The regiment had been back from the manoeuvres for five weeks, recruits had been enlisted, and the military and social festivities of the winter season in Berlin had begun. No one had looked forward to the beginning of winter more anxiously than George. Although he had been in the "Golden Butterflies" nearly six months he was still as much a stranger to all his comrades as on the first day, for all his attempts to fraternise with them had been frustrated by their passive resistance. Now that the winter festivities had begun he hoped to get into more friendly relationship with the officers.

To-day, Captain von Warnow, who had an elegant house with beautifully large rooms, was giving a dance, and had invited the whole regiment. Everybody was delighted, for entertainments at the Warnows were quite different from the usual official parties.

The Warnow's niece, FrÄulein von Wiedemann, a tall, slender, very beautiful brunette of three-and-twenty, was staying with them, as she did every winter. The young baroness was an acknowledged beauty, and although during the last year or two she had lost some of her charms, she was still considered a very beautiful girl. Her whole air and bearing were distinguished, for she was an aristocrat through and through. The Wiedemanns belonged to a very old family, and she had been strictly brought up in the principles of her class. Her father had been formerly an officer in a Guards regiment, for whom a great military future had been prophesied, but one day he had made a mistake during an inspection of his battalion, and now, as during his military career he had spent all his own limited private means, he lived with his wife and daughter in a small town on a pension of about four thousand marks (£200) a year. His only son was an officer in an important Artillery regiment. Great poverty reigned in the household of the pensioned major: the allowance which his son required to keep up appearances in his regiment swallowed up half his pension, and the other half, in spite of all efforts, was not sufficient to defray the ordinary expenses of living. Consequently the major was up to his ears in debt.

At first he had not troubled himself much about this. Hildegarde, his beautiful daughter, would one day make a great match, and would then pay all his debts. But the years passed, and the splendid match did not come off. Hildegarde would never marry well as long as she remained in a little provincial town; then Frau von Warnow, who was connected with the Wiedemanns, and was very fond of Hildegarde, came forward and said she would find a suitable parti for her. Five years ago Hildegarde had gone to Berlin for her first visit; on all sides she had aroused admiration, their Majesties had noticed her at court festivities, but she was not yet engaged.

Not that suitors were lacking; one after another had endeavoured to win her favour, but each in turn drew back when he heard of her lack of dowry. None of the officers of the Guards—and neither Frau von Warnow nor Hildegarde would have looked at anyone else—was rich enough to marry a girl whose marriage portion consisted of her beauty and a whole family plunged in debt. For it was not only the father's debts that a son-in-law would have to pay, but a brother's, for the latter was known as a giddy spendthrift and gambler. Hildegarde's father could not in the least understand why after her first winter in Berlin she returned home without a fiancÉ. He had so absolutely reckoned upon a wealthy son-in-law that the non-realisation of his hopes seemed to him like a terrible blow dealt him by Fate, and it was long before he recovered from it. But at last hope had sprung up once again in his heart, although there was really no prospect of anything for either him or his daughter. Hildegarde's brother also looked to her for deliverance; it surely must come one day, and he was so deeply in debt that he could only just keep his head above water by opportunely winning something at cards; but that could not go on for long. His rich relatives helped him now and again with £50 or so, but he never dreamed of using this for paying his debts, but usually gambled it away directly he got it. Whenever he was in a hole he would write to his sister: "Fulfil the hopes that are centred upon you; save us all, and do not be so haughty in your demands. It is true that the idea of a middle-class brother-in-law, who has probably never worn dress clothes and has moved in a quite different social circle, is abhorrent to me, still I'd put up with him if only he had money and was willing to help us."

Hildegarde scarcely ever read these letters nowadays, for she know beforehand what they contained. Her father was in the habit of saying exactly the same things when a bill came to the house, or her mother asked for money for housekeeping, or the servants demanded their wages. He always said on such occasions:

"Put away your aristocratic pride until you have got a husband. There are any number of rich middle-class men who would be only too delighted to get for their miserable money a beautiful and aristocratic wife who would introduce them into Society and give them a good social position. When you have got your husband then you can be as aristocratic as ever you like, in order to impress him, and the more you show what a sacrifice you made when you accepted him, the more he will love and honour you."

Hildegarde could scarcely restrain herself from crying out: "What am I to do? I can hardly do anything more than allow myself to be exhibited and admired. I can't very well actually offer myself to the men. I am often so terribly ashamed that I scarcely know how to endure such a life, and what you say seems horrible to me. I cannot understand how you can talk to me in this way; you ought to have more respect for your daughter than to do so. It's money, money, everlasting money; and to pay your debts I am to sell myself to the first best man who offers sufficient for my body."

On such occasions violent speeches were on the tip of her tongue, but she always restrained herself, for she knew what a terrible struggle her father had, and how he lay awake for hours racking his brains how to make both ends meet. When he had first left the army he had delayed trying to get an appointment, for then he considered it beneath his dignity to become the agent of an insurance company or something of the sort; now it was too late, and he was not young enough to get work. To the end of his life he was condemned to lead this miserable existence of an officer who had been pensioned early: there was neither career nor money for him. His wife suffered almost more than he did; she was an elegant, distinguished-looking woman, who longed to be back in Berlin and to share in the magnificent entertainments where she had been so much admired. A violent dispute had taken place between her and her husband when he retired to the provincial town; she would deny herself, she would put up with all kinds of deprivations, but she longed to breathe again the air she had formerly enjoyed. "Only wait a year or so until Hildegarde is married, and then we will go back again to Berlin," her husband had said to her again and again. And at last she had given in. At first she had firmly resolved to live very economically in the little town, but by degrees she was again the distinguished and elegant woman of society who could not alter her mode of living and her toilettes. She spoke to her daughter continually of her prospective marriage, and there were hours when she did not scruple to reproach her child violently: "How is it that other young girls, who are not nearly so beautiful and elegant as you, get married? You must be either very stand-offish or you must make it too apparent that you want to get married. Both attitudes are unsuitable."

Hildegarde suffered terribly from the speeches and all the family circumstances, but she suffered even more on account of the visits to her relatives. It is true it was a pleasure to be in a rich household once again, to hear nothing of money worries; but letters from her parents followed her to Berlin with the request that she should borrow money for them from their relatives. Then again the gaieties were quite spoiled for her, because every evening before going to bed her aunt used to say, "Has nothing of importance happened to-day?" And even if her aunt did not actually say this, and tried not to let her see what she felt, Hildegarde noticed that it was no longer a pleasure to her aunt to take her about, for she saw the uselessness of all her efforts, and would have preferred her niece not to have visited her again.

This year Hildegarde had determined not to go to Berlin; her pride and her vanity revolted against being a burden to her relatives again, and playing a despicable, yet pitiable, rÔle. She had often noticed both the contemptuous and the sympathetic glances with which she had been greeted when she paid calls; some people privately joked at the idea of her not having given up thinking about a husband, others, knowing her straitened circumstances, felt sympathy for her.

"Under no circumstances will I go to Berlin this year," she declared to her parents. "I am too proud and too ashamed to exhibit myself again at all the parties, and yet get neither a lover nor a purchaser!"

The dispute lasted all day long, but at last her father, who was threatened with a warrant for distraint on account of a wine bill for five hundred marks, fell on his knees before her and begged her to save him. Then at last her opposition gave way. But she felt so wretched and miserable, so degraded and despondent, that during the long railway journey she constantly wept.

"My dear child, you have never before looked so out of sorts; what is the matter with you?" her aunt had asked her, and she had only been reassured when Hildegarde feigned a violent headache. Her aunt breathed more freely, but next morning and the following days Hildegarde's looks did not satisfy her, and it was impossible to conceal the fact that she was no longer the blooming young girl that she had been. Her aunt looked at her sympathetically, and more to herself than to her niece she said, "It's high time—high time!"

"Yes, it certainly is," chimed in Hildegarde, "for I cannot bear this life any longer. If I do not get engaged this time—and I am convinced I shall not—I am going to get a place as a governess or a companion, or something of the sort. This I know—I won't go home again."

"Hildegarde!" Frau von Warnow looked with utter astonishment at her niece, who was sitting opposite her. She was very pale, her eyes had dark rings underneath them, there were melancholy, despondent lines round her mouth. "Hildegarde, do think what you are saying. You, to take a place. You, a Wiedemann! that is quite impossible; on our account alone it would never do, and you must consider us."

Hildegarde did not answer, but her eyes expressed resolution and determination, and Frau von Warnow poured forth her fears to her husband. "Just fancy," she said, "Hildegarde is determined that this will be the last time she visits us, and she is capable of carrying out her determination; if she does so, it will be a serious reflection upon us, and people will reproach us with not having given her enough money. They will say, 'How can such rich people as the Warnows allow a near relative to take a situation and earn her own living.' People will think us cold and lacking in all decent feeling, and will say that even if Hildegarde could not have stayed at home, the proper place for her was with us."

Captain von Warnow looked indignant, and as a sign of his vexation he thrust out his underlip and twisted and twirled his faultlessly-pointed moustaches. "My dear Clara, pray spare me these matters; settle the affair with Hildegarde. I have more important things to think about—in a few days the major will be present at the drill, and, as you know, it may go off all right, but it may not."

"Quite so," his wife agreed. He did not perceive the irony of her words.

"Ah! I am glad you see that; then you will understand that at present I am more interested in the success of my men than whether Hildegarde accepts a post or not. You understand, don't you?"

His wife quite understood. For a long time her husband had been somewhat tired of acting as guardian to Hildegarde. He was very fond of her, but her family got on his nerves; he hated those perpetual begging-letters, but he always gave money, partly out of affection for his niece, partly because he felt he owed it to his position. He could not bear the idea of his cousin, whose ancestors had been distinguished in the Thirty Years' War, being summoned by a tradesman; such a thing was out of the question. He would have much preferred that his wife had never taken upon herself the difficult task of getting Hildegarde married, for then he need not have been brought into close connection with her family. He could not help it, but whenever he received a letter from the Wiedemanns he felt as if he were dealing with something that was not quite clean, and as soon as ever he had read the letter he washed his carefully-looked-after hands with great ceremony.

Frau von Warnow was very much perturbed about Hildegarde; she could not possibly be allowed to take a situation; that would compromise them too much: at the same time she did not want her to live with them. There was only one way out of the difficulty; Hildegarde must get engaged during the coming season, but the question was—to whom? The night before her entertainment Frau von Warnow lay awake, turning over in her mind as to who should take Hildegarde in to dinner, and it was only toward morning that a happy thought occurred to her. It was such a simple one that she could not understand why it had not occurred to her before. Winkler, of course, must marry Hildegarde, and at breakfast she disclosed her plan to her niece, who listened to it with indifference; this man or that was just the same to her if she could be rescued from her miserable family circumstances, her wretched poverty, and was not obliged to hear the oft-repeated and monotonous reproaches flung at her head. A quiet, resigned smile played on her finely-cut lips. "So this time the deliverer was called Winkler. I should much like to know what he looks like, though probably to you that is a matter of no importance. Is he nice?"

Frau von Warnow was somewhat embarrassed for a moment. "I don't know him yet."

"And yet you recommend him to me as a husband?" The words breathed irony and bitterness.

Frau von Warnow quickly recovered her presence of mind. "What do you want? He is very rich, his father is said to be a millionaire, he's simply made for you. Have I never spoken to you about him? Didn't I? Well, I suppose I forgot his name. One has as a rule, thank heaven, so little to do with these middle-class persons that one does not trouble to remember their names. Winkler, however, belongs to our regiment, he is in my husband's company; you know Eric's views concerning middle-class officers, but he is obliged to admit that this Winkler performs his duties most satisfactorily, and that probably in the course of a few years he will have won promotion. For Eric to say that is the highest praise. Up to the present, as you can quite understand, he has remained a rank outsider, although he must have been quite six months in the regiment, for social prejudices cannot be cast on one side so quickly. Winkler has a difficult position here; if you became engaged to him everything would be altered in a moment—he would then be distantly connected with us; through you he would belong to one of the most distinguished families, and as your fiancÉ he would not only be invited by the most exclusive people, but—how exactly can I express it?—he would be made quite at home among them."

The last words were uttered with some difficulty by Frau von Warnow, and she was not quite honest in what she said. She knew, indeed, that she herself would never look upon Lieutenant Winkler as a relative, and that all the other aristocratic families would regard the marriage as a mesalliance; they would either not receive him at all, or confine themselves to entirely formal intercourse and the exchange of the necessary courtesies. But that was a matter of entire indifference; the important thing was to provide for Hildegarde.

Frau von Warnow was silent for a moment. She was quite exhausted by her long speech; then she turned to her niece and said: "Well, what do you think of my plan?"

Hildegarde said nothing; what would have been the use of saying, "It is hateful to get engaged to a man in this way; a man whom I do not know, whom I have never seen, and therefore I cannot tell whether I should like him or not." Her aunt was so occupied with her project that she did not notice Hildegarde's silence, she did not even wait for her answer, but said, "Of course, therefore, Lieutenant Winkler will take you in to dinner."

"But will it not look odd if I go in to dinner with an officer who has so lately entered the regiment when several of the older men will not be able to take in a lady?"

Frau von Warnow bit her lips with vexation. Hildegarde was quite right. She must not allow her project to be too apparent, and after a moment's thought she said:

"Yes, that won't do, certainly. Baron von Masemann must take you in to dinner, and Winkler must sit on the other side of you. As he comes to our house to-day for the first time and belongs to Eric's company, it will not attract attention if I give him a specially good place at dinner. Moreover, I intend to say a few friendly words to him before all the other guests. Perhaps, even, I shall get Eric to welcome him in a little speech."

But Eric objected. "That's going a little too far. I couldn't justify myself to my comrades if I did that, and I should arouse a violent protest. I cannot avoid asking Winkler to my house as he belongs to the regiment and is an officer in my company; but to toast him—to-day when, with the exception of the servants, he is the only middle-class man in our house—that is out of the question."

Von Warnow was, indeed, absolutely opposed to his wife's plan of betrothing Hildegarde to Lieutenant Winkler.

"Winkler a connection of mine! No, thank you. Later, I suppose, I shall have to be on quite intimate terms with the fellow. It would be far better for Hildegarde not to marry at all than to marry a plebeian."

He walked up and down the room indignantly, and only recovered his composure when his wife, quite against her real feeling in the matter, for she already saw the bridal pair standing at the altar, said:

"You jump to a conclusion too quickly. When that happens we can consider the matter."

The entrance of the servants, who had still many preparations to make for the entertainment, brought the conversation to an end, and it was now quite time to dress. So the husband and wife did not meet again till the first carriage rolled up to the door.

"Wherever is Hildegarde?"

At last she appeared, just as the first guests arrived. She looked charming in her cream robe, though there was a somewhat tired and anxious look upon her face.

Carriage after carriage rolled up to the door, and the spacious reception-rooms were soon filled. All the guests knew one another and were frequent visitors at the Warnows, and conversation was soon in full swing. Most of them had not seen each other during the summer, and there were no end of questions as to where they had been during the holidays. They talked about the prospective gaieties of the season, of the court festivities, the programme of which had just appeared.

Lieutenant Winkler was apparently the last to arrive. He had purposely come late so that he might be introduced to the whole assembly at one and the same moment. He knew scarcely any of the ladies, for only the least important of them had included him in their visiting list. Was it by chance or intentionally that just as he came into the room dead silence reigned? George noticed that the ladies suddenly broke off their conversation and looked at him coldly. For a brief moment he was embarrassed, for even the lady of the house was unknown to him. Which was she? Then Frau von Warnow came towards him, and Lieutenant Winkler took a step forward and kissed her hand.

"You are heartily welcome, Lieutenant Winkler. I am delighted to see you among us."

Everybody heard the words as Frau von Warnow had desired, and so nobody would be astonished later on if she were somewhat specially attentive to him. She exchanged a few words with the lieutenant, and then she introduced him to the ladies. Last of all she turned to her niece.

"Dear Hildegarde, allow me to introduce to you Lieutenant Winkler."

Hildegarde had purposely kept in the background. She had even attempted to avoid the introduction. It was disagreeable to her even to approach a man whom they had just been discussing in such a way that morning, and she could scarcely conceal her embarrassment. George did not observe this. He bowed and went into the corridor to take off his helmet and scarf. Hildegarde breathed more freely. Thank heaven! the first meeting was over, and she made up her mind to devote herself to the man who took her in to dinner and not trouble about Lieutenant Winkler. But when they went into the dining-room and took their places at the table, beautifully decorated with freshly-gathered flowers, Hildegarde saw, only too soon, that during the year in which she had not seen her companion he had not become more amusing or wittier. Baron von Masemann belonged to a very ancient family and was a conscientious officer, but otherwise he was a nonentity. All his efforts were directed towards being considered the best-mannered man among a set of well-mannered men, and this was a somewhat difficult task in a regiment that numbered counts and barons. Thus he felt it behoved him, by his whole behaviour and bearing not to abrogate his dignity in the slightest degree. He was haughty and reserved because he considered this to be well bred, and he spoke little, for he thought an aristocrat should speak little but observe much. So now at the dinner-table he merely inquired of his companion in the politest possible manner how she had been during the long period when he had not had the pleasure of seeing her. He asked her how long she meant to stay in Berlin, and when he had received this information, which did not in the least interest him, he considered he had done his duty. He remained silent, and when Hildegarde tried to entertain her companion he listened with an artificial air of interest, and as a sign that he was paying attention to her he now and again threw in a "Yes" or "No," or other equally striking remarks.

"Baroness, would you be so good as to pass the sauce-tureen?"

Hildegarde, with an "Excuse me," turned to her right and took the bowl from George to pass it to her neighbour on the left.

"May I trouble you again?" Once more she turned to the right and looked at George for the first time; until now she had studiously avoided him, and she was astonished at the intelligent expression and the seriousness of character which his eyes revealed; there was nothing of the Guardsman about him, for their only ambition was to appear blasÉ and amusing. Another thing about him pleased her: that was the look of genuine admiration and respect with which he regarded her. She noticed that he was attracted to her, and that her beauty made a deep impression upon him; she was extremely pleased to find that, unlike most young lieutenants, he had not begun by paying violent court to her, and acting the part of the irresistible male who has only to use his eyes to attract every girl to him.

"Appearances may be deceptive, of course," thought Hildegarde, "but I have picked up a good deal of knowledge of human nature during the last few years, and if I am not mistaken this is a good and sensible man." She suddenly became desirous of talking to him. Apparently he had not the courage to address her, perhaps he did not know what to say to her a complete stranger, so she must begin the conversation. It occurred to her that she might try and win the young officer's heart, and also his money, so that at last she might rescue her parents and brother from their dire poverty.

A crimson flush mounted to her cheeks, and she bent low over the plate so that he might not observe it. Lieutenant Winkler misinterpreted her embarrassment and said frankly: "I beg your pardon, if my glances have perturbed you in any way. As excuse I can only say that never before have I seen so much beauty and grace united in one person; I had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable."

The words sounded so frank and honourable; but far from having the desired effect, they produced just the contrary feeling; once again the blood rushed to her cheeks, for she felt she was playing a poor part towards this young officer. At last she recovered her composure, and with an attempt at badinage, she said: "What, you begin to pay compliments before the champagne comes! still, one can't help liking them when they are expressed so pleasantly."

"I am so glad that you are not angry with me," was his reply.

And now that the ice was once broken they began to chatter to each other. George possessed the gift of conversation to a high degree as Hildegarde soon noticed; he had a very pleasant voice, and this added to her pleasure in listening to him. From every word that he spoke she could see that he was a thoroughly cultivated man, who had studied much and took an interest in a great many subjects. In knowledge and general intelligence he was certainly far superior to his companions. "If I had not gone into the army I should have studied political economy," he said in the course of conversation. "My father has a large manufactory and employs countless workmen; he is unceasingly occupied in trying to improve their social and material position; he sees that they have cheap and good dwellings; he has built libraries, given play-grounds and open-air spaces for the children; in short, he has done all that was possible to improve their condition. Of course, my father has talked to me about all these things; he gave me all sorts of books to read, and explained what I could not understand. As I said to you, if I had not gone into the army I should have interested myself in the social question."

"Why did you go into the army, and are you satisfied with your career?"

He answered her second question only. "I have now been six years in the army, and cannot say with a simple 'Yes' or 'No' whether my military duties will satisfy me permanently. Naturally, I hope and believe they will, but if later I see I have made a mistake, then I shall leave the service, and take over the management of the factory, for my father has given me a completely free hand. Of course, what I do in the future naturally depends upon whether I get promotion in the regiment as you will understand without any further explanations from me."

He skilfully turned the conversation to another subject and told her more about the factory. Hildegarde listened with great interest, for everything that she heard was quite new to her. She had not the faintest conception of the life and labour of other people, and until then had never indeed thought about such things. In the circles in which she moved people either lived on their money or regarded work more or less from the point of view of suitability to a person's birth, or they lived as grand seigneurs in poor circumstances, and regarded it as beneath their dignity to work for money.

The time passed very quickly; Hildegarde confined her attentions to George, and forgot all about Baron von Masemann. The latter made several attempts to address some feeble remarks to her, but when he saw that she went on talking to George he closed his mouth tight. He generally occupied himself at dinner with observing carefully how his younger companions behaved and whether their manners and behaviour at dinner called for any report. This was his speciality, and on account of this he was feared, for there was scarcely any entertainment which did not give him an occasion for rebuking his comrades next day. As he was considered a great authority on etiquette, people were really very grateful for his instructions, but unfortunately he had a terribly sarcastic and ironical way of delivering his words of wisdom, which irritated the younger officers far more than a torrent of abusive words.

Hildegarde looked up quite astonished when she suddenly saw that the guests were rising. How often had she not longed for the dinner to end when she had sat by the side of a lieutenant who told her about his stupid recruits or stale stories which had no connection with one another. Now, on the contrary, she was sorry that the dinner was over.

A little dance concluded the entertainment, and it was towards midnight when the guests departed. Scarcely had the last gone when Frau von Warnow embraced her niece warmly. "Hildegarde, I am happy. I was continually watching you two at dinner and during the dance. Lieutenant Winkler couldn't take his eyes off you. Mark my words, this time the thing will come off; it was easy to see that the man was infatuated with you. To-morrow I shall write to your father."

These words affected Hildegarde like a stream of cold water. For the first time for many a long day she had really enjoyed a party, and during the pleasant conversation she had quite forgotten her parents and her own miserable circumstances; now that the whole thing stood out clearly in her mind she was utterly depressed.

"Remember what I say, Hildegarde, in less than three months you will be engaged. If you had always been as amiable and friendly to men as you were to-day to Lieutenant Winkler you would have been married long ago. Well, to-day you played your cards well; Winkler is certainly in love with you."

If Hildegarde had received a blow on the forehead she could not have felt it more than these words. During the course of the evening she had completely forgotten her aunt's project with regard to Lieutenant Winkler, and now she was accused of trying to ensnare him, and this insulting insinuation was regarded by her aunt as the highest praise. An indignant answer half rose to her lips, but as usual she restrained herself. She had long ago given up trying to justify herself; her aunt would not have believed her, she would not indeed have understood it.

She was delighted when at last she could go to her own room, where she burst into a flood of passionate tears. She was conscious of having done nothing wrong, and yet she felt as if she would like to sink into the earth for shame.