you as well 
 as 1 do, and knowing therefore with what a struggle you 
 make up your mind, ever determined to adhere unswer- 
 vingly to a resolution you have once arrived at, I'll give 
 you three days to think it over. Perhaps you'll talk it 
 over with our friend G. in W., whose acquaintance you 
 
n6 QUISISANA, 
 
 have probably made ere this ; not to get him to appeal to 
 your conscience — small need for that in your case — but 
 because an old veteran like him may. be able, from the 
 fulness of his experience, to give you some hint or other 
 which may be of use to- you in your candidature. It is 
 very probable that you may have to appear speedily in 
 the arena. The Government would appear to feel very 
 confident of success, and will not delay the election. 
 Four weeks hence everything may be settled. That would 
 leave you another month before the meeting of Parlia- 
 ment to recover from the fatigue of the electioneering 
 campaign. The Italian trip will have to be given iip, it 
 is true. But no one can serve two masters ; d!nd as for 
 the mistress, if my conjecture be correct, I do not dread 
 her jealousy. If it were permitted to harbour any doubt 
 whether you have chosen wisely, or if there were any 
 need to apply a special test, there could be no surer 
 touchstone than this. The true gold of a genuine woman's 
 love never shines more brightly than when a sacrifice has 
 to be made for the' sake of letting a man's worth stand 
 out clearly. Commend me cordially to the fair unknown, 
 and accept my own affectionate greetings." 
 
 The second dinner-bell had rung, and Bertram still 
 sat staring at the letter. Could this be true ? It looked 
 like witchcraft. By what wonderful ingenuity had his 
 friend rightly interpreted the state of his heart, judging 
 from hints which were not intended to be hints at all ? 
 Well, if it was a miracle, it was a very auspicious one — » 
 one that could only have had its origin in the great strength 
 of truest friendship. Impossible for the tempter to have 
 assumed the guise of the best and Jioblest of men ! 
 
 He pressed the letter to his lips, and gazed upward to 
 the blue sky. And, lo ! as he moved, the gossamer thread 
 
QUISISANA. 117 
 
 floated away from his shoulder, away into the sunny 
 afar. 
 
 With glowing eye he followed its flight. 
 
 "Right, right! Fly and float with it, ye cowardly 
 thoughts of retreat ! Who fears not death has already 
 half won the battle I " 
 
( "8 ) 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Below, in the garden saloon, Bertram found only Otto 
 arid the Baron, who abruptly stopped an eager conversa- 
 tion aS Bertram entered. Otto looked greatly embar- 
 rassed ; the Baron gave him one angry look, then 
 turned away to the young ladies, who were walking on 
 the verandah. 
 
 " I seem to have disturbed you," said Bertram. 
 
 " Don't be annoyed," replied Otto. " The Baron had, 
 last night already, disagreeable news from home, which 
 is confirmed to-day, and will compel him to travel back ; 
 and just now, in this time of tension, he wishes of course 
 — it is extremely awkward ..." 
 
 " In one word, he has officially asked you for your 
 daughter's hand ? " 
 
 " Not exactly officially ; we really do not know about 
 Erna. You had undertaken to put us au courant, to 
 advise and help us, and now you are not helping us at 
 all, and — and my wife is rather annoyed with you on this 
 ground." 
 
 " So I have observed ; and therefore, to make up for 
 previous omissions, I'll give you my advice now : get rid 
 of him as quickly as possible, and spare Erna the humilia- 
 tion of having to refuse the fellow." 
 
 " Humiliation ? The fellow ? How oddly you talk ! " 
 
 "I talk how I feel. He is unworthy of Erna, 
 absolutely." 
 
QUISISANA. 119 
 
 " So you say ; but why ? " • 
 
 Bertram made no answer. Ayhat good ooukl it do 
 now to have a dispute with Ottp. about the worthiness or 
 unworthiness of the Baron ? 
 
 "You see," said Otto triumphantly, "you have no real 
 reason to give ! " Then, seeing his friend look extremely 
 grave, he went on — " I know of course that you mean 
 well by Erna, by me, by all of us. Perhaps you art 
 right, too, at least in this — that Erna may say: No. 
 If she does, Well, then there is an end of it, and 
 Hildegard and he may see how they can best put up 
 with it. If only it-had not happened just now. I have 
 my head quite full enough as it is — all these officers 
 coming to be quartered here to-morrow, then the final 
 debate on the railway question, and then I just remem- 
 ber that I have also to redeem to-"morrow a certain 
 mortgage, not much, only five thousand thalers, but it 
 happens most inopportunely, I wanted to talk to you 
 about it before, but I did not like to disturb you in your 
 rooms ; perhaps aft^r dinner, or to-night sometime — 
 there is my wife coming, for God's sake no fuss, I 
 entreat you ! " 
 
 Hildegard entered, Lydia followed soon after, the young 
 ladies and the Baron came in from the verandah, and 
 they all went to dinner. Conversation somehow flagged ; 
 every one was busy' with his own thoughts, and, if one 
 were to judge by looks, these thoughts, did not seem to 
 be pleasant ones, except in Hildegard's case. She kept 
 smiling mysteriously to herself, and at last, when there 
 had been a pause of some little duration, she held up a 
 couple of letters which she had laid by the side of her 
 plate, and said — 
 
 " It is really too bad ; here, I am sitting with quite a 
 
i2o QUISIS4NA. 
 
 treasury of most interesting surprises, and none of 
 you take the trouble to show the slightest symptom of 
 curiosity. It would really serve you right if I were not 
 to say a word to you ; but I will be gracious, as usual, 
 and let you participate in my joy. First, then, your 
 mother, Agatha, has after all yielded to my entreaties. 
 It is most kind of her. She has a big party to-morrow, 
 too ; some twenty officers, she says, and can ill spare 
 any of the girls. Still, she understands that I have even 
 greater need of them in our solitude, if the crowd of 
 uniforms is not to become intolerably monotonous — 
 enfin, she'll send Louise and Augusta. They will arrive 
 to-day ; so we. shall really be able to have a 'dance 
 to morrow evening, if we invite the girls from the par- 
 sonage and a few others. , Well, what do you say ? " 
 
 Erna made no reply ; she seemed hardly to have 
 listened, Agatha said — 
 
 '* You are very kind, aunt," but it did not sound 
 hearty. 
 
 " Is that all ? " exclaimed Hildegard. " Of course I 
 am kind, far too kind to you ungrateful Mask girls, who 
 cannot rise to enthusiasm even with the prospect of a 
 dance ! But you, Baron ? " 
 
 " I envy the gentlemen," replied he, " who will bene- 
 fit by your kindness ; I myself, as you are aware, will 
 scarcely be able to participate in it." 
 
 Hildegard raised her eyebrows. 
 
 " I thought," she .said, " that the matter was settled. 
 Your relations may see how they can best do with- 
 out you. I wish to hear nothing more upon the 
 subject This is my ultimatum, and I beg you will 
 respect it." 
 
 The Baron bowed, and muttered something about 
 
QUISISANA. 121 
 
 force majeure. Hildegard paid no heed to it ; she had 
 already taken up the second letter. 
 
 "I must beforehand apologise for my bad French 
 accent. The letter is from the Residenz, and I ought to 
 mention . . ." 
 
 " From Princess Ajnelia ? " the Baron asked eagerly. 
 
 " Not from our gracious Princess," replied Hildegard 
 with a courteous smile, " but from a princess, for all 
 that." 
 
 " Perhaps you would translate it ? " suggested Otto 
 timidly. 
 
 "Very well," replied his wife. "I was thinking of 
 doing so anyhow, for I know you pretend that you do not 
 understand French. Well, then — 
 
 "Madam, — Will 'you pardon a perfect stranger who 
 ventures to request a favour which it is usual to grant 
 only to one's friends, or to duly accredited persons — the 
 favour of being your guest for a short time ? You are 
 amazed, madam ; but why do you own a mansion whose 
 classic style of architecture and whose internal fittings 
 are the marvel of the land ? Why does every one who 
 can judge, laud you as unsurpassed in the horticultural 
 art? I travel through Germany chiefly with the object 
 of studying all that is -best and most beautiful in these 
 things, in order to try and imitate it upon my estates in 
 Livadia. I shall not, as I said, trouble you long ; only 
 a day or two. To-morrow and the day after, if I may, 
 for I can unfortunately not dispose differently of my time. 
 And as regards the inconvenience I must needs cause 
 you, I will try to reduce it to a minimum. A gardener or 
 forester to pilot me about outside, a steward to show 
 me some of the things inside, a little corner by your fire- 
 side, a little place at your table, a little chamber to sleep 
 
122 QUI SIS ANA. ' 
 
 in; that is all! True, already too much, if I reflect; 
 but one should not reflect^ if one is the thorough egotist 
 who has the honour of remaining, Madam, your obedient 
 servant,— Princess Alexandra Paulovna . . ." 
 
 Hildegard looked up from her letter, and said with a 
 smile — 
 
 " I cannot make out the surname. — 
 
 She passed the letter to Bertram, who was sitting on 
 her right. 
 
 , " Well," said the Baron, on her left, " she would seem 
 to be a Russian, anyhow." 
 
 " No doubt of that. Well, my friend ? " 
 
 " No," replied Bertram, " I cannot make it out." 
 
 " Will you allow me ? " said the Baron. 
 
 Bertram hapded the letter back- to Hildegard, who 
 passed it on to the Baron. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, " it is quite plain, Bo — Bo ! " 
 He paused. 
 
 " Bo, Bo, Bo ! " laughed Lydia. " Let me try." 
 
 But Lydia failed too; the note was passed round 
 the table ; Otto and ^.gatha tried and failed ; Erna 
 passed it on to Bertram without casting, one glance 
 at it.. 
 
 " Will you not try ? " asked Bertram. 
 
 "No." 
 
 She . uttered this so sharply that Bertram looked up 
 terrified. 
 
 " How very unkind," said her mother. 
 
 Bertram had the same impression at first, but he knew 
 Erna too well ; there was assuredly something else going 
 on in her mind, something which had tried to find expres- 
 sion in the abrupt No. She was very pale, and had 
 .pressed her teeth against her under lip, whilst her eyes 
 
QtflSISANA. 123 
 
 looked gloomily and fixedly straight in front of her. 
 One might have expected her to burst into a flood of 
 tears the next moment To turn the attention of the 
 rest from her, and also to overcome his own feelings of 
 uneasiness, he began once more diligently to spell away 
 at the signature, and suddenly exclaimed — 
 
 "I have got it, I think — Volinzov — Alexandra 
 Paulovna Volinzov ! " 
 
 "Let me see, please?" exclaimed Hildegard. " Really, 
 Volinzov; and quite-plain too. How blind we have 
 been ! Dear me, Herr Baron, what is the matter with 
 you ? " " 
 
 ""I beg a thousand pardons," said the Baron from 
 behind his handkerchief, which he held pressed to his 
 face, rising from the table as he spoke, and swiftly with- 
 drawing from the room. 
 
 Hildegard looked sadly after his retreating figure. 
 
 " Poor fellow!" she said, " I am so sorry. He is in a 
 terrible state of excitement. And now, in addition, this 
 home news — if I only knew what it is all about, but 
 he is discretion personified." 
 
 Bertram, still pondering over Ema's strange demean- 
 our, had almost mechanically cast his eye over the whole 
 letter, arid only became conscious of this on coming to a 
 passage which he did not remember having heard in 
 Hildegard's translation. 
 
 " Here," he said, " is one line, my fair friend, which 
 has escaped you, and which yet strikes me as important. 
 Listen : ' thorough egotist, who has the courage to follow 
 her letter at once, and has the honour,' &c." 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Hildegard. 
 
 " There it stands ; see for yourself. You passed from 
 the last line but two on to the last." 
 
124 QUISISANA. 
 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear ! " exclaimed the hostess. " She 
 will be wanting to dine of course ; and that is not "the 
 worst, but all the rooms will be occupied by to-morrow 
 afternoon." 
 
 " The officers must do with a little less accommoda- 
 tion," said Otto. " It will be all right." 
 
 " No, it will not be all right," said his wife, " if each 
 of them is to have a room of his own ; and we cannot 
 put less than two each at the disposal of the two Majors 
 and the Colonel." 
 
 " Let me help you in your embarrassment," said 
 Bertram. "You know, I originally intended leaving 
 early to-morrow, let us adhere to the old plan ; the more 
 so, because I have just received a letter which necessi- 
 tates my very speedy return to Berlin." 
 
 " That is an excuse,'' exclaimed his friend. 
 
 " No excuse, my dear fellow ; you may «ee the lettei 
 yourself. But I may as well say what it is about. I 
 have been selected by my political friends for a forth- 
 coming vacancy in the Reichstag." 
 
 " But you will surely not stand ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I mean to do so." 
 
 " And your Italian trip ? " 
 
 " Postponed to some future day." 
 
 " But your illness ? " 
 
 " Thanks to your excellent nursing, I never felt better 
 in my life.'' 
 
 " But if s quite out of the question ! " cried Otto. " I 
 cannot let you. It would be downright . . ." 
 
 In thus urging his friend to stay, Otto was simply 
 following the dictates of his own good-natured heart, 
 without any reference to his own special interests ; now 
 it suddenly occurred to him that his wife had that 
 
QU IS IS AN A. 125 
 
 very morning called Bertram's . presence a positive 
 misfortune, and had accused him. of standing — the one 
 obstacle — between herself and the execution of her 
 favourite plan. 
 
 So he broke off abruptly, casting a sheepish, embar- 
 rassed look at his wife. 
 
 Hildegard blushed to the very temples. Now she 
 was obliged to urge him to stay, if everything she had 
 been settling during the last few days in secret with 
 Lydia and the Baron, arid at last with her husband too, 
 was not to lie like an open book before Bertram, and 
 unless there was to be a real rupture, which, of course, it 
 was desirable to avoid as long as possible- In order to 
 conceal the true reason of her blush, she seized, as 
 though obeying some uncontrollable impulse, both his 
 hands, and said — 
 
 " I am almost speechless with amazement, my friend ! 
 Otto is quite right ; the thing is impossible, it would be 
 downright — abominable — that is what you were going to 
 say, is it not, dear Otto ? You cannot, must not leave 
 us now. In a few days, if it really must be, well and good; 
 but not now. I have — quite apart from our own feelings 
 — revelled in the thought of the pleasant surprise it 
 will be for Herr von Waldor to meet here, upon the 
 threshold of a strange house, an old friend of his own. 
 And if old friendship cannot exercise a spell over you, 
 are you not allured by the prospect of meeting the 
 mysterious Russian, whose name you alone were able 
 to decipher, and who will not care to converse with any 
 one except yourself, once she has heard how beautifully 
 you speak French ? But come — Otto, Lydia, Agatha- 
 help me to entreat our friend to stay." 
 
 In the general excitement, every one had risen from 
 
126 Ql/hSlSANA. . 
 
 ia.aJe, dinner being finished anyhow, and now they fc were 
 talk ag on the verandah. The Baron had reappeared 
 too, but was keeping at some little distance ; he evidently 
 had not quite recovered from his attack. Those to 
 whom Hildegard had' appealed by name hastened to 
 comply with her request, and were all urging Bertram 
 to remain. He never heard them at all ; he did not 
 even see them ; he had eyes for Erna only. 
 
 Erna, as though she had no interest whatever in the 
 matter under discussion, had stepped down from the 
 verandah to one of the flower-plots on the lawn. 
 Suddenly she turned, retraced-, her steps slowly, 
 ascended the verandah again, and approached him. 
 Her cheeks— so pale but a short time agcn— were flushed 
 now; there was a light in those large eyes, and a 
 defiant smile played round her dainty lips. She 
 fastened a beautiful red rose, just about to unfold, in 
 his buttonhole. 
 
 "I prayed .you the night you came — I pray you again: 
 Stay ! stay — for my sake ! Come, Agatha \ '' 
 
 She had seized her cousin by the hand, and drawn 
 her away into the garden ; Bertram had stepped into 
 the billiard-room, and was knocking the balls, about ; 
 the others , looked at each other, amazed, embarrassed, 
 frightened, scornful. iBut, . greatly though their various 
 feelings desired expression and exchange, and opportune 
 though the occasion might appear, there was no chance 
 in the meantime. For the. very next moment the sound 
 of a post-horn was heard coming from the great court- 
 yard, and announced, to Hildegard's terror, that Princess 
 Volinzov had interpreted her own letter literally, and 
 had really followed it without, delay. 
 
( 127 ) 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The sunny brightness of the day was suddenly interrupted 
 by a thunderstorm, and the evening closed in dark and 
 stormy. Up from the valley and down from the wooded 
 hills thick grey mists came rolling along, and violent 
 showers of rain ensued. It was chilly and disagreeable ; 
 and the " corner by the fireside," referred to in the letter 
 of the Princess, seemed no longer to be a mere phrase, 
 hut to embody a very natural wish, and one which 
 Hildegard took care to fulfil, by having fires kindled in 
 all the drawing-rooms. There was quite a party at the 
 mansion this evening. An hour after the arrival of the 
 Princess, the sisters of Agatha had come ; then the 
 forest-ranger, the Herr Oberforster, had turned up,' with- 
 out having brought his ladies, on account of the dis- 
 agreeable weather, but there had come with him a young 
 gentleman from the Forests and Woods' Department, 
 Herr von Busche, who had been absent for a week, and 
 who, as be laughingly assured them, must -try very hard to 
 make up for the many pleasant hours he had lost.- He 
 seemed determined to carry this into practice, for he 
 was most indefatigable in suggesting new games and 
 new jests, and kept the four young ladies in constant 
 laughter. 
 
 " Qu'y a-t-il de plus beau," said the Princess; talking, 
 as before, now French, now German with equal readi- 
 
128 QUISI$ANA> 
 
 ness, "thus to hear, from an adjoining room, the happy 
 laughter of girls, while one is sitting snugly by the fire 
 talking to a friend. The past and the present mingle 
 and separate again, like the red and blue flames among 
 those coals ; and sometimes there flashes between them 
 a green one, which we may take for a light giving a 
 glimpse of the future — and indeed it vanishes again 
 very swiftly. How comfortable, how beautiful every- 
 thing's in your house, ma chlre. And how eanT thank 
 you enough for admitting me to the full enjoyment of 
 your charming home ?" 
 
 She had seized both Hildegard's-hands as she spoke, 
 and seized them so ealgerly that the bracelets on her. 
 round white arms jingled. 
 
 " I have to thank you, Princess . . ." 
 
 " For goodness' sake, do not call .me that any longer. 
 Say Alexandra, will you not?" 
 
 " Will you say Hildegard ? " 
 
 " Cela va sans dire — Hildegard — a beautiful name — 
 beautiful like her whose it is ! What were we talking 
 about? The future, yes, to be sure. Well, there is a 
 glorious future in store for you: in your lovely 
 daughter.'' 
 
 " DoyoulikeErna?" 
 
 "Like her? Mon Dieu! only a mother's modesty 
 can ask this. She is simply divine. Not -that I never 
 saw more beautiful girls — you see I am quite frank — but 
 there is something in her whole bearing, the way in 
 which she walks or stands, every movement, every 
 gesture, her expression, her smile, her gravity even, 
 there is a grace and a charm about it all which com- 
 pletely bewitch me, woman though I am. How may 
 menfeel? PoDrmen! Poor broken hearts, I pity you ! " 
 
QUISISANA. 129 
 
 "She has scarcely had the chance yet of breaking 
 hearts," replied Hildegard with a smile ; " she has only 
 just left school." 
 
 "But even veiy young ladies, I am told, manage 
 sometimes to do it," said the Princess. " I am afraid I 
 broke one or two myself whilst I was at a boarding- 
 school, and it was a strict one, r too ! But to be serious, 
 have you already chosen for your fair child?" 
 
 "Our girls in Germany are "wont to claim the right 
 of cho.'ce for themselves," replied Hildegard, casting a 
 stolen glance at Bertram, who, walking up and down the 
 saloon with "Otto, happened' just at that moment to be 
 inconveniently near. 
 
 " A bad German peculiarity,'' said the Princess. " If 
 a girl who does net know the world, does not know men 
 — except her father, of whom she^ is afraid, and her 
 brothers, whom she thinks ridiculous — is allowed to 
 choose a husband according to the confused illusions of 
 her silly little head— you may bet a hundred to one that 
 the result will be either a ittise or a mdlhtur — which, 
 according to the saying of the witty Frenchman, are, 
 however, identical terms." 
 
 "That is quite my idea, dear — Alexandra," said 
 Hildegard, bending her head with a courteous smile to 
 her new-found friend ; " quite my idea ! " 
 
 " Clever women understand each other d demi mot," 
 replied Alexandra, " But there are exceptions, and your 
 Erna is such an exception. She would never dream of 
 losing her heart tc a man simply because he stands six 
 feet, and knows he w to brush himself up and to cut a 
 figure, however cor.. v used things may look beneath the 
 smoothly-parted ha:r, however rotten a heart may beat 
 behind the dainty ?a iibrir shirt-front" 
 
 6 1 
 
130 QUISISANA. 
 
 Hildegard did not dare to stir; she had noticed that 
 during the last few words of the Princess the Baron had 
 been standing within a couple of steps, from them, 
 evidently with the intention of joining them. But aa 
 neither lady seemed tp see him, or w,ish, to see him, he 
 examined, a" vase which stood upon a marble table near, 
 and turned on his heel again. Hildegard. breathed, more 
 freely. 
 
 "You may be quite assured," said Alexandra, "I 
 spoke in French on purpose when I saw him coming. I 
 had ma,de sure that he, speaks it very badly, and under- 
 . stands it even worse, which, by the by, is rather curious 
 in a cavalier who is anxious to obtain a Court appoint- 
 ment." , ; 
 
 Hildegard felt very uneasy, although it was of course 
 out of the question that the, Princess should , have meant 
 the Baron when she spoke of a "man standing sW 
 feet." 
 
 "You know," she said with some little hesitation, 
 " that the Baron is very intimate at .Court ?" 
 
 " I was at Court last night," replied Alexandra, " to tea. 
 We Russians are in very good odour at your Court, you 
 know j and, moreover, I had made the acquaintance of 
 their Highnesses during their last visit to St. Petersburg. 
 Princess Amelia is specially gracious to me, and she is 
 the one who interests herself in the Baron." 
 
 " To be sure," Hildegard assented eagerly. " Pray, 
 tell me more, it has much interest for me." 
 
 " I have, not much to tell. I mentioned in the course 
 of general conversation that I intended to pay you a 
 visit to-day. This led to Fraulein von Aschhof and the 
 Baron being mentioned as your guests. For that curious 
 lady every one seemed to have a smile, nothing more, 
 
QUISISANA. 131 
 
 which, by the by, I can quite understand. About the 1 
 Baron — well, chire amie, since you are interested in the 
 young man, I must be indiscreet enough to tell you of 
 a very confidential conversation I had afterwards in a 
 windoW ; recess about him with that dear old man, Count 
 Dirnitz, the -Court-Marshal, He told me that the 
 opinions regarding the Baron were at least much divided 
 at Court. The Grand Duke himself, he said, fn particu- 
 lar, could, not overcome a certain antipathy to him, and 
 that was the reason why his appointment as one of the 
 chamberlains, although duly made out, still awaited the 
 Grand Duke's signature. The Count said that he him- 
 self, although he had been an intimate friend of the 
 Baron's father, did not know what to advise. Just then 
 the Grand Duke came up to, us ; he had heard the last 
 words of Count Dirnitz, and said laughingly : ' That, my 
 good Count, happens pretty often to you; but may I 
 ask what it is about?' And when Dirnitz, who, I sup- 
 pose, had no option, had told him, he said: 'Well, in 
 this casie, I must admit I am perplexed myself; I should 
 so much like to oblige Princess Amelia, and yet . . .' 
 Then the Grand Duke suddenly turned to me and said : 
 1 Apropos, Princess Volinzov, as you are going to Rinstedt 
 to-morrow, you might have a good look at our man. 
 I will gladly confide the matter to your unprejudiced 
 decision. If you think him suitable for us, eh lien, 111 
 risk it.' . . . What a truly charming ceiling this is ! Quite 
 a work of art." 
 
 Princess Alexandra was leaning back in her arm-chair 
 examining through her double eye-glass the painted 
 ceiling. 
 
 " I see," she said, " a fine imitation of that Guercino 
 in the Villa Ludovisi. It is superb, truly superb 1 " 
 
132 Q.UISISANA. 
 
 Hildegard was in a state of painful excitement. The 
 young Princess had, anyhow, impressed her greatly ; now 
 this unexpected, but ofcourse perfectly natural, intimacy 
 at Court, and specially such a mission, possibly the one 
 solitary motive of the whole* visit, and upon which the 
 Baron's ' fate i depended. She felt almost dizzy, and it 
 cost -Tier a considerable struggle to be able to say with 
 some calmness — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear Alexandra, but you 
 have forgotten the main thing." 
 
 "The main thing ! What main thing? 
 
 "What your -unprejudiced opinion of the Baron 
 now is." . 
 
 "To be sure!" 
 
 She looked again at Hildegard.' There was an odd 
 smile on her lips now. 
 
 " If my opinion were only- unprejudiced. But how 
 can that be when the friends of our friends are our' own,' 
 or ought to be •?" 
 
 "You shall not escape thus," said Hildegard, whose 
 sinking courage the fair visitor's smile had revived a little. 
 
 " I do not mean to escape," replied the Princess ; 
 "only I do not Tjuite like to confess a silly trick to you 
 which'my memory, which is generally very fair as far as 
 physiognomies are concerned, is playing me in this case. 
 But it is simply impossible to free one's self altogether 
 from the influence which a marked personal likeness 
 exercises ; and when I first saw the Baron, there came 
 to me the most disagreeable reminiscence of an episode 
 of the last journey I made with my lamented mother to 
 Italy. However, as I ought at once to state, there is no 
 harm in the matter, for the Baron, whom I asked, says 
 he was not in Monaco that year." 
 
QU1SISANA. 133 
 
 "In Monaco?" cried Hildegard. 
 
 " Alas, my good nramma, the Countess Lassounska, 
 you must know, was a great votary of the green cloth. 
 Well,, she could afford to indulge a passion which, among 
 the ladies of the Russian aristocracy, not seldom sur- 
 vives or reappears, when they have had to bury all other 
 passions. And in all others poor mamma had been so 
 very unfortunate ; but in this she was singularly lucky. 
 Thus, one nightlife was in autumn '72 — she died next 
 spring, four weeks after my marriage with the Prince, 
 who had at- that time followed us to Monaco, and to 
 whom I . had just r being then sixteen years of age, be- 
 come engaged — good Lord, and he has been dead these 
 two years ! How time passes ! But what was I going 
 to say? Oh' yes ; mamma had won an immense sum 
 one; night, so much that at last she was barely paying 
 any attention to .what she was staking, and when she 
 noticed a friend, she turned round to -talk to him, with- 
 out leaving her chair, until the gentleman himself called 
 her attention to the accumulating gains, and asked if she 
 would not withdraw them. But she said there was no 
 hurry, and went on chattering, to the amazement of her 
 neighbours and the terror of the bank, for they kept and 
 kept losing on the red. At last mamma did turn round 
 again t© the table, her own curiosity roused by the divers 
 exclamations of the bystanders ; but Just at that moment 
 a gentleman, who had been sitting by her side all night, 
 was pocketing the whole huge heap of banknotes and 
 rouleaux of gold. Mamma claimed her property, of 
 course ; the gentleman assured her she was mistaken. 
 Mamma knew that this was not the case, but a scene in 
 a- gamblingrroom, don't you know, dear, c'est une horrent 
 for 3 lady with aristocratic nerves like poor mamma, th* 
 
134 QU1SISANA. 
 
 friend she had been conversing with wanted to interfere, 
 so did -a number pf the bystanders, and play had to be 
 suspended. Mamma said that if the gentleman asserted 
 that the money was his, she would waive her claim ; rose, 
 tppk her friend's arm, and left the room. Here the 
 matter ended, and. nothing further, followed, for the 
 ' gentleman ' elected to leave that very night for Nice. 
 There, they say, he speedily got rid of his illgotten gains 
 At least, when we arrived there four weeks later, they 
 pointed out a gentleman in the play saloon to us who 
 had recently lost fabulous- sums. On that occasion I 
 saw him for the first time — I was not generally allowed 
 to enter the gambling-rooms — and for the ! last time, for 
 he had no sooner, caught sight of our party, than he rose 
 from the table and vanished from the room, and I think 
 from, Nice ,j. anyhow, he never, appeared again during 
 the rest of our sojourn. Mamma had given strict orders 
 not to take any notice; whatever of the adventurer. 1 ' 
 
 " And this— adventurer, had a distant likeness to the 
 Baron?". 
 
 " A distant likeness ? < No, dear, a most distinct one. 
 That's the misfortune ! " 
 
 Alexandra was leaning back again in the arm-chair 
 and toying with her rings. Hildegard was staring 
 gloomily in front of her. The execution of her long- 
 cherished, plan, the fulfilment of her eager desire, was 
 now threatened by an obstacle which seemed much worse 
 than any previous one; and she was already almost 
 reduced, to despair by the others that she had to struggle 
 against. ., 
 
 "A misfortune, indeed !" she said ; " a great misfortune- 
 for. our friend, who, will now have to suffer so bitterly for 
 an accident he is guiltless of." ■ 
 
QUISISANA. 135 
 
 '* How suffer, dear ? '' 
 
 "Were you not saying yourself a short while ago that 
 this wretched likeness was making it impossible for you 
 to arrive at an unprejudiced opinion about the Baron ? 
 Well, it matters everything to him, of course, that your 
 opinion should not only not be prejudiced but favour- 
 able. And — to confess the truth — to me, to us, it mat- 
 ters much, very much," 
 
 Alexandra drew herself up, the old odd smile was 
 hovering about her lips again. 
 
 " Does it really matter so much to you ? " she said. 
 " Do I understand you correctly ? " 
 
 " Let us assume that you do," replied Hildegard, try- 
 ing as she spoke to imitate Alexandra's smile. 
 
 " Then I can only answer : Je tien vois pas la 
 necessite." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " That this particular man should marry Erna. Where 
 is the necessity? If she were in love with him, the 
 matter would have to be discussed at least. Now it is 
 not worth while. A girl like your Erna — proud, self- 
 willed, large-hearted — will never be in love with this 
 Baron, never ! It is impossible, it is contrary to nature 
 — I mean contrary to the nature of a gifted heart, for 
 there are ;gifted hearts,' just as "there are gifted heads: 
 One can, nay, one must, have absolute confidence in 
 both, even supposing that, from very excess of feelings 
 or thoughts, they seem not to have confidence in them- 
 selves. One must let them have their way, they cannot 
 err long." 
 
 "But they can err for all that," replied Hildegard 
 bitterly^ " Would you not call it an error, would you 
 think it to be in accord with the nature of that gifte<? 
 
136 QUI&ISANA. 
 
 heart you speak of, if the girl in question were to take a 
 special interest in — out with it, were to love — a man 
 who, according to years, might be her father, a man of 
 fifty?" 
 
 The question seemed to come upon Princess Alex- 
 andra as a great surprise. She had almost risen from 
 her chair, and was staring fixedly at Hildegard with a 
 burning blush on her cheek. But the very next moment 
 mien and colour had resumed their former state, and 
 nestling even more snugly in the recesses of the deep 
 arm-chair, 'she said slowly — 
 
 <: This question it is impossible to answer with an un- 
 conditional Yes or No. So much would depend iipon 
 the individual. Let us spfeak of the girl first. You are 
 of coarse referring to . ■ . ." 
 
 "To Erna." 
 
 The eyes of the Princess were all but closed now ; 
 something seemed to flash from beneath the long eye- 
 lids. 
 
 " Of course,'' she replied very slowly. ". And . . . he?'' 
 
 Hildegard bent her eyes in the direction of the 
 opposite side of the drawing-room, where Bertram was 
 conversing with the forest-ranger. 
 
 " Ah ! " was all the Princess said, putting up her double 
 eyeglass and surveying-Bertram curiously. Then, after a 
 long pause — 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " It is so easy to make a mistake in these things.? 
 
 " There is no chance of a mistake here." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 Hildegard hesitated before she replied. But her 
 heart was too full. The pam~-repxessed with difficulty 
 
QU IS IS AN A. 137 
 
 ^-Caused: her by the merciless, condemnation of the 
 Baron, her displeasure in reference to Bertram, her anger 
 against Erna— all these emotions were clamouring for 
 expression, although her pride bade her desist She 
 bent aver tfee Princess and whispered hurriedly — 
 
 " You will not condemn a mother even if, in her 
 despair, she. has recourse to desperate remedies, or, at 
 least, allows things to be done oaa which she could never 
 voluntarily determine. I was .positively free from the 
 faintest suspicion, but Lydia— ^-.Fraulein von Aschhof — 
 who had reasons of her own for exercising minute con- 
 trol over the gentleman's demeanour, felt sure she had 
 found it out. Indeed, she communicated to me obser- 
 vations she had made — words she had heard, looks she 
 had i tercepted — I thought the charge monstrous, in- 
 credible, abominable ; but my confidence was shaken — 
 I saw with new eyes, heard wi'Jh new ears — saw and 
 heard what caused me to shudder. And yet I would 
 certainly have shrunk much, longer) from accepting a 
 conviction which every day and every hour was urging 
 upon me anew ; but two days ago. Fraulein von Aschhof 
 brought me a letter which my daughter had written to 
 her cousin Agatha,' written but not sent — why, I know 
 not. Nor do I 'know how Lydia — Fraulein Von Aschhof 
 — got hold of the letter. I believe - 3 . ." 
 
 "-Go on, go on!'' said Alexandra, as Hildegardj em- 
 barrassed, was pausing. " That does not matter at all. 
 The chief thing is that yom have seen the letter. And 
 what did the letter say ? That she loved this man ? " 
 
 " Not in these words, but in woudsi whirh it were im- 
 possible to interpret differently." 
 
 "Rave you the letter still ?■ " 
 
 " No, I am sorry to say. Lydia has . . ." 
 
138 QUISISANA. 
 
 " Has replaced it where she found it; of course. It's 
 a pity, though; It might be possible to imagine another 
 interpretation! However, /let us assume that it is so. 
 What have you resolved ? " 
 
 " To die rather than give my consent — a thousand 
 times rather ! ''' -<.■. :.;•' ;;■<) 
 
 Their eyes met, and they looked ; steadily- at each 
 other for a few moments. Then the Princess nodded; 
 and said — 1 . > 
 
 " I see you are in earnest. I can quite understand it ; 
 nay, more, I will help you. You will not have to die. 
 I promise my help. Will you reject it?" 
 
 She had seized Hildegard's hand. 
 
 " I sha'l be eternally grateful to you," said Hildegard ; 
 "but ... 
 
 " No But' I ' I am one of these people who always do 
 what they undertake. You shall be content with me." 
 
 " I fear, I fear it is too late;" 
 
 " We, shall see about that. Now, in the first instance, 
 bring me the man,' and leave me alone with him. One 
 more condition : you are never to ask me what means 
 I have employed. Will you promise ? " 
 
 "Anything you^wish, my kind, goo&friend !" 
 
 She would have pressedithe little ringed hands, (which 
 she still held clasped) to her lips, but the Princess pre- 
 vented it by a swift movement, .saying as she did so — > 
 
 " For goodness sake, do not be demonstrative ! 
 People are not to see what intimate friends we have 
 become ! 
 
 Hildegard had risen to fetch Bertram. Alexandra was 
 again examining, with the help of her double eyeglass, 
 the painted ceiling above ; but her thoughts were not with 
 Apollo and the nymphs. 
 
QUIStSANA. 139 
 
 " So now we are going to see Mr. Right ! To be 
 sure, the other one was scarcely worth the trouble. But 
 this one it will not be so easy to subdue. Poor Kurt — 
 I could take such sweet revenge here ! But no, no ! I 
 have vowed to myself, by the love wherewith I loved you, 
 wherewith I love you stills — as a brother — that I would 
 bring you back your loved one though I should have to 
 fetch her out of Inferno. I will keep my vow. I will 
 be able to look with a clear conscience into your beauti- 
 ful eyes to-morrow. . . . Ah, Mr. Bertram ! Now I call 
 this very nice of you. I was already beginning to feel 
 offended. I am not accustomed to be neglected by 
 clever people. You must try to atone for it now. Pray, 
 sit down 1 " 
 
( UO ) 
 
 XV. 
 
 Bertram had no difficulty in replying merrily- to the 
 merry> questions of the fair stranger. His head was full 
 of merry thougte£s, ; there Was nothing- but rapture in his 
 heart. A1lthe : world seemed 1 to him to be fillted with the 
 fifcgrarice of 'that' 'rose Bttia had -given him to-day, that- 
 rose which He had since -Worn rie&r' his heartland froiw 
 which the hostile looks of Hildegard and the others fell : 
 off harmless, as from a potent talisman. Human envy 
 notwithstanding, things awarded him by the grace of the 
 gods were coming to him, nay, had come. If he had 
 still required any confirmation, what confirmation more 
 delightful could he have had than the exuberant mirth 
 to which the beloved child's melancholy gravity had 
 suddenly turned ? Like fairy music her rippling laugh 
 seemed to him, coming from the adjoining room, where, 
 surrounded by her cousins, she was as indefatigable in 
 admiring Herr von Busche's feats, as that gentleman him- 
 self was in performing them. And he was willing to bear 
 in patience that she was taken up by her friends all the 
 evening, even as he was himself by the rest of the com- 
 pany, and that thus he had not found one single moment 
 when he might have approached her, might have told 
 her what she knew already, what no longer required to 
 be said, what could be said only by a kiss on those pure, 
 sweet lips. 
 
 In such rapturous dreams his soul was rejoicing whilst 
 
QUISISANA. 141 
 
 he was conversing gaily with the Russian beauty. And 
 rapture, too, it was to compare this foreign beauty, from 
 whom, in spite of her youth, the strong and not always 
 pure breath of the great world had long ago brushed 
 away the dainty down, with !the chaste grace of the 
 beloved maid. She needed no sparkling diamonds, ,no 
 jingling of golden bracelets ; :she could dispense with all 
 these over-refined arts of the toilet, this cOquetterie which 
 calculated every pose of the plump little frame, every 
 movement of the round arms and the white hands, every 
 rise and fall of the -long lids, every glance, every smile 
 from the black eyes ! His Erna was the fairer and 
 nobler of the two, a born Princess ! 
 
 In their conversation, which was carried on, as far as 
 Bertram was concerned, all the more eagerly the less his 
 heart was touched by it, and to which Alexandra, passing 
 as lightly as a bh;d from one subject to another, was 
 constantly adding fresh topics, ,of interest, they -were 
 interrupted by the loud laughter of the girls. Indeed, two 
 of the sisters came rushing into the drawing-room to 
 invite those ,who were there to come and admire a 
 positively incredible trkk -which Herr von Busche 
 had just performed, and which he was prepared to 
 repeat — but by universal desire .only. They drew the 
 others away with them, uncle and aunt, the Herr Oher- 
 fdrster and the Baron. 
 
 "YouwouW like to go," said Alexandra. "Do not 
 stay on my account. I have already withdrawn you too 
 long from the society of the .others." 
 
 "You dismiss me?" 
 
 " One should never detain any one who wants to- 
 escape ! " 
 
 " But what has brought such evil suspicion upon me ? " 
 
142 QUISISANA. 
 
 "Your eyes, which are constantly, though ever so' 
 disereetly> wandering to that door, in whose frame, it is ; 
 true, the group of young ladies appears as fuli of charm s as 
 one of Winterhalter's tableaux* Four girls, one of whom, 
 for the sake of contrast, I suppose,' has had the superb 
 inspiration to be ugly, while the other three vie with each 
 other in beauty. Which of the girls do you think the 
 most beautiful ? " 
 
 " I thought the question could not be asked." 
 
 "Do you think so? But since I have asked it, I 
 suppose you will have to be polite enough to answer 
 it. You mean the young lady with the lovely neck and 
 the glorious Titian-like hair ? I could wager that you 
 do." 
 
 " Don't ; you woufd lose your wager." ' 
 
 "Then I declare that you are not an impartial j'udge, 
 perhaps absolutely bribed ; bribed by the rose, say, that 
 you wear in your button-hole." 
 
 Alexandra had dropped the eye-glass which she had 
 raised to look upon the group of girls itt the doorway, 
 and now, turning swiftly round to Bertram, she looked 
 laughingly into his' eyes, and said — 
 
 "That was indiscreet,' was it not ?" ' : 
 
 " Not at all," Bertram replied. ; " This rose, it is true* 
 is the gift of one of the young ladies, and indeed, of the 
 one who seems to me to be by far the most be;iutiful^- 
 the daughter of our host, if- you wish to know. But it 
 was no secret gift, I have had it awarded to me before 
 the whole party assembled, as a reward, by the way; for 
 staying a few days longer than I had promised. You 
 see in this case, as in so many others, the' small merit is 
 out of all proportion to the great reward." 
 
 " Then I was not altogether wrong," said Alexandra, 
 
QUISISANA. 143 
 
 " there was a certain amount of bribery connected with 
 it, although there was no call for it. Openly speaking, I 
 can but confirm your decision. Fraulein Erna is by far 
 the most beautiful, most graceful, most interesting, not 
 only of the few young ladies yonder, but of all those I 
 have recently, perhaps whom I have ever seen. And 
 my evidence is assuredly unprejudiced and unbribed, 
 nay, more, it is generous, for, between you and me, 
 Fraulein Erna is not treating me in a friendly way." 
 
 "That," Bertram asserted eagerly, "is assuredly a 
 mistake j it may seem so, but her cousins are claiming 
 so much .of her attention, and, perhaps too, having been 
 so little in society as yet, she may be a little shy before 
 a lady of the grand monde." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Alexandra, " although the latter alter- 
 native would not be very flattering for me, seeing that 
 I fancy, besides being somewhat of a grand lady, I have 
 remained a good deal of the bonne enfant. Nor have I 
 at all given up the hope of proving to the dear child that 
 I am indeed her friend. I believe I have found out that 
 she needs one. Do you not think so ? " 
 
 Bertram was puzzled. But she had spoken kindly, 
 naturally, just like, some one rather given to blurt out 
 whatever thought came uppermost. 
 
 " Who does not need friends ? " he answered with a. 
 smile. 
 
 "Very true,' replied the Princess, "and very diplo- 
 matic. I quite understand your diplomacy. You are 
 the friend of this fair creature; it is therefore yonr 
 bounden duty, if other people clamour for admission to> 
 the ranks of her friends, to be very critical, particularly ; 
 so if it strikes you as incomprehensible whence those.; 
 others derive the sudden sympathy to which they lay claim,; 
 
H4 QU IS IS ANA. 
 
 But, que voulez-vous 1 A young woman, whose heart 
 is wholly unoccupied/ and who is driven aboiit in the 
 world by this aforesaid unoccupied heart, like a balloon 
 that has lost its ballast — what other and what better 
 thing can shedo, than be interested in anything interest- 
 ing that chance puts in her way ? This is my occupation. 
 Any occupation seriously pursued makes you an expert, 
 sooner or later, in that occupation. I have always pur- 
 sued mine seriously, and have pursued it long en0ugh to 
 claim to be something like an 'expert in it - Now here 
 everything is so simple and clear that t-he meanest under- 
 standing can make for itself a fairly correct picture 'in 
 half a dozen hours. Given: a man who • would -be the' 
 very pattern of a loving father for his "daughter, if hewere 
 not a rare specimen of the truly obedient husband ; a wife 
 who would swear by all she held sacred that she thinks 
 of nothing but haw to make her daughter happy, and 
 who makes her as unhappy as only a narrow-hearted 
 narrow-minded mother can make a singularly gifted, large- 
 hearted daughter; an aged' scandal-lovtag; intriguing 
 confidante, who likes to make mischief, the better to 
 pursue her own mean objects in troubled waters ; a 
 young . suitor, endowed by nature for the very part of 
 jeune premier at a second-rate theatre pan older friend 
 of the family whose clear, clever eyes see all "this, of 
 course, and whose whole sympathy, equally a matter of 
 course, is enlisted for the girl whose gradual growth and 
 glorious development he has watched. Why, I should 
 think the matter was as plain as the 'secret' in the most 
 casual novel. And, should you care for a more com- 
 plicated . . . fable. — let the friend of the family conceive 
 a serious, passionate attachment to the 'dear child,' and 
 then you have* abundant material for volume number two.'' 
 
QUISISANA. 145 
 
 Bertram started. This could no longer — it was im-. 
 possible — be the. mere, inspiration, of the moment, and 
 only a harmless causerie. There was (treachery at work 
 here, evidently inspired by. Hildegard, with whom the 
 Russian lady had, a short time ago, conversed so long and 
 so eagerly. And, if the Princess, as was quite possible, 
 considering the great vivacity of her disposition,, had 
 already chosen a side : which side ? Erna's ? or that 
 of her mother ? < Probably the latter, for she spoke so 
 very bitterly of her. One does that kind of thing to 
 draw one's opponent out. But in that case the great 
 lady must use greater cunning.yet. 
 
 " I admire your wonderful imagination," he said, " and 
 if I were a poet, I would envy it. How charming to see 
 poetical elements everywhere, and also to be at once clear 
 as to the arranging and dove-tailing which torments the 
 poet so much. You should really make a book of it. 
 Even if the subject is not quite new^ — where, indeed, 
 could, quite new ones be found nowadays ?■ — a clever 
 author will see sope$iijj>g new even in the most 
 hackneyed subject. For myself, of- course, the second 
 volume wpuld be, specially, jotqresting, when the old 
 friend of • the family come$ on the stage y for him, of 
 course, the, business cannot- possibly end well." 
 
 "I, beg," said .the Princess, "that you, will not spoil 
 my text I have by no means said that, my hero is old. 
 On the contrary, he; is in the prime of life ; of that age 
 when we- women only; begin to find you men amiable, 
 and rightly so, for you only begin then to become- 
 amiable; somewhere about fifty, we'll sayt" 
 
 Bertram bowed. 
 
 "Accept my sincere thanks," he said, "in my own 
 name, seeing I am of: the amiable age, and in the name 
 
146 QUISISANA. 
 
 .ot my many contemporaries.' You ari taking a load off 
 my heart, for now, equally of- course, the issue need by 
 no means be so bad. The : chances for and against are 
 anyhow equal." ;- 
 
 "There, again, you gostoo far," replied the Princess. 
 "The bad issue, to be sure, is 1 no longer ^necessary; it 
 must, however, always remain probable." 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 " I think so, even under the most favourable circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "What would you call favourable circumstances?" 
 
 i; We will talk of that later on. Let -us first 'take a 
 specially-unfavourable case,' which, perhaps, is so all the 
 more the less it would appear to be so. It seems, for 
 example, that our fair young friend would feel less 
 keenly the difference in- years, and all the Unpleasant 
 and awkward things . connected with it, and resulting 
 from it. -She is — at least so I judge her to be, and that 
 is sufficient for our purpose — one of those deeply seridus 
 natures who- are greatly given to confounding the wild 
 phantasies of the head with the true enthusiasm of the 
 heart, and who will conscientiously, and to its utmost 
 consequences, adhere to what once they have seized 
 upon and vowed. But I presume that she is as passionate 
 as she is conscientious ; afid if her passion and her con- 
 science once come in conflict, the struggle will be 
 terrific. She may come forth victorious from the battle, 
 but what avails a victory that ends in resignation ? There 
 we should have an issue, which may be convenient enough 
 for the oldish husband, but then — his convenience and 
 her happiness are surely very different things." 
 
 " If I under stand you correctly," Bertram made answer, 
 "you plead for the same theory which"! hold, too, and 
 
QUISiSANA. 147 
 
 which, as it happens, I have had to defend repeatedly 
 during the last few days in our little circle: namely, 
 that a man who is no longer young, cannot become the 
 object of a passionate attachment on the part of a young 
 girl ; or it is anyhow in some way an aberration, and 
 therefore cannotlast" 
 
 " That is exactly what I mean," the Princess assented 
 eagerly. " We come, then, to a law of nature, which we 
 must accept like other laws, although they are by no 
 means flattering, nay, downright humiliating to our 
 pride. Perhaps, however, on the other hand, the danger 
 of an error and of the consequent conflict is not quite 
 so great in the case in point, since the curiously-veiled 
 radiance of the glorious eyes of that fair child seems to 
 imply that she has already more than a mere vague 
 foreboding of that passion — that she has already loved, 
 perhaps loved unhappily, and would, consequently, not 
 have to make these bitter experiences, which teach us 
 to be wise, and quiety and resigned, one after the other, 
 in actual wedlock. But who is to give us the guarantee 
 that the last supposition is correct ? I could tell you a 
 curious story, if you care to hear it." 
 
 " You simply owe me the story, my gracious Princess^ 
 as a proof of our joint theory." 
 
 "Well, it is fortunately not a long story, and the rest 
 of the company have giveu us up, anyhow. _ Listen, then." 
 
 Alexandra's eyes had been examining the large cham- 
 bei ; they were quite alone in it now, for. all the others 
 were crowding with merry laughter round the magician's 
 table. She leaned forward in her chair ; Bertram 
 courteously, approached his own, and she began with a 
 lowered voice, keeping her black eyes under the half 
 closed lids steadily fixed upon him : — 
 
148 Q (/IS IS ANA, 
 
 "The scene is Paris; the timie some two years ago; 
 the heroine is a friendof mine, a lady i belonging to the 
 highest society in France, whose fate had' been similar 
 to my own in one respect only : she too had married at 
 sixteen, and been shortly after left a childless widow. 
 Claudine — I give you her Christian name alone, for the 
 other is unimportant to us — was not only, of' course, 
 much more .beautiful than I, in fact; extraordinarily 
 beautiful and much more gifted ; she was also for good 
 — and, as I may add without boasting, for evil — a much 
 greater, more energetic creature.. Not that I have any- 
 thing very bad to say of dear Claudine, or, at least, 
 nothing worse than has been said of many a woman who 
 could not* perhaps, claim, such weighty 'extenuating 
 circumstances.' Her mother had, for reasons of her 
 own, persuaded her into this marriage,- which had 
 turned out; singularly unhappy. Her husband, although 
 allowing for the difference of sex, he was scarcely older 
 than she herself .at the time of the marriage — he was 
 then two-and-twenty — had* though so young, already' 
 managed: to be acknowledged as one of the cdmpletest 
 rou'es of all Paris, in spite bf the keen. rivaJry of his high-> 
 born compeers. He had seen in the innocent young 
 girl only an additional mistress whom, after a brief period, 
 one .could neglect with the greater impunity, since 
 one could feel sure of her, and since she, moreover, in 
 spite of, or perhaps, rather because of, her pride, did not 
 seem to belong to those troublesome women who make 
 'scenes.' And indeed, after she had realised what t from 
 another side, was made clear to her, they had but one 
 'scene,' but a: terrible one, a recurrence of which was 
 both impossible and unnecessary. He thoroughly under- 
 stood her then —and she had proved a hundred times 
 
QUISISANA. 149 
 
 the stronger of the two. He was allowed to continue 
 his own way of living, on the one condition that he did 
 not concern himself in the least about hers. And hers ? 
 Well, I told you hers was a passionate nature, and she 
 was an unhappy wife ; that combination can yield no- 
 thing but unhappiness. Fortunately for her, she was 
 speedily set free from the worst impulse, the one which 
 had poisoned and warped her passionate nature ; for her 
 husband died. She was free once more, and vowed to 
 remain free. Not that she did not mean to marry again ; 
 in the circles where she lived, she could only by a second 
 marriage escape from the bondage of those relationships 
 into which one is forced as into a new fashion, abomin- 
 able though you may think either. Her second marriage 
 was but to guarantee her a clear position in the world ; 
 the other guarantees for peace and for freedom she 
 thought she bore within herself. And so she made her 
 choice. 
 
 " At this period of the story I became intimate with 
 Claudine, whose acquaintance I had previously but 
 hurriedly made when travelling. It was in Trouville. 
 You know how swiftly people become intimate in a 
 watering-place. She introduced to me the victor in the 
 -endless row of suitors for her hand. After careful exa- 
 mination I could not altogether agree with her choice. 
 In most points, it is true, he answered the requirements 
 of the programme. He was no longer young- — fifty-tone, 
 or -two ; held a high command in the army, and brought 
 her as dower a not inglorious past. He had led a wild 
 and wandering life, and been the hero of a thousand 
 adventures, but there was not the slightest stain upon 
 his namei — at least not in the eyes of society. More* 
 over, though not an intellectual man,-*-which she would 
 
150 QVJSISANA. 
 
 have disliked in the long run,— he was one ofithose who. ' 
 are able to captivate even the most fastidious company, 
 by their qtiick .^perception, their lively temperament, and' 
 their varied and abundant experience, upon- which they 
 can, aided by an excellent memory and natural: elo- ■ 
 quence, draw at all times. All this was, as I said, eacdellent i 
 as far asdt went ; but one thing I thought very hazardous 
 — it seemed by no means impossible to me that he 
 should still be capable of a - serious, passionate attach- 
 ment, and — this comes, almost to the same thing — still 
 capable of inspiring it. Now, either lay assuredly beyond 
 the programme which my frietad had sketched out for, 
 herself.. ,.-. - 
 
 "I told Claudine 'of my fears. She endeavoured to 
 argue me out of them thus : >* What you think to be real 
 and direct light,' she would say, '-is nothing but the 
 reflection of the sun- that set long ago upon glacialj 
 Alpine summits. It looks beautiful, and people cry, 
 Ah ! and.iOh ! when they see it ; and for their sake I 
 would not willingly migs it. But onexannot be warmed 
 by it, orrset on fire by it ! My dear childy with all that; 
 blaze you could not make your kettle boil, far less re- 
 kindle the bitter and bare embers of a' heart like mine !' 
 
 "As far as the gentleman was concerned, Claudine,. 
 might be right. At least., th&. somewhat boastful andi 
 exaggerated gallantry with which he laid his homage at 
 her feet corresponded, as far as I, could judge, exactly 
 with her prediction. But how greatly she h'adr been 
 mistaken about herself the immediate future was to 
 show. 
 
 " There were, delays before the marriage could be con- 
 cluded. Both Claudine andher friend had to free themr 
 selves from certain tender bonds. That required tact, 
 
QUISISANA. 151 
 
 management, caution. Moreover, she had become en- 
 tingled in a law-suit with the family of her first husband, 
 which, for some reason or other, might end badly for her, 
 if it became known that she was contemplating a second 
 marriage. Enough, absolute secrecy regarding their 
 relations and intentions was requisite for some consider- 
 able time, and they had both taken their measures 
 accordingly. Claudine had retired from society, and 
 lived in deepest seclusion near Paris, on the estate of a 
 widowed sister of her friend's — she, of course, being in 
 the secret. Her friend went to see her when he, could — 
 which was not often the case. The requirements of the 
 service were just then peculiarly exacting, and it was not 
 possible for him to indulge in frequent absences, which 
 anyhow, in the case of a man whom society did not care 
 to miss, and whose doings society carefully controlled, 
 would have caused remarks. The situation became even 
 more critical when, in spite of all precaution, Claudine's 
 place of -sojourn. had after a little been discovered, and 
 when she saw herself watched by her foes at every turn. 
 At last they scarcely dared to write to each other, dread- 
 ing lest by treason on the part of bribed domestics a 
 letter, should be intercepted or purloined. It became 
 absolutely indispensible to employ a thoroughly trust- 
 worthy go-between, on whom, at the same time, it should 
 be impossible that suspicion could fall, and her friend 
 found one — found him in the person of a young officer 
 in his regiment, the son of an old companion in arms 
 who had fallen in the r last campaign — a young officer 
 whom he loved like his own son, and who was likewise 
 devoted to his chief in most loyal love. The youth had 
 soon an opportunity of indeed proving that love and 
 loyalty.". 
 
152 QU IS IS AN A. 
 
 Alexandra drew a long breath, as though she were 
 fatigued by the rapid low-voiced utterance. In her 
 deep black eyes which now, after a quick survej of the 
 still untenanted chamber, she turned upon Bertram 
 again, there was an uneasy light, and the soft voice 
 quivered as she went on, now speaking even. quicker and 
 lower than before, so that Bertram could scarcely follow 
 her — 
 
 "I -must be more brief if I am ever to finish my story. 
 And why, indeed, picture in detail to a man like you 
 what you-understand without comment/ and -what, under- 
 standing, you pardon ! Poor Claudine ! She thought 
 she needed no forgiveness. She thought she was in the 
 right when she abandoned herself without resistance to 
 a passion, which indeed would seem to have brooked no 
 resistance. I had never observed anything like this with 
 any other woman — least of all, God be thanked, with 
 myself. I should simply not have deemed it possible. 
 It was like a hurricane — a cyclone; it was simply 
 awful ! I trembled for the reason, for the very life of the 
 unhappy woman : for she could not conceal from her-- 
 self that her passion was not returned, although she* 
 being anyhow little accustomed to control herself, and 
 being now solely engaged by her own overpowering 
 feelings, neither would nor could hide her great love 
 from the handsome young officer. Fortunately for her, 
 the. catastrophe was not long in coming. Nay, rather, 
 she brought it about herself, resolute and energetic as 
 she always was ; and now feeling that so, and only so, 
 she might yet save herself from herself, she forced from 
 him the avowal that his heart was no longer free, thatit 
 was entirely filled by his love for a charming young girl 
 whose acquaintance he had made in a distant garrison- 
 
QUISISANA. 153 
 
 town where a portion of his regiment had until recently 
 been quartered, and to whom he had become engaged 
 in secret. The youth was bitterly poor, the girl's parents 
 were rich and proud; he wanted to have his captain's com- 
 mission before he ventured to apply for her hand, and — 
 dear, diear-^4hey were both of them so young and so 
 romantic, and so fond 6f each other, and in their love 
 they were so sure of the future .Why then be niggardly 
 with ; the moment ? And secrecy is like a phan tastic 
 /mask through the hollow apertures of which the light 
 in the eyes of those we love shines with doubly seductive 
 [brilliancy. - '-■■■ 
 
 "Claudine was at first utterly crushed by a blow 
 whkh,r in spite of everything, had found her unprepared 
 — for where is the loving heart-that would willingly let 
 the last faint gleam of hope die out ? Then there came 
 a fierce burst of jealous resentmeHty raging like a fever ; 
 Aen she endeavoured to wrap herself in her pride and 
 to see in the idol of her heart the last and least of men ; 
 and ultimately she grovelled at his feet and entreated 
 him to look upon her as his slave, and the slave of her 
 whom he loved, and to ask from her what he would, to 
 bid her do what he chose, and do it she would by all 
 that she held sacred ! 
 
 " Nor was it long before he took her at her word. 
 
 "One day he came to her presence, haggard of look, 
 in a state of desperation, scarcely worse than the one 
 over which she herself had but so recently triumphed. 
 The girl had sent him back the half-dozen letters which 
 he had written to her in the -twelvemonth since they 
 were separated, and the tiny collection of ribbons and 
 flowers and other tokens with which innocent love tries 
 to prove to itself its own fabulous fairylike existence. 
 
154 QUISISANA. 
 
 I know not, nor does it matter, how she had heard the 
 story of his connection with Claudine ; not of course, the 
 true story, but a caricature, such as the clumsy hands 
 of one's own good /friends and the subtle hands' of one's 
 foes are equally able to sketch and fill in with revolting 
 effectiveness. Anyhow, the young lady had made up 
 her mind, and as she belonged to those energetic cha- 
 racters that cling tenaciously :to their errors, things really 
 looked desperate for Claudine's youthful friend. : Every 
 attempt on his part to bring an understanding about was 
 abruptly refused ; the poor fellow at last was in down- 
 right despair ; he told his sorrows to Claudine, 'who told 
 him that she would bring him back the loved one whom, 
 .for her sake, he had lost; he looked at her with an in- 
 credulous smile. How was she — she partrcularly^-to 
 manage that? - > 
 
 " But she had never yet let herself be baulked by diffi- 
 culties if she really cared to have her own way, even 
 though, it might have been but a whim. And now the 
 noblest impulse that can fill a woman's heart urged her 
 to energetic action; . Above all, she had to prove to her- 
 self, and to those to whom she had so greatly boas ted, 
 that,: though she :had become unfaithful to her pro- 
 gramme, and had not guarded herself against a passionate 
 attachment — which she called the only real one of all her 
 life — she yet possessed the force to subdue this passion, 
 and to re-conquer her own peace of heart Only per- 
 sonal interference on her part could now bring them to 
 the wished-for goal ;• but that alone would not suffice; 
 the friend, too, for whose sake the youth had sacrificed 
 himself, must needs come forward. That, of course, 
 would completely put an end to the secrecy of their 
 connection, and this just at the moment when the 
 
QUISISANA. 15s 
 
 lawsuit was at last about to be settled, and when so 
 much depended upon having the veil drawn as closely 
 as possible. For herself no such consideration existed ; 
 but she was by no means sure that her friend, who, of 
 course, did not know her real motives, and could never 
 be allowed to know them, and who equally, of course, 
 took things much more coolly, thought the same; nor 
 did she know at all whether the young man would accept 
 the sacrifice. So it became necessary to create a situa- 
 tion, which should not leave either of them a choice, 
 whether they cared to join or not ; and whilst she was 
 cudgelling her brain ; how to bring such a situation about, 
 an unprecedentedly lucky accident had already arranged 
 everything according to her wishes, ,nay, far beyond her 
 most daring wishes, in the very best manner possible. 
 To explain the full details would take me too long, and 
 is not really called for ; enough, circumstances over 
 which they could not possibly have control, would bring 
 both gentlemen on a given day to the house of the 
 parents -of the young lady in question. Claudine, still 
 keeping her own counsel, managed to get a day's start 
 of them, introduced- herself — by what means I cannot 
 remember — into the family who, I may add, was abso- 
 lutely unknown to her, and she was, having presumably 
 got hold of some excellent letters of recommendation or 
 something of that sort, most kindly received by every 
 one, excepting, of course, the young lady herself, who, 
 with feelings that can be readily imagined, saw the foe 
 suddenly in the secure camp of her parental abode, and 
 avoided her in every way. That, Claudine had expected j 
 she looked forward with glee to the following day which 
 was to remove all obstacles, solve all enigmas. But who 
 can describe her terror when she, who has eyes an 
 
156 QUISISANA. 
 
 ears for everything, and who, in a few hours, was com- 
 pletely at home on the new and strange ground, 
 discovered among the visitors, besides a suitor sans 
 consiq'Uence, a man whom an abundance of exquisite gifts 
 and qualities and a whole sequence of special relations, 
 every one of which spoke for him, might turn, nay, if 
 everything did not belie assurances, had already turned 
 into a terrible rival for her young friend; For . . ." 
 
 Alexandra paused, glaficing at the same time at the 
 other room ; then she said with a laugh which sounded 
 quite natural — 
 
 " But I really do not think it right to keep you any 
 longer from the rest of the company, and to go on with 
 my experiment as to whether is greater, your patience or 
 my garrulousness. Moreover, the rest does not properly 
 belong to the story, at least not to the story I meant to 
 tell you. Come away ! " 
 
 She had risen swiftly ; Bertram followed her example 
 so hesitatingly that she could hardly leave at once. And 
 then, having risen, he remained standing, leaning one 
 ann on the mantelpiece, and said— 
 
 " What a pity ! What a great pity ! I should have so 
 much liked hearing the rest. The more so, as I believe 
 it contains a new illustration to the moral of the fable. 
 Or am I mistaken in assuming that the unexpected rival 
 is . . .no longer a young man ? " 
 
 His lips were smiling ; still Alexandra thought that his 
 large expressive eyes we're resting upon her with a very 
 meaning, very searching look ; yet she managed to put 
 on an air of surprise, deeming it absolutely requisite now. 
 
 " Indeed 1" she exclaimed. " How very curious ! 
 But then there is no hiding anything from you clever 
 men ! " 
 
QUI SIS AN A. 1 57 
 
 u Oh= yes,, yes. For example, whkh of the two suitors 
 succeeded — the older and younger, or the newer and 
 older?" 
 
 " Charming ! Charming ! An exquisite play on the 
 words. What a suitable language yours is for that kind 
 oi thing, in the. hands of a real master,. I mean. Ah 1 
 which succeeds? Why, the former, of course!" 
 
 '' I should scarcely have considered it such a matter 
 of course. I should not be surprised if, for all that, the 
 young lady's feelings for him had never again recovered 
 the former degree of warmth. Your beautiful and clever 
 friend, I admire her extremely, but — do not be angry with 
 me for what I arn going to say — but I had, during your 
 description of her, always to think of Circe. There was 
 only one man who left the palace of the sorceress with 
 absolute impunity, and he only by the aid of a certain 
 herb a god had given him. Now, young and ardent 
 officers are not said to meet the god very fre- 
 quently." 
 
 "But I really cannot make the story anything different 
 from what it truly was like," cried the Princess, half 
 pouting, half laughing. 
 
 " Certainly not ; but what became of the man who was 
 no longer young ? How bore he the loss of hopes to 
 which he had clung all the more tenaciously because he 
 had not many more to lose?" 
 
 " That, as a punishment for your scepticism, you are 
 to say yourself." ■ ' 
 
 " How can I ? Had he been a poet he might have 
 written a novel, after the manner of the ' Elective Affini- 
 ties/ and thus cleared his soul' from the purgatory of 
 jealousy and humiliation. But being no poet . . ." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
158 QUISISANA. 
 
 " I assume it. I 'am driyen to assume things, am I 
 not?" 
 
 "Well then?" 
 
 '• Therefore his ultimate fate is quite problematical to 
 me. There are so many and such various possibilities. 
 Perhaps he killed himself, or perhaps he married your 
 fair friend.'' 
 
 " My friend — Claudine ? Oh, this is exquisite ! " The 
 Princess laughed aloud, and Bertram laughed too. 
 
 "It is not," he said, "after all so very laughable, or 
 at least so very improbable. Upon the basis of mutual 
 imperturbability, I should think one could erect and 
 overthrow and rebuild relationships} like houses of 
 cards." 
 
 " Mow malicious ! " cried Alexandra, " and yet how 
 true ! Claudine must hear of this ; I must write this to 
 Claudine !." 
 
 " For goodness sake not, most gracious lady ; or, any- 
 how, do not mention me by name ! I travel a good 
 deal, the lady probably too ; we might meet some day by 
 some unlucky chance, even as the luckiest of chances 
 has brought me into your presence. How hideously 
 embarrassed I should be ! " 
 
 " Very well, your name shall not be mentioned, then. 
 Here is my hand in pledge of this." 
 
 And she held out to him her small hand with its many 
 rings. 
 
 " But now I really must disturb your tSte-a-t6te," 
 said Hildegard, entering from the adjoining drawing, 
 room. 
 
 " It is just finished ! " the Princess called out to her ; 
 then tinning again to Bertram, she said, "And thank 
 you very much for a most charming causeriel" 
 
QU1S1SANA. 159 
 
 '" It is for me to say thank you, my Lady. Your story 
 was most interesting, and you told it capitally." 
 
 He touched those slim fingers with his lips as Alex- 
 andra left him. She hurried up to Hildegard, who had 
 remained standing, gazing with great wondering eyes at 
 the group by the fireside, and putting her arm through 
 that of her hostess and drawing her away with her, the 
 Russian lady whispered — 
 
 "You are absolutely mistaken,' or else the man is the 
 greatest actor I ever saw." 
 
 Bertram had bent over the fire ; with his left hand he 
 was half unconsciously stirring up the dying embers in 
 the grate, his right hand was la-id on the rose he wore, 
 which he wore above a heart now quivering in spasmodic 
 agony, and he painfully whispered to himself — 
 
 " Ashes to ashes ! " • • 
 
 His hand, nerveless, glided down. 
 
 " No," he murmured, " no, not yet ; I will hear it 
 from herself." 
 
( i6o ) 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The company was breaking up now. The gentlemen 
 from the Oberforsterei were anxious to avail themselves 
 of the momentary cessation of the rain for their home- 
 ward drive ; the Princess, pleading fatigue, had retired, 
 and Hildegard speedily gave the signal for retreat to the 
 others. 
 
 "We shall have a trying day to-morrow," she said, 
 " we all need rest beforehand. And this remark is 
 specially meant for you young ladies ; I really must 
 request you not to lark and laugh, as is usual with -you, 
 till a late hour ! " 
 
 The unexpected visit of Princess Alexandra had con- 
 siderably diminished the available spare rooms, seeing so 
 many were reserved for the officers, who were expected 
 on the following day ; for her protest against having 
 to accept a splendid saloon, a dressing-room, and a 
 couple of bedrooms for herself and her maid, had met 
 with no response. Hildegard had assured her that there 
 was abundant room, and that she blushed as it was at 
 having to offer such humble quarters to so valued and 
 cherished a guest. But the two bedrooms had really 
 been originally intended for the three sisters von Palm, 
 who had now to be content with a tiny chamber in the 
 turret, whilst a bed for Agatha was rigged up in Erna's 
 bedroom. Fortunately for the young ladies, the corridor 
 
QUISISANA. 161 
 
 by the side of which Erna's rooms were situated, brought 
 one after a very few steps to the door of the turret-cham- 
 ber ; and thus, in spite of Hildegard's special injunction 
 to the contrary, there was for an hour or so plenty of 
 rushing to and fro, and no end of laughing and giggling 
 and eager secret whispering and chattering, until at last 
 ' Granny ' Agatha blew out the light in her sisters' room, 
 and drawing with her Erna, who this evening was in the 
 highest spirits imaginable, groped her way to the door. 
 
 " I could not bear your mirth any longer," she said, 
 when they had arrived in Erna's room ; " I thought 
 every moment. . . Good Heaven ! I knew how it would 
 be." 
 
 She had begun to undo her hair before the mirror, 
 and now started on hearing a pitiful moan. Erna was 
 sitting in a low chair by her own bedside, both hands 
 pressed to her face. The slender frame seemed shaken 
 as though by a fit of ague, the gentle bosom rose and fell 
 feverishly, and her breath came and went with difficulty, 
 as if she were moaning. Her friend was now kneel- 
 ing by her side, and held her clasped with both arms ; 
 her head fell on Agatha's shoulder, and at last the long- 
 repressed tears welled forth in a violent flood. She 
 was weeping as though her very heart must break. 
 
 *' My poor, poor Erna ! My own sweet love ! Weep, 
 weep away ! Better this, better far than that awful 
 unnatural mirth of yours all day. You will come round 
 now. You will be again my own sensible Erna. Poor, 
 unhappy, darling child ! All things will come right now. 
 It is impossible for any one not to love you, and, 
 believe me, he, too, loves you stilL" 
 
 " I would not have his love. I am no longer thinking 
 of him. I hate, I loathe him I " 
 
 6 L 
 
162 QUISISANA. 
 
 "Then why should .you weep like this?" 
 
 Erna started to her feet, flinging off Agatha's protect. 
 ing arm. 
 
 "J>6 you think I weeps for him?" 
 
 She was pacirig up and down the bed-chamber. Her 
 long hair, which she had previously undone, fell in dark 
 masses over her neck and bosom ; her face was aglow, 
 her eyes were flashing wildly. 
 
 " For him ? Never say-that again ! For him, forsooth ! 
 I have wept for' very shame, because that woman dares 
 to come before me, and' I must bear it ! because I 
 cannot step up to her and burl- defiance at her painted 
 face : Away from this house — honest people live here ! 
 Even audacity should have its bounds, and hers is 
 
 boundless ! " -: 
 
 «-- 
 
 Agatha had now risen from her knees}/ and was sitting 
 in her chair casting looks of pain at Erna and. waiting 
 in patience, until at least the first tempest of wrath should 
 have passed. .• 
 
 " I am sure," she said at lasV'that he does not even 
 know that she is here, and — you are sure, too." 
 
 "And were iti so,", cried Erria, "what does it alter? 
 The sting 'lies in her daring to do it at all. She would 
 not do so, did s-he not know from the beginning how 
 he will take it. Perhaps he: will he terrified just at 
 first— I dare say lie will— and then he will thank her 
 for having • had the base , courage to help! r him to 
 achieve this vile triumph. In <fact, they are a worthy 
 coupte'l" ," 
 
 "It would be quite too terrible," said Agatha, shaking 
 her head. "People' cannot be as bad as that;- it is 
 impossible.": • l ' <• i :i;.. 
 
 "Oh, of course!" cried! Erna scornfully ; "quite 
 
QUISISANA. 163 
 
 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 1 What are a 
 thousand like him to the best of men, the only one?" 
 
 "Erna! Erna! I" 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 
 vou 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: passion. 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 youi 
 poor, unhappy 'Granny' if . . ." 
 
164 QUISISANA. 
 
 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 01 
 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 con- 
 trary happened. With every word she uttered Erna seemed 
 to talk herself more arid more into a passion, in the 
 existence of which Agatha would not, and yet all but bad 
 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 mar-, 
 vellous logic, that there was on, her part nq whim, no 
 caprice, no aberration of an extravagant fancy, no satis- 
 faction 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 under. 
 
QUISISANA. 165 
 
 stand 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. 
 
 • prna's words flowed on, not unlike the object of the 
 image in which she saw her life and love; and hei 
 voipe, although pitched so low, had such a curiously in- 
 tense 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, hot 
 rible 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-l.hirty; 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 anythjng 
 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-mor- 
 row, 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 sensi- 
 tive. 
 
1 66 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 " I will grant it all," she said. " I will believe all you 
 assert 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 assuredly 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 wheri 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 tunned up again, 
 having in the meantime passed through I do not know 
 how many hands, and having very surely been read by 
 mammal 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 ot net 
 wrath." 
 
QUISISANA. 167 
 
 "And that* rose to-day! and your prayer ; that he 
 should stay — for your sake ! Was that right too ? " 
 
 " Was I. to lebhim go to-morrow?" i 
 
 " If he wanted to go, was it for you to keep him ? 
 Erna, there is but one thing wanting now. Why not 
 say tp ; him ;,- ' Will you marry me ? ' " 
 
 ", And I shfluld not thirtk 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 j he wishes it on account of my father 
 and mother. Well, God 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 friend-, 
 ship, 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 God will ! " 
 
 She had folded her hands as if in prayer ; big tears 
 were coursing down her cheeks. The simple expres- 
 sion 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 assuming 
 that Erna, who did not stir either, had fallen asleep, 
 when suddenly she thought that she heard subdued sobs.* 
 
168 QUISISANA. 
 
 "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 ? 
 
i6 9 ) 
 
 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 be- 
 longed 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. 
 
 The village-mayor had expounded this situation to 
 the farmers, and he ought to know. He had been 
 only three days ago to sae his brother-in-law, who was 
 employed in the War-Office branch at Erfurt. He had 
 himself served in the French war as sergeant, and in 
 that capacity he had, during the fighting about Orleans, 
 been in command of a company, every officer of which 
 was dead or hors de combat. And as almost half his 
 auditory consisted of men who had served in the a.rmy, 
 
170 y^yjISlSANA. 
 
 and who only required to draw upon the ample treasury 
 of their experiences and reminiscences, in order to con- 
 firm or contradict the assertions of their chief, there 
 had been no lack of eager discussion in the village inn. 
 But from the very beginning the opposition had not 
 been strong, and ultimately it was almost completely 
 silenced. The whole village now stood like one man on 
 the side of the attacking party, and the 99th was only 
 spoken of as "Our Regiment;" Their arrival was lookefl 
 forward to with the utmost impatience, as though they 
 were bringing relief and release from some yoke long 
 borne. * 
 
 My Lady's urgent appeal to give " Our Regiment " 
 a brilliant reception, and to lef nothing be wanting, had 
 met with the readier a response, since she had not 
 only, with customary liberality, taken tipon herself the 
 cost of any " extraordinaria,"-tO use the expression of the 
 village-mayor, but in the case of the poorer inhabitants 
 in whose houses accommodation and larder were not 
 of the best, had' specially promised to pay for anything 
 and everything, and had actually freely distributed money 
 beforehand. The mansion-house was moreover setting 
 the village a capital example. The long winding road 
 up to the house was transformed into a via triumphalh 
 with towering poles, from which fluttered the German 
 and Thuringian flags, with garlands of fir-branches 
 stretching from pole to pole all the way up the hill, up 
 to the richly-decorated portals which opened upon the 
 equally decked-out great courtyard. And at night a ball 
 in the mansion-house, and fireworks on the village-com- 
 mon in front of the lowest flight of the terrace-steps, 
 with blue-lights and what not! — No wonder that the 
 young barbarians of the village, down to the tiniest lads 
 
QU1SJSANA. 171 
 
 and lasses, were only kept from breaking out into frantic 
 disorder by being employed, for days beforehand, in 
 lending a hand in the preparation of all these glories. 
 
 And yet, much to Hildegard's dismay, it seemed 
 doubtful whether everything would be ready in time. 
 Her own attention was fully absorbed indoors by the 
 preparations for banquet and ball ; and now, at the last 
 moment, the Baron had to go to town on business 
 that brooked no delay, and she had to entrust the 
 supreme command of the department of the exterior 
 to new hands : fortunately Herr von Busche, the young 
 gentleman . from the Forests and Woods' Office, was 
 willing to take the Baron's place. 
 
 But yesterday Hildegard would, under no circum- 
 stances, have allowed the Baron to go, for then his star 
 was still in the ascendant, whilst now it was sinking 
 rapidly. For the Princess he no longer existed, after she 
 had given her judgment upon him last night ^ she had 
 not observed his entry into the breakfast room, had 
 not returned his bow, just as though the not inconsider- 
 able space filled by his presence had been vacant. And 
 the Grand Duke had a certain antipathy to this man ; 
 and even his father's old friend, the influential Court- 
 marshal, did not dare to stand up for him energetically. 
 No one seemed to favour him at Court, except Princess 
 Amelia, whose caprices, it was notorious, were frequently 
 as changing as the phases of the moon. And then that 
 'ugly Monaco storyl It was, of course, not possible 
 that Letter could be the man — gracious goodness, 
 no ! Nor had Alexandra said so ! But — one ought not 
 to have an awkward Ijjfeness to people who figure 
 so unpleasantly in the memory of distinguished visitors ; 
 and then — and this made the matter peculiarly un- 
 
172 QUI SIS AN A. 
 
 pleasant for Hildegard — she was aware that the Baron, 
 even if he was no gambler, was very fond of high play. 
 Up to last night this had been one of his gentlemanly 
 foibles, now it was a wicked passion which he who was 
 wooing Erna had no right to indulge in ! 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock when the Baron went to 
 find Otto, to ask for a carriage to take him to town, 
 and to tell him at the same time the drift of the disagree, 
 able news which he had received from home. A younger 
 brother, in the army of course, had "contracted debts, and 
 was on the point of being cashiered if those debts — in 
 the contracting of which there would seem to have been 
 some discreditable element or other — weie not forthwith 
 paid. His relatives, poor people every one of them, were 
 incapable of helping the young man ; as a last refuge 
 they had applied to him, the elder brother, who, though 
 not likely to be himself possessed of the necessary means, 
 might yej probably be able to obtain the money on loan 
 from the wealthy friends with whom he was on such good 
 terms. Could Otto help him in an embarrassment that 
 was weighing more heavily upon him than any one of his 
 own making had ever done ? It was not a big sum which 
 he required — a mere miserable three thousand thalers ! 
 
 Otto was quite distressed. His stock of cash was ex- 
 hausted by the incessant demands that Hildegard had 
 made upon him during the last few days, and to-morrow 
 he would have to redeem that mortgage of five thousand 
 thalers which he had mentioned to Bertram, without as' 
 yet knowing where to lay his hands on the money. The 
 moment, of which Bertram had said that it would very 
 surely come, was at hand, hadj in fact, virtually come 
 already ; the terrible moment when he must discover his 
 situation to his wife. And yet his wife could parry the 
 
QU IS IS AN A. 173 
 
 first thrust for him. He had in the course of years given 
 her, on different occasions, considerable sums of money 
 as special donations, and all this was invested in excellent 
 securities, though she was for ever spending the interest 
 beforehand. He loathed the idea of claiming back « 
 portion of the money from her, and he had vowed that he 
 would not do so, come what might. But still a man will 
 do for a friend what he would not have the courage to do 
 for "himself j and so he told the Baron that, being for the 
 moment unable to oblige him himself, he would ask Hil- 
 degard to do so, and he felt sure that she would willingly 
 render this small service to her protigi. The Baron 
 hesitated for a moment, but opined that one could not 
 discuss such things with women ; he would find help 
 some other way. He then begged Otto to make his 
 excuses to the ladies — who were not to be found, and 
 promised to return, if not for dinner, at the latest before 
 the beginning of the ball ; managed to see Lydia, and 
 so drove off. 
 
 Otto would have liked nothing better than to have 
 gone with him. The ground beneath him. seemed to be 
 on fire. To-day the all-important debate in Parliament 
 was coming off. If the vote was in his favour, he really 
 might, without being too sanguine, expect his factories 
 to rise so greatly in value as to enable him, after all', to 
 •weather the threatening storm. But, with an adverse 
 vote, he knew he was ruined, and he kept repeating 
 this to himself, unless he- would take the extreme step 
 of requesting Bertram's assistance. Bertram certainly 
 would not refuse it, but, as assuredly, he could not ask 
 for it, considering the awkward relations now subsisting 
 between his wife and his friend. 
 
 After considerable hesitation, Hildegard had the day 
 
174 QUISISANA. 
 
 before yesterday communicated to him her suspicions 
 that no one but Bertram; was standing in the way of the' 
 alliance upon which she had set her heart. She wisely 
 refrained from mentioning. the impure source from which 
 she had drawn her. suspicions — though it was not of a 
 suspicion that she spoke to her husband, but of a fact. 
 Poor Otto naturally had to express the utmost horror, 
 though: at heart he was anything but dissatisfied. He 
 would certainly have liked Erna to have a younger, 
 husband, but he himself loved and admired the friend 
 of his youth sincerely, and if Erna loved him in her own 
 way, why she had always had a taste of her own ; he had 
 never comprehended her ; she would herself know best: 
 how it stood with her heart; and then if Bertram, as 
 friend, would gladly have helped him, as son-in-law he 
 would very sufely have done so, and in that case,, he too 
 would get over the shrinking which, he felt now. But it 
 was not to be. Hildegard would never sanction it, and 
 yet, how strange, just as he was returning to the house 
 after seeing the- Baron off, here was .Hildegard corning 
 to explain that she. had been absolutely mistaken about 
 Bertram, that Bertram was completely innocent, that .she. 
 had to cravahis forgiveness for much, and that she would- 
 be truly disconsolate if Bertram were to go away after all, 
 as she concluded from some hints of Konski's. iWould 
 Otto please go up to him at once and matke sure of his 
 staying? . She would do so herself, but she really had 
 not a moment to spare, for, he could judge for himself,- 
 the Princess did not leave her alone for a minute. 
 
 Otto knew not whether to rejoice or to grieve, ovei 
 the new turn of events. He had, suffered intensely from 
 the tension between his wife and his friend ; and that 
 things werejight once more and better than ever, was 
 
QUIS1SANA. i7S 
 
 of course very nice and pleasant. But with Hildegard's 
 assurance that Bertram was not thinking of marrying 
 Erna, there vanished the last ray of hope that help in his 
 need would come from that quarter. Moreover, he said 
 to himself that Bertram would never dream of going 
 without speaking once more, for the last time, of his 
 money difficulties and repeating the previous offer ; and 
 Otto was afraid of himself, afraid he might be weak 
 enough to close with the offer. So he promised Hilde- 
 gard that he would at once go to Bertram and try every 
 means in his power to induce him to stay, but he did 
 not go. There really seemed no need for all this hurry. 
 Bertram could not leave without asking for a carriage 
 too. And that had not yet been done. Perhaps it would 
 not be done at all, and in that case, why needlessly 
 bring Such terrible excitement on one's, self ? And again, 
 Herr von Busche was sure not to get on with the decora- 
 tion of the portals unless he went to help him. Hilde-, 
 gard had been saying all along that the old Gothic 
 structure, being the termination of -the via triumphalis,. 
 must also be the chief point of splendour. Hildegard 
 should be really pleased. 
 
 And five minutes later Otto was waging furious war 
 with Herr Von Busche, who wanted the flag of the 
 country to float from the. left-hand balcony, whilst Hil- 
 degard ha"d given express orders that it should float 
 from the right-hand one. 
 
 Hildegard had meanwhile hurried to rejoin the Prin- 
 cess ; she had not exaggerated,— Alexandra really would 
 scarce leave her for a moment. She was bent upon know- 
 ing how, on- such an occasion, things were managed in a 
 German household. She could not, she s»aid r form any 
 idea bf it, because in Russia alt these things were left to 
 
176 QUISISANA. 
 
 the steward and other officials, and the hostess, like 
 her guests, was simply among the spectators. It would 
 be such a pleasure to her to be allowed to peep behind 
 the scenes for once ; if Hildegard was really fond of her, 
 if ever so little, she should not deny her the treat. Hilde- 
 gard did not find it too difficult to overcome the first 
 shyness which she felt at such an odd request being made. 
 The arrangements about her kitchens, pantries, and 
 store-rooms were as splendid and in as grand a style as 
 in any princely palace, quite in keeping with the colossal 
 preparations for the entertainment ; she could modestly 
 accept the many exclamations of amazement and admira- 
 tion which the young Princess indulged; in lavishly, as a 
 fit and proper tribute. But mere idle admiration did not 
 satisfy Alexandra ; she insisted upon lending a helping 
 hand, and pushing back her rich lace sleeves from her 
 fair white arms, she seized a big wooden spoon, and, to 
 the delight of: all the servants employed about the 
 kitchen, she set to work stirring up a pudding. With all 
 this exuberance of good-humour she was so charmingly 
 amiable, so utterly- free from all affectation, and the 
 wildest nonsense she indulged in suited her so quaintly 
 and funnily, that Hildegard was positively enchanted,^ 
 and called upon Lydia in passing, to study in the appear^ - 
 ance and demeanour of the Princess the mighty difference 
 which, existed between a really gifted woman and one 
 who merely affected to be clever, and who thereby only 
 provoked the, scornful laughter of really clever, people. 
 
 These cruel words were the first she had addressed 
 to Lydia since last night. 
 
 It was impossible for the Baron to fall so suddenly 
 into dire disgrace without involving Lydia in his iallj 
 nay, in Hildegard's eyes she was, if possible, the guiltier 
 
QUISISANA. 177 
 
 of the two. Had she not been incessantly singing the 
 Baron's praises, giving the most glowing testimony to 
 him, been scarcely able to paint the great position he 
 enjoyed at Court in sufficiently bright colours ; and all 
 this, of course, solely to beguile her unsuspecting hostess 
 and to deceive her in reference to her own intentions 
 as to Bertram. Serve her right, the story-teller, if she 
 was completely foiled in her intentions ! And now, as 
 though the measure of her iniquity had not been already 
 abundantly full, she must actually bring these terrible 
 charges against poor innocent Bertram ; must needs, to 
 confirm and apparently substantiate these charges, com- 
 mit a theft, and make her — a mother — an accomplice, 
 forcing that miserable letter upon her, which, as it 
 turned out now, had been nothing more than the harm- 
 less enough effusion of a somewhat overstrained imagi- 
 nation that the child had indulged in — well, well, the 
 time would come when she could show the intriguing 
 old maid this long list of offences ; meanwhile, silent con- 
 tempt should be her well-deserved, only far too lenient, 
 chastisement. 
 
 Now, it is true she had broken through her contemp- 
 tuous silence, but poor Lydia knew her friend quite 
 well enough to be aware of the evil plight into which 
 she had fallen. And had she been still able to have any 
 doubt on the subject, the reproaches with which the 
 Baron had overwhelmed her would certainly have en- 
 lighteped her. Last night, even, he had ventilated his 
 bad humour by all sorts of bitter and scornful utter- 
 ances; but to-day, when he had sought Lydia in the 
 garden after his conversation with Otto, and before he 
 hurried off to town, his wrath knew no bounds. _ This, 
 then, he sneered, was his boasted firm posit n in 
 
 6 
 
178 QU IS IS AN A. 
 
 the house ! A casual adventuress could come and de- 
 prive him in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, of 
 the good graces of the mother — in those of her daughter 
 he had long since ceased to believe anyhow— rob him of 
 the father's friendship, and expose him to a treatment no 
 commercial traveller would put up with ! And he would 
 not put up with it. not he ; Lydia might be sure — quite 
 sure of that ! He would prove it to the miserable toady 
 and sycophant who changed her friends as readily 
 as her gloves ; to the poor henpecked husband, the 
 miser who could not even spare a few dirty thousands 
 to a friend in need of help ; he would prove to them 
 that a Lotter-Vippach was not to be insulted with 
 impunity. And, above all, that conceited amorous old 
 pedant should suffer for it, for he, of course, had set the 
 whole train going against him ! If Lydia, — if the others, 
 could not or would not see, he kept his eyes open, and 
 was not to be taken in ; he knew what was what, and . . . 
 but they should see. And to-night, to the sorrow and 
 annoyance of his so-called friends, who would wish 
 him far enough, he would make a point of turning up in 
 good time. Would Fraulein Lydia be gracious enough 
 to reserve the 'first Lancers for her obedient servant ? 
 
 So, with a mocking bow, he had hurried away, leaving 
 Lydia in sorrow and terror. But the terror was greater 
 than the sorrow. She had never seen the Baron like 
 this, never dreamed that he could be like this. What if 
 he Carried out his threats ! His eyes had been blood- 
 shot and had a glassy kind of stare ; and then his 
 laugh had -been awful ; and he was a great strong man, 
 assuredly in physical strength ever so much the superior 
 of poor delicate Bertram. What if the Baron were 
 to-night to bring about a scene, have recourse to 
 
QUISISANA. 179 
 
 actual violence 1 What will men not do in rage and 
 despair ! 
 
 Her old love for Bertram, which after all she had felt 
 in her own way, and which long ago she had sacrificed 
 to her vanity and' worldliness, was stirring again. Lydia 
 felt it, and was enraptured. True, she had been lying 
 and cheating to reach a certain goal that pure calculation 
 had fixed. Still, she was a better woman than she had 
 thought herself. She had thought that she was following 
 the dictates of her reason only, and lo ! she had uncon- 
 sciously remained faithful to her own heart. She knew 
 it now, at the moment when a serious danger was threat- 
 ening the loved one. And, curiously, although during 
 the last few days she had positively given up all hope of 
 regaining tie loved one, and had in envy and anger seen 
 him in the bonds of affection for a fair young rival— an 
 affection which, moreover, was warmly reciprocated ; yet 
 she suddenly began to doubt the justice of her observa- 
 tions ; the old dreams were coming back and asserted 
 that they were a reality, and that everything else was 
 but a chimera. All, all would yet come right. Falsehood 
 and hypocrisy had been powerless ; truth and love, how- 
 ever, would be omnipotent ! 
 
 Then she began to rehearse in her mind that unfor- 
 tunate letter which she had purloined in order to gain a 
 clear insight into Erna's sentiments, now endeavouring 
 to give the gentlest interpretation to every word that 
 referred: to Bertram ; she remembered, too, the passage 
 which seemed- to refer to a former love affair of Erna's, 
 But she and Hildegard, eager only to discover what they 
 most, or rather what they only, feared, namely, an 
 attachment to Bertram, had added no weight to the brief 
 allusion in question. Some childish " dancingrlesson 
 
180 QUISLSANA. 
 
 fondness," Hildegard had said, and she had assented to 
 it, partly to guard against the possibility of the reproach 
 that she, in her responsible position as Erna's educator 
 and second mother, had overlooked or actually allowed 
 any serious attachment on her part. " Betrayed " — that 
 surely was plain enough, and made many things clear, 
 even though in itself it was hard to understand, was, 
 in fact, all but absolutely incomprehensible. Such a 
 charming creature as Erna no one is likely to betray, no 
 one at least who is in possession of his five senses, as 
 young gentlemen generally are. If the thing was any- 
 thing more than a passing fancy — and that one had to 
 •assume, considering how averse from anything frivolous 
 Erna was — then her easily-wounded pride must have 
 brought the rupture about, and it might yeUbe healed ; 
 and if it were healed, would turn the child from her cap- 
 rice for Bertram, would set Bertram free again, if indeed 
 he had allowed himself to be captivated by Erna's uncon- 
 cealed admiration for him, set him free for herself, his 
 first, his true, his only love ! , 
 
 With fancies like these, Lydia, now banished from the 
 favour and the presence of Hildegard, was wandering 
 along the garden-terraces, now dissolved in tears and 
 .amenting her bitter lot, now smiling complacently and 
 congratulating herself upon a happiness which was all 
 the more precious the longer she had been compelled to 
 wait for it. If she were now to meet Erna, if she could 
 have an explanation with her, become reconciled to her, 
 prove to her in very truth how well she meant by her! 
 She was in the very mood for this, and here was Erna 
 coming along 1 The shrinking which she often felt in the 
 presence of the proud and self-willed girl was making 
 itself perceptible again, but one swift glance showed he» 
 
QUI SIS AN A. 181 
 
 that Erna had been weeping quite recently, and that she 
 could risk it now. 
 
 Erna had been weeping quite recently, and so indeed 
 she had done ever since last night, whenever she felt 
 sure that no one was looking upon her despair. For the 
 gentle creature was in despair. All through the long sleep- 
 less night she had seemed to hear Agatha's whispered 
 question, " What will you do if it comes out that Kurt is 
 innocent ? " She had seemed to hear it like the voice of 
 a warning angel, and neither head nor heart had been 
 able to reply anything but, again and again: "In that 
 case I have betrayed him, and I have made him unhappy." 
 Could he be innocent ? She had struggled so long against 
 the belief in Kurt's guilt, and had only accepted it when 
 he declared that he could not explain his relations to the 
 Russian lady ; no, not even to her, from whom, for the 
 sake of their -love, he was to expect entire confidence ; for 
 confidence was the very soul and at the same time the 
 touchstone of love. Alas, she knew yet another and a 
 more terrible touchstone, and that was the jealousy which 
 she had cherished in secret towards the unknown lady, 
 and which had blazed up brightly when yesterday she 
 beheld her, the hated temptress, in the splendour of her 
 youth, beauty, and grace. In vain did she struggle 
 against the charm which the lady seemed to radiate ; in 
 vain did she declare everything- about her to be unreal, 
 except her diamonds perhaps ; with every furtive glance 
 at her rival she felt herself more and more fascinated, 
 allured, beguiled, and, in equal measure, conquered, and 
 at last crushed. 
 
 It was a terrible state which wrapped her poor tlune»- 
 ing heart in absolute night? and yet even then there was 
 something like a faint glimmering of the star of hope. 
 
182 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 If Kurt had ever loved her— and he had — he had done so 
 once — how could he love another woman, who, however 
 charming and seductive, was yet;in all things the very 
 opposite of herself? Kurt, who had so often assured 
 her that he hated all display and all vanity, that he loved 
 her because there was nothing of display, nothing, of 
 vanity about- her, because she was his own rose, which, 
 in its dewy freshness, he would not exchange for a world 
 oLbrilliant exotics ! • 
 
 And his large brown eyes had shone down upon her 
 so gravely and lovingly as he spoke, and his lips had 
 trembled with genuine emotion— and had. all this been 
 naught but lies on the part of him whom she in her tunr 
 had loved, because he had appeared to her as a lofty 
 and lordly image of truthfulness and fidelity ? 
 
 It could not be. 
 
 But .then, again, what had she done ? What was she 
 to do when the other one, that good and noble man, to 
 whom— so Agatha said, and her own heart could not but- 
 confirm it — she had given such unequivocal proof of her' 
 affection, when' he came into her presence and said : " I 
 have come to take you- at your word. Not all theFlavios^ 
 in the world would have kept Hilarie from loving her 
 uncle, had she been i convinced that he truly loved her. 
 And you know it: I love you!" What could she do, 
 but, with Hilarie, say : " I am yours for ever " ? He 
 would not fall at her feet and exclaim : " You make me 
 the happiest man beneath' the sun," but she knew, — she 
 knew that he would be happy ! 
 
 Ah me !— why had she not obeyed the voice which 
 called to her that first evening when she met him in the 
 wood, a.nd he laid his heart T>peh to her : " Open thy 
 heart to him too," the voice had said,.-" tell him all." 
 
QU IS IS AN A. 183 
 
 That would have been the time, the only right time. For 
 the very next day she had read in his eyes what now made 
 her so proud — so happy. So happy ? Gracious heavens ! 
 
 This was happiness, was it, that she now desired 
 nothing better than death, swift death, to escape from 
 the torments that tore her heart to pieces ? 
 
 Did he divine nothing- of thdse torments ! Why had 
 he not come to her last night? He might surely have 
 spared her a minute — he had given the Princess a full 
 hour. It was, perhaps, a relief, a sort of recreation, for 
 him, seeing he had so long had to dispense with any 
 intellectual conversation. Was she perchance the beau- 
 tiful widow in the novelette who consoled the uncle 
 for the loss of Hilarie ? And had Rilarie already got to 
 the point of wishing and longing for such consolation 
 for her uncle? 
 
 Her shamefaced gaze wandered up to Bertram's win- 
 dows, under which she had arrived — not quite uninten- 
 tionally. What if he .were to appear above — signalling : 
 " Wait, I am coming down ! " 
 
 Like a startled fawn she flitted away to one of the 
 terrace-Waiks, behind whose protecting wall she could 
 not be seen from those windows of his, and burst into 
 tears, as she became conscious of her cowardice. Lydia 
 appeared at the opposite entrance ; she could not avoid 
 Lydia now; she bent toward the espalier, to dry her 
 eyes urobserved, and lo ! there was Lydia at her side, at 
 her feet, clasping Erna's knees, pressing her face against 
 Erna's robe, sobbing. 
 
 It was a theatrical displayj such as Lydia employed 
 on all possible' occasions, suitable or otherwise ; Erna 
 knew that well enough. But she had not the courage to 
 tear herself away; never a harsh. or ironical expression 
 
484 QU/S1SANA. 
 
 came forth from her to-day ; nay, she all but envied a 
 human being that found such expression for its feelings, 
 whatever they might be. She endeavoured to raise the 
 kneeling lady. 
 
 " I must remain on my knees until you have pardoned 
 me," murmured Lydia. 
 
 " I'll do anything you wish-^-but rise, rise, I entreat 
 you!" 
 
 She had drawn Lydia up and away into a niche in the 
 wall, thus gaining at least some shelter from the eyes of 
 the servants, many of whom were still busy everywhere 
 up and down the terraces with the preparations for the 
 illumination. > There was a stone bench with a stone 
 table in front inside the niche. Lydia sank down upon 
 the bench, laid her face, covered by her hands, against 
 the edge of the table, and murmured her miserable con- 
 fession of guilt in a voice which was scarcely audible, 
 owing to her constant weeping and sobbing. She had, 
 she- whined out, found out by questioning the servants 
 that the letter'had not been sent, which Erna had on the 
 morning in question written beneath the plantain tree, 
 and which, she assumed, was certainly addressed to 
 Agatha; and she had, moreover, learned from Agatha — 
 who evidently suspected nothing-r— that she had received- 
 \o letter just before her departure from home. Then, 
 passing through Erna's rooms, she had seen her blotting- 
 book lying about, unlocked, as she had been astonished 
 to notice. Then she had been unable to resist the 
 temptation of trying if the letter was still there. The 
 letter had been there-j— a sort of dizziness had come 
 over her, and — 
 
 " I said to myself," she went on, " that you have no 
 secrets from Agatha, that you were likely to have written 
 
QUISISANA. 185 
 
 to her what you felt towards Bertram, whether you loved 
 him — I - required to know it— my future, my happiness, 
 my salvation— all, all depended upon that one question. 
 Have pity on a poor wretched woman whom jealousy 
 made a criminal — against her own child, too ! for I 
 have ?ver loved you as my own child, ever, and would 
 gladly have sacrificed all for you, all, only not this — the 
 trial was too much for my strength." 
 
 Then Lydia in her self-abasement and grief wept bit- 
 terly. Again Erna felt it strange that she did not spring 
 up from her place beside the weeping old woman, 
 did not leave her alone with her silliness and her lies ; 
 that she could listen to her exaggerated and senti- 
 mental twaddle without positive disgust. There was 
 something stirring within her that she was frightened at 
 herself — something almost like a wish that, this time, 
 Lydia might not be lying. 
 
 Lydia noticed through the veil of tears in which she 
 had wrapt herself that Erna was accepting her con- 
 fession much more favourably than she had dared to 
 hope. This gave her courage enough to pursue to the 
 utmost the advantage thus already gained. 
 
 " I cannot and will not try to prove that I have been 
 quite free from blame," she cried. " I have been vain 
 and frivolous. I did yield to the temptation of becom- 
 ing Countess of Finkenburg ! Many more would have 
 yielded who cannot retrace, like one of the family of 
 von Aschhof, the long line of their ancestors to the 
 time of the Crusaders, and who do not, as we do, have 
 Moors' heads in their escutcheons! Hut vanity and 
 frivolity alone did not make me do it I was honestly 
 convinced that this alliance with a poor lady of high 
 lineage, who would bring him no other dower but her 
 
1 86 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 many claims and wants, could be nought but a hindrance 
 to Bertram ; that he might have made, and probably 
 thereafter would make, a better and a . more suitable 
 choice if I released him from his engagement Indeed, 
 indeed; if I could but have divined how he would take it 
 to heart, : nothing in. the world would have made me act as 
 I did. And now I would give everything in the world 
 to atone, as far as I still may, for what I did. Must it 
 really be out of the question, dearest ? Look here. He 
 is about fifty years of age, and how long will it be before 
 he is an old man ? He is very delicate too. His servant 
 tells me that he suffers from palpitation of the heart, and 
 from insomnia, and that his Berlin doctor has enjoined 
 upon him no end of precautions and care for these 
 travels of his. Why then, he really needs some one who 
 will nurse him and who will patiently bear with all his sickly 
 caprices — all sick folk are capricious, don't you' know?' I 
 know it J>nt too well;, I saw it in the case of my own uncle, 
 the Minister of State, whom every one thought a very 
 lamb in the way of kind, gentle equanimity, and who was 
 so until one of his asthmatic attacks came upon him; 
 and then never a living saul could bear to stay near him. 
 Yes, yes', one must have gone through these things to 
 know; and may .God. in His mercy keep-you, my own 
 dear, sweet, good child, from ever knowing it, from mourn- 
 ing away your sweet young life by the side of a broken- 
 down man who has no. passion left, save his books and 
 his. politics. If his politics call him he must needs follow, 
 and poor Konski must pack cthe trunks. 'Poor fellow, 
 Konski ! I spoke to him a little while ago; he'd like 
 to stay and see all the fun that is coming now with these 
 manoeuvres here, and what not. Besides, I rather think 
 he is in love with Aurora. But he says there is no help 
 
QUISISANA. 187 
 
 for it, and off they go to-morrow, his master and he. 
 Perhaps it is right enough, for the Baron is furious with 
 Mm, and I really know not what the Baron will do, unless 
 you convince him that he has been mistaken, like the 
 rest of us. Oh, that we had ! My own sweet child, 
 you would be restoring peace and happiness to us all, 
 and I would never weary of kissing your dear hands, 
 nay, the very hem of your garment ! " 
 
 She covered Erna's hands and robe with kisses. Erna 
 let her have her way, she paid no heed to what Lydia 
 was saying and doing ; there she sat gazing fixedly across 
 the gardens and across the village on the mountain slope, 
 where a portion of the high road was visible which led 
 from the north across the hills to Rinstedt. Lydia, fol- 
 lowing the- direction of Erna's gaze, saw what Erna saw 
 — a great cloud of dust, with occasional flashes of 
 bright arms, winding down the high road, and now there 
 came, softened by the great distance but still distinctly 
 audible, the sound of the drum ; and below, at the 
 entrance to the village, they fired a cannon as a signal 
 that the regiment was coming up. 
 
 Erna started as though the shot had gone through her 
 heart ! 
 
 " For goodness sake, child, what ails you ?" exclaimed 
 Lydia, terrified on noticing the pallor of her cheek and 
 her fixed rigid look. 
 
 And again she was terrified when Erna suddenly flung 
 herself into her arms as seeking help from a threatening 
 danger, and then with equal suddenness tore herself 
 away, hurried up the walk and straightway vanished 
 behind a projecting portion of the wall. 
 
 " What does it all mean ? " Lydia asked her- 
 «el£ 
 
188 QUISISANA. 
 
 As if in answer, there came across the garden, now 
 more distinctly, the sound of the drum. 
 
 "Ah!" said Lydia, and a meaning smile flitted ove£f 
 her face. " It would not be impossible," she murmured, 
 ," and if it is the case, I'll find it out ! " 
 
 She turned to enter the mansion house just as the 
 big flag was being hoisted upon the turret as a salute 
 to"" Our Regiment," at the moment when the soldiers 
 set foot upon the village road. 
 
( i»9 ) 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Bertram, too, had heard the warlike sounds. He 
 leaned back in his writing chair and listened with bated 
 breath. 
 
 " How her heart is sure to beat ! " he said to himself. 
 
 He rose and went to the open window. From the 
 elevation on which he was, he could see a considerable 
 portion of the high road, could discern the flash of the 
 bayonets through the clouds of dust which a brisk breeze 
 was scattering at times, so that sections of the columns- 
 on the "march became visible. 
 
 In the village below they were firing cannon; from 
 the mountains yonder the echo came rolling. 
 
 " How this will resound within her heart ! " 
 
 From the adjoining bedroom, where he had already 
 begun to put up his master's things in view of their 
 departure, fixed for the day following, Konski came 
 hurrying in to ask, if the Herr Doctor was not going to 
 dress ? It was getting late. 
 
 " I am in no hurry," said Bertram. - 
 
 "Well, sir," said Konski, "My Lady is most anxious 
 you should be present at the reception of the officers. 
 Aurora has twice come to the door with a message 
 about it." 
 
 And he pointed, as he spoke, to the bedroom dooi 
 and grinned. 
 
i go QUISISANA. 
 
 "I do not intend to be present at the reception," 
 Bertram said ; " but I may as well dress now." And he 
 followed Konski into the bedroom. 
 
 As Konski was assisting him, he said to him — 
 
 "Well, on what terms are you with that girl now? 
 You will have to make haste if you wish to settle every- 
 thing before we go." 
 
 " It is already settled, and settled very nicely," Konski 
 made answer, "since last night, sir., With the lik? of 
 us, such things are settled smartly, Herr Doctor, and I 
 have a favour to ask of you in connection with if, 
 Aurora — it's a strange name that, sir, is it not ? and her 
 two others are just as b,ad : Amanda Rolline— thank 
 you, says I. Well, it is not her fault, though, poor 
 thing, and I won't mind re-baptizing her once we, are in 
 Berlin. But, as I was going to say, Herr Doctor, she 
 •insists upon our getting married in the beginning of 
 October, because at the end of October Christine is 
 going to be married to Peter Weissenborn, and she 
 wants to annoy Christina by being married before her, 
 so she says;- but I fancy it's meant for Pe,ter> who 
 used to be uncommonly sweet upon her, and, I rather 
 think, promised to marry her at one time. And if the 
 Herr Doctor is not going to Italy at all, or leastways not 
 now, we thought . . ." . 
 
 " You know," said Bertram, " how sorry I shall- be to 
 part with you ; but I will not stand in the way of your 
 happiness." 
 
 " It would be my greatest happiness, sir," said Kpnski, 
 "to remain with you as long as I live. And. there's just 
 one way, so Aurora says ..." _ 
 
 •'.Well?" ,;._::.- 
 
 Konski hesitated a little, then took heart of 
 
QUISISANA. 191 
 
 grace, and said, . with an embarrassed sort of 
 smirk — 
 
 "If the Herr Doctor would be so very kind as to 
 marry too ! " 
 
 " I am afraid," said Bertram, "you will have to devise 
 some other way out of the difficulty.'' 
 
 Konski was meditatively removing some specks 01 
 dust from the black waistcoat which he held in hishand, 
 and said — 
 
 " No offence, sir ! These women are always a-puzzling 
 out something .or other in their brains, and Aurora's 
 brains are by no means bad brains. She thinks it would 
 be uncommon nice, if I would remain the Herr Doctor's 
 valet, and she was to be maid to your lady, sir ; and 
 then, whether you went to Italy or elsewhere, we four 
 would always be nice and snug together.'' 
 
 " I have no idea what you are talking about," said 
 Bertram. . " Give me my waistcoat" 
 
 "No offence, sir," Konski repeated, as he handed his 
 master the waistcoat and took up the dress-coat ; " but 
 she. leaves me no peace, she does, not, and she says 
 that it's all up with the Baron ; and from what she 
 heard.'My Lady say;to master this morning . about the 
 Herr Doctor^ says she, the Herr Doctor need but ask and 
 they'd give him a half dozen daughters, only they have not 
 got more than one; and that one, dear Miss Erna-— why, 
 I knows, and no one knows better than me — how fond 
 she is of the. Herr Doctor." 
 
 As Bertram had again turned away, the poor fellow, 
 much to his regret, could not see what impression his 
 remarks had made upon his master; and now they 
 heard a heavy, hurried step coming through the study. 
 There was a knock, then Otto put in his head and asked 
 
xgz QU IS J SAN A. 
 
 if he inigHt_ trouble Bertram for a minute. Bertram 
 begged him to come in, and beckoned his man to leave 
 the room. *•' ',' '■> ■' i 
 
 " I have been repeatedly wishing to come up and 
 see you," said Otta; " Hildegard is so afraid that you 
 mean to go — and— dear me, you have really been 
 packing^ 
 
 "For to-morrow," Bertram made, answer. "In no 
 case can I remain longer. For to-day I am, as you 
 see, already, like yourself in evening dress. Only— you 
 must please excuse me if I do not put in an appearance 
 before dinner; I have not finished my "letters yet,, and, 
 to say the truth, I should likei to , cut the Teception 
 business.", 
 
 " So should I," said Otto, " if I could. They will be 
 here in less than ten minutes now^ I have not a minute 
 to spare, not a minute." 
 
 But for all that he did not stir from the chair into 
 which he had ■ dropped. His mind was clearly far away. 
 Presently he muttered-^ 
 
 "What if Parliament has decided against the . rail- 
 way ! " i 
 
 ." We must be prepared for it," replied his friend. 
 
 "It is half-past four now,. the. sitting is sure to be over 
 by this time." 
 
 " You will know the result to-morrow,; and early enough, 
 too!" ....... 
 
 " I think that Lotter, who has had to go to town, will 
 have waited to hear the result of the vote ; I asked him 
 to. He said he would be back in- time for dinner. But 
 I no longer believe in his influencei" .i.i 
 
 "All the better." 
 
 Both were speaking in gloomy tones, as though a 
 
QUISISANA. 193 
 
 heavy pressure was weighing equally; on either. Ber- 
 tram was staring down in front of him with arms crossed 
 behind his back, and. Otto's eyes were wandering about 
 the room — he was mechanically fingering the arms of his 
 chair, then suddenly gave a convulsive clutch at them. 
 
 " I must go," he said. 
 
 He jumped up and was making for the door. 
 
 "Otto!" 
 
 " Are you coming too ? *• . 
 
 " No ; I have a small favour to ask which you are not 
 to refuse me." • , 
 
 Bertram had meanwhile gone up to his friend, holding 
 out his hand to him. Otto mechanically put bis own 
 into it. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you to make use of me in case you 
 have* not yet .arranged about redeeming, to-morrow, that 
 mortgage, and in the present hurry and worry, what 
 more likely ? I have not even had to write to Berlin 
 about it. My Italian trip is given up. You know I 
 had made arrangements for a very lengthened absence. 
 My letter 1 of credit is addressed to your own banker, as 
 I had anyhow been intending to draw a large sum ; 
 I can get the money at once, and there will be just 
 enough." ■■ r 
 
 "Time enough to-morrow," murmured Otto;; "how- 
 ever,, J am much dbliged to you for your kind intention. 
 Perhaps I'll drive you to town to-iiiorrow, if you insist 
 upon going ; we can then see about it." 
 
 His cheeks were burning 1 ?! his hand, which Bertram 
 was still balding, trembled like that of a man in great 
 physical ^aut Bertram noticed it all. 
 
 £ I am very sorry," he said, " that I must thus torment 
 you, but you left me no choice as to the time. .1 am 
 6 N 
 
,i 9 4 QMS IS ANA. 
 
 sure I shall not be able to speak to you- again to-day, and 
 perhaps not to-morrow. Therefore, look here : I have 
 made all the requisite preparations, with' due despatch, 
 to make 'as. much- of 1 my fortune available as. you will 
 need for the settlement' of -your affairs.^ You remember 
 our conversation when we were driving back from town 
 last Saturday. I put no other conditions now ! f-han 
 I did then ; that you arrange the settlement with the 
 help of your lawyer, that you leave him as- free as possible 
 in his dispositions regarding the factories, and lastly, 
 that your wife is taken into your confidence — these are 
 not so muchjcondkions, as necessities. And Of the last, 
 and doubtless the most painful one, I am willing to 
 relieve you." 
 :• Otto flushed to the roots of his hair. 
 
 "It is impossible!" he ejaculated.- "-I <5arinot" take 
 
 it." ■:-,....,:- 
 
 "I am not making you a. present l of" the money, 
 man!" - ■'■ ' > ' 
 
 " The money — the money — but Hildegard ! To-day 
 all ?«ils display — the Princess — all those officers — a huge 
 party — covers fewa hundred or .so ; and then to-morrow 
 the most awful-- wretGhedness^it is quite impossible. 
 ' And even if you had the courage — if you were to speak 
 to her, I mean — you are on such good "terms again, she 
 had intended to come' herself and see "you, and I 
 had' thought— but that, that she would-- never forgive you 
 — never!" m. , 
 
 "I am prepared for that," replied Bertram. "To be 
 quite frank,: I care infinitely more for your jKelfare than 
 for your wife's favour. Otto, these is no rap for long 
 debating. A plain yes from you, and the thing is sealed 
 — now or never — do you hear me?" > 
 
QUISISANA. 195 
 
 From the great courtyard there came the sound of 
 merry military music ; many voices, too, were heard. 
 Otto was Still standing by the door irresolute. 
 
 He suddenly seized Bertram's other hand and ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "Then marry Erna a't least! Hildegard will get 
 reconciled to it, once she knows all. Erna is fond of 
 you — let me talk to her ! " 
 
 "One word from you, and — I shall not alter my 
 resolve, it is fixed for good ; but you and I will never 
 meet again." 
 
 Bertram had torn himself away and was striding along 
 the chamber. Now he came back to Otto who was 
 standing there in utter helplessness, laid his hand on 
 his shoulder, and said to him — 
 
 "Otto, remember what we vowed to each other in the 
 dear old student days in Bonn : to be and to remain 
 friends in gladness or sadness, friends to the death ! 
 This surely is sufficient Let us not speak of- Erna* or, 
 at least, let us not connect her name with this business ; 
 such a connection is an insult to me, because it is cast- 
 ing doubt upon the purity of.my motives. I can tell you 
 something else, in .reference to which I must, in the 
 meantime, request your discreet silence. I have good 
 reasons for assuming that Erna has already disposed of 
 her heart, and this may explain certain oddities in her 
 demeanour which have struck us both. , I believe I 
 shall soon know if I am right In warning you, and your 
 wife against Lotter, I gave you a proof of my careful 
 observation and of my faithful friendship. Confide in 
 me further : you wilfr not repent of it. And now, old 
 boy, go with a lighter heart than you came, and receive 
 your guests, or else the great event will come off without 
 
i 9 6 QUISISANA. 
 
 you, and for that Hildegafd wo : uld. never for^iyei you, and 
 she would be right." ■-..-•: 
 
 He was almost pushing poor -helpless Otto out pf, the 
 door, i when Konski came hurcying up with .an impatient 
 message from My Lady. ,;.-.:-, 
 
 " Would Otto come at once ? The, military were' just 
 marching iip..the courtyard," •-.; ,..,_, (3 , , r.. : . - • -. - 
 
 Otto hurried away. Bertram wa.s -.%$&, s£a#ding near 
 the- door; his- .eye rigidly fixed upon it. " : ■ ,, 
 
 He was murmuring to hitasgeM":- ',<That was: the first 
 step. I should not have thought, after all I have already; 
 endured, that it would prove so hard. But it hfcd. to be 
 done!" -■■.•,. ■ 
 
 He walked slowly- - up and down, andipaueed again.. 
 
 " Had it to be done ? And thus ? Wouldr-it not have; 
 been < better if I. had not absolutely deoifid-.it? Anyhow, 
 I have not resigned in every ease ; only, in ;case it is as I 
 fear. Supposing- it is not ? What if the young mari who 
 has gone through the schooling of; a Princess. Volinzov; 
 is not one whom our Erna can and should love ? What 
 if the Princess is mistaken in this part of the story,: 
 or if she has been deceived by the man who may have, 
 had good reasons of his own ? ; What if the whole .thing 
 has been a Kttle gentle dallying which Erna - has all hut 
 forgottenj ; and'I were, with my diplomatic: <wiies,?U) fan 
 agdin into life and light the almost! extinguished flame,: 
 were to repel her from me and -push her into his arms, 
 which will' be willing 'enough to open ? " 
 
 He stretched out his hands, as 'though he wished to 
 ward off something. -They were all assailing .him again 
 now in the broad light of the day, those dread phan- 
 toms with which he had wrestled in the awful dark- 
 ness of the night; Then he . had eenquered them 
 
QUISISANA. 1-97 
 
 Was he to be vanquished now? Was his strength 
 exhausted ? 
 
 - No, no; the worst had yet to come.' Though he 
 had; , persuaded himself that it would.ibe only fair and 
 proper not to be a witness of their first meeting, yet 
 he would have to see them together, perhaps learn at 
 the first glance that they had already made it up, and 
 that the great sacrifice, which the beautiful Princess 
 was making for her dailing, had been wholly unneces- 
 sary. All the better ! In that case the torture of un- 
 certainty would be over all the sooner, and he would 
 at least be spared the humiliation of pushing Quixotic 
 generosity to its utmost limits, and of acting the part 
 of an obtrusive- mediator, who clears away all obstacles 
 and ultimately joins the lovers' hands with a " Bless you, 
 my children 1 " , 
 
 He sat down at the writing-table to complete his 
 election address* But he could not write, could not 
 think, . Pen 'in band he sat, hearkeming to all the con- 
 fused sounds which came up and across him from court- 
 yard, garden, and mansion house. The music, after 
 some little pause, is now playing again in long-drawn 
 triumphant strains — representing the salute of the regi- 
 ment to the house that now guarded its colours ; the 
 fair mistress appears on the threshold, surrounded by 
 the other ladies, and the tall and gallant-looking Colonel, 
 hastening up, followed by his officers, bows deferentially 
 and kisses her hand. And lo ! from the circle around 
 the mistress of the house, there steps forth another lady, 
 at whose sight the gallant soldier starts. But she smiles, 
 and signals with those mobile orbs of hers — 
 
 " Be calm, my friend, be calm ! I shall explain all as 
 soon as we are alone for a minute, or, if not all — that 
 
198 QUISISANA. 
 
 being contrary to my habit — as much as you rieed know. 
 It is a matter concerning these people." 
 
 And sheVpomts aside to another pair, bowing to each 
 other and presumably renewing — a casual acquaintance, 
 shall we say ?. - 
 
 "I hardly knowj my gracious Fraulein, whether I still 
 have the honour ;< . ." 
 
 What a farce it all was ! 
 
 And what a ghastiy tragedy too — its silent scene his 
 heart — forsaken, lonely as he was. 
 
 So he sat on,. brooding gloomily, musing dismally, he 
 knew not how long: Silence now reigned around- with- 
 out Had they forgotten him? Oh, that they had ! and 
 that he could steal away from theihouse— from the farce 
 -—from life ! - ' "■■ ? 
 
 But no, they would not be so pitifuL Hearken ! — yes, 
 this is Konski's swift step. 
 
 " I beg- your pardon, sir, but My Lady bade melirge 
 you to come. They are just going to .dinner, and are 
 only waiting for the Herr Doctor !" > ■">.>'!' 
 
( '99 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 It was a princely banquet that Hildegard had prepared 
 for her guests in the dining-hall of the whilom princely 
 abode. The closed curtains had excluded the daylight 
 from the beginning, and the light of innumerable candles 
 fell upon the table from the three . great chandeliers and 
 from a number of candelabras fixed to the wall. The 
 table shone and sparkled with crystal and silver, was 
 decked with a profusion of the choicest flowers, and 
 surrounded by a most brilliant company. There were 
 five, and twenty officers in their uniforms — and the gene- 
 ral coup d'qsil was truly enchanting. Everything we.nt off 
 well. Hildegard herself could scarcely distinguish from 
 her own serving-men.the extra waiters ordered from town, 
 and put into liveries ; in the adjoining hall the band of 
 thexjQth was playing^for Colonel von Waldor had iniiisted 
 upon My Lady thus honouring his regiment, although 
 she had 1 a band from town in readiness. The toasts, in 
 reference to which she had been somewhat uneasy, had 
 been a wonderful success. Otto had not blundered or 
 stopped short in the first toast — His Majesty the Emperor, 
 of course ; then Bertram, whom she had, at dinner, by 
 means of a pencilled note, asked to do so, had in the 
 name of the host, and as the oldest friend of the family 
 present, welcomed the guests and proposed the health 
 of the. 99th. Thereupon Colonel von Waldor rciarned 
 
200 QUJSISANA. 
 
 thanks in a really capital speech, abounding in merry 
 quips and happy inspirations. He called the brilliant 
 reception given to the regiment, a posthumous celebra- 
 tion of their doings in the last war, and a lordly payment 
 " on account " for what they were destined to do in the 
 campaigns of the future. He then proceeded to describe 
 the reception in detail, and added, that to him, personally, 
 it had been the most charming of all the charming 
 surprises of the day, to find m the gentleman who had 
 so cordially welcomed them all to this most hospitable 
 house, an old and dear friend from whom he had, been 
 separated for years ; and at last, passing ; adroitly from 
 the host's representative to the host/ himself, he proposed 
 the health of " their, far too' generous entertainer, and, of 
 the kind, gracious, and beauteous lady ■■ of the manor; 
 by whose side, he had the rare happiness of being 
 seated." '• 
 
 And the other officers — four and-twenty in number-^- 
 had started from their seats like one man, and had 
 three times shouted their Mffch .in singularly sharpand 
 definite intervals, overpowering the Hoch ;of -the other 
 guests as the roar of cannon drowns the sound' of musket 
 firing, and the band had joined in the celebration ; and 
 they had all crowded iround Bildegard, with their cham- 
 pagne-goblets held onihigh ; and as shereceivediall these 
 homages, she looked radiantly, superbly, beautiful,, and 
 so the Colonel had. told heV, adding that she was r by far 
 tine fairest of all the fair ladies there ; and as they settled 
 in their places -again, he had kissed her hand in eager 
 gallantry. 
 
 Hildegard thanked the enchanted Colonel with-a gra- 
 cious smile for his flattery, and thanked him warmly, too, 
 for his excellent toast, in which she had' ihissed but one 
 
QUISISANA. 201 
 
 thing, to wit, some clever allusion, some dainty reference 
 to her illustrious guest, the Princess, who, from her. place 
 of honour next to Otto, on the opposite side of the. ban- 
 queting-table, had, followed the, speaker with thegreatest 
 attention, and had- evidently :expected something of- the 
 kimd.i ■_■-.,,:■■ , . ,- .,, , .; -, •■,■- 
 
 TheX!k>lonelsreited;and shjroggie'd his shoulders. 
 
 " I had thought of .itj too, My Lady," he said ; " but, 
 upon honour,it could not be don*;" 
 
 "Why not ?,"■ 
 
 "I have already told My Lady that the Princess and 
 I. met last year in Tepiitan r-Since My Lady — and I must 
 express my sincere igratitude, for the condescension — 
 did me last .night repeatedly the honour .of mentioning 
 my name to her, without, it would appear, recalling any 
 reminiscence on her part, I surely could not indulge in 
 reminiscences. My wounded vanity peremptorily for- 
 bade any sueh.jthingj. i And, moreover, it was wounded 
 ere then. It is no joke for a Colonel who- has been 
 somewhat, spoiled, to see a young officer, and particularly 
 one belonging to his own regiment, preferred to himself, 
 and such, was then Undoubtedly the case. The young 
 gentleman suffering, . like myself, from a severe wound 
 received during the '70. campaign, had accompanied me 
 to Teplitz, £.nd was my .constant companion, so that he 
 can bear witness to everything. The reminiscence of 
 that wound inflicted upon my vanity-.is at this moment the 
 mp^e vivjd,, because the, yfflung; gentleman is here." 
 
 , T : h.e, Colonel pointed, as he spoke, to ai slender young 
 officer, dark of eye and: hair, who was. sitting between 
 Agatha and Augusta, and ; who was conversing eagerly 
 with. tb£ former, while. Augusta, a coquettish beauty, 
 looked supremely bored. 
 
202 Q.UISISANA. 
 
 Upon Hildegard' the young man's appearance had 
 already made so pleasing an impression after he had 
 been introduced to her, that she had actually remem- 
 bered his name' and rank — Premier-Lieutenant and 
 A'dj utant Ringbergva But she thought she was acting pru- 
 dently in saying that ishe saw nothing remarkable in the 
 youngFgeh'tferrian. Much to her amazement, the Colonel 
 seemed almost offended at this ; Ringberg, he said, was 
 really in every way a remarkable man, the most studious* 
 and at the same time the smartest officer in his regiment, 
 a man of excellent character; and a jolly ^companion, for 
 whom he himself had a -sort of paternal fondness; 
 indeed, Ringberg was the son of a dear friend 'of his own, 
 left early an orphan, and >he, : the Colbriel, had acted for 
 him in loco, parentis, and wished him .every; happiness 
 under tie sun, including the conquest of the beautiful 
 Russian and her millions. • ■ ■ 
 
 " But there seems > little prospect -*of that," Hildegard 
 said, smilingly interrupting the Colonel in his eager -talk; 
 " as far as I have- been able to observe, your protigi does 
 not exist for our beautiful friend." — ^'. 
 
 " That may be one of her masks* replfed f the ColoneL 
 " 1 think the lady 'has a great many/." •'■'' 
 
 "You must not talk like this to me; I adore 'Alexandra." 
 
 "But, My Lady, so do I too, otherwise I sliduld never 
 dream of abusings her." ...-,. . 
 
 ' "That, too, I must forbid." 
 
 " Then I will swear that she does not even know what 
 a mask is, and I am ready W face 1 a world in arms in 
 proof of the assertion,"laughed the Colonel, and Hildegard 
 laughed;too, and kissed her hand to the Princess across 
 the table) -a compliment which the fair Russian returned 
 eagerly. 
 
QUISISANA. 20} 
 
 Hildfigard felt so happy by the side of her brilliant 
 cavalier, that she could scarcely make up her mind to 
 give the signal for rising from -the table. But at last it 
 had to be.done, after she had exchanged, a few hurried 
 words with Herr von Busche, who .had quietly come up 
 behind her chair. When, a few minutes later, she rose 
 from her seat, the .curtains were suddenly and simul- 
 taneously withdrawn! from the windows and doors, the 
 glass doors flew wide open, and before the amazed eyes 
 of the company! lay the garden in fairy-like. illumined 
 splendour. Rows of coloured balloons were drawn like 
 garlands along ajnd adown the terraces ; and every pro- 
 minent point — and there were many of them — had been 
 utilised for some effective purpose of decoration : a pyra ■ 
 mjd- of stars, a wreath of light, or a radiant crown. And 
 the guests, now hurrying away from the tables, had 
 scarcely all gathered upon the verandah before they 
 found themselves enveloped in the dazzlingbrilliancy of 
 coloured lights; the magnificent facade of the mansion- 
 house, wrapt in a glorious purple glow, stood out with won- 
 derful effect against the darkening sky, and a deep green 
 flame sent a soft and tender light along the terraces and 
 mingled on the great grass plot in front of the verandah 
 with, the- red light, the combination, yielding a dim, mys- 
 terious kind of magic dawn. And before the glow had 
 faded away, and before the admiring' and wondering ex- 
 clamations of the delighted and surprised guests had 
 ceased, there was the thunder of cannon, a signal, and lo ! 
 from the wide common below, a rocket winged its shining 
 flight upwards, followed by another and yet another, in 
 such swift succession that the fiery missiles bursting;anon 
 high, high up in jtbfcair, seemed to fill the dark^ky with 
 a galaxy of glowing stars, whilst below squibs and 
 
204 QUISISANA 
 
 crackers were exploding and wheels of fire were whirli /g 
 round in all , directions: •-•■'' 
 
 But now Ihe younger members of the company could 
 be restrained no longer. In vain did anxious' niammas 
 preacho patience and caution and call for shawls and 
 cloaks,, the young ladies would not wait, and fortunately 
 the night was so calm and warm that they cduld really dis- 
 pense with wrappings ; the ©fficers had, anyhow, to remain 
 bare-headed unless they cared to put on the spiked 
 helmets with which they bad appeared at the banquet. 
 So they all danced merrily down the wide steps; and 
 were soon scattered over the terraces ; and from all sides 
 there came the laughing shouts of those who were look- 
 ing for each other, who perhaps met unexpectedly at 
 some turn in the labyrinth, or who were pretending to 
 escape, a merry game in which the young ladies, whether 
 staying in the house or belonging to the neighbourhood, 
 being familiar with the locality, gladly assumed the 
 leadership, adroitly using their knowledge to their own 
 advantage. 
 
 Meanwhile the greater part of-the guests had gradually 
 withdrawn to the chambers on either side of the great ban- 
 queting-hallj the ladies to the music-rooms and tea-rooms 
 on the left, the gentlemen mostly to the billiard-room, 
 which opened into the smoking- and' card-rooms. Some 
 still went in and out at the great French windows, all of 
 whidjh opened on the verandah, 'but ori the verandah 
 itself there were now comparatively few people, so that 
 Bertram -had but now and again to exhort the Colonel 
 to lower ohis sonorous voice a little. The friends were 
 pacing up and down arm in arm ; the Colonel's uniform 
 was all but entirely unbuttoned, he was puffing vigorously 
 at his cigar, and his handsome, gallant features were 
 
QU IS I SAN A. 205 
 
 aglow with the after-effect of the champagne, and with the 
 excitement which increased with every word which he 
 was rapidly uttering. 
 
 " Believe me," he'cried, " my good fellow, if anything 
 could still increase my feeling of absolute worship for 
 this unique woman, it would be the pluck with which she 
 went into action for young Ringberg. But unfortunately 
 with all those fair and adorable creatureSj intention and 
 execution never correspond. A masterly outflanking of 
 the foe, an assault comme il faut, and then at once this 
 ludicrous mistake! I could have died with laughter! 
 Not the slightest idea on her part that you ate such a 
 very special and intimate friend of mine ! And so she 
 goes and tells you all the minutest details of our story, as 
 to an absolute stranger, supposed to be quite incapable 
 of translating it back into German from the French, 
 because he can have no idea as to the identity' of the 
 real persons involved ! And why this stupendous want 
 of caution? To frighten you away! From what? From 
 falling in love with the little damsel, or to induce you, 
 in case you had already done so, to be kind enough to 
 retire immediately ! As though the like of us were to be 
 ri ghtened away from our purpose by a reconnoitring like 
 this, however forced ! ' You may thank your stars,' I said to 
 her ' that Doctor Bertram- has better things to occupy him- 
 self with than the childishness which you impute to him ! ' 
 To be sure she swears that she became convinced of 
 it last night, for you remained perfectly calm and self- 
 possessed, and had the contrary been the case, it would 
 certainlv not have escaped her, as she was scrutinising- 
 your every mien with the upmost care ; but then her own 
 mien, as she was telling me allthis; proved how pleased 
 and relieved she felt that all had gone off so happily I " 
 
zo6 QUISISANA. 
 
 "And what," asked; Bertram, "have you idecided in 
 Ringberg's; affair? Will you not at least take Erna, and,, 
 of course, her parents, into the secret?" ,, 
 ■ " The deuce I will ! " cried Waldor. "I surely 
 should not hesitate to rescue Ringberg at any cost 
 from some position of great danger, but this is, not a 
 question of my making a sacrifice, but of- Alexandra 
 making one that she cannot make, unless she wishes to 
 give up half her fortune, which goes to the deuce asjsoon 
 as our engagement gets known. But I want the whole 
 fortune and not the half ! , When I was but a lieutenant 
 I swore a great oath to myself that I would die a Field- 
 Marshal, and would live like a Prince until I got to be 
 one ! Now you surely cannot expect that. I should break 
 my oath, and, to myself too ?" 
 
 , Bertram did not think it advisable to point -out to . his- 
 friend, the icpntradictions he. was guilty of in one breath. 
 He only said— - 
 
 " I should think the- sacrifice might be avoided, if you 
 made the people who are interested pledge themselves to, 
 secrecy. None of them would hesitate to ; accept that 
 objection.'' . ,,fr 
 
 "In such things," replied ithe Colonel, '* one should 
 not trust any on^a promise of secrecy. 'Why; every thing- 
 would already be betrayed, if Alexandra had ihonoured 
 any one but yourself with her- indiscretions' ! " < 
 
 "But if .the Princess absolutely insists upon* making 
 the sacrifice ? " 
 
 " Then I shall as absolutely, forbid her doing anything 
 of the kind ! , The services which Kurt has rendered us 
 are considerable, I admit ; but then; in the first case, 
 they were rendered to me. How can I ask her to act 
 such a generous part ? Nay, what does she mean by 
 
QUISISANA. 207 
 
 wishing to do it? One would hot, one could not, do 
 more for one's lover ! And, to the best of my know- 
 ledge,' she is in love with me, and not with Ringberg ! " 
 
 His cigar had gone out and he flung it away, turning 
 to light a new one at one of the lights placed along the 
 verandah. Thus he did not see the smile which Bertram 
 — though his heart was little attuned to mirth — had not 
 been able to repress at the words which his not over- 
 modest friend had been uttering. • 
 
 "In that case the Princess will have to say, like the priest 
 Domingo, in Schiller's ' Don Carlos :' 'We have been here 
 in vain,' " he resumed, as the Colonel took his arm again. 
 
 "To be sure;" was the calm reply; "and I have 
 strongly urged her to leave to-morrow. Surrounded as 
 we are here by my officers, one or two of whom are 
 already likely enough to know more than I care for, we 
 are not for a single moment safe from startling disclo- 
 sures. I think I have as strong nerves as most people, 
 but to be seated upon a powder-barrel when there is a 
 conflagration raging all round, is uncomfortable for the 
 most courageous.'' 
 
 "What is uncomfortable, 'Gotoriel?" asked Alexan- 
 dra's voice behirid them. '- 
 
 * The Colonel turned on his heels; and quickly button- 
 ing his uniform, exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah, most gracious Princess ! " 
 
 " Let us call'each other by our names before this good 
 friend," said Alexandra. " Give me your arm, dear 
 Doctor Bertram; and you, my friend, -please to come to 
 the other side; So now we can talk confidentially." 
 
 " May I go on with my cigar ? " 
 
 " I should like to smoke one myself, if I dared I But 
 now to the point. What have you decided ?" 
 
2o8 QUISISANA.. 
 
 " That is the very .question," Bertram ,said, " which 
 I was; jus,t submitting, tp.WalcJor." 
 
 " I have decided, that -the young people are to see 
 how they can best settle -things for themselves!" : , 
 
 " That is an abominable decision ! " 
 
 " It is necessary," . 
 
 " Not for me, !,- I shall speak to the young lady." 
 
 "You will not .do so if you value my advice ever so 
 lit^e. Moreover, if you felt so sure of this,, .why did you 
 not (3o so yesterday;? " 
 
 "Because I require your co-operation*" 
 
 "Which I refuse!" 
 
 They were talking eJtqLjedly, alrnqst vehemently now. 
 Then, there was a, pause, a, very uncomfortable one for 
 Bertram, ,althqugh he ,§aid- f tp himself . that discord 
 between the two .ought to he welcome to him. He had 
 closely wafched Erna apd» R;ingberg. At dinner, where 
 they .had. ; heen sfa^ed; alm^ost directly opposite to each 
 other, , they had, not ; $£chAnged a single; word ; and just 
 now, whilst Erna h^ follpwed the other young ladies 
 into the garden, Ringberg had remained on the verandah 
 and had subsequently gone into the billiardtroom. As 
 Erna was so very proud, a meeting of; the two seemed 
 difficult, almost' impossible, without, kind and skilful* 
 mediation, and there would be little time ; or opportu- 
 nity for it now. To-morrow the regiment was again 
 to leave its quar£er$. They would again 'be .separated 
 for long — for ever, if he chose f to avail himself 'of the 
 influence which he doubtless h&dover Erna ; and if he 
 could only bring into play something of the robust 
 egotism, with which the handsome soldier by his side 
 was: smoothing ihis own way to rank and unlimited 
 riches. 
 
QUISISANA. 209 
 
 " Then I only know one way to achieve our object," 
 the Princess said at last, speaking somewhat huskily. 
 
 "I knew you would find something," said W^ldorj 
 "but what is it?" 
 
 " It is this . . ." 
 
 Alexandra paused abruptly, for as they reached the 
 end of fhe verandah, and were turning round, the very 
 man of whom they were all thinking was approaching 
 them. 
 
 "Anything for me, my dear Ringberg?" exclaimed 
 the Colonel. 
 
 "Yes, Colonel; an orderly from the General in 
 command . .. ." 
 
 "May the . . ." muttered the Colonel through his 
 teeth. 
 
 He went up to the young officer, who made his report 
 in a low voice, whilst the Princess and Bertram re- 
 mained standing at some little distance* They saw the 
 Colonel angrily fling away his cigar, and draw himself 
 up. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear Ringberg; you need not come 
 with me.. It is bad enough if one of- us has to lose all 
 the fun,,. No remonstrance, sir.! I ..shall want an orderly 
 to go with rne, and, perhaps* you will, in passing, kindly 
 bid them saddle Almansor." 
 . "Yes, Colonel," said the young officer, saluting. 
 
 Ringberg .had gone. Waldor turned round. 
 
 "It seems," he said, "that the soldie.rs have taken a 
 different position from what His Excellency had ex- 
 pected, and now he is getting all the officers in 
 command of regiments together, to get things; done 
 as noisily, as possible. The old owl J Upon my word, 
 I would let him have a bit of my mind, if he did this 
 
2 if QUISISANA. 
 
 in actual war, and summoned -me' at such a time'two or 
 three miles off from a-' position where we may be 
 ■'alarnted' at any' 1 moment. However, there is no 
 help for it. I shall not spare the horse, but I am 
 afraid I shall not be back before one o'clock/ " My 
 officers must be -in ; their quarters by twelve o'clock 
 precisely) and- the rest of the partyare likely to vanish 
 •too. * I presume that we shall be attacked between two 
 and three o'clock. If, then, I do not see you again, 
 dearest Alexandra, the arrangement is this: you'" drive 
 to town to-morrow and remain there until' I can look 
 in for a moment, as I hope to be able to-do the day 
 after, or else until I send word. Farewell, dearest ! 
 And ; you, my good friend, will probably not have gone 
 to bed before I return. I will come to your room, and 
 Team what the best and cleverest of women will have 
 planned in the interest of our protkgis." • 
 
 The Colonel kissed her hand again, and hurried away. 
 •Alexandra looked gloomily after him, standing with her 
 hands crossed over her bosom, until he had vanished 
 through the door of die billiard-room; where several of 
 'the senior officers were' advancing to meet him s Then, 
 with a passionate gesture, she turned to : Bertram. 
 
 " He is mistaken ! Alexandra Volinzov is not to be 
 ordered about like a pack of recruits. I. shall not leave 
 to-morrow >! I shall not leave at all, until I have achieved 
 my object -j and you, friend,iyou must help me to achieve 
 it." >■■-> "- ■■■■■■ ■ ■ 
 
 • She flung the end of her shawl impatiently across her 
 shoulder^ and took Bertram's arm, drawing him away 
 from the verandah down into the garden, whence the 
 young people, in pairs and in groups, were now hurrying 
 ■merrily batik to the mansion-house, attracted by the 
 
QUISISANA. 211 
 
 sound of the f band striking -up a polka in the 
 banqvfetirrg-hallj which had been cleared in the in- 
 terval.- •:■: ■' .. ; i ' ,m 
 
 "And what is my help to consist in?" asked Bertram. 
 
 " You must speak to Etna. You must explain all to 
 her. I am powerless without Waldor's co-operation, and 
 you* 'have heard how he refuses it?; -Nay, more>; I have 
 learned from Hildegard, that he has definitely (denied 
 standing in any 'special' relation to me, and as he could 
 not disown me altogether, has accounted- for it all by 
 talking of a casual watering-place acquaintance ; nay 
 he has actually ' gone the length, of reviving- the old 
 suspicion of there being something between Kurt and 
 myself; in a word, he has done his utmost to shake my 
 credibility with the parents, and with Erna ; and to make 
 my interference; if I dared interfere, appear a ridiculous 
 and hideous farce. You are the intimate friend of the 
 parents; you are Erna's 1 natural protector and guardian 
 — yoa are more to her than /her own father. The foolish 
 dread of the' mother, that you' loved the dear child in a 
 different way, I haveabsohitely put an end, to ; you will 
 be met on all sides with the' utmost confidence, and if 
 any doubt still existed; if any objections were still raised-, 
 why, -you are so clever, so wise, so eloquent, that you 
 will with ease remove every objection, that you will with a 
 sure hand bring'all- things to a good errdj be rthe saviour 
 of those two pOOfp dear souls, and rescue them from the 
 infernal torments of jealousy,' doubt, and despair: I shall 
 notbe found wanting; :I shall.? confirm everything that 
 you say ; I shall tike the full responsibility of it all, of 
 course. I am firmly resolved upon this ;' it is: simply my 
 duty, and I shall doit^andiWaldorrrray. put up with it 
 or not, as he pleases." 
 
212 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 Alexandra had been saying all- this with hurried 
 breath 'and toeavwg bosom. Bertram^ own excitement 
 was intense, too, but he managed to reply in calmer 
 accents — •■':'■:■' 'S'l-.i ;.■■•' ■;;-:;■ 
 
 "Y<m ask 'mrachy My >La«dy.i" You call me Erna's 
 guardian,- her seeotid fa'then ■> I accept these titles; 
 now, will'' you please ami try to- iantey ^yourself;., in 
 the 'position of a; guardian, a father, undies- these cir- 
 cumstances. In the story of Claudine -you have told 
 me your own, Striving, I do not doubt for a- moment, 
 to be strictly truthful, seeing no • danger: in this^when 
 speaking to a stranger, and 'beings -moreover, impelled 
 to do S0j both by yourcpiick temperament and by your 
 passi&fi'ate 'sympathy. But now comes the question : 
 Has your truthfulness really:, brought out the truth? 
 Not the troth of 'yesterday and to-day, but of to-morrow. 
 The truth, the truthful; picture of the- future, when you 
 will be constantly andltjlosely brought into contact 
 with the : former object' of < your ardent love, when you 
 will be ever seeing him by the side of a. woman who is 
 not much younger than yourself, who is not as beautiful 
 as you, not as clever as you j who, howevergraceful, lacks 
 that nameless charm which is 'radiated by a beautiful 
 and clever womanof the great world, andwhichj is so apt 
 to beguile the hearts of men; can you then^— I am n-ow 
 Speaking of yourself only, My Lady, only of what is in 
 your power— xan you, for your part, for your own , heart, 
 undertake the guarantee for the future? 1 conjure yon, 
 by all you hold sacred,, can you conscientiously 1 give the 
 guardian^the father, this aissurahce? ? r ' f ■ -■ 
 
 "Byiall I hold; sacred)" replied. Alexandra, "yes 1 
 And I will' raither die than break my oath'l" 
 
 She had stooped suddenly, and was about to drav 
 
QUISISANA. 213 
 
 Bertram's hand to her lips, but he prevented her with 
 gentle force. 
 
 " We must not soften each other's hearts," said he, his 
 own voice quivering with, emotion, " must not dim the 
 clearness of our vision by tears of emotion. I accept 
 your vow. And now I crave but one boon from Fate, 
 to wit, that I be permitted one look, one deep, search- 
 ing look into the young man's heart, — and into Erna's 
 heart !" 
 
 He had been murmuring the last words in a scarcely 
 audible tone ;,• his- lips were trembling ; Alexandra also 
 was too much moved to be able to speak. Thus they 
 had silently reascended the verandah-steps and moved 
 on — unintentionally — to the open door which led to the 
 card-room. Alexandra paused, uttering a slight excla- 
 mation. 
 
 "What is it, My Lady?" 
 
 She made no answer, but drew .her arm swiftly out of 
 his, and hurried away from him into the card-room. Ber- 
 tram did not follow her ; amazed and hurt that she could 
 so suddenly leave him, attracted it would seem by the 
 large oval table, around which there stood a fairly large 
 group of gentlemen, either staking money themselves or 
 watching the progress of the game which was evidently 
 some game of chance, with Lotter acting as. banker. 
 Bertram anyhow saw that hated person sitting at the 
 head of the table and dealing the cards, and next moment 
 he heard that loud voice of his, which he disliked so 
 much, exclaiming : " Faites voire jeu, messieurs ! " Alex- 
 andra had advanced to the table as though she meant to 
 join in the game, and Bertram turned away in grave dis- 
 pleasure. How could he have full confidence in a being, 
 who was accustomed to obey every movement of a rest- 
 
214 QUI SIS AN A. 
 
 less heart, every temptation of a . light-winged fancy ? 
 No, no ! If he was to resign, Eina's happiness must be 
 anchored in firmer ground ! < ■ . 
 
 He leaned against the door of the hall in which rthe 
 couples were taking their places for the Lancers. Erna 
 and her partner were standing but a few yards off. She 
 was conversing with him in her usual, measured way; he 
 could watch every movement of those ^beloved. lips, when 
 sfie spoke or when, with a fleeting smile, she answered 
 a jesting word of her partner's. Her face was partly 
 turned in his'-direction ; he thought every moment that 
 she would turn round completely and look at him. I 
 ''felt that some one was looking at me,"- she* had said 
 on that memorable morning, when hej 'found: her writing 
 beneath the plantain-tree. Now she did not feel it. 
 What had broken the magic spell of his glance ? Was 
 it because his love was no longer unselfish? Because a 
 fierce wild longing seized him to press the slender white- 
 robed form in his arms, to cover the sweet lips with wild 
 kisses ? No, no — it was not that ! It was this ! her 
 heart no longer knew anything of him. It was this : 
 new : and younger- gods 1 ! had moved inside the temple, 
 and the old one's might nowdepart ingloriously and hide 
 their disgrace in the darkness of night ! 
 
 •The music struck up, Erna held out her hand to her 
 partner and floated across to the other side of the hall; 
 and Bertram hurried away, down the verandah steps, 
 away into the garden. 
 
 Then he wandered about aimlessly, muttering wild 
 words, wringing his hands despairingly. The deserted 
 garden, with the coloured lamps swinging in the night 
 wind, some dead, some dyingj seemed a fit image of his 
 wasted and desolate life ;- whilst the. strains of -mirthful 
 
Ql/fSlSANA. 21$ 
 
 music wafted across to him in mighty volumes from the 
 brightly illumined mansion-house, and the sounds of 
 singing and rejoicing that came up to him from the vil- 
 lage below, seemed to mock the solitary self-tormentoi. 
 He felt that this could not go on, if he did not wish to go 
 mad ; he asked himself, pressing his hands to his throb- 
 bing temples, whether he was hot mad already ? Whether 
 he was not the ill-omened victim, pursued by the relent- 
 less fiuries of jealousy, pursued until he breaks down — and 
 to be spared only by voluntary resignation ? Yet you surely 
 can but resign what you own, what — if need be — you 
 could defend; the possession of which you could dispute 
 anyhow with your adversary to- the last gasp. Despair 
 does riot resign, it only lets go what can no longer be 
 held. What had he done to hold Erna ? What was he 
 doing at this very moment, except again making room for 
 a rival, for whom, as it was, the stars in their courses 
 were .fighting, one who had youth and the. privilege of 
 an earlier attachment on his side ? No, he. deserved to 
 be conquered, he who neither had the strength to con- 
 quer himself, nor the courage to join issue with the 
 rival. Let the decision come then 1 
 
2l6 ) 
 
 XX. 
 
 Bertram stood on the lowest step of the terrace when 
 this decision struggled forth from his terapest-tossed 
 soul, that could no longer bear the torment. A small 
 steep stair led upward from this place, at the very extre- 
 mity of ! the garden, without any landing-places ; he hurried 
 up, taking two and three steps at a time. He had reached 
 the top ; next he turned to the right, across the lawn, 
 in the direction of the* verandah, when suddenly the 
 music was silent within the hall, and instantly the dancers 
 came forth from the many doors to «ool and refresh 
 themselves in the -balmy night air. He did not care to 
 meet the merry, motley multitude. rj Here. and there- iso- 
 lated couples were descending the stairs. He withdrew 
 into the darkness of 'She shrubberies surrounding •the' 
 winter garden. It was lighted up ; and, as far as he 
 could judge by a glance through the windows, was 
 deserted; he would pass through it, and so regain, 
 unseen 'and undisturbed, the rooms where the others 
 were. 
 
 He entered. Between palm-trees and many broad- 
 leaved plants there was a narrow passage, bisected in 
 the centre by a shorter and broader one. Where the 
 two passages met, towered a huge palm, set in a tub of 
 mighty dimensions, and all but touching the glass-dome 
 above. Behind, within the enclosure of the wall, was a 
 
QU1SISANA. 217 
 
 small recess, furnished with dainty iron garden-chairs 
 and with a table. 
 
 This, he knew, was a favourite spot of Erna's, where, 
 on rainy days, she was wont to spend hours. He could 
 not resist the temptation of visiting the spot which on 
 her account was sacred to him. He sank into one of the 
 chairs, put his folded hands to his head, and let it rest 
 upon the little table. As he sat thus in the attitude 
 of one praying, his thoughts became a prayer : and he 
 prayed that Fate would now determine his lot, now 
 and here, be it bliss or be it— death. He was willing to 
 submit to either, in all humility, knowing himself subject 
 to the heavenly powers that would deal with him b> 
 their own inscrutable will. 
 
 He. lifted his head and rose slowly, hesitatingly, from 
 his stooping, position. Was his prayer not heard? 
 Could love not work a miracle, like faith, which was 
 less strong? Surely, she wouM come, for whom he was 
 longing with all the force of his heart ! 
 
 And lo ! — as he turned his gasie' to the door, the 
 velvet curtain which draped it was drawn aside, and she 
 appeared on the threshold, a slender, white-robed figure, 
 bending. forward, gazing into the silent green wilderness 
 before her^ listening ! And tiow she' was descending the 
 stairs with lightsome step, moving along the passage that 
 led to the tall palm-trees, and .again she paused, leaning 
 one hand against the edge of the tub, pressing the other 
 against her bosom. 
 
 "Erna!" 
 
 He had, for fear of frightening her, uttered her name 
 in a very low voice ; yet she started where she stood, but 
 did not turn to'hi.n who was so near, but stooped, listen- 
 ing, towards the other side ; and at the same moment he 
 
2j? QUrSISANA. 
 
 heard, the little door open, i by; which he had himself 
 entered the winter garden; and now some one was 
 hurrying along the passage, towards Erna, who made a 
 movement as though she would escape, but could not. 
 
 " Miss Erna!" 
 
 She made no answer, and Lieutenant Ringberg seemed 
 to have exhausted his' strength -and' his presence of mind 
 with these 'two words, which he had uttered in a very 
 diffident tone of j voice, for a few seconds they both 
 stood motionless. Then Erna said — 
 _..' " Fraulein voij.Aschhof has told me that you wished to 
 speak to me. I only came to requesfcyou not to honour 
 Eraulein von Aschhof any longer. with your confidence. 
 I — I am indignant that you could' do so at all." 
 
 "By Heaven! there is some misunderstanding here^ I 
 should never have dared to apply, to ^Fraulein von Asch- 
 hof. She began, and; spoke so confidently that no doubt 
 ever arose in me. I. could not but believe that you — 
 that yourself, Miss Erna. ..." 
 .... " This is. too much ! " 
 
 The breathless listener heard the rustling of her robe, 
 and then, some hurried : words of entreaty which again 
 chained her to the spot Meanwhile they had some- 
 what changed their position:; the dense foliage of some 
 shrubs now intervened between himself and them, and he 
 could now scarcely see anything of them, but he could 
 hear every word even better than before. 
 
 " You must not let me suffer for a misunderstanding 
 of which — I swear it — I am so innocent, that I cannot 
 even guess how it has come about. But be this as it 
 may, I bless it as a heavenly favour, for surely Heaven 
 would not have me condemned unheard. I pray and 
 entreat you : listen i " 
 
Qt/ISISANA. 2ig 
 
 " What have you to say ? " 
 
 " What I wrote in my last letter. If you will not 
 believe in my assurances — and indeed I can understand 
 that, as things are, appearances are against me — give me 
 time — only a little time, until these unfortunate circum- 
 stances have become clearer, and those appearances will 
 dissolve themselves into nothing. Only this much I can, 
 I must say, I am not in love with the Princess, and I 
 never have been, I have never felt anything for her but 
 sympathy, respect, — and friendship, if you will, — .feelings 
 •which that rarely-gifted woman will .awaken in all.' who 
 come to know her intimately. Shei is here for no other 
 purpose but to plead for me, to clear up this wretched 
 mystery which condemns me to silence, at the sacrifice 
 of considerable personal advantages to herself. But she 
 has met with resistance which she cannot overcome, and 
 which compels her, and eompels me also, to remain in this 
 miserably odd position.. Therefore, once more, give me 
 time — give me a respite. A criminal gets that, and I am 
 free from guilt, unless it be a crime that I look upon 
 those duties which gratitude and the friendship of years 
 impose upon me. as sacred, even now, when' it is so 
 unspeakably hard for me, and when it iputs me to the 
 risk of forfeiting the happiness o£ my life !" 
 
 " Is this all you have to say^to me?" 
 
 "All j: for what else. I might say would find no 
 credence, if your faith in my veracity does not go even 
 this length." , 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 " Erna 1 is it possible ? Is every voice silent in your 
 heart ? Does nothing stir, nothing plead for one whom 
 once you— I dare- not say the word, any longer, for I must 
 fear to offend you again if I remind you of whafconce was ? 
 
mo QUISISANA. 
 
 Great heavens! and I had thought,-' that if my pen were 
 powerless, • and my pleading on paper appeared clumsy 
 and lifeless, I should but require to be once more face to 
 face with- you, looking into -your loved eyes whilst you 
 looked into mine, and that then you would believe me even 
 before I uttered a word. - And now, now, my glance is 
 powerless, my words are mere sound* I no longer know 
 what to.rsay ; I am; standing here like a beggar-who has 
 been telling his story of:brtter woe, and in whose face 
 people close the door at which he has -knocked with trem- 
 bling hand. Have I become so poor ? Well, i am 
 most unwilling to appeal to a friend for help, but you 
 leave me no choice. There; is, living in your own circle, a 
 gentleman who is in the secret, to whom the Princess has 
 told it, half involuntarily; drawn on by the vivacity of her 
 temperament, which she has never learned to control, half 
 voluntarily, .hoping that she was not betraying anything 
 which all, or at least all concerned, would not know to-day. 
 Well,ithis hope of hers has not been fulfilled. The gentle- 
 man in question knows it,-, and not deeming himself, 
 underthe circumstances, justified in speaking, he will, if I 
 judge him correctly, be silent, although the- Princess has 
 already given him full liberty, nay, has entreated him to 
 tell you all. I must confess, I was much taken aback when, 
 a little time ago, she came and told me this; -apart from 
 other considerations, it was painful >to me to know that 
 theJiey to the fatal enigma was in the hands of a third 
 person. But now, when, to my sorrow, I realise my im- 
 potence, let him plead for me, if he will. He will do it, if 
 I, too, entreat him. I have barely exchanged three wOrds 
 with hifflj but looks like his, so imbued with the true 
 nobility of the soul, cannot lie. Ask him — you will 
 believe him ! " 
 
QMS IS AN A. 221 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 " You will not believe him ? " 
 
 "I will die rather than hear from him, speak to him 
 of ... It is a shame, a shame ! This is going too far. 
 What happened before was . . . but this, this . . ." 
 
 " How now ? By the heavens above us, what is the 
 meaning of this ? " 
 
 " The meaning is this : my last word to you is, 
 Begone ! " 
 
 "I go. But one thing more, and let it be my last 
 word. It is very bitter tohave to say it. There is one 
 greater misfortune yet than 1 to see One's love misjudged, 
 scorned, rejected, and that is, to have to say to one's self 
 that she whom One had loved more, — a thousand times 
 more than one's self, — is surpassed by other women, whom 
 one had never 1 dared to put on the same level as her, 
 had barely dared to compare with her, in kindness and in 
 generosity." '^ ' ' ' ■ 
 
 There was a quick step passing away over the tiled 
 passage, 1 then the sound of the little garden-door being 
 opened ,j and closed, and then a cry of anguish, half sup- 
 pressed, arid all the more terrible on that account, the 
 cry of one who had met 1 with a deadly hurt. 
 
 Bertram hurried round the intervening shrubs to 
 where Erna stood with her arms raised' on high, with 
 wild staring eyes. 
 
 And then she gave another 'cry, and- the next moment 
 she lay in -his -arms, clutching him, clinging to him, as 
 a drowning man would clutch, would cling to, a rock. 
 
 " Uncle Bertram ! dear, dear Uncle Bertram 1 * 
 
 " My sweet child ! " 
 
 " Save me ! save me!!" 
 
 A great gush of tears relieved her. She was now sob- 
 
222 QUJSISANA. 
 
 bing aloud, bending over his shoulder. Thus had come to 
 pass that for which, but a brief time before, he had longed 
 as the greatest bliss j, a bliss he would fain : taste for a 
 moment, and for which he would, willingly die, after haying 
 tasted it. He held her close to his heart, held the slender 
 maiden's frame, the tender, heaving, , bosom ; her sweet 
 breath was floating around bis heated- cheek, and he 
 knew she was his, was in his keeping ; he had the power 
 to hold her now, and it would cost him but one word. 
 And yet it was all a dream-gift, which one may retain for 
 a second or two by keeping one's eyes closed, but which' 
 fades away, to return no more, as soon as the eyes 
 re-open. < . 
 
 "Yes, I will save you, save you from yourself; you 
 have. lost yourself, and I will restore you," 
 
 She. lifted her head and looked at; him, confused, 
 questioning., ,\. : . 
 
 "Not to-day, my sweet child, to-morrow j but you 
 must be a good, and obedient girl." ■ 
 
 ■M will do all that you- wish, that you command, dear 
 one, beloved one ! For there is none as good, as noble 
 as you, not one,; and I love no one as I love you ! " 
 
 Again she clasped him, more violently., even than 
 before, and pressed her hot, quivering lips, to his. 
 
 j.TBut he did not return her- kiss,,and a gentle, melan- 
 choly smile played about his mouth as he said, putting 
 her yciitly from him, and stroking her dark hair— 
 
 " And never did father love his dearest child better 
 than:.! love you." 
 
 And again she gazed up to him with a strange expres- 
 sion of fear and shame. 
 
 " Now go, my child ; to-morrow we will talk together. 
 I shall not leave to-morrow. I shall not go until you 
 
QUISISANA. 223 
 
 need me no longer. Good-bye till then. And then 
 your dear eyes are to weep no more." 
 
 She clung to him still, but hesitatingly, shyly now ; he 
 disengaged himself gently, and repeated — 
 
 " Go, my child, go." 
 
 She went, slowly, reluctantly, holding her head very 
 low. On the topmost step, in the doorway leading to the 
 tea-room, she paused and turned, as though expecting 
 that he would summon her back. 
 
 But he beckoned with eye and hand : " Go I " 
 
 She vanished behind the velvet curtain. He was 
 alone 1 
 
( "4 ) 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The mirth and fun of the feafet were at their height 
 now. The 'commander-in-chief had ordered that at 
 twelve o'clock all officers should be in their respective 
 quarters, including those who had been told off to the 
 houses of the ranger, the mayor, and the other chief 
 denizens of the village. It was past eleven o'clock 
 already. No time was to be lost, if the guests wished to 
 drain the cup of delight which the hospitable mansion- 
 house proffered in such abundance. 
 
 " Vivat Champagne ! " exclaimed one of the young 
 officers, taking a glass of " the foaming wine from th& 
 salver which a footman offered him. 
 
 "And pretty girls ! " returned his frierid von Koppingen, 
 emptying his goblet at one draught, replacing it on the 
 salver, and turning upon his heel to hurry to the fair 
 Augusta, with whom he was engaged to dance the Rhein- 
 lander, the music of which the orchestra was just playing. 
 
 "And where have you been, Ringberg?" asked 
 another comrade, Herr von Rollintz ; "been gambling 
 a little?" 
 
 , " You know I never play," replied Kurt, who was 
 leaning against the door. 
 
 "Nor dance? Well, well, you are always so sensible ; I 
 feel half dead already, upon my honour I And yet I have 
 to dance this Rhtinlander with the belle of the ball. I 
 
QUISISANA. 225 
 
 am looking for her everywhere; have you seen her, 
 perchance ? Ah, there she is ! " 
 
 Von Rollintz flew right across the room to meet Erna, 
 who was just entering from the tea-room. A minute 
 later the pair whirled past Kurt ; von Rollintz, with 
 radiant and glowing face, chattering even during the 
 dance, Erna still and pale, the long dark eyelashes 
 lowered. 
 
 Kurt gazed gloomily after them ; then he turned away 
 and began pacing the verandah. After a little while he 
 saw, at the end opposite to him, a gentleman ascending 
 the steps, in whom, as soon as the bright light fell 
 upon him, he recognised Bertram. The young man 
 advanced rapidly two or three steps, then paused hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 "Why* after all!" he murmured, "everything now 
 would be in vain." 
 
 Bertram, who had gone up to one of the windows of 
 the ball-room, was now slowly coming along the verandah. 
 It was painful to Kurt to meet the man to whom, but a 
 minute ago, he had been willing to apply for help. So, 
 happening to be just in front of the card-room, he 
 slipped in. 
 
 " He avoids me," said Bertram to himself. " In that 
 case the mountain will indeed have to go to Mahomet !" 
 
 As he was about to look for Kurt in the card»room, 
 he saw, on his way past the open doors of the ball room, 
 Lydia in conversation with one of the older officers, a 
 conversation carried on by Lydia with her customary 
 abundance of gesture and the frequent use of her fan. He 
 drew nearer, and, as he had hoped, her ever-roving glance 
 had soon lighted upon him. A sl'ight movement of his 
 eyes was sufficient for the highly experienced lady, who 
 
226 QUISISANA. 
 
 left the Major with a jesting word, and tripped up to 
 Bertram. 
 
 "You have something to tell me, dear friend?" 
 
 " Can you spare me one minute?" 
 
 " One minute ? For you ? " 
 
 She gave a sentimental glance at Bertram and 
 started. 
 
 "Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "you are ill. 
 You wish the doctor sent for ; but there is one here, 
 nay, there are two, — pray let me. . . ." 
 
 " Pray remain here,'' said Bertram, seizing her by the 
 hand as she was hastening away. " It is true that I feel 
 rather worn out — a consequence of the unrest and noise 
 to -which I am not accustomed — but otherwise perfectly 
 well. Let us sit down there ! " 
 
 He pointed, to a couch near, and sat. down; Lydia 
 followed him with trembling knees, shaking' all over, feel- 
 ing her heart rising to her throat. ' The whole unusual 
 approach of Bertram who was generally so reserved, his 
 pallor, his solemn manner — all this could bave but one 
 reason, one meaning — and what was she to reply ? Act' 
 surprise and terror, of course ! But not too long, just a 
 few moments of half fainting, with her head leaning 
 back against the wall and her eyes turned rapturously 
 towards the chandelier. 
 
 " My dear friend — for I must appeal to your friend- 
 ship — to your love. . . ." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " murmured Lydia. 
 
 " To the love which you doubtless cherish for Erna, 
 and which has, I assume, misled you to this last extremely 
 equivocal step of yours." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " murmured Lydia again, but this 
 time with accents of the greatest terror, as of some one 
 
QUISISANA. 227 
 
 who suddenly feels the ground beneath him giving 
 way. 
 
 " I will not reproach you," continued Bertram, "which 
 indeed I have no right to do. I was wrong myself in 
 not taking you into my confidence in reference to Erna, 
 in wrapping myself in secrecy and silence, and thus all but 
 compelling you to act alone and independently in order 
 to help our dear child to what, let us trust, will prove 
 her lasting happiness. But the remedy which you applied 
 came too soon and was too strong ; it has not had the 
 desired effect, at least not in the meantime ; indeed, at 
 present things look desperately bad. Do not ask me 
 how I have learned this, I may tell you later on, when per- 
 haps you will tell me, too, how you discovered the secret 
 which both guarded so carefully. All this does not matter 
 just now ; but one thing is of the greatest importance, 
 and this I heartily beg you will grant me. We must hence- 
 forth act in common, take no one into our confidence of 
 whom we cannot be sure that he aims at the same thipg 
 as we do-^namely, at Erna's happiness. And I think 
 you will do best if you leave me to judge when this is 
 the case. Are you agreed ? " 
 
 Poor Lydia was sadly embarrassed. For her terrible 
 disappointment it was some compensation that Bertram 
 himself had evidently no matrimonial intentions with 
 reference to Erna, and that he was offering Lydia his 
 alliance and friendship. How gladly would she have 
 agreed ! How gladly said yes to everything, averring 
 that she would blindly obey his behests. But alas, in 
 addition to her first indiscretion which he had so kindly 
 pardoned, she had meanwhile committed another which 
 he would scarcely pardon. 
 
 " It is too late, I see," said Bertram, who had not 
 
228 QUISISANA. 
 
 failed to notice- the terribly; anxious expression . of her 
 mobile countenance. " You have already told Hilde- 
 gard." 
 
 "No, no — not Hildegard>— worse ! far worse!" mur- 
 mured Lydia, wringing her hands and casting down- her- 
 eyes. " In my anxiety, my— ye Heavens ! I cannot ex- 
 cuse myself on any other ground — in my- tender anxiety, 
 for you . . , the Baron . . . you . . ." 
 
 " Pray speak distinctly," said Bertram, repressing his 
 anger. "I must know all. The Baron . . ." 
 
 "He was so angry with. you ever since that miser- 
 able letter — no, I cannot telli you: that;. I am too much 
 ashamed^ of myself — but Erna has already pardoned me, 
 and so will i you. We hadall lostour headsj Reasserted 
 that«youi alone were to blame for his failure with Erna. 
 And that Otto had not given him the money — a great 
 big sum — three thousandrthalers — was your doing too, he 
 said. This morning already, before he drove away, he 
 vowed in my presence that he would inflict a terribla 
 vengeance upon you ; and at dinner, when he sat next to 
 me, he talked dreadfully, and drank ever so much cham- 
 pagne — and I knew — I thought I knew — I saw that Erna 
 and Ringberg — Erna had ■ denied him altogether ; and 
 the girls — Augusta, you know, and Louise^told me flia£ 
 Ri ngberg used constantly to meet her at theiri house ,. , . , ! 
 Ema was so excited when the regiment came, and . . ." 
 
 "Go on!" cried Bertramu 
 
 " And now the Baron wanted to make you suffer for 
 it. And I really could not tolerate it, seeing that per- 
 haps I had contributed^ to the Baron's wrath against you." 
 
 " And so you told the Baron all ? " 
 
 Lydia was sitting with rigid, tearful eyes, and started 
 in terror as Bertram quickly rose. 
 
QMS IS ANA. 229 
 
 "What would you do?" 
 
 " Try if I can repair the mischief a little." 
 
 "Let me go, I entreat you ! and I will tell the Baron . . ." 
 
 " And I wish you to tell him nothing. I wish you to 
 remain where you are, and to appear as unconcerned as 
 possible to all, specially to Erna, if she should come to 
 yoa, which, however, I doubt ; and mind that you do 
 not betray one word of what we have been discussing 
 here. Will you promise that?" 
 
 " I promise everything you wish." 
 
 " I shall not be ungrateful." 
 
 Lydia gazed after him with tears in her eyes as he 
 hurried away. " I shall not be ungrateful," he had said ; 
 and saying that, he had pressed her hand- — for the first 
 time since they had met — and supposing, supposing 
 that it came to pass after all ! 
 
 Major von Keberstein approached her again, and said 
 laughingly— 
 
 " You seem to have had quite a long confidential 
 conversation with the gentleman who carried you off so 
 abruptly from my side. And then a poor old bachelor 
 like me is not to get jealous ! " 
 
 " I will do my best now to make up for it" 
 
 " It will take you all your time, we shall have to tramp 
 back to our quarters in ten minutes." 
 
 " Can you not throw in half an hour ? " 
 
 "Not for worlds!" exclaimed the major, replacing 
 his watch which he had been consulting. " My orders 
 are very strict." 
 
 " Then I must claim the ten minutes at least," she 
 rejoined, gathering her robe together and making way 
 for the stout old gentleman by her side on the couch. 
 
 In the adjoining card-room, too, the guests were bent 
 
230 QUISISANA. 
 
 upon making the most of the last few minutes by doubling 
 and trebling their high stakes. All the players now were 
 civilians, chiefly neighbouring proprietors, who could 
 afford to lose a few hundreds. Some of the officers had 
 at first joined in the game, but only at first, and with 
 very small stakes, as if to show that, so far as they were 
 concerned, the whole thing was a little harmless social 
 amusement^ — nothing more. When heavier sums began 
 to be staked, they had at once ceased playing, and had 
 gradually melted away. The Oberforster, or ranger, who 
 was only looking on, thought that this had been done 
 in obedience to a signal from the Colonel himself, who 
 had passed through the card-room on his way out. 
 
 " All the better," the Baron had sneered ; "then we 
 shall remain snugly among ourselves. Faites votre jeu, 
 Messieurs !" , 
 
 And indeed the Baron, so the gentlemen present 
 thought, had good reason to find his position a snug one. 
 He was winning almost without interruption. The heap 
 of bank-notes and gold coins by his side was ever 
 increasing; among the bank-notes were already a good 
 few slips, on which the players had written their names 
 and the amount of their stakes ; his gains were said to be 
 several thousands. He asserted that it was nothing 
 like that sum, and repeatedly offered to let some one else 
 take the bank ; but no one cared to accept his offer ; 
 and. thus the losers had no right to grumble; although 
 for some time now they had been, as one of them said, 
 hurrying in pursuit of their own money. They had need 
 to hurry- if they would overtake the money which was 
 ever fleeting. The Baron's proposal that the game should 
 cease punctually at half-past eleven, the time fixed for 
 the conclusion of the ball, had been agreed to, and it 
 
QUISI&ANA. 231 
 
 was now almost a quarter past. The Baron saw 
 already, from the large stakes which the players were 
 venturing, that, as the cards were more than ever in his 
 favour, his gains would be doubled ; his jubilant mirth 
 proved the excitement he was labouring under; he had 
 some funny word for every card he dealt, every deal he 
 scored, and all the while his eyes were glowing, and 
 his busy hands were twitching nervously. Suddenly 
 there was a change. One of the players had staked a 
 sum equivalent to the total of his losses during the even- 
 ing — and had won ! This daring play, and the success 
 which had crowned it, stimulated the others ; and now 
 everything went against the banker. In a few minutes 
 his heap had dwindled down to less than half, and it 
 became evident that if, during the remaining quarter of 
 an hour, the bank were pursued by the same bad 
 luck, it must needs end with a considerable balance the 
 wrong way. The jests of the Baron became more and 
 more bitter ; presently he took to whistling savagely 
 through his closed teeth, interspersing this with muttered 
 curses; his eyes, now roving restlessly around the room, 
 seemed:. repeatedly to be fixing themselves upon same 
 one within the room. Suddenly he stopped in the middle 
 of a deal, and exclaimed, with a semi-audible curse — 
 
 " You are bringing me bad luck, sir ! You are in my 
 way, sir ! " 
 
 These words, which he had uttered in the most violent 
 way, were accompanied by a fierce look at Kurt, who, 
 to avoid meeting Bertram, had entered the room a few 
 minutes agoj and had sinpe been standing with folded 
 arms among the spectators, who, attracted and enchained 
 by the sight of the maddening game, had, in ever-increas- 
 ing numbers, grouped their.; c'.ic around the board of 
 
232 QU1SISANA. 
 
 green cloth. The scene had not had any attraction fot 
 him ; his mind was far away ; he had stared mechanically 
 before him" without seeing anything; nor had he heard 
 the Baron's words; he only felt it disagreeable .that 
 several gentlemen near him were looking hard at him. 
 One of them thought it incumbent upon himself to 
 whisper to Kurt that the Baron had meant his remarks for 
 him. Kurt, under the impression that Lotter had been 
 asking him to join in the game, and not wishing to say 
 it aloud, replied in a courteous whisper to the gentleman 
 who had called his attention to the fact that the Baron 
 had meant his remarks for him — 
 
 " I am sorry, but I newer playj" . i . 
 
 He accompanied this by an apologetic shrug of the 
 shoulders towards the Baron, and turned upon his heel, 
 As soon as he, was free of the crowd surging around him, 
 kc made for the door leading to the verandah, hoping 
 that there he would be ie/t : to himself and. to his own 
 sad thoughts. 
 
 The Baron burst into a. hoarse, mocking laughter 
 when he saw Kurt turn ; he went on dealing, with 
 trembling hands, then jumped suddenly to his feet, 
 exclaiming^ . ., , 
 
 "Excuse me, but I must. ask the gentleman, what he 
 means by shrugging his shoulders." 
 
 He flung the remaining cards upon the tabje, and 
 was rushing towards the door through the crowd of 
 amazed and excited spectators, whom he pushed rudely 
 aside if they did not make way quickly enough. Before 
 he reached the door, however,, Bertram faced, him, bar- 
 ring the way. 
 
 " What do you want?" the Baron hissed through his 
 teeth. 
 
QUISJSANA. 233 
 
 " I want to call your attention to the : fact that you 
 are the guest of this house, and that you are on the point 
 of basely violating its proffered hospitality." 
 
 Bertram had spoken firmly, but in so low a voice that 
 the Baron alone could bear him. His look, too, was 
 perfectly calm ; even those next to him, who saw but his 
 face, whilst the Baron was turning his broad back upon 
 them, could- not but think that it was simply some in- 
 different communication. 
 
 The Baron was speechless with wrath. Bertram gave 
 him no time to break out He continued in the same 
 low, incisive tone — 
 
 " I see that you quite understand me. I need scarcely 
 add that I am at any time at your service, should you 
 consider yourself in need of a comment upon the lesson 
 which I have given you." 
 
 " You shall hear from ^ me, and forthwith ! " 
 
 " The sooner the better!" 
 
 He bowed slightly; then, raising his voice as he 
 turned to the others, he said — 
 
 " A thousand pardons, gentlemen ; but I was commis- 
 sioned by our amiable host- to remind you that his mili- 
 tary-guests have, alas I to retire already; and that they 
 will be wishing to bid you farewell." 
 
 As if in confirmation of Bertram's words, the music 
 just then broke off in the adjoining ball-room, the doot 
 flew open, and quite a host of officers came rushing in. 
 There could no longer be any question of resuming the 
 game, even if the players had been willing, which they, 
 however, certainly seemed not to be. Some of the older 
 ladies had come in, looking for their husbands; some 
 others, young ones, followed ; the room was overflowing 
 with guests ; the players had difficulty in getting bade 
 
234 QUISISANA. 
 
 to the table to pocket their stakes. Not a few of them 
 had yet, to square accounts with the Baron ; they crowded 
 round him, . but he-, was shoving the remnant of 
 his gains — gold coins,, bank-notes* I.O.U.s — higgledy- 
 piggledy into his" pockets, and when questioned, as he 
 constantly was, replied with -surly mien and in briefest 
 words, and repelled rather than answered their, questions 
 — muttering that they might apply to-morrow ; and that, 
 in this confusion to-night, the devil himself could neither 
 hear nor impart information. 
 
 Bertram had eagerly watched, this. scene, keeping close 
 to the door which led to the verandah. He made 
 sure that the Baron's time was meanwhile • absolutely 
 taken up, and that he would, not be able to think of 
 following Kurt and rin venting some new reason foe a 
 quarrel, since the first attempt had failed; Under any 
 circumstances, the Baron would have to settle with him 
 first; and then he saw how, breaking away from the 
 players who were still surrounding him, the Baro'n hurried 
 up to meet Herr von Busche, who, looking very heated 
 and flushed, was just coming from the ball-room. The 
 -two gentlemen Bertram knew to be, as shooting com- 
 panions, on good,. though not on specially friendly terms; 
 anyhow, there could be no doubt as to the subject of 
 their present discussion in yonder far-away corner, where 
 the Baron was gesticulating, while Herr von Busche, the 
 young gentleman from the Woods and Forests' Office, 
 listened intently, now and again shaking his head, and 
 at last nodding it,. more, it seemed, in courtesy than in 
 assent. Then Bertram remembered that it was time for~ 
 him also to look out for a second. 
 
 Looking for Ringberg, he saw him on the verandah, 
 : which^ now was filled by the guests, among a small group 
 
QUISISANA. 23s 
 
 of officers, already with helmets and overcoats on. who 
 were bidding him good-bye. These departing heroes 
 had their quarters in the village ; they were in a mighty 
 hurry j a couple of servants were in readiness with 
 lanterns to light up the shorter way to the village, down 
 the terraces; fair Hildegard had, indeed, been mindful 
 of everything needed. As the other officers were 
 hastening down the steps, Bertram stepped up to 
 Kurt. 
 
 " Can you spare me a minute, Lieutenant Ringberg ? " 
 
 Kurt was evidently very much surprised, but he at 
 once bowed his assent. 
 
 "To be sure, a minute will not suffice, if, as I hope, 
 you will grant my request." 
 
 The young man's bronzed cheeks assumed a yet 
 deeper hue, as he said — 
 
 " Pray, speak ; and be assured beforehand that it will 
 be a pleasure and an honour to me to be of use to you 
 in any way." 
 
 " Then have the kindness to give me your arm and 
 to accompany me into the garden, that I may tell you 
 uninterruptedly what is the matter. Well, it is briefly 
 this : Baron Lotter — I do not know whether you have 
 had the doubtful pleasure of making his acquaintance — a 
 friend of our host's, by the way, with whom he and I 
 have been staying here for the past week, — thinks himself 
 insulted by me, and, according to the usual code and 
 my own conviction, he has good cause for it It is an 
 old feud resulting from a certain mutual rivalry as 
 to the respective consideration and influence which he 
 and I claim, or think we may claim, in this house, an 
 old feud about to be ultimately settled. The actual 
 occasion of the quarrel is merel) accidental, and, as 
 
23<J QUlSISANA. 
 
 Slieh, 1 absolutely irrelevant. I mention this particularly 
 to enable me to add the request that in the subse- 
 quent negotiation's, 'supposing that you are 'willing- 
 well, Very well, then, and I am really obliged 'to you — 
 that in these negotiations you rriay lay absolutely no 
 stress upon that occasion, hay, ' that ybu may avoid 
 touching upon it 'at "ail. Vou will please accept the 
 'Conditions 'for ^thS hostile meeting- exactly -as : they' may 
 be proposed by the other side ; I have my own reasons 
 for wishing to be particularly obliging in that respect 
 Only the fixing of time afrid place troubles trie. Here 
 of course the duel cannot take place. I should therefore 
 propose some spot near town. This would suit me 
 all the better, as I have, anyhSwy announced -my inten- 
 tion of 'leaving this "pl&ce to-morrow, and could, there- 
 fore, remain in town for a short while without attention 
 being called to it ;. and -as the Baron also was to leave 
 to-morrow t6o, and as he 1 also rniist pass through town, 
 the delay will be very brief for him. The only question" 
 now is: Whethrr and when do you think you can be 
 free yOurHelf? '' 
 
 " In n'o case," replfed -Kurt, " before to-morrow after- 
 noon, but then for certain, because, if circumstances 
 were less favourable, I could then get leave of absence 
 from -the Colonel— without, Of course, rnentioning the 
 special reason why I needed it. Circumstances are, how- 
 ever, favourable, and, if otir suppositions are at all 
 correct, and if the big' sham-fight is once over, the regi- 
 ment will, sometime to-morrow afternoon, be somewhere 
 between ''this arid town, and may even have to bivouack 
 there. Under any circumstances, I shall be able to attend 
 punctually at the time required; 
 
 "This," said Bertram, "will do excellently. So we 
 
QU1SJSANA. 237 
 
 are now free from this trouble ; and this, I think, is 
 all that we need settle in the meantime. Now it may 
 be as well if I put you in communication with Herr von 
 Busche. I have no doubt that he is to be the Baron's 
 second. If required, a question from you, as to whether 
 he chanced to have a commission, a message, for me, 
 would at once settle things." 
 
 They had meanwhile come again near the verandah, 
 and just then Herr von Busche was coming out of the 
 card-room, looking round apparently in search of some 
 one. Bertram and Kurt hurried their advancing steps, 
 and he again turned swiftly round, to speak £° Bertram, 
 the moment he had recognised him, saying — 
 
 "I am so glad, S err Doctor, to have met you at last, 
 since I was about to do myself the honour of bringing 
 you a message of some importance. I haye already 
 been looking, and looking in vain foe yqu, }n all the 
 rooms." 
 
 " A thousand pardons," replied Bertram ; " but I, my- 
 self, have not in the meantime been idle in this affajr. 
 May I now have the pleasure of introducing to you the 
 Premier-Lieutenant Ringberg, who . . ." 
 
 "I have already had the honour," said Herr von 
 Busche with a bow. 
 
 "All the better. Then I will no longer disturb you, 
 gentlemen. You will find me in my rooms. Good-bye 
 till then." 
 
 He shook hands with Kurt, bowed to Herr von 
 Busche, and left them both,_ as they retreated into the 
 semi-obscurity of the shrubbery, until, passing along the 
 verandah and the side building, he reached a postern, from 
 which a stair led, straight from the garden, to his rooms. 
 
( 238 ) 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Even on this stirring evening Konski had not been 
 oblivious of his duty. .He knew from experience that 
 his master was wont to retire from festivities before their 
 actual close, and . thus Bertram, on entering his rooms, 
 found his candles duly lighted, and all preparations 
 made for the -night. He praised his faithful servant 
 for his careful attention, but told him he was not 
 in a hurry to go to bed, as he was expecting a visit 
 from Lieutenant Ringberg, and that Konski might 
 hurry back to his sweetheart, as no doubt he would 
 like. 
 
 This he said in his wonted playful tone, to Konski's 
 intense delight, for the 'servant gathered from this that 
 his fear, lest his master should again be the worse for all 
 the noise and excitement of the big entertainment, had 
 been uncalled-for. He even ventured upon a remark on 
 the subject 
 
 " I am astonished myself," Bertram said in reply. " I 
 think you must be right ; we both had put ourselves 
 down too soon as old fogies." 
 
 Bertram smiled as he spoke, and Konski thought that 
 his hint had fallen upon fruitful soil, and that his own 
 favourite wish would, after all, be fulfilled. Perhaps his 
 Aurora might know some details. To be sure, My Lady 
 
QUISISANA. 239 
 
 had given strict orders that within ten minutes after the 
 departure of the last carriage no soul was to stir about 
 the mansion-house, lest any of the officers billeted there 
 should be disturbed in their brief slumbers. But Aurora 
 would surely find out some place where they could 
 quietly converse. 
 
 So the faithful servant left Bertram, and instantly the 
 master's serene mien changed, and assumed a look of 
 great anxiety. He listened : perhaps his expected visitor 
 was even now crossing the servant's path. No; the 
 noise died away in the corridor and on the stair. Konski 
 had vanished somewhere in the court-yard, and all now 
 was silent. Bertram began to pace softly up and down 
 his room, then paused again, listening. What if Kurt 
 were to learn that the duel was to be fought for his 
 sake ? In that case, the chances were everything to 
 nothing that he would insist upon precedence, and would 
 himself challenge the Baron. Bertram, anyhow, had 
 some scruples as to whether he should not have told the 
 young man the true state of affairs, because he had 
 now exposed Kurt to the possibility of one or other of the 
 witnesses of the scene in the card-room misinterpreting 
 Kurt's action, and asserting that he had simply been un- 
 willing to understand Lotter's insulting remarks ; and this 
 would, of course, according to the military code of 
 honour, have been identical with a reproach of down- 
 right cowardice. 
 
 But, then, it might be hoped that in the wild confusion 
 and frantic excitement of the moment, no one had been 
 at leisure to observe the little incident minutely enough 
 to be able to give a clear account of it either to himself 
 or to any one else. On such occasions a dispute or 
 wrangle was by no means of rare occurrence, and none 
 
240 QUH.ISANA. 
 
 of the spectators had looked as though they were in the 
 habit of attaching much importance to .such scenes; and 
 it certainly would be foreign to the good, easy-going 
 Thuringians tp have, done so. Fortunately, not one of 
 Kurt's fellow-officers had been present at the time ; and 
 even Herr von Busche, the young gentleman from the 
 Woods and Forests, had only Gome in at the last moment. 
 The question was simply whether the Baron would sub- 
 sequently try tp pick a quarrel with Kurt, seeing his first 
 attempt ,had clearly failed through no , fault , of. K uf t's-J 
 and now, of course, the Baron would have a capita} 
 chance of doing so. The pity of it, thought Bertram; 
 why had he blindly followed that inner voice which bade 
 him chpose Kurt fpr hia second? Why? It had beep 
 Bertram's only ghance of getting, one deep, searching 
 look into th& young man's, heart? But was not the fulr 
 Slment of his. ardent prayer purchased $11 too deary if it 
 led the way to ths y-ejiy thing, which he was desirous of 
 preventing at the sacrifice, of his qwnhfe? 
 
 And yet,, he said to himself, he nee,d : not quite despair. 
 Lotter, to be sure, now kuevv who was, his real liya-J, 
 And the desire to wreak his vengeance upop that rival* 
 tp annihilate him, if possible, was very sure £p ,be£0,me 
 overpowering in. the heart q{ a. hot-blooded, terribly 
 angered, absolutely unscrupulous man, one never at a 
 loss, and ope passionately in love with Erna. But was 
 this really the case ? No, and again, no ! That man 
 never had loved Erna. Bis whole suit had, from begin- 
 ning to end, been nothing but a vulgar speculation upon 
 Erna's presumably colossal fortune, by means of which 
 he hoped tp free himself from disagreeable temporary 
 embarrassments,, and to continife his good-for-nothing life. 
 Qf self-indulgent ea ; se. Even before Kjjrt had &RR e * le 4 ■ 
 
QUISISANA. 241 
 
 apon the scene, those dreams of a brilliant future had be- 
 come greatly obscured; he had, it was clear, been virtually 
 dropped ; arid he was surely quick enough to have found 
 out - speedily to whom he was indebted for this fate. 
 His savage utterances to Lydia were sufficient proof 
 that he knew quite well who, from the very beginning, 
 had 'stood between E'rh'a and him, who afterwards had 
 delayed the decision, prevented any further approach, 
 roused the distrust of the parents, turned the daughter's 
 thoughts away, and Ultimately had done the very worst 
 for him. If there was any one who had deserved 
 the Baron's wrath and hatred, on whom his vengeance 
 was certain to fall, surely it was himself. Why pick 
 a quarrel with any dne else as well ? The Baron was 
 no coward, ' far from it ; yet, being a perfect shot, he 
 would have it all his own way with an opponent like 
 Bertram, who had hardly ever hit the target when they 
 practised together. Why then should the Baron not 
 play a trump card when lie had one in his hands? 
 
 Thus cudgelling his brain, carefully weighing every 
 reason for and against it, Bertram kept viewing his posi- 
 tion, and all the while the wteaiy momentsseemed to creep 
 slowly, slowly by, and each succeeding one weighed more 
 and more heavily upon his soul. And yet, would he not 
 perehance learn all too ■ soon, that his bold attempt to 
 take the place of Erna's lover, and thus to guard their 
 new-born happiness, which was already so much endan- 
 gered, against a new and most serious peril, had failed, 
 and that he himself had missed this most excellent op- 
 portunity of dying? He was doomed to go on living 
 this life of his, which had lost its savour and had no longer 
 any meaning for him ! Half an -hour had already goile 
 by ; they might have'finished their consultation longere 
 
 6 Q 
 
242 QUISISANA. 
 
 this, for there was little enough to consult about — unless 
 it was the other duel ! 
 
 In the court-yard, whence the noise of the departing 
 carriages and divers shouts had been ascending, silence 
 began to prevail. " Bertram could master his, impatience 
 no longer ; he stepped across the corridor and went to one 
 of the windows looking out upon the court-yard which 
 the expected lieutenant would have to cross. Presently 
 he heard a swift, elastic step upon the stairs; he hastened 
 to meet his hurrying visitor, and cried, holding out his 
 hand to him — 
 
 " Is everything settled ? " 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" Bertram had all but said; he 
 just managed to change it into a polite, "Thank, you 
 so much ! " 
 
 He kept Kurt's hand in his own as he led him 
 into his room. He made him sit urJftn the sofa, and seated 
 himself by his side. Kurt thought that one could not 
 welcome a dear friend, the bringer of the most pleasant 
 news, with greater warmth and delight. This feelfng- 
 was still more strengthened when his singular host 
 presently sprang up again, and fetched from his stock of 
 provisions for the journey a.hottle of wine, which he pro- 
 ceeded to uncork ; next he brought some glasses, and 
 even a small box of cigars. Although no smoker himself, 
 he said, he always had some cigars by him for his friends. 
 
 He filled the glasses, and held out his own to Kurt. 
 
 " May everything torn out as we wish !" 
 
 " With all my heart ! " replied the young officer. 
 
 Kurt said these words with a deep, almost melan- 
 choly gravity; which contrasted strangely with the glad- 
 some excitement of the older man ; Kurt's lips barely 
 
QUISISANA. 243 
 
 touched the wine, whilst Bertram drained his glass hur- 
 riedly, greedily,, and instantly refilled it. 
 
 " I have fasted almost all day,'' he said, as if by way 
 of excuse. " A festive entertainment always puts me out 
 and takes away my appetite. But now, please, tell me — 
 do they agree to everything ? " 
 
 Kurt reported with military brevity and precision. 
 The only difficulty had been to fix the time, as the Baron 
 had at first asserted that he could not delay his departure 
 beyond noon on the following day at the latest ; ulti- 
 mately, however, he had agreed to the meeting coming 
 off at six o'clock in the afternoon. The place was to 
 be a certain spot in the great forest, almost exactly mid- 
 way between Rinstedt and the town, by the banks of a 
 little lake. It would be easy to move tnence to a still 
 more remote portion of the wood, in case the manoeuvres 
 should have brought any owe to the neighbourhood, which, 
 in its normal state, is absolutely deserted. 
 
 "I remember the place exactly from former walks," 
 Bertram said. 
 
 " Capital," replied the young man, " for that removes 
 another difficulty — namely, how you were to find your 
 way to it from the town. The spot suits me singularly 
 well, because we shall probably bivouac not a mile from 
 it. I forgot to mention that I have already secured the 
 services of our very skilful staff-surgeon, and that Herr 
 von Busche will provide a carriage. Lastly, for the sake 
 of keeping the whole affair secret, it seemed desirable 
 that the Herr Baron should not go straight from here 
 to the meeting. So, under pretext of wishing to make 
 to-morrow an excursion to the scene of the manoeuvres 
 in company with Herr von Busehe, of returning here at 
 night, and leaving defiaitely on the day following, he 
 
«44 QUTSISANA. 
 
 has sgnt word asking his host and hostess to excuse him 
 until to-morrow evening, and even now he is driving with 
 Herr von Busche to the ranger's house, where he is to 
 pass the night." 
 
 " Excellent'! excellent ! " exclaimed Bertram. " Every- 
 thing is arranged most thoughtfully and carefully. I 
 thank you very much. Herr von Busche appears to have 
 been perfectly willing to facilitate all' arrangements ?" 
 
 " He was charming," replied Kurt ; " nay, more, he 
 told m.e quite openly that he was doing the Herr Baron 
 this service most : reluctantly, very much against his own 
 will indeed, and only in deference to the traditional 
 courtesy in such matters, and that he would give a good 
 deal, if it lay in his power to settle the whole affair 
 amicably. I confess I fully sympathise with him in' the 
 last point. It 'was a most painful' thought forus both 
 that a man like you Should risk his life against a Baron 
 Lotter, who, it seems, does not enjoyJany oweis special 
 sympathy ; and all the chances are against you,- too." 
 
 " Why all the chances ? " 
 
 " Herr von BusChe Said that your opponent wasone 
 of the best pistol-shots that he knew, unerring of aim, 
 and steady of eye and hand. Herr von Busche, of 
 course, has never seen you practise, but he fears, and so 
 do I, that . . ." 
 
 "That I am a miserable shot?" exclaimed 'Bertram 
 smilingly. " Out with it ! Yes, yes, you ; gentlemen 
 have little confidence in us bookworms for this sort of 
 thing. But fortunately 'you are mistaken. I am more 
 or less but of practice, I admit ; but! can shoot a little, 
 and at such a short distance too ! " 
 
 "I am delighted to hear yeu say so," replied Kurt 
 "And yet I would like to ask you if there is no possi- 
 
QU1SI6ANA. 24J 
 
 bility of bringing about an amicable settlement It is 
 not by any means too late yet. Merr von Busche quite 
 agrees with me in this. Only, as we are both absolutely 
 ignorant of the real cause . . .'' 
 
 " But I have already told you that an old feud is 
 about to be settled," Bertram interrupted him somewhat 
 impatiently. " The momentary cause — by the way, a 
 small lesson in good manners which I gave the Baron — 
 is of no consequence at all." 
 
 "So Herrvon Busche, too, had been told by his client, 
 and we agreed to accept this as sufficient, considering 
 that a man like you would not act in such an affair except 
 with due deliberation, and that we younger men must 
 respect your motives, even if we regret that they are not 
 communicated to us." 
 
 " I thank you both all the more for the sacrifice which 
 you are making for me," exclaimed Bertram, holding out 
 his hand to Kurt. 
 
 "Then I will say good-bye; you will be in need of rest." 
 
 Kurt had risen ; Bertram retained him. 
 
 " Stay a little longer," he said, " if you are not too 
 tired. I am not fatigued at all. To-morrow's meeting is 
 not weighing upon my mind in the slightest ; nay, more, 
 I am as sure of my good: fortune as ever Caesar was of 
 his; and I hope, confidently, that we two shall meet 
 
 Imany a time again in the land of the living. Yet one 
 should not claim from the future what the present offers , 
 'and therefore let me, at this present moment, touch 
 upon a matter which concerns you very specially, and 
 which I have, Heaven knows, much more at heart than 
 this wretched business over which we have already 
 wasted far too much precious time." 
 
 A deep blush burned upon the young officer's pheeks ; 
 
246 QU IS IS AN A. 
 
 his dark eyes now evaded the bright light of those great 
 blue orbs, whose extraordinary brilliancy and beauty he 
 liad already repeatedly admired in the .course of their 
 previous conversation. 
 
 "You know what I wish to speak about?" Bertram 
 asked next; and again the young man was struck by the 
 complete harmony of the ring of that voice and of the 
 radiance of those eyes. 
 
 " I think I do,'' he replied, almost in a whisper. 
 
 " Then you will know, too, the sort of relation in which 
 I stand to Ema?" 
 
 Kurt still dared not look up. He nodded his assent. 
 
 " But you cannot know," continued Bertram, " how 
 very intimate this relation is— so much so, that I cannot 
 find quite an appropriate name for it. I should say that 
 of a father towards a most beloved child, if there did not 
 mingle with my feelings for her a touch which-^-perhaps 
 you will understand me — I would call chivalrous tender- 
 ness. This touch mayperhaps occur in other cases too, 
 I mean between a real father and daughter — I am sorry to 
 say I never had a daughter of my. own — and I only men- 
 tion this element, because it helps me to understand why 
 Errta, who otherwise confides in me unconditionally, has 
 kept her love a secret from me. Perhaps it was solely 
 an outcome of the long interval of time during which we 
 had not met ; in such cases a kind of estrangement is 
 apt to occur, which, to be sure, once overcome, is 
 wont to be followed by a greater cordiality. But above 
 all, thg poor darling deemed herself rejected, betrayed. 
 Her happiness she would gladly have let her paternal 
 friend share ; unhappiness always seals the lips of the 
 proud ; and yet I know that more than once the secret 
 was trembling upon those sweet lips of hers, and that 
 
QU ISIS ANA. 247 
 
 had she overcome her shy shrinking, she would have 
 spared herself — and spared you,- my friend — much suffer- 
 ing ; and the palms in the winter garden would, an hour 
 ago, have waved their magnificent heads above two happy, 
 blissful souls, and not above two young fools who, from 
 sheer love, were tearing each other's hearts to pieces ! " 
 
 Kurt gave a quick quiver, and all but jumped from 
 the sofa; but Bertram's eyes shone forth in glorious 
 radiance, and a smile of infinite tenderness played about 
 his mouth. A strange thrill passed through the young 
 man's heart, as though he were in the presence of some- 
 thing unapproachably lofty, something which impera- 
 tively demanded humble submission and confiding obedi- 
 ence. So he lowered his eyes, which had flashed indig- 
 nantly for a moment, and said, scarcely above his 
 breath — 
 
 " I thank Heaven that He led you to that spot." 
 "And I," replied Bertram, taking both the young 
 man's hands and pressing them heartily, " I thank you 
 for that word which sets me free from all restraint, and 
 takes away the last remnant of shrinking shyness. Who, 
 indeed, would not shrink, feel awe-struck, when it comes 
 to touching those tender threads that spin themselves 
 from heart to heart, until, God willing, they become 
 united in a woof so strong that death itself cannot repd, 
 it? What God joins, let no man put asunder; what God 
 puts asunder, let no man try to join! What has come 
 between you two is sheer misunderstanding, provoked by 
 extraordinary circumstances, which would have puzzled 
 even older and more experienced people, and in which 
 you young, passionate, inconsiderate folk knew not what 
 to do. And being so thoughtless and helpless, you have 
 assuredly committed mistakes, mistakes on either side, 
 
248 QUISISANAi 
 
 and the demon of pride — 'toy that sin fell the angels '^-> 
 will have gloated over it all. Not to enable me to register 
 and chronicle your mutual faults, but only in order 
 that, being taught by the past, we may look the future 
 more clearly in the face, just tell me how it all came 
 about? When did you make Erna ; s acquaintance? 
 Was it not in her aunt's house in Erfurt?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Kurt ; "and to know her ahd love her 
 was one and the same thing ; nay, I may say, without 
 the slightest exaggeration, that sire was One 'whom to 
 look at was to love.' One evening, I saw her at a partyi 
 I had been visiting at the house for some time, and 
 I think I was. rather fond Of Augusta von Palm, who 
 is staying here now, and with dear Agatha I was on 
 terms of heartiest friendship ; but Agatha; wishing to 
 give me a surprise, had not told me of Erna's visit. So 
 I saw her quite unexpectedly among •the' other young 
 ladies. It would be quite bootless for me to -try and 
 describe what went on in my heart. So, I thought after- 
 wards, the men must have felt of whom the Bible tells 
 us that they were held worthy of beholding some divine 
 apparition. My breath failed me ; all the others present 
 seemed to vanish from my sight; I saw only her, or, 
 properly speaking, not her, only her eyes. It seemed 
 like a double stream of unearthly, transcendent light j 
 and again it was a stream which bore me resistlessly 
 onward and upward into realms of bliss, whereof but an 
 hour before I had known nought, divined nought, and 
 which yet were, I felt clearly, my true home, to which 
 I was soon returning after much aimless wandering in 
 far off regions." 
 
 The young man's voice quivered. He drained the 
 glass which, before, his lips had scarcely touched. Bertram 
 
QUIS1SANA. 249 
 
 filled it afresh. Kurt never saw how his hand shook as 
 he poured out the wine, nor observed how curiously 
 veiled the voice was in which Bertram, breaking the 
 pause, said-™- 
 
 " Strange, or perhaps less strange than highly gratify- 
 ing, that at least for once I find, this kindling effect of 
 Love's divine flash confirmed in reality, of which the 
 poets of all times and in all climes have sung in praise. 
 I am almost ashamed to confess that although I do not 
 think I am a hopelessly prosaic individual, I have always 
 thought this but a fond and fair dream." 
 
 "And it is a dream,'' Kurt made answer, "inasmuch 
 as things real are most curiously shifted and changed in 
 it, and as one can give scarcely a clearer account than a 
 somnambulist, of what occurs and of what one does 
 one's self; I do not remember how I got home that night; 
 I have no idea whether it was several days after, or 
 really on- the day following, that, during a picnic in 
 the country, I was strolling apart from the rest by her 
 side through a leafy grove. The light of the dying sun 
 was trembling among the trees, and a few subdued notes 
 of birds' song were heard. Silence was all around ;"and in 
 silence wepassed;on, side by side. Sometimes she stooped 
 to gather a flower for the tiny bunch which she held in 
 her' hand, and once, as she stooped again, and I wished 
 to anticipate her, our hands touched ; and, startled, we 
 both looked up, looked into each other's eyes, and the 
 flowers dropped from her hands, and — well, it was just a 
 dream, a brief and blissful dream. Who can tell the 
 story of a dream ? " 
 
 The young man had risen and gone to the window^ 
 Bertram kept his seat, leaning his head on his hands. 
 When Kurt turned back to the table, he thought that 
 
2JO QUISISANA. 
 
 the noble countenance which now looked up with a very 
 sweet smile was paler than before. ■ 
 
 " Pardon me," he said, " but I think I see that you 
 are in need of rest ; let me pause here. -You know what 
 happened next." 
 
 " Yes, but not quite how it happened," said Bertram 
 in reply. " Please sit down by my side again, unless 
 you are tired yourself. As for me, I am a regular old 
 nightrowl. How it happened, yes^how did Erna come 
 to hear of your connection with the Princess? Some 
 malevolent traitor must have been at work there." 
 
 " Would that it had been the case ! " answered Kurt 
 ',' A traitor Erna's clear eyes would have speedily recog- 
 nised as such. But the one who told her of it was a 
 dear friend of.my own, a fellow-officer, who in the course 
 of a visit to our former garrison — our own regiment had 
 meanwhile been transferred to Magdeburg — made Erna's 
 acquaintance, without having the slightest conception of 
 our relations. And as the conversation chanced to turn 
 upon me, he babbled, under a promise of discretion, of the 
 secret;' and probably adorned: and amplified matters, so 
 as to let the enormous stroke of good luck which was sup- 
 posed to be in store for me appear in its greatest splendour. 
 As he was known to be on very intimate terms with me, 
 as I had myself given him an introduction to the von 
 Palms, and specially commended him to Erna, she had 
 to believe that his romantic story was sheer truth ; nay, the 
 awful thought came to her that I>had myself authorised 
 my friend to make these communications, or, if this had 
 been quite *too infamous, she assumed at least that he 
 had been commissioned by me to. prepare her, and had 
 solely blundered over his commission, so that I was per- 
 sonally responsible, if not for the manner, certainly foi 
 
QUISISANA. 2 si 
 
 the matter. We corresponded, and with the conniv- 
 ance of Agatha, under cover of a correspondence of 
 hers with an old school-friend in my present gawison ; 
 but Erna's next letter contained nothing but the question 
 whether it was true that I had some relations or other 
 with the Princess-? The question thus put, I could not 
 but answer in the affirmative, begging her at the same 
 time, in connection with the subject, not to believe in 
 what any one, except myself, might say. My request 
 came somewhat late, but still did not fail to have its 
 effect upon Erna's heart, which had assuredly opened 
 with the greatest reluctance to the terrible suspicion, and 
 which was now jubilant at being freed from it. She 
 teased my friend about his fertile fancy whicli invented 
 stories devoid of a particle of foundation, as she had 
 since learned from a trustworthy source. Thus challenged, 
 and piqued at being declared undeserving of credit, my 
 friend stated that he had the knowledge, if not at first, 
 at least at second hand, for his authority was my own 
 Colonel, whose testimony Erna would surely not reject. 
 Again he begged her to be discreet, but hinted pretty 
 plainly that other fellow-officers were aware of it too, and 
 had likewise learned it from the Colonel. And now for 
 Erna the doubts which she thought she had vanquished 
 turned to despair. She knew through me the very inti- 
 mate terms on which Herr von Waldor and I stood, and 
 indeed many a time I had called him to her my best and 
 kindest friend, my protector and second father. Erna 
 wrote another question. Did Herr vqn Waldor know 
 my relations to the Princess? And again I had to an- 
 swer in the affirmative, without being able to mention the 
 suspicion which now — and now for the first time — rose 
 within me, that Herr von Waldor might have purposely 
 
2J2 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 misrepresented those relations in his own interest — you 
 know why. What need to continue to describe the 
 wretched position in ; which I now was placed; how the 
 net was tightened more closely and more fatally round 
 me, so that I at last had given up all hope of ever being 
 freed from it ; all the more because Erna — as you heard 
 yourself — repelled with such passionate indignation your 
 mediation, which I was about to claim. I must confess, 
 I cannot even guess why." 
 
 The dark eyes of the young man were raised inquir- 
 ingly to Bertram, who did not at once reply to the 
 questioning look. He had: turned aside a little, and was 
 busied refilling the glasses ; he did not seem to notice 
 that' he was filling the second, to. overflowing, and that 
 the wine was saturating the table-cloth.,, 
 
 " Dear me," he said, presently, " I beg your pardon ; 
 I was — thinking. Why, did you ask? Well, we settled 
 already that, according to all experience, girls are not 
 fond of confiding to their fathers the secrets of their 
 hearts. : They dread paternal jealousies, a paternal pre^ 
 judice against the one who ventures to claim the little 
 hand, which, as a matter of course, is far too precious 
 even for the best of the best. But fear not ! Erna shall 
 find in me a friend, protector, and counsellor, who hopes 
 to give the proof that one may love like a father without 
 being blinded by a father's prejudices* and, above all, 
 one who means more honestly by her than, I am sorry 
 to say, Herr von Waldor does by you." 
 
 A dark shadow flitted over the young man's open 
 countenance. 
 
 " I thank you," he said very gently, " I thank you from 
 the bottom of my heart for so much goodness, and to 
 deserve it will be the fairest task of my life. But pray do 
 
QUISISANA. 253 
 
 rioi condemn Herr von Waldor. It is impossible to 
 measure him by the common standard. Contempt of 
 death and greed of life, princely generosity and petty 
 egotism, tenderest love and bitterest hatred — all these 
 things lie side by side in his soul, and cross and re-cross 
 each other in such a way that even to me (and I think I 
 know him better than any one else) it is a perfect 
 enigma. But if at times I cannot solve it all, if in this 
 present case I cannot but see that he is willing — I must 
 not say to sacrifice, but to stake — me and my happiness 
 in the hope of gaining his owh great stakes, then I need 
 only remember what he has been to the orphaned boy, 
 after he had carried my father, fatally wounded, upon his 
 own shoulders out of the bloody struggle around the forti- 
 fications of Diippel ; how he, of all men the most impa- 
 tient, has watched over me with a mother's loving patience 
 when I have been ill ; how he resumed his studies ifi 
 Order to be able to supervise and guide mine ; how he 
 paid my expenses when I was a cadet ; how he equipped 
 ahd 'helped the ensign, the young officer ; how he pressed 
 upon the poor young man of bdttrgedis birth abundant 
 help to enable him to hold his own in ari expensive 
 and aristocratic regiment; and how he thundered in his 
 wrath when I refused to accept it any longer, as I had 
 learned that he had himself to borrow the needful money 
 at usurer's interest. Surely you will admit that one so 
 deeply indebted to Herr von Waldor as I am, has lost 
 the right, nay, more, the ability to struggle and resist, 
 even if the hand which has done so much in the way of 
 kindness weighs heavily, terribly so, upon him.' : 
 
 " I think I can follow you in your feelings," replied 
 Bertram, "although Waldor is by no means thereby 
 excused in my eyes; on the contrary, I adhere firmly to 
 
2J4 QUJSISANA. 
 
 the Scriptural saying, that the right hand should not 
 know what the left does ; and I hold that he who claims 
 gratitude has already his reward. Moreover, was the sac- 
 rifice really requisite, which Waldor expected from you, 
 when he put you into this ominous position ? From a 
 moral point of view it is a matter of indifference ; but I 
 should like, if possible, to be enlightened on this point,'* 
 which I have not hitherto understood." 
 
 "How things stand exactly," Kurt replied, "I can 
 hardly say myself. I assume that the marriage-contract 
 of the Princess contains certain conditions which deprive 
 her of the greater part of her present fortune, if she 
 contracts a new matrimonial alliance ; or rather, would 
 seem to deprive her, for a judicial interpretation of 
 this dubious point is to be the result of the law-suit 
 which is now reaching its final stage. Further, it may be 
 assumed that the view of the Princess herself is the only 
 correct one by all the laws of sound logic ; but she, fears 
 — whether rightly or wrongly I know not — that the 
 decision will be adverse, to her if the authorities learn 
 that her choice has fallen upon an alien." 
 
 "But you are an alien, top," objected Bertram. 
 
 Kurt shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "An obscure lieutenant, not of noble birth, and 
 Princess Volinzov ! No one need imagine that they 
 would have taken this au skrieux,. any more than a dozen 
 other liaisons. . . ." 
 
 He paused abruptly, blushing to the very roots of his 
 hair., 
 
 " For shame ! " he cried, " that was basely said. Let 
 others sit in judgment upon the poor victim of a most 
 abominable bad, education and of most wretched circum- 
 stances. I dare not, I dare not feel for her aught, but 
 
QUI SIS ANA. 2 S $ 
 
 admiration and gratitude, and renewed gratitude, for I 
 know and have experienced in my own person that, 
 through all the badness and baseness that have been 
 crowding around her from her childhood, she has pre- 
 served the capacity for a great and heroic love, a love of 
 which we men are scarcely ever, and of which among 
 women only the best and noblest are, capable." 
 
 Only at the last words Kurt had again ventured to 
 look up, and he swiftly lowered his eyes again. Ber- 
 tram's great eyes shone in wondrous radiance, and a 
 curious smile, half melancholy, half ironical, was hover- 
 ing about his lips, as he slowly answered — 
 
 "To be sure ! you are quite right. Only the noblest 
 women ! We men are egotistical scoundrels ; that is 
 our lordly privilege ; and he who resigns it, deserves to 
 be crucified with malefactors on either side.'' 
 
 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 pre- 
 sence 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- 
 
254 QfJISISANA. 
 
 spuled Bertram's' ear ! And now Bertram,, who had in, 
 all gpo.4- 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 toobey him. His thoughts, too, flitted and. 
 wandered beyond his control. Something lijie-.a dense 
 veil sunk upon his eyelids,, and he saw surrounding ob-, 
 jects 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 glid- 
 ing 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 apt express my full and 
 
QUISISANA. 257 
 
 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 acnd knowledge of the 
 human heart, of a man whose eyes — sharp as human 
 eyes go — Ibve 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 conver- 
 sation, as though I had known him from childhood, stal- 
 wart 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 pain- 
 ful 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 soiil. And even as this soul, helpless and resist- 
 less 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 th,eir 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. Tt is 
 
 6 R 
 
258 QUISISANA. 
 
 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 comple- 
 ment 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 th6 
 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 : Lehewohl! 
 
 " My kindliest greetings to sweet Agatha ! She is your 
 true friend. I always felt that she would counsel nothing 
 that I would not counsel niyself. 
 
 " And another is your friend, too, though you dp 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 to- 
 morrow. Should I have anything, else to say to you, I 
 will serid my message through Kurt, whom also I shall 
 meet again to-morrow. 
 
 " And now remember your promise to be my good and 
 
QUISISANA. 259 
 
 obedient child ; and again, and for the last time : Lebe 
 wohll" 
 
 He had put the letter into an envelope, and . now 
 turned in his chair, looking towards t^te 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 J 
 relief; anyhow, the features that appeared so soft awhile 
 ago seemed sharper, and the expression of almost femi- 
 nine 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, leaping against 
 it 
 
 A dgajj. 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 con- 
 fused sounds, as of far-off horses' tramp and the measured 
 step of soldiers on the march, with clashing of arms. 
 Then deep, dea$ 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 steam- 
 ing 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? 
 
260 QUJ'STSANA. 
 
 " Alas ! He knew that He was dying for 'the world. I 
 humbly claim but to die for Tier, — she is my world. 
 
 "One cannot choose one's own Gethsemane. ^ne 
 must take it as it 'comes, whether to the' sound oY the 
 last trump on the Day of Judgment, ringing' through the 
 hearts of all the generations of men, or in deep and 
 wdrld-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, ar?d the -cool 
 morning breeze came floating along. Bertram was abotit 
 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 ttow shrill, long-drawn tru-rripet- 
 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 Kim! 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 beeh asleep! Pardon me. How good you 
 axe ! You have been watching for me. Is it long since 
 . . .?" and he pointed to the window. 
 
QyiSJSANjl. 26x 
 
 " 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 warrted to say something, and 
 could pot hit upon the right word. So he ouly 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 Srweet, — 
 mind and body alike !"' 
 
( *6» ) 
 
 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 
 jmart, 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 w«.re sounding 
 the assembly." 
 
 "That came unexpectedly, eh?" cried the Colonel. 
 " An hour before the time — I did it on my own responsi- 
 bility. 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 
 
QMS I SAN A. 263 
 
 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. Law- 
 suit 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 1 I knew that the law- 
 suit 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 Rin- 
 stedt?' '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 he utilised for 
 the benefit of our young protkges. I give you two plein 
 fouvoir. 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 li,ttle, supper. ' Ladies 
 
264 QUISISANA. 
 
 aircT gentlemen, I rfaVethe exquisite pleasure oPptesenting 
 -my future wife to you — the Princess Alexandra -Paulo vna.' 
 Capital ! The amazed look in the eyes of ouf 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 1 will of her own. All right, you'll see to -it all 
 between you,' no doubt. Good-bye, mon chert You are 
 looking deucedly fagged. That's t\1e result of being so 
 much -indoors. I teve^'beeri on my '-legs smce 'four 
 o'clock yesterday morning, and feel as B friersh as paint 
 Is this 'K¥rtV glass? 0fr, bether all deferrfofiff ! It 
 is Tit)^ trie "first iktie that fee and T have b«en us-irigttre 
 same J g1as r sv" -■- '■>'• --•- 
 
 He filled 'the glass and drained it at one draught. 
 ■ "Capital- wi'rie : that! 'Well,'- good-bye, and au'reveUrf 
 
 The CdWhe'lrihad rushed tfff again. 
 
 " And thus," said "Bertram 'with* a smile, "one con- 
 quers' the wbrt3: r ' - Perhaps it looks harder than it 
 'really is.' ! '■■'■■ 
 ' He again sat'dbwfiat the'writing-table arid took up 'a 
 'fres'H' sheet of paper. ' '■ 
 
 "*GraciouS PiUNeEss.^Waldor has just left rrie, after 
 handing rn'e, for transmission 1 J to "you, the enclosed - tele- 
 gram-, on the contents of which I beg'to offer my 'hearty 
 congratulations.- I arn 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, arid I have not told Waldor of it; He'bopes 
 to find me here this evening, that I may be a witn'ess to 
 the amazement which the announcement of your engage- 
 ment will cause in this friendly circle, as all obstacles 
 to it are now removed I arn sincerely sorry that X can- 
 
QUISJS-4N4. 265 
 
 not afford hint that pleasure — for to him it would really 
 be a pleasure. 
 
 "I. regret it the, rjipre, because I must prepare a 
 worse disappointment for him A For I consider it, in the 
 interest of our Jfrotegts, to. be desirable— necessary, if 
 you wish— that yp,u, 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 dp, through 
 me), will only have the right calming effect if you strike 
 the r prqper 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? 
 
 " 1 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 courtof 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 wqrds which 
 Lessing puts intq the mouth of hia wise Jew Nathan. 
 
 "And, now, let me add to~ my requests, a word 
 of deep and sincere gratitude that, ypu 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 capa- 
 city ; but before a noble heart I gladly and reverently 
 bend my knee." 
 
2 66 QUISISANA. 
 
 Silence had for a long time been reigning again in the 
 mansion-house. The combat, too, though it had com- 
 menced in the immediate vicinity, was now being con- 
 tinued a long way off,' and One' only heard something like 
 the' rumbling of a distant thunder-storm. The candles 
 on Bertram's writing-table hid all but' burned down to 
 the sockets ; he turned his wearied eyes towards the 
 window, through which the dull grey mOrning light was 
 coming. Kdnski came into the room. 
 
 "What time is it?" : 
 
 "Just five, sir." 
 
 " So late ?"' Well,! 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 manoeuvres, 
 every man of them ; and Herr von Busche l nas'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 oriej and do not be stingy, Konski ! And remember 
 me kii'dry to your Aurora. And now my cloak, please, 
 and so good-bye, Konski." 
 
QUISISANA. 267 
 
 *' 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 speak- 
 ing 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 doeYnot 
 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 1 I have borne what 
 man can bear ; more, I cannot." 
 
 And pressing his hand to his face, he wept 
 
( 2.68. ) 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In the. little-garden, lender wide-spreading chestnut-trees, 
 the. lawyer and Bertram were sitting,, about, four o'clock 
 in the afternoon, at, a table covered with hppks, docu- 
 ments, and papers. From, the smajll, garden one could 
 look across a narrow court-yard, at tb^wjndo,wSr $f the 
 office, where theyhad Just, begun tp. make a, fair, copy of 
 the wilJt whjch ha$;b§e i n f ,s,ettled, after long deliberation.. 
 
 "And now, most grave, and most conscientious .of 
 men, seeing that you. go jinta this election campaign as 
 into actual war, let u& drink. : thatvicfpry may be on your 
 side— that :is,. on, ours, on the side of liberty, and; right — 
 and that the victor _be granted, over ; and aboye his 
 allotted* time, as special allowance for, special services 
 rendered.ja respectable. series, of not inglorious years, at 
 least as many as this '6& Riidesheimer-wine numbers !" 
 
 The : lawyer took a venerable-looking bottle, from a 
 side tab})?, 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 kn,OMj„, I, have; welMbunded 
 reasons for assuming that it will not occur." 
 
 " Nonsense !" cried the lawyer. " I am not a giant 
 either, but. I, confidently expect tp. outlive all the giants 
 among my contemporaries. What dpes, Wallenstein 
 say? — 'Es ist der Geist der sjch dej^, Korper bauet' ; 
 (It is the mind that builds, this frame qf ours). And I 
 
QUISISANA. 269 
 
 would add.jthat 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 a*m most anxious to do so by word of mouth." 
 
 Upon the wretched paverrient of the narrow street 
 which lay behind the garden wall, a carriage came hur- 
 riedly thundering along. 
 
 "Lupus infabulal" 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 iseats 
 below the chestnut-trees, and had gone to meet trie new- 
 comer. ' 
 
 " 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 1 Eh, 
 old fellow?" 
 
270 QUISISAWA. 
 
 » 
 
 He brought his.hand with a laugh down upon Bertram's 
 shoulders ; but the laugh was forced, arid, indeed, in all 
 his look and manner there was painful unrest. . 4 
 
 " J am sorry that I must leave you gentlemen alone few 
 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 
 Rudesheimer 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 /ull 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 
 , .'Mn detail?"; ,, 
 
 " Well, yes ;, that is to say . . ." 
 , "Thaf, you might have spoken in greater detail. It 
 does not matter, however, as long as you have informed 
 her of you? sifjifition 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 knowj 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; 
 
QUISISANA. 271 
 
 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 
 Emahas 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 
 
272 QUISISANA. 
 
 you would not keep the secret entirely, and thus the 
 impression upon-your wife, on learning the whdle truth, 
 might have Jaeeri 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 some- 
 thing like gratitude will stir within her. And should this 
 really not be the case, then I 'am'; as it were, master of 
 the situation arid you will both yield j you willingly, she, 
 because she must. Weil then : in this will of mine, 
 of which they are now 'making 'ifair copy in the office, 
 r Have made Erna my residuary legatee, «iccept some 
 smaller legacies, among which trie're 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, V'th bur legal fiend's' help. He 'guarantee's that 
 with this sum the greater* part of your fortune may yet 
 be saved, if you agree tb his arrangements; above all 
 about the factories. This slim will be advarided as a mort- 
 gage on your estate's— our friend will explain 1 to you how 
 it can be done — at. a moderate' percentage 1 , -arid the total 
 revenue accruing from it is lb be Erna's from the day of 
 her marriage. Concerning that marriage, Erna has of 
 course absolute freedom ot choice, although Ifor my part 
 hope that she will fall in with the wishes which I have 
 expressed to her oh tliis J siib r ject.' i And now shake' hands, 
 old man, and pardon me if I have? had to a'dti another 
 unpleasant hour to the one "which I already caused you 
 to-day. Tu /'as voulu ! 'From rricybii 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 
 
QUI SIS AN A. 273 
 
 " As.long.as I ljve ; who t knows how long that will be ! 
 And there is our legal friend corning, bringing the docu- 
 ment 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 docu- 
 ment 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 Excel- 
 lency the Herr Oberhofina^SifyaL. yon Dirnit^ had just 
 appeared^ in the office, a,nd desired j;a see him on business 
 of importance, 
 
 "It proba,bly will, not b,e, 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 ajpqe. Otto seemed to have 
 paid no heed. to the lawyer's coming or gohig. 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 shpulder — 
 
 " Oito, old man, you mus^. not, view thf; matter in, too, 
 tragic a light." 
 
 "Perhaps I ought to look upon it as a jok*, having 
 
274 QUISISANA. 
 
 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' begin- 
 ning for you; a life of purpose, sobriety, energy, inde 
 peridence, however strange the last word may sound to, 
 you. Until this day y,6u 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 short- 
 comings; but this I. know already to-day, it will not do. 
 T 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 pos- 
 sible—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." 
 
QUISISANA. 275 
 
 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 how- 
 ever indebted to him, bne'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; 1 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 Ernawould 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 ; not 
 do I know what would have come of it all, if the Princess 
 
276 QpiSIS^MA- 
 
 had, no,t yeststday, brought, her rour»4 tq reason : how 
 she managed it is a riddle to mej, .b,ut,ife is, a fact, there, 
 is[ an end of Lotter, for good and, all.. .Tlhis,. morning 
 Hildegard went the length of spying that; it h/ad, been I 
 who had favoured- Lotter, and— fox, I may, as well te)l. 
 you all now-r-ypu suddenly appeared, to, her not only as 
 an acceptable husband for Em a, but rath ej she saw in, 
 your union the only possibility— T if my care(essness 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 rnan, 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 .lafe.!-"* Bertram replied,, 
 
 He had ejaculated those words, in intensest excitement, 
 bounding from his, chair as he dyl so,, and now he»was, 
 with uneven step, pacing up and down beneath the 
 chestnutrtrges. Ifut presently he returned to Otto, who,, 
 frightened, had not stirred from h|s> 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 Lam, 
 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 
 paying 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,o| 
 my making Erna my heiress, might seem to both of you 
 
QU/STSANA. 277 
 
 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 pistdls 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." 
 
278 QUISISANA, 
 
 "Who told you that?" cried Bertram, terrifiedi 
 
 " The forest-ranger," replied Otto, " He : came over 
 to breakfast this morning. Yesterday's events were dis- 
 cussed ; 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 th,e Princess declared that it .could, not, be thus, 
 because . . . I cannot remember why not; it hac^po, in- 
 terest fqr' me,, If I had been„at>!e to, divine that Ringberg 
 and Erna— that you . . ." ; 
 
 " Was Erna present ? " 
 , "Erna ? >Jq. 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,. . Cpnfound the tellpw ! , Picking quarrels 
 with everybody ! And we are to blame ; good Heaven, 
 it is my fault that you ... I thought the wors^ h?4 
 already come, but this js .far worse than anything. 
 But I cannot allow it, and I will not, tfever!,. When 
 did you say it was to come off? And where?;". 
 
 " I shall tell you nothing more, amd I, am sor^y IJtoId 
 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 thehv 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. 
 
QUISISANA. 279 
 
 "Will you very kihdry 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 yeats 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-ventufe . . . ." 
 
 "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 ori- 
 ginally 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 
 
28o OmSISANA. 
 
 interest which the matter wiljrhave on psychological 
 grounds for such a profound student of human nature, I' 
 feel a moral necessity to have an affair, which, it is. desir- 
 able 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 jus,t, taken from his box, . 
 somewhat abruptly to his; nose. . 
 
 "The case is this," the lawyer went on, without heed' 
 ing 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 thajers.— 
 from the Grand Duke,'s r privy purse, upon an order signed, 
 by His Excellency ; but.he appears not, to have paid the 
 money, but to.'havegiven 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,'' con- 
 tinued 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 
 
QUTSTSANA. 281 
 
 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 tre 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 
 bifl~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 H l is 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 con- 
 tinued 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 
 
282 QUISISANA, 
 
 grave if he could hear that a Lotter, his own son— r-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 nof to 
 be avoided. His Highness, with his customary gene- 
 rosity, resolved at once ..." , . 
 
 " That is,'' the Marshal , interrupted him, " in conse- 
 quence 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 
 condilio sine qu& non, if he were tfl show a merciful ;fqr r 
 bearance, 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," resufloed the lawyer, 
 " might give the young gentleman the requisite strong 
 
QUISISANA. 283 
 
 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 Heir 
 Baron, who. left my frierid'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 ? " 
 
 "Qf 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 band 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. 
 
( 28 4 ) 
 
 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 meetirig 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 la'nes, 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 talcing up their 
 position for the sham-fight which was to be resumed to- 
 morrow. 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. 
 
QU1SISANA. 285 
 
 The advice seemed very sensible, and it was possible 
 to follow it at once, for there was a country lane branch- 
 ing 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; how- 
 ever, 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 Ot(:o ; "you 
 see the road is in good condition and quite clear. Make 
 haste, John — as quick as the horses can go ! " 
 
 Otto wasivery 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 
 top long ; and that, even if they were tp 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 ccurse. She would call it a terrible humili- 
 ation — 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? Hil- 
 degard had never liked Erna tp 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 thaters here, a few thousand 
 
286 QUISISANA. 
 
 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 Hilde- 
 gard's eyes. Poor beggar ! he really was sorry for him. 
 That is what a man may come to when he is seriously em- 
 barrassed ! 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-rnuck 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 oh 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 Lot'ter at least had meanwhile come to his senses 
 and gone away. To be sure, this was the most likely 
 
QUISISANA. 287 
 
 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 com- 
 panion, 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. 
 
 And so it was. Bertram felt like a man wearied to 
 death, drawing his blankets around him and preparing 
 for the greatly-desired rest, and abruptly startled 
 by the alarm of fire! He had, indeed, been longing 
 for death, but, of course, could not accept it from 
 a dishonoured hand, neither for his own sake nor for 
 that of the others who had agreed to act in what they 
 thought an honourable cause, but which now was 
 irrevocably stained with dishonour. Thus he would 
 have to live on, on, nor might he let any one see what 
 a torment this life was and would be to him ; no one, 
 and least of all Erna'. She was even never to guess that 
 he had been willing to sacrifice himself. But how was 
 she to be kept from this conjecture, when gradually it 
 would appear that there had been a connection between 
 the Baron's insult to Kurt and his own intervention, 
 which occurred in the same place and the very next 
 minute? The remark of the Herr Oberforster at the 
 breakfast table proved that the right scent had been 
 discovered. Had he not thought of it at all ? Or had 
 he done so, and then quieted his scruples by assuming 
 
288 QUISISANA. 
 
 that his death would spread an impenetrable veil over 
 the real circumstances of the case ? And if that veil were 
 really ever lifted in Erna's sight, and if she had to say 
 to herself that he had died for her, it would be but as one 
 note of melancholy, dissolving anon La the. pure and full 
 harmony of her own firm happiness. Was this, certain ? 
 (Dr had he been playing a comedy after all,, and assumed 
 the easiest and most grateful part himself?, Had he but 
 draped himself as a dying hero, in order to hurt his rival, 
 who might thereafter see how best to get on with an un- 
 comfortable part? And now the piece was not to end,, 
 and he would have to remain upon the stage in the 
 attitude of a hero, and Erna would have ample time' 
 to make comparisons ; and they must needs all tell 
 against Kurt ! And would proud Erna forgive her lover 
 this ? And was this to be the result of his own unselfish 
 devotion for Erna's sake ? 
 
 Thus tormenting himself, he groaned aloud under the 
 weight of the reproach which he was heaping upon his 
 conscience. 
 
 "Yes," remarked Otto prosaically, "that comes from 
 driving so fast. However, we shall again be delayed, and 
 no mistake ! " 
 
 After a short quick drive they reached the first village, 
 and came upon the rearguard of corps number two 
 retreating towards the shelter of the woods, In the 
 narrow village lane a very compact mass of men 
 and horses had accumulated, and a forward move- 
 ment was quite impossible, because those marching on 
 in front had not yet cleared the line. The men had 
 stacked their rifles ; by the roadside, on the road itself, 
 weary men were crouching ; others were crowding 
 round the different house-doors, whence compassionate 
 
QUISISANA. 289 
 
 hands were holding out water in every possible and 
 impossible sort of vessel. In front of the little inn 
 had gathered an absolutely impenetrable knot of human 
 beings. The driver was compelled to branch off again, 
 this time into a very narrow little lane, thence he had 
 to work his way with the greatest difficulty into the open, 
 then drive across stubble-fields, and so back to the road, 
 frequently alongside of columns of soldiers on the march, 
 who made way with the greatest reluctance ; and thus 
 they made but slow progress. 
 
 Slow, far too slow for Bertram, whose feverish im- 
 patience was increasing every minute, although he knew 
 not what to reply to Otto when he argued that it really 
 did not matter much, even if they arrived a quarter of 
 an hour or so too late. And what did too late mean 
 in a case like this ? They would arrive in ample time 
 for the awkward explanation to the Baron. 
 
 "Well, and I might as well admit," said Otto, 
 " that personally I hope we shall not find him at 
 all." 
 
 " I think we shall, though," replied Bertram ; " for in. 
 spite of his having morally gone so much astray, he is 
 no coward. A man with weaker nerves would not have 
 so long borne the danger of being discovered. And he 
 must assume that he will -be left alone until the day after 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " In any case,'' said Otto, shrugging those broad shoul- 
 ders of his, " we cannot advance any faster.'' 
 
 They had meanwhile passed the second village, and 
 the troops on the march were behind them, and as the 
 road was now both smooth and clear, the horses were 
 really doing their best. They had by this time reached 
 the border of the forest, and again they were obliged to 
 
 (6) T 
 
290 QU IS IS AN A. 
 
 proceed at a walking pace,, for the road, which waa 
 old and ill-kept, had been made much worse by, the foot- 
 deep furrows which the pressure of the; cannons had pro- 
 duced upon the soft soil. There were many traces of 
 a hot combat having been waged here; cartridge-cases 
 abounded, being scattered, all over the place; there were 
 plenty of broken branches, moreover, and now they actu- 
 ally came upon a kind of barricade; and it was impossible 
 to drive round it, since on either side great trees skirted 
 the road. 
 
 " Confound those soldiers 1 " said Otto;. " they carry on 
 as though they were in the enemy's country. We shall 
 have to get out and walk whilst John clears away this 
 obstacle, so as to enable him to pass ; fortunately, it 
 does not seem to be very firmly built. The lake is 
 within a hundred, yards of this." 
 
 The wood did indeed form a kind of glade, and in 
 this .spot a fairiy broad one; and the road now lay 
 between the, sedge-grown banks of the little lake on the 
 left and the edge of the forest on the right. This was 
 close to the very place . chosen for the hostile meeting. 
 At first the sedge prevented a clear view, but, hurrying 
 along,. t,he fri,ends soon discovered the cenjtre, and thence 
 they could see the rest of the ground, up. to the spot 
 where the wood, came closing in again. All was de- 
 serted and silent. 
 
 Otto said — 
 
 " When they came, they probably found too much . 
 company Hereabouts. Rely upon it, they have passed 
 along the, cutting, and are now in glade number two. 
 Come along, I know every inch of the ground. Look, — 
 a carriage has stopped here, and has then gone on 
 through the cutting. And here is no end of traces 
 
QU ISIS AN A, 291 
 
 traces of horses' hoofs. I have no idea where,, they can 
 all come from t " 
 
 The tracks of carriage-wheels and traces of horses' 
 hoofs continued all along the cutting; but the friends- 
 had only advanced a few yards in the same direction 
 when it occurred to Otto that his coachman, on 
 finding nobody on the appointed spot, would probably 
 drive straight ahead, possibly all the way to Rinstedt. 
 The man was quite fool enough to do so, he said ; so 
 perhaps he had better turn back and instruct him, whilst 
 Bertram went on. It was impossible, he added, for 
 Bertram to miss the place now. 
 
 So Otto turned and Bertram hurried on. Already a 
 certain gathering brightness indicated the whereabouts of 
 theglade which Otto had spoken of, and to which the slope 
 was now leading, but leading so gradually that Bertram 
 could not yet get a glimpse of it, although he surely must be 
 very near it, for he heard human voices and the neighing 
 of a horse. And now he saw at least a portion of the glade, 
 and there were several horses on the spot — as he perceived 
 to his amazement — and grooms were holding the horses. 
 Looking again, and more carefully, he noticed that several 
 of the horses had side-saddles. An abrupt thought flashed 
 across him. He recoiled involuntarily somewhat to the left, 
 and then, standing behind some broad-stemmed fir-trees 
 at the very edge of the glade, he saw before him a scene 
 which for a moment held him spell-bound with terror. 
 
 Four or five men, Colonel von Waldor and Herr von 
 Busche among them, were lifting a wounded man or a 
 dead man upon a low country cart filled with straw, and 
 then the doctor and his assistant received their charge 
 and 'laid him carefully down, raising his head as they 
 did so. The evening light shone brightly on the pallid 
 
ap2 QUIS1SANA. 
 
 face — Kurt's face; but, Heavetr be thanked, Kurt 
 wounded, but not dead ! His eyes were open, and a 
 smile flitted across his pallid features as Efna bent over 
 him where he lay. Her fair countenance, darkened by 
 the riding-hat which she wore, was as pale as his own, 
 but she, too, was smiling, and she bent lower arid lower 
 still, and closed those lips of his that would speak and 
 that were not to speak, with a kiss ; and then she leapt 
 down from the cart and' bounded straightway, with Herr 
 von Busthe*s help, into the saddle, her horse halving 
 meanwhile been brought to her. The Colariei, too, had 
 mounted by this time, arid (he cart now set off, the 
 wounded man being supported by the doctor's assistant; 
 the doctor had also mounted his horse and joined the 
 procession, which, following the cutting in the opposite 
 direction, soon vanished within the glade. Tnere re- 
 mained but Herr von Busche and Alexandra, whom 
 Bertram only Saw after the cart had disappeared ; there 
 were two grooms, too, and they were now bringing up 
 the horses; one of them a spare one, probably the one 
 which poor Kurt had been riding. 
 
 The whole scene only occupied a few minutes, 
 during which Bertram just had time to overcome 
 the first paralysing feelings of horror. What subse- 
 quently retained and restrained him in the sheltering 
 darkness of the trees, was a flood of curiously mingled 
 feeWhgs, out of which there emerged with potent forces 
 the warning : They have found each other for life and 
 death ; step not again between them ; touch not again with 
 clumsy hands the dainty and complicated wheels of a 
 fate which laughs your calculations to scorn ! 
 
 He would have liked best to creep away unseen by 
 any one, but here was Otto ascending the Cutting, and 
 
QUI SIS ANA. 293 
 
 loudly calling Bertram's name. Alexandra, who was 
 just about to let Herr von Busche help her into the 
 saddle, started ; Herr von Busche sang out in reply to 
 Otto.; Bertram stepped forth from under the trees, and 
 the Princess hurried up to him, gathering her riding- 
 habit with one hand, and holding out the other to him. 
 
 ," My dear friend ! you here ? Thank Heaven ! I 
 was just debating whether I had not better wait for you, 
 rather than leave a servant with a message." 
 
 "Is Kurt badly wounded?" 
 
 " How do you know ? but never mind 1 No ; hot 
 badly. That is to say, it will be a tedious affair, but the 
 surgeon guarantees a complete cure, and states that his 
 li/e is in no danger. He found the ball at once ; we 
 were already on the spot— and, great Hea,ven, what a 
 splendid, heroic creature Erna is !." 
 
 Otto had meanwhile come up. There was much cross- 
 questioning, of course ; and the friends speedily gathered 
 at least the main facts of the occurrence. Herr von 
 Busche was naturally best qualified to give all the infor- 
 mation required. He had heard from the Qberforster, 
 upon thatgentleman's return from Rinstedt, of the scene 
 in which Kurt, evidently without knowing it, had acted 
 a singular part — one quite incompatible with the tradi- 
 tional honour of an officer— of a roan who is grossly 
 insulted in the presence' of many others, and- who with- 
 draws without replying. The Oberforster had been quite 
 excited on the subject which lie had been discussing with 
 the ladies at the. breakfast-table ; he had added that other 
 gentlemen, who had also ieen present last night, had ex- 
 pressed their amazement at the young' officer's conduct. 
 
 " I am myself an officer in the Landwehr" continued 
 Herr von Busche, " and my duty was clear. I was bound 
 
2 94 QU ISIS AN A. 
 
 to communicate as quickly' as possible to Ringberg the 
 insulting suspicion to which he had made himself liable. 
 To apply to the Baron for information was out of the 
 question. He had left the ranger's house some hours 
 before, to pay, he said, some farewell-calls in the 
 neighbourhood ; besides, I think, he wanted to pro- 
 cure the horse on which he afterwards came to the 
 meeting. We had agreed to meet here. Herr Ringberg 
 was also to be' here, of course, but then it would have 
 been too late ; there would have been two duels in 
 lieu of one; and Ringberg's was bound to have pre- 
 cedence. Then there was no second provided for Ring- 
 berg, unless the Herr Doctor had acted as such, and 
 that was not exactly feasible. Well, in a word, I got on 
 horseback, and searched the length and breadth of the 
 ground employed for the manoeuvres, until at last, when 
 I had given Up all hope, I found Ringberg atthe moment 
 when the regiment were stacking their rifles. This was 
 at five. The original hostile meeting was fixed for half- 
 past. Ringberg was on the point of leaving, having pre- 
 viously, under some pretext or other, obtained two hours' 
 leave of absence from the Colonel. I told Ringberg 
 what I had heard. He requested me to acc6mpany him 
 to Colonel von Waldor to whom he would have to report 
 the case. You know the Colonel. ' I am your second,' 
 he cried ;' ' we'll teach the Baron a lesson in good man- 
 ners.' A minute or two afterwards we were in the saddle, 
 accompanied by the staff-surgeon and an assistant, and 
 galloped here. The carriage was waiting by the side of 
 the lake, and at the same moment the Baron appeared. 
 I must do him the justice to say that he not only did not 
 deny having made the insulting remarks, but declared 
 his perfect readiness to give instant satisfaction for them. 
 
QUISISANA. 295 
 
 The issue unhappily was what, knowing the Baron's 
 wonderful skill, I expected it to be ; or rather, it 
 would probably have been even more unfortunate, if, at 
 the moment of firing, the ladies had not appeared. I 
 am sure that the Baron, who stood facing the cutting, 
 must have seen them coming, before the rest of us heard 
 the sound of the horses' hoofs upon the soft turf, and 
 that the unexpected sight robbed him of his usual un- 
 failing aim. I find it natural enough that, under the 
 circumstances, he preferred to vanish immediately, and I 
 expect that he will be waiting for me at the Oberforster's 
 now. To say the truth, I am not particularly anxious to 
 meet him again." 
 
 Whilst the young man was relating this in his 
 wonted vivacious style, and whilst Otto briefly ex- 
 plained how Bertram and he had been detained upon 
 the road, they reached the end of the cutting, and 
 had come to the place where Otto's carriage was 
 waiting. 
 
 " How right we were to divide," said Herr von Busche. 
 "The^ escort pf the wounded man would have been 
 really too numerous. As it is, it will cause a certain 
 amount of sensation, althpugh fortunately it will not 
 have to leave the wood till it is close to Rinjstedt." 
 
 " It might be. as well to divide once more," said Alex- 
 andra, r " I feel, to say the truth, somewhat shaken, and 
 would like to await in town news about the sufferer; for 
 his state inspires, me with no alarm nqw, and I am. 
 expected to appear at Court to-night. I know you wiU 
 very kindly let me use your carriage, and mount Lieu- 
 tenant Ringberg's horse instead. You will be glad to 
 get home as speedily as possible, although we sent word 
 to your wife so as to prepare her," . 
 
296 QUISTSANA. 
 
 " But," remonstrated Otto, " most gracious Princess, 
 you cannot go alone. . . ." 
 
 " I hdpe the Herr Doctor will be so good as to accom- 
 pany me." 
 
 Alexandra turned, as she spoke, to Bertram who was 
 standing silent, evidently in deep thought, and who had 
 scarcely joined in the previous conversation. Now he 
 looked up, and their eyes met. 
 
 " I was just going to request that honour," he said. 
 
 Otto looked amazed, but ventured upon mo remon- 
 strance. A shrug of the shoulder behind Alexandra's 
 back, seemed to imply- that he considered Bertram the 
 lamentable victim of a lady's caprice. lie instructed the 
 coachman to regain as quickly as possible the high-rfcrad, 
 which was now likely to be clear of troops, for this 
 would enable the Princess to fee driven with greater ease 
 and quickness. He povnted'out to her that there were 
 plenty r of wrappers in the fcarrkge, and begged her to 
 make use of them in the cool of the evening. The Prin- 
 cess thanked him Tor his attentions, and added that she 
 would not fail to inquire personally at Rinstedt on the 
 following day. 
 
 " And you too, of course, Charles," said Otto. 
 
 Bertrairi nodded — 
 
 "Then I will not detain you any longer."' 
 
 They shook hands ; the gentlemen mounted their 
 horses and galloped away, followed by the grooms, and 
 the carriage set off more slowly in the opposite direc- 
 tion. 
 
( 297 ) 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For a little while Alexandra and Bertram sat silently 
 side by side ; then Alexandra said — 
 
 " We are at one in the conviction that it will be in the 
 interest of owx prot'egis if we vanish from the scene ?'" 
 
 "Absolutely," replied Bertram. "I suffer acutely 
 already, and recognise the outrage that man is guilty of 
 who would play Providence for others." 
 
 " In that case I should have been guilty too," said 
 Alexandra, "but I am by no means dissatisfied with 
 myself; on the contrary, I believe it is good that things 
 have happened thus ; it was necessary. And when you 
 know all, you will admit that I am right You must 
 know it, for the sake of the future, which will still claim 
 much from us. Listen in patience. 
 
 " I have rigidly adhered to your advice. I announced 
 my departure for noon to-day; my maid was despatched 
 with the luggage a little before ten; our host insisted 
 upon escorting me in person to the town. Then I 
 went to see Erna. We had a memorable conversation 
 which I cannot reproduce to you in all its details, 
 but the result was that Erna no longer doubted the 
 sincerity of my desire for her happiness ; but her pride 
 revolted against receiving this happiness at my hands, 
 or, if that be saying too much, she. had the painful 
 impression that her happiness could only be brought 
 about at the cost of my own, in other words, that I was 
 still in love with Kurt, and that my marriage to Herf 
 
298 QUISISANA. 
 
 von Waldor, which I announced to her as impending, 
 was an act of resignation, if not of despair. Of course 
 she did not give utterance to all this, nor did she 
 even hint at it; these things one simply feels. And 
 there was another thing that came between her and the 
 prospect.pf calra.happiness by Kurt's side. Dear friend, 
 do not deny it any longer — not to me, even if to all the 
 world besides— you are in love with Erna ! Thank you 
 for this pressure qf r the, hand, . It does not reveal a secret 
 to me, and yet ,1 thank you for it with all my heart. 
 You owed me this satisfaction, as I have told you 
 Claudine's story j and even as Claudine's story is "buried 
 in your bosom, so the story of a noble human heart shall 
 be buried in mine." .. 
 
 Alexandra withdrew her hand with a cordial pressure 
 from Bertram's. They were both too much moved to 
 be able, to speak for some time. At last Bertram said- — 
 
 " And, does, Erna believe, me to be in love with her, 
 after all I have done to shake her conviction ? " 
 
 " I should not assert that her faith has not been 
 shaken," Alexandra replied, " but she was still under the 
 sway of that intuitive feeling which guides us women 
 wellnigh always aright, and which in her case betrayed 
 itself in a hundred turns, every one of which had for 
 its object your future welfare and happiness. And then, 
 my friend, you did at last the very opposite of what you 
 should have done to calm Erna, and to brighten her 
 future. You may thank Heaven that Erna does not 
 divine the real motive- whieh influenced you ; that be- 
 tween the^ two duels she sees a sort of mechanical con- 
 nection of time and place, if I may say so, and not the 
 real one. But for all that, if you had fallen in this duel, 
 Erna would never have consented to an alliance with 
 
QUJSJSANA. 299 
 
 Kurt, and she would never in her heart have forgiven him 
 for nof being the first on the ground. Whether it was 
 within the limits of possibility to have forestalled you, the 
 woman's heart does not stop to inquire. The loved orie 
 must be not only the best and noblest and bravest of 
 men, but the cleverest too ; how he sets about it is his 
 own concern I Dozens of duels have been fought in my 
 immediate neighbourhood, and, I am sorry to say, I 
 have been the direct cause more than once, so I had 
 no difficulty in understanding the whole business. That 
 old chatterbox, the ranger, was relating the circumstances 
 to us at breakfast; I then sent for your servant, and, 
 examining him, found out that you had held a long 
 conversation with Kurt, which had been preceded by ne- 
 gotiations between Kurt and Herrvon Busche ; and last 
 of all came that crackbrained person Fraulein von Asch- 
 hof, and confessed her horribly indiscreet statement to 
 the Baron, and your remark, my friend, that you would 
 try to settle the matter. I saw it all as clearly as though 
 it had been acted before me. Then I knew, too, what I 
 should have to do. Again I sought Erna, and told her 
 that your life and Kurt's honour were both at stake; of 
 course I took care to represent matters in such a way 
 that the idea could not well occur to her of your hav- 
 ing wished to sacrifice yourself directly for Kurt. She 
 spumed with contumely the idea that Kurt had only 
 pretended not to hear the Baron's insulting remarks ; 
 no need for me to tell her, she said, that Kurt must be 
 instantly informed of it. I am convinced that she felt 
 that her fate was about to be decided,' that now once 
 more she became fully and thoroughly conscious of her 
 love for Kurt. The great, strong, energetic nature of the 
 glorious girl shone forth in mighty radiancce. I could 
 
300 QUISISANA. 
 
 have knelt at her feet and worshipped her ! I may say 
 that I forgot completely my own self, forgot that he for 
 whom this passion was flaming heaven-high had been 
 the object of my own mad love. I even concealed 
 what I knew — that I had distinctly recognised the 
 Baron, when I saw him at the card-table last night, 
 as the man who also, at a card-table, had cheated my 
 mother out of a hundred thousand francs — that the Baron 
 was not a fit man for an officer and a gentleman to fight. 
 I dreaded lest that objection should destroy what I saw 
 coming. How we hurried all over the ground in search 
 of Kurt; how we came upon his regiment when he 
 had just ridden off; how a, surgeon's -assistant who had 
 been sent back to. fetch some forgotten bandages or 
 instruments helped us to find his track ; how we fol- 
 lowed up that track at the utmost speed: of whieh our 
 horses were capable ; how we reached the goal just 
 in time to see Kurt fall, whilst his miserable opponent 
 flung the pistol to the ground and fled when he beheld 
 me— all this you know, or may easily picture for your- 
 self. But I picture to myself how Erna will now be 
 leading her love to her parental abode, to keep and to 
 hold him there for her very own ; — for what is more, what 
 becomes more a woman's very own than the man whom 
 she loves, if she has to tend him and wrestle with death 
 for his possession ; — and I picture to myself how now only 
 she recognises with a shudder what a lordly treasure she 
 had all but forfeited through exaggerated pride and ob- 
 stinacy ; and I think of, all the wealth of love and bliss 
 which is in store for them both ! And then I look at us 
 both, at us who have opened for them the gates of their 
 paradise driving away into darkness like two exiles; 
 and I ask you, friend, have we reallyneed to be ashamed 
 
QUISISANA. 301 
 
 of the Dart which we have played ? Or, rather, are we. not 
 fully and fairly entitled to rejoice in our success and to be 
 proud of it ? Yes, friend, we must be glad, we must be 
 proud. Where else shall we, who are sick unto death, 
 gain the strength to get well again? For we must not, 
 dare not die ; but we must live and be happy, to prove 
 to those two that they may be happy on our account. 
 I, my frier d, mean to live on ; I will and shall recover. 
 I shall appear at Court to-night, and be beautiful and 
 witty if I can, or at least serene and in good-humour. 
 And not to-day alone, but to-morrow too, and every day, 
 and most so by Waldor's side, for he very surely does 
 not marry the Princess Alexandra for the sake of getting a 
 moody, melanchdly wife. Some secret corner somewhere 
 will surely be found where now and again one may weep 
 in peace, and let the grievous wound bleed. And you, 
 dear friend? What shall you do? How will you set 
 about recovering? I should not have an hour's quiet 
 if I had to think you could not. Give me your word 
 that you will recover, give me your hand on it" 
 
 Bertram's answer did not come at once. He raised 
 his eyes and saw the beacon-fees blazing on the mountain 
 tops and far away in the plains. He heard the calls of 
 the patrols, the neighing of many horses, the talk and 
 laughter of the men round the bivouac-fires, the dull 
 thud of marching columns. It was but a mimic warfare, 
 but it spoke to him of a true and earnest fight in which he 
 was called upon to take his place in the ranks as a good 
 and true soldier, to do his duty as long as strength was 
 granted him — it might be for years, or for a few days only. 
 And he held out his hand to Alexandra, and said — 
 
 " Whether I shall recover, I know not. But I swear 
 
 to you that I will try 1 " 
 
 ♦ ♦ * * * * 
 
( 3° 2 ) 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Then you insist upon joining in to-morrow's debate?" 
 the doctor was saying. 
 
 " I 'flatter myself that it is necessary I " replied Ber- 
 tram. 
 
 "As a. political partisan I admit it; as your medical 
 adviser I repeat, it is impossible." 
 
 " Come, my good friend, you said just now, it is un- 
 desirable ; now, from that to impossible is rather a bold 
 step. We had better sticjc to. the first statement. 1 ' 
 
 The doctor, who had taken up his hat and stick a 
 few minutes before, laid both dpwn again, pushed. Ber- 
 tram into .the chair before his writing-table,, sat down 
 again facing him, and .said— . 
 
 " Judging from your momentary condition it js merely 
 desirable that you should /have at present absolute 
 repose for at least a fe r w days. But I very, much fear that 
 to-morrow's inevitable excitement will make you worse, 
 and then the downright recessity for rest will arise, 
 and that not only for a few days. Let, me speak quite, 
 frankly, Bertram. I know that I shall not frighten you, 
 although I should rather like to do so. You are causing 
 me real anxiety. I greatly regret that I kept you last 
 autumn from your projected Italian trip, and that I 
 ,pushed and urged you into the, fatigues of an election 
 campaign and into the harassing anxieties of parlia- 
 mentary life. I assumed that this energetic activity 
 
QUISISANA. 303 
 
 would contribute to your complete restoration to health, 
 and I find that I made a grievous- mistake. And yet 7 
 am not aware where exactly the mistake was made. You 
 mastered your parliamentary duties with such perfect ease, 
 you entered the arena so well prepared and armed from 
 top to toe, you used your weapons with all the skill of a 
 past master, and you were bor-ne along by such an ample 
 measure of success — and that of course has its great 
 value. Well, according to all human understanding and 
 experience, the splendid and relatively easy discharge of 
 duties for which you are so eminently fitted, should con- 
 tribute to your well-being, and yet the very opposite is 
 occurring. In spite of all my cogitations I can find but 
 one theory to account for it In spite of the admirable 
 equanimity which you always preserve, in spite of the 
 undimmed serenity of your disposition and appearance, 
 by which you charm your friends, whilst you frequently 
 disarm your foes, there must be a hidden something in 
 your soul that gnaws away at your vitals, a deep, dark 
 under-current of grief and pain. Am I right ? You know 
 that I am not asking the question from idle curiosity." 
 
 " I know it," replied Bertram ; "and therefore I answer: 
 you are right and yet not right, or right only if you hold 
 roe responsible for the effect of a cause I was guilt- 
 less of." 
 
 " You answer in enigmas, my friend." 
 
 " Let me try a metaphor. Say, somebody is compelled 
 to live in a house, in which the architect made some 
 grave mistake at the laying of the foundations, or at some 
 important period or other of its erection. The tenant 
 is a quiet, steady man, who keeps the house in good 
 order; then comes a storm, and the ill-constructed 
 building is terribly shaken and strained. The steady* 
 
304 QUISISANA. 
 
 going tenant repairs the dalnage as best tie tan, and 
 things go on fairly enough for a time, a long tittle, until 
 there comes another and a worse storm, which makes 
 the whole house topple together over his bead." 
 
 The doctor's dark eyes bad been dwelling searchingly 
 and sympathisingly upon the speaker. Now he said — 
 
 " I think I understand your metaphor. Of course, it 
 only meets a portion of the case. "I happen to know 
 the house in question extremely -well. True there was 
 one weak point in it from the 'beginning, in spite of its 
 general excellent construction, but '. . ." 
 
 "But me 'no buts," interrupted Bertram eagerly. 
 "Given the one wea"k point, and all the rest naturally 
 follows. I surety need hot point out to 'sudh a 'faithful 
 disciple of Spinoza's, that thought hsA. expansion are but 
 attributes of One and the same substance, that there is 
 no physiological case that does not, tightly viewed, turn 
 to a psychological one; that so excitable a heart as 
 mihe must needs be impressed by things more than other 
 hearts" whose bands do not "Sriap, happen what may, and ' 
 notwithstanding all the storms of Fate. Or are you not 
 sure that, if you had had to 'examine the hearts of Wer- 
 ther or of Eduard in the ' Elective 'Affinities,' yoh would ' 
 have found things undreamed of by' aesthetic philoso-" 
 pliers ? I belong to the same race. I neither glory in 
 this, nor do I blush for it ; I simply state" a fact, a fact 
 which embodies my fate, before whose power I bow, or 
 rather whose power bows me down ' in spite' of rny 
 resistance. For, however much I may by disposi- 
 tion belong to the last century, yet I am also a citizen 
 01 our own time; nor can I be deaf to its bidding. I 
 know full well that modern man can no longer'Iive and 
 die exclusively for his private joys and sorrows ; I 
 
QUISISANA. 305 
 
 know full well that I have a fatherland whose fame, 
 honour, and greatness I am bound to hold sacred, and to 
 which I am indebted as long as a breath stirs within 
 me. I know it, and I believe that I have proved it ac- 
 cording to my strength, both formerly and again now, 
 when . . ." 
 
 He covered forehead and eyes with his hands, and so 
 sat for a while in deep emotion, which his medical friend 
 respected by keeping. perfectly silent. Then, looking up 
 again, Bertram went on in a hushed voice — 
 
 " My friend, that last storm was very, very strong. It 
 shook the feeble building to its very foundation. What 
 is now causing your anxiety is indeed but a consequence 
 of that awful tempest. The terribly entrancing details no 
 one as yet .knows except one woman, whom an almost 
 identical fate made my confidante, and who will keep my 
 secret absolutely. So would you, I know. You have 
 been before this my counsellor and my father-confessor. 
 And so you will be another time, perhaps, if you desire 
 it and -deem it necessary.: — To-day only this one remark 
 more, for your own satisfaction.; for I read in your grave 
 countenance the same mom.entous question which my 
 confidante put to me : Whether I am willing to recover? 
 I answered to the best of my knowledge and belief : Yes ! 
 I consider it my duty to be willing. It is a duty simply 
 towards my electors, who have not honoured me with 
 their votes that I may lie me down and die of an unhappy 
 and unrequited attachment. If the latter does happen — 
 I mean my dying — you will bear witness that it was done 
 against my will, solely in consequence ,qf that mistake in 
 the original construction whjch the architect was guilty o£ 
 But. in order that it may not happen, or may at le^st not 
 hat'"- 'i t-o soon, you, my friend, must,allow me to do the 
 
3 o6 QUISISANA 
 
 very thing which you have forbidden. The dream I 
 dreamed was infinitely beautiful, and, to" Speak quite 
 frankly, real life- seems barren and dreary in comparison 
 with it. The contrast is too great, arid I can Only efface 
 it somewhat by mixirig with the insipid food a strong 
 spice of excitement, such as our parliamentary kitchen is 
 just now supplying in the best quality, and of which our 
 head-cook is sure to give us an extra dose to-morrow. 
 And, therefore, I must be in my place at the table to- 
 morrow and make my dinner-speech. Quod efat de- 
 monstrandum." 
 
 He held out his hand with a smile. His friend smiled 
 too. It was a very melancholy smile, and vanished again 
 forthwith. 
 
 " What a pity," he said, " that the cleverest patients 
 are the most intractable. But I have vowed I will never 
 have a clever one again, after you." 
 
 " In truth," replied Bertram, " I am giving you far too 
 much trouble. In your great kindness and friendship 
 you come to me almost in the middle of the night, when 
 you ought to be resting from your day's heavy toil ; you 
 come of your own accord, simply impelled by a faithful 
 care for my well-being ; and, finally, you have to return 
 with ingratitude' and disobedience for your reward. 
 Well, well — let us hope for better things, and let me have 
 the pleasure of seeing you again to-morrow." 
 
 Konski came in with a candle to show the doctor the 
 way down, for the lights in the house had long since 
 been extinguished. The gentlemen were once more 
 shaking hands, and the physician slipped his on to 
 Bertram's wrist Then he shook his head. 
 
 " Konski," he said, turning to the servant, " if your 
 master has a fancy one of these days to drink a glass of 
 
QUISISANA. 307 
 
 champagne, you may give him one, as an exception ; but 
 only one." 
 
 " Now remember that, Konski ! " said Bertram. 
 
 " It is not likely that it will happen,'' grumbled Konski. 
 
 " Konski will leave me to-morrow," explained Bertram. 
 
 " Will, is it ? No, I won't, but . . ." 
 
 " All right ! " said his master, " we must not bother 
 the doctor with our private affairs. Good-bye, my friend ! 
 With your leave I will dine with you to-morrow.'' 
 
 The physician left; Bertram immediately agam sat down 
 at the writing-table, and resumed the work which this late 
 visit had interrupted. It was a disputed election case, 
 and he would have to report upon it to the House. There 
 had been some irregularities, and it was in the interest of 
 his own party that the election should be declared null 
 and void ; he had been examining the somewhat com- 
 plicated data with all the greater conscientiousness and 
 care. But now he lost the thread, and was turning over 
 the voluminous page of the evidence, when, lo ! a 
 daintily-folded sheet of paper — a letter — fell out 
 
 " Good heavens ! how came this here ? " 
 
 He seized upon it with eagerness, as a wandering 
 beggar might seize upon a gold coin which he saw glitter-" 
 ing among the dust on the road. The hot blood surged 
 to the temples from the sick and sore heart; the hand 
 that held the slight paper trembled violently. 
 
 " Now he would not be grumbling at my slow pulse !" 
 
 Yesterday morning he had received this letter, but 
 had not succeeded in composing himself sufficiently to 
 read more than a few lines. He thought that, perhaps, 
 on his return from the Reichstag he might have been in 
 a more settled frame of mind. Then he had not' been 
 able to find again the letter which had been laid aside, 
 
3o8 QUISJSANA. 
 
 although he had searched for hours, first alone, then with 
 
 Konski. 
 
 And now— -i-after all those documents were pushed 
 
 aside — he was again, as yesterday, staring hard at the 
 
 page, and again, as yesterday, the different lines ran into 
 
 each other ; but he shook his head angrily/ drew his hand 
 
 over his eyes, and then read : — 
 
 " Capri, April 24. 
 
 " Dearest Uncle Bertram, — If to-day for. the first 
 time, in our travels I write to you, take this as a gentle 
 punishment for not having come to our. wedding. Take 
 it — no, I must not tell you a falsehood, not even in jest 
 We — I mean Kurt and myself — regretted your absence 
 greatly, but were angry only with those wretched politics 
 which would not release you just at a time, when, as Kurt 
 explained to me, such important matters were at stake. 
 Take, then, I pray you, my prolonged silence as a proof 
 of the confusion under which I labour, amidst the 
 thousand new impressions of travel, and through the 
 hurry with which we have travelled. Kurt has just four 
 weeks' leave, so we had indeed to make, haste ; and, 
 therefore, we steamed direct from Genoa to Naples, call- 
 ing at Leghorn only, and yesterday evening we arrived 
 ithere only to leave this morning, and to sail to Capri, 
 favoured by a lively tramontane. 
 
 " I am writing this my first letter upon the balcony of 
 a house in Capri. 
 
 " Dearest Uncle Bertram, do you know such a house 
 which ' stands amidst orange groves, with sublimest view 
 of the blue infinity of the ocean, a fair, white hostelry 
 embowered in roses ' ? 
 
 "The words are your own, and do you know when 
 you spoke them to me ? : On that first night when I met 
 
QUI SIS AN A. 309 
 
 you in the forest on the IJirschstein hill. You have 
 probably forgotten it, but I remember it well, and all 
 through the journey your words were ever before me; 
 and of all the glories of Italy, I wanted first to see the 
 lrouse which had, since then, remained in your fond re- 
 membrance, where you ' ever since longed to be back 
 again,' and the very name Of which was always to you ' a 
 sound of comfort, of promise : Qui si sana I ' 
 
 "And now we are here — we who need no comfort, 
 we to whom all promise of earthly bliss has been ful- 
 filled, and so drink in the blue air of heaven, and inhale 
 the sweet fragrance of roses and oranges. 
 
 " And you, dearest Uncle Bertram, you dwell — your 
 heart full of longing for fair Quisisana — yonder in the 
 dull grey North, buried beneath parliamentary papers, 
 wearied and worn — and, uncle, that thought is the one 
 grey cloud, the only one in the wide blue vault of heaven, 
 like the one floating yonder above the rugged rocky front 
 of Monte Solaro, of which our young landlord, Federigo, 
 foretells that it will bring us a hutrasca. I gave him a 
 good scolding, and told him I wanted sunshine, plenty 
 of sunshine, and nothing but sunshine, but I thought of 
 you only, and not of us. And surely for you too, who 
 are so noble and good, the sun does shine, and you 
 walk in its light, in the sunny light of great fame ! Yes,' 
 Uncle Bertram, however modest you are, you must yet 
 be glad and proud to learn how your greatness is recog- 
 nised and ad-mired. I am not speaking of your friends, 
 for that is a matter of course,' but of your political oppo- 
 nents. In Genoa, at the table d'hote, we made the 
 acquaintance of some Count from Pomerania — I have 
 forgotten his name— with whom Kurt talked politics 
 a good defcff In the evening the Cdurit brought us a 
 
jio QUISISANA.. 
 
 Berlin paper, which contained your last great speech^ 
 ' Look here,' he said, ' there is a man from whom all can 
 learn, one of whom each party should be proud.' He 
 had no idea why Kurt looked so pleased and proud, 
 nor why I burst into tears when I read your splendid 
 speech. 
 
 " Only fancy, Uncle Bertram ! Signor Federigo has 
 just brought me, at my request, an o}d visitors' book-r- 
 the one for the year 1859, the year in which I knew you 
 had been here. Many leaves had been torn out, but the 
 one upon which you had written your name was preserved, 
 and the date turns out to be that of the very day on 
 which I, was born ! Is. not this passing strange ? Signor 
 Federigo has, of course, had to present the precious leaf 
 to me, which he did with a most graceful bow— the paper 
 in one hand and. -the, other laid uponhisbeart — and we 
 have, resolved to celebrate here the day, of your arrival 
 111 Capri and of my arrival in the world. Why, indeed, 
 should, we travel on so swiftly? There can be no fairer 
 scene than this anywhere. Sunshine, the fragrance of 
 roses, the bright blue sky; the everlasting sea, my Kurt, 
 and the recollection of you, whose .dear image every 
 rock, every palm tree, everything I see brings as if by 
 magic before my inner eye ! No, no ; we surely will stay 
 here until my birthday. 
 
 "Signor Federigo is calling from the verandah that 
 'Madama' has only five minutes more for writing if the 
 letter is to leave to-day. Of course it is to leave to-day ; 
 but I have the terrible conviction of, having written 
 nothing so far. It cannot now be helped. So next time 
 I will tell you everything that I could not do to-day: 
 about my parents, whp.are writing letters full of happi- 
 ness — papa, in particular, who seems delighted that he 
 
QU ISIS ANA. 311 
 
 has given up his factories — which surprised me greatly ; 
 about Agatha's engagement to Herr von Busche, which 
 did not surprise me, for I saw it coming during the 
 merrymakings previous to my wedding ; about . . . 
 
 " Signor Federigo, you are intolerable ! 
 
 "Dear Kurt, I cannot let you have the remaining 
 space of two lines, for I absolutely require it myself to 
 send my beloved Uncle Bertram a most hearty greeting 
 and kiss from Quisisana." 
 
 Bertram laid the paper very gently down upon the 
 table ; he was stooping to imprint a kiss upon it, but 
 before his lips touched the letter, he drew himself up 
 abruptly. 
 
 " No ; she knows not what she does, but you know 
 it, and she is your neighbour's wife ! Shame upon you ! 
 Pluck it out, the eye that offends you, and the base, 
 criminal heart as well ! " 
 
 He seized the parliamentary papers, then paused. 
 
 " Until her birthday ! Well, she will assuredly expect 
 a few kind words, and has a right to expect them ; nay, 
 more, she would interpret my silence wrongly. I wonder 
 whether there is yet time ? When is her birthday ? She 
 has not mentioned the date; I think somewhere in the be- 
 ginning of May. Now, on what day did I arrive there ? " 
 
 He had not long to seek in the old diaries, which 
 he kept methodically, and preserved with care. There 
 was the entry : " May 1. — Arrived in Capri, and put up 
 at a house which I found it hard to climb up to; the name 
 had an irresistible attraction for me : Quisisana — Sit 
 omen in nomine ! " 
 
 The first of May ! Why, to-morrow is the first. It is 
 too late fof a letter, of course, but a telegram will do, if 
 despatched at once. 
 
312 QUISISANA. 
 
 "Konski!" 
 
 The faithful servant entered.. 
 
 " My good Konski,, I am very sorry, but you must be 
 off to the telegraph-office at once. To-morrow is the 
 birthday of Miss Erna — well, well, you know ! Of course 
 she must hear from me." ,, 
 
 He had written a few lines in German, then it occurred, 
 to him that it might .be, safer to write them in Italian.. 
 So he re-wrote them. 
 
 Kansk), .who had meanwhile got himself ready, en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 " You will scarcely he back before midnight., And, 
 Konski, we must begin the morrow cheerfully. So put 
 the key of the cellar into your pocket, and bring a bottle 
 of champagne with you when you return. No remon- 
 strance, otherwise I shall put ; into your character to- 
 morrow, ' Dismissed for disobedience ' ! " 
 
( 3»3 ) 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was nearly three o'clock when the doctor came hur- 
 rying in. Konski would not leave the master, and had 
 despatched the porter. Konski took the doctor's hat 
 and stick, and pointed -in silence — he could not speak 
 — to the big couch at the bottom of the room. The 
 doctor took the lamp from the writing-table, and held it 
 to the pale face. Konski followed and relieved him of 
 the lamp, whilst the doctor made his investigation. 
 
 " He must have been dead an hour and more," he 
 said, looking up. "Why did you not send sooner? Put 
 the lamp back upon the writing-table, and tell me all 
 you know." 
 
 He had sat down in Bertram's chair. " Take a chair," 
 he went on, " and tell me all." 
 
 Then Konski told. 
 
 He had come back at a quarter-past twelve from the 
 telegraph-office, and had found his master writing away 
 busily, when he brought in the bottle of champagne 
 which he had been ordered to fetch from the cellar. His 
 master had scolded him for bringing only one glass, and 
 made him fetch another, for they must both drink and 
 clink glasses to the health of the young lady. 
 
 " Then," the servant went on, " I sat opposite to him, 
 for the first time in my life, in that corner, at the small 
 round table, he in the one chair and I in the other. And 
 
3 i4 QVISISANA. 
 
 he chatted with me, not like a master with his servant, 
 no ; exactly — well, I cannot describe it, sir ; but you know 
 how good and kind he always was. I never heard an 
 unkind word from him all these ten years I have been 
 with him, and if ever he was a bit angry, he always made 
 up for it afterwards. And, to-morrow I was to leave 
 for Rinstedt to get married, and he had given us our 
 furniture and all, and fitted up a new shop for us into 
 the bargain. Then we talked a good deal of Rinstedt, 
 and of the manoeuvres last year, and of Miss Erna that 
 was, and of Italy, where, as you know, sir, I was with the 
 master two years ago. Well, I mean, it was not I who 
 was talking so much, but; master, and I could have 
 gone on listening, listening for ever, when he was telling 
 of Capri, where we did not get that time, arjdwhere Mrs. 
 Ringberg is staying now — Miss Erna as was. And then 
 his eyes shone and sparkled splendidly, but he hardly 
 drank any wine, just enough to pledge the young lady's 
 health with, and the rest is in his glass still. But he made 
 me fill up mine again and again, for I could stand it, said 
 he, and he could not,, he said, and he would presently - 
 finish his work ; and there are the papers on the table in 
 front of you, sir, that he had been looking at. And then, 
 of a sudden like, he says, 'Konski, I am getting tired.; I 
 shall lie down for half an hour. You just finish the bottle 
 meanwhile, and call me at half-past one sharp.' It was 
 just striking one o'clock then. 
 
 " So he lay down, and I put the rug over him, sir, and, 
 oh — I'll never . forgive myself for it;. but all day long I 
 had been running backward and forward about these 
 things of mine, and then at last the long walk at night to 
 the telegraph- office, and perhaps the champagne had gone 
 to my head a bit, since I am sure, that I had not sat 
 
QUISISANA. 315 
 
 for five minutes before I was asleep. And when I woke 
 it was not half-past one, but half-past two, so that I was 
 regular frightened like. But as the master was a-sleeping 
 calm and steady, I thought, even as I was standing quite 
 close to him, that it was a pity to wake him, even though 
 he was lying on his left side again, which formerly he 
 could not bear at all, and which you, sir, had forbidden 
 so particularly. I mind of our first evening in Rinstedt, 
 sir, but then he did wake up again . . . and now he 
 is dead." 
 
 Konski was crying bitterly. The doctor held out his 
 hand to him. 
 
 " It is no fault of yours. Neither you nor I could 
 have kept him alive. Now, leave me here alone ; you 
 may wait in the next room." 
 
 After Konski had left, the doctor went to the little 
 round table on which the empty bottle and two glasses 
 were standing, one empty, one half-full. Above the sofa, 
 to the right and left, were gas-brackets, with one lighted 
 jet on either side. He held the half-full glass- to the 
 light and shook it. Bright beads were rising from the 
 clear, liquid. . 
 
 He put the glass down again, and murmured — , 
 
 "He never spoke an untruth ! It was in any case solely a 
 question of time. He drank his death-draught six months 
 ago. The only wonder is that he bore it so long." 
 
 Erna's letter was lying upon the table. The doctor 
 read it almost mechanically. 
 
 "Pretty much as I thought!" he muttered. "Such 
 a clever and, as it would seem, large-hearted girl, and 
 yet — but they are all alike ! " 
 
 A scrap of paper, with something in Bertram's hand 
 writing caught his eye. It was the German telegram. 
 
3 i6 QUI SI SANA. 
 
 " All hail — happiness and blessing— to-day and for 
 ever — For my darling child in Quisisana." 
 
 The doctor rose, and was now spacing up and down 
 the chamber with folded arms. From the adjoining 
 room, the door of which was left ajar, he heard sup- 
 pressed sobs. The faithful servant's unconcealed grief 
 had well-nigh unchained the bitter sorrow in his own 
 heart. He brushed the tears from his eyes, stepped to 
 the couch, and drew the covering back. 
 
 He stood there long, lost in marvelling contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 The beautiful lofty brow, overshadowed by the soft 
 and abundant hair, the dark colour of which was not 
 broken by one silvery thread ; the daintily curved lips, 
 that seemed about to open for some witty saying, lips 
 the pallor of which was put to shame by the whiteness 
 of the teeth, which were just visible; the broad-arched 
 chest — what wonder that the man of fifty had felt in life 
 like a youth— like the youth for whom Death had taken 
 him: 
 
 From those pure and pallid features Death had wiped 
 away even the faintest remembrance of the woe which 
 had broken the noble heart. 
 ' Now it was still — still for evermore ! 
 
 He laid his hand upon that silent heart 
 
 " Qui si sanal" he said, very gently. 
 
 THE END.