CHAPTER VI Military Morals

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It had all turned out just as George had foretold; the kindly words which His Majesty had addressed to him at the American Embassy and the warm praise of his father, had not contributed towards improving his position in the regiment; on the contrary, it had made it worse. Scarcely a day passed but some one or other in George's absence talked about him and discussed the Emperor's remarks. Whatever had made the Emperor specially distinguish him, the only plebeian officer of the regiment? Even the colonel had had to be content with a mere handshake, the staff officers, not to mention the others, had scarcely received a glance; George alone had been addressed. Was it mere chance or was it really the report of the button manufacturer—as Old Winkler was always called for shortness—that had occasioned the remarks? And what on earth could such a manufacturer tell His Majesty which he did not know already? Old Winkler indeed was said to be unique in his arrangements for the benefits of his workpeople and in his efforts for their welfare, and he had discovered new methods and means of ameliorating their existence. Of course, everybody knew that His Majesty was deeply interested in the condition of the working classes, but in spite of this, they thought this public praise of Old Winkler somewhat ostentatious and superfluous, if an officer—and therefore a loyal subject—might venture to criticise His Majesty's words. Or had the Emperor's words any particular significance? The Emperor knew, of course, what was thought about George in the regiment, how he was still an "outsider," and would always remain one. Had His Majesty's words meant—"You need not trouble yourselves, you will not get rid of Lieutenant Winkler, he has a powerful protector in me." Had he perhaps wanted to encourage George by his gracious words to persevere and not to despair even if he had not succeeded in winning a good position in the regiment?

Not a single "Golden Butterfly" had ever been commanded to attend at Court, except on the occasion of some great entertainment; then the regiment had appeared as a whole, and even this distinction had made them feel very proud. And now George was publicly invited by the Emperor to come with his father to dine at Court. It was well known that His Majesty frequently gave little parties where everybody was quite unconstrained, and there was much lively conversation. The Emperor surprised everyone by the astonishing amount of his knowledge and fascinated all by his great personal attractions. Why should George be invited to share in these intimate little parties? Simply because he was the son of his father. And who indeed was his father? He was merely a middle-class button manufacturer, and he would remain that, even if he were wiser and more important than all the other wise men put together.

They would not have grudged any of their other companions the honour which had been paid to George. They would have regarded it as an honour paid to the aristocratic classes to which they themselves belonged. They grudged it George because they said to themselves: "If nowadays the middle-class is to be honoured in this way, what is there then for the nobility, who have done, and will do more, for Germany than manufacture trouser-buttons, which certainly have the advantage of being durable and cheap."

Up till the present the officers had not troubled to take any notice of George. Now they turned their attention to him, and although he was always quiet and modest in his behaviour to his companions, and yet dignified without being proud, they became even haughtier than they had formerly been. More than ever they were the aristocrats; more than ever they endeavoured to show him what a great and impassable barrier divided him from them. Their behaviour indicated as clearly as words: "We intend to get rid of him; one day he himself will perceive that he cannot possibly remain with us any longer."

George was perfectly well aware of the feeling that existed against him, and even if he had wanted to deceive himself in this matter, one thing would have opened his eyes to this fact. This was the condescending manner in which young Willberg regularly every week, purely as a matter of form, made his excuses for not having been able to return the £50 which he had been obliging enough to lend him.

"I really do not want the money," George said every time; "on the contrary, I live so economically that I save money. I would gladly lend you a larger amount, and you need not hurry about paying it back."

George noticed how very gladly young Willberg accepted the generously-offered help, for it was an open secret that he would not be able to go on much longer. Nobody knew exactly how he stood with regard to money matters. He did not gamble more than the others, but he had other expenses. In the eyes of young girls in Society, he enjoyed much distinction in consequence of his amours. He knew how interesting he was to them, because he had the reputation of not being able to be faithful to anyone. And he knew equally well that in spite of this reputation, or rather just because of it, he would have no difficulty in winning a rich wife one day. The bride would be envied for having a fiancÉ with such an interesting past; they would consider her lucky to have caught him. He intended to marry later, but his wife must have money, a great deal of money, for he had no intention of changing his mode of life when he was a married man. Willberg had no idea of the value of money, and whenever he was able to borrow a few pounds from a relative he could not rest until he had spent it. He was continually in debt, and just now things were very bad with him. He was always complaining of his wretched position, and drank more wine than usual to drown his cares. He owed money all round the regiment, and George foresaw that it would not be long before young Willberg would again borrow from him without being able to discharge his former debt. And the moment came sooner than even George had imagined.

George had gone home one day from the mess-room earlier than usual. He had received a letter from his friend Olga, a young actress at the Residenz Theatre, saying that she would come to supper with him. At first he had thought of putting her off, as he had some important work to do, but finally he had telegraphed to her: "Come, I am expecting you." He had not the heart to spoil her evening. She was so fond of him, and so happy in his comfortable and beautifully-furnished rooms. There was nothing more delightful to her than to admire his beautiful things and rummage in his library.

Soon they were sitting in the little dining-room, opposite each other at the charmingly decorated table, and George observed laughingly how she enjoyed the oysters and Pommery.

"It is all very well for you to laugh. You have just come from dinner, but I have eaten nothing since three o'clock."

"My dear child, go on eating. I am only too delighted if it is to your taste, and the more you eat the better pleased I am. And when you have finished these oysters here, there is another dozen outside on ice, and after that there is your favourite dish—stuffed artichokes."

She clapped her hands with pleasure like a child; then she looked at him gratefully with her wide-open, dark brown eyes, and softly stroked his hand. "How good and kind you are to me."

"Really, Olga!" He was almost embarrassed by the feeling in her voice, and attempted to joke: "Don't make fun of me, Olga. If the whole extent of my kindness to you consists in my telling my landlady to cook your favourite dishes, it is really not very much." And after a slight pause, he added: "I am very fond of you, little Olga."

She looked at him delighted. "Do you really mean it?" And when he bowed and drank her health, she said: "Do you know, I believe you. Indeed when I am with you I know that you are fond of me."

Suddenly she jumped up, clung to him, and kissed him passionately.

"But, Olga, my dear girl, your oysters will be getting cold," he said at last, as she went on caressing him.

Laughingly she stopped and sat down again.

Olga was a picturesque looking girl of medium height, faultless figure, a bright intelligent face, wonderful brown eyes and a charming little nose. Everything about her was petite. She had small hands that were most carefully attended to, and ravishing little feet. Her whole expression and bearing was sympathetic in the highest degree. Without being exactly clever she was amusing and bright. One could talk to her for hours together without suffering a moment's boredom; she could tell amusing stories and was always ready to see a joke. She laughed so heartily that the tears came into her eyes, and when she laughed she always showed her dazzling white teeth. One thing about her was especially attractive to George, she was a thoroughly straightforward creature. She was always good-tempered and amiable, never capricious or extravagant. Only once had she ever expressed a wish to George. For days he had noticed that something worried her; he urged her constantly to tell him, and at last she did so.

"But, first of all, you must put out the gas, otherwise I shall be so terribly ashamed; you mustn't look at me when I tell you."

Laughingly he had agreed to her wish, and then she had confessed: "I want a little gold watch tremendously."

And when he remained speechless with astonishment at her modesty, she went on: "Don't be angry with me, I saw a perfectly lovely watch in a shop window for a hundred marks, but if that is too much, a cheaper one will do perfectly well."

When he had carried out her desire, and bought her a costly watch and a gold chain, she had sat the whole evening with him without taking any interest in him, but playing with her watch, alternately laughing and crying for joy. At the beginning of their acquaintanceship she could not be induced to accept anything from him; for days he had argued with her, and only at last did she allow him to make her an allowance when he declared in the most emphatic manner that otherwise he would have nothing further to do with her. He paid for her rooms and everything she required without pampering her. For his own sake he took care that things were all right for her, and without her knowing it he regularly put £10 in the bank for her every week. "Then at least she need not throw herself into the arms of the first best man whenever we separate," he said to himself.

He had been to the bank on her account this very day, and on his way back he had bought a pretty little brooch, which he just remembered. "Good gracious, Olga, I quite forgot something. Look, here's a little trifle for you."

He got up and fetched the jewel-case, and enjoyed the delighted look that she cast upon the ornament.

"George, you really ought not to give me such presents."

"Oh, that's all right, I never give more than I can afford, and, like all my presents, it is paid for."

She thanked him once more, then she said: "Do you know, I am really to be envied for knowing you? Don't misunderstand me, you know perfectly well that I want nothing from you and ask nothing of you. Once I know I asked you for a watch, and I am heartily ashamed of it, and if I had ever imagined that you would have spent so much over it I would never have mentioned it, for I would not have you imagine for a moment that I care for you because you are rich."

"But, Olga, I know all that, you have no need to tell me. You were going to tell me, however, why you are to be envied because we are friends."

"Because you are an honourable man, because—well, how can I tell you. You see all my friends at the theatre have a patron and protector. But what sort of men are they? Men of the world in the worst sense of the word, who bluster and bully, contract debt after debt, and if they give a present it is not paid for; everything they give is borrowed, and that destroys all pleasure in receiving the gift. But everything connected with you is so high-class, straightforward, solid. Your way of living is like your character; one knows one can rely on you, that you are a thoroughly honourable and reliable man."

Again George was embarrassed. "Olga, Olga, why these expressions of affection after so long an acquaintanceship?"

"To-day is just the right moment," she replied, and then with some confusion she added: "This very day, three months ago, I met you for the first time."

"Are you sorry?"

She kissed his hand. "You—you—I—I am awfully fond of you. How could I indeed be sorry?" Then she continued very earnestly: "You know, for I have already told you, how that blackguard of a lieutenant treated me, and I swore henceforward to be an honourable woman and to have nothing to do with a man. I kept to my resolution for a year. Well, what happened then? Then there came along someone whom I liked very much, and who was very good and kind to me. You know it is very difficult to be respectable on the stage; we inferior ones are always envious of the 'stars' who go about in silk and satin, and who frequently cannot act any better than the others, and who only owe their position to a rich friend who pays for their dresses and arranges with the director and manager that his protÉgÉe shall be brought out and given a good part. Well, that's how it is, and besides one wants to enjoy one's life; everybody does the same, not only those who are on the stage. We are not the worst; the others who do it all secretly and pose as highly respectable young women, they are really the worst."

"Now, now, Olga, take a glass of wine. Why do you get into a temper? Do be cheerful again."

After a short struggle her naturally kindly disposition got the upper hand. "You are quite right. I cannot alter what has already happened, but still the lieutenant was a blackguard; you remember I told you he shot himself later, and that was the best thing he could do."

"Don't be so hard, Olga."

"Pray do not stand up for him," she went on angrily. "I know what you feel: that if a young girl accepts an invitation from an officer she must know quite well what to expect. But I was very young and inexperienced then."

"But, Olga, I cannot understand you to-day. What is the matter with you? Why do you insult the officers in this way. You remember I am one."

"Ah, you," she said tenderly. "You are not really one of them. You are much too honourable. You are a man, the others are stuck-up apes, and besides that, generally liars and betrayers."

"Olga, I beg you with all seriousness to cease making these remarks. Whatever is the matter with you? Shall we stay here or go into the sitting-room?" he asked her presently.

"Let us go into the sitting-room," she replied. She loved the large beautiful room with its splendid carpet, heavy portiÈre and the fine pictures. Best of all she loved the large comfortable leather seat in front of the fire, and every time that she visited George she meant to ask him to let her sit in that chair after dinner. She had never done so, because on every occasion, to-day included, directly they went into the sitting-room George drew out the chaise longue for her, put a cushion under her head, and covered her with a great bear rug. He always did this, and treated her with so much love and such tender consideration that she had not the heart to tell him how uncomfortable she was.

"Are you comfortable, darling?"

Again, from affection, she told him an untruth: "Simply lovely."

He kissed her tenderly, handed her a cigarette, took a cigar for himself, and then sat down on a chair by her side.

"You do live in a splendid way, George. You can't imagine how happy I feel when I am with you."

"Because you are in my rooms, or because you are with me?"

"Because I am in your rooms, naturally," she said teasingly. "Why ever should I care about you? You are an old cynic who does not deserve that I should like him so much and be so nice to him. Oh, you dear old silly, come here, and let me give you a kiss. Well, now, that will do, be sensible and sit down nicely and tell me what you have been doing lately. What parties have you been to, and with whom have you danced? Whom did you go for your cure with?"

George answered and asked questions. Olga showed a real and sincere interest in everything that concerned him; he knew that he could entirely trust her, and that later, when they parted, she would make no use of anything he had told her, and so he spoke quite frankly to her. He told her about the regiment, his parents, and his sister, but naturally enough he never spoke a word about Hildegarde. He had not once mentioned her name, and to-day likewise he was silent on the subject. Not indeed that he feared Olga would be jealous; she was too sensible and intelligent for that, and, moreover, she had often said she wished he would marry a lovely and beautiful wife. In spite of all that, however, an inexplicable feeling prevented his speaking about Hildegarde to her.

Olga listened to him attentively; many of the names of the people in Society were familiar to her, she remembered them from his former accounts, and she showed by her questions now and again that she was following him with real interest. Naturally she was most interested in knowing what the ladies wore, but she did not get much information from him on this point.

"How can you be so foolish as not to notice these things?" she scolded him. "A woman is most interested in what another woman has on."

"Or rather what she has not on," he said mockingly.

The entrance of the servant put an end to their conversation.

"A letter has just come for you, sir."

"Any answer?"

"The messenger did not say anything, he did not wait."

"Very well."

The servant disappeared and George held the note a moment in his right hand unopened.

"Who is it from?" inquired Olga.

"I do not know how it is, but a vague feeling tells me that this letter contains something unpleasant for me."

"Shall I read it to you then? If I think the contents will vex you I will tear it up and never tell you what was in it."

He kissed her hand. "You are a dear little thing, but I am afraid that won't do. Well, let us see what it is."

He opened the envelope with a paper-knife, turned over the sheet and looked at the signature. A slight triumphant smile played round his mouth. "Ah, ha, Willberg, I said so!"

Olga had risen and was leaning her head on her right hand; now she looked at George anxiously and expectantly. "Willberg, what does he want of you? You told me once how oddly he behaved to you. Why does he write you?"

Instead of an answer George handed her the letter, and Olga read:

"Dear Winkler,—Although I am still deep in your debt, and am no more able to discharge it to-day than I was weeks ago, yet I am forced once more to ask you for help, and that as promptly and swiftly as possible. To-day we have been gambling simply frightfully. I lost five thousand marks—four thousand to the Uhlan, on whom I wanted to take my revenge. I must pay this four thousand marks by to-morrow morning, otherwise I must leave the army. I do not know where to get the money from; you are my only means of salvation. You have so often offered me money that I feel quite sure you will not now leave me in the lurch.

"Perhaps you will have the goodness to send the money along by your servant Fritz, your man, or any other human being you like. I shall stay at home and await your answer. I thank you most heartily beforehand for once more getting me out of a terrible scrape.—With sincere regards, yours gratefully,

"F. von Willberg."

Olga folded up the letter and returned it to George.

"Well, what do you think of it?"

"The letter is simply a model," she opined, "short, polite, and childishly naÏve. 'I have been gambling, please pay my debts. The man writes with a nonchalance and a coolness as if he asked you to take a glass of wine with him. Willberg is simply delicious."

"Yes, you are not far wrong," said George, who felt somewhat hurt by the tone of the letter. "A young lieutenant, who has nothing in the world to call his own but an allowance of a few pounds, sits down with the greatest confidence at the card-table and gambles away a £50 bank-note, one after the other. When he has come to the end of his ready money he plays for credit, and when the game is over and he is deeply involved, he sits down calmly and writes to his friends and acquaintances: 'Please be so good as to pay my debts.' And if he knows that he can get no help from these sources, because he has already exhausted them, then he applies to any rich man whom perhaps he has only met twice in his life, and borrows from him with a naÏvetÉ and a shamelessness that is inimitable. He knows quite well that he must get the money somewhere. If matters do not go so smoothly as he anticipated, he becomes melodramatic, talks about leaving the regiment, abandoning the army, Courts of Honour, a bullet through his head, and such things. And there are very few people who are not moved when it is a question of saving, as they say, a young and promising human life—which in most cases is not worth the value of the bullet. And so they put their hands in their pocket and give the lieutenant what he needs to set him on his legs again and be once more an 'honourable' man. I do not know if you will understand what I am going to say, Olga, but the greatest misfortune for our lieutenants is—I do not say our officers, but only our lieutenants—that on account of their uniform and position they can get credit everywhere. Many educated, or only half-educated, rich people who gladly entertain the officers, so that they may be considered in 'Society,' constantly press their assistance upon these lieutenants just on the chance of their getting into difficulties. The lieutenant sees it all quite clearly; he says to himself: 'I get into debt, somebody else will pay.' And our lieutenants will remain as they are, and will never alter until they are no longer given credit; he will only change when people are no longer foolish enough to lend money to every lieutenant who wants it."

"And do you suppose that day will come?"

"It will come when the world ceases to see in every man who wears a uniform a marvellous creature."

"Then that will be never."

"I almost believe you are right," he agreed with her; and then, becoming even more serious, he went on: "You know it's very hard on our lieutenants, for, au fond, there is good stuff in them, but they get frightfully spoiled and petted. Officers are forbidden to contract debts just as they are forbidden to gamble; but nobody troubles in the least about these prohibitions, which are known, not only to the officers themselves, but to everybody in Society and to the tradesmen. But, just as in a club a civilian would never dream of saying to a lieutenant, 'Sir, I do not wish to be discourteous, but I know that His Majesty has forbidden the officers to play cards,' so no tradesman would think of saying to a lieutenant, 'I am not allowed to give you goods on credit; I know you are not allowed to contract debts.' The lieutenant alone is not to blame. Society and the tradesman, who not only make it possible for him to evade the law, but also help him to do it quite easily, and even lead him into doing so are largely responsible for the fact that our officers of to-day, in regard to manners and morals, are no longer what they once were and what they will have to be again." And then, half-seriously, half-laughingly, he concluded, "Did you understand all I was talking about, you dear little duffer?"

"Every word, and you are quite right."

"I only wish that other people would think so too," he said, somewhat amused; "but I believe that if one of the 'Golden Butterflies' had heard my remarks he would have said I was out of my mind, summoned me before a Court of Honour on account of my seditious words, and then I should have been asked, 'If you think like this, why did you become an officer?' I could only answer, 'When a man enters upon a career he knows nothing about it. Indeed, he can know nothing about it. The knowledge of what it means to be an officer only comes with the course of years.' I have had my apprenticeship. I have gone through the world with fairly wide-open eyes, and have kept my ears on the alert, and I must say that had I known earlier what it was like among our officers, had I had the faintest conception of their behaviour, of the way in which they ran up debts, of the discontent with military matters, the bitterness and hatred against the authorities, the poverty and the misery, I should have thought twice before donning a uniform."

"But why do you keep it on?"

George gazed at the clouds of smoke for a little while, then he asked her, "Are you quite sure, my dear child, you are not really bored with all this discussion?"

"Not at all," she cried out quickly; "I could lie here for hours and listen to you."

"Very well then, I will answer your question, which I have been thinking about for a long time, much longer than anyone would believe. The reason why I still wear the officer's uniform is, in my case, short and to the point—pride."

"Pride!" she asked with astonishment.

"You know, of course, how I have been treated in the regiment. I have never made the least mystery about it to you. If I were to take off my uniform now, the 'Golden Butterflies' would have attained the object they had desired from the very first—they would have got rid of me, they would again be among themselves; their aristocratic society would be again without spot or blemish. I am not going to give them that triumph, which would mean defeat for me. I am not a fighter, but I have my ambition and my honourable feelings, and I intend to see if I cannot make a proper position for myself in the regiment. How often do I not long for a chance of distinguishing myself in some way or other, of doing something out of the ordinary—but in vain. So I must try to win a position by scrupulous fulfilment of my military duties, diligence and reliability. Do you imagine I have a pleasant life here? I am young, I am rich, and though I am no spendthrift, still I should like to enjoy my youth a little more than I do. I should like to live on a bigger scale, keep horses, and carriages, and servants, go travelling about, and so on. I know perfectly well what I should do, but I simply dare not. If the adjutant of the regiment, Count Wettborn, did all this, the officers would be proud of the nobleman who knew how to represent them in so splendid a fashion: everybody would be delighted that he had the means of living in a manner so suitable to his rank. They would praise the aristocrat; they would find fault with me. If I lived in grand style, only one word would be applied to me—snob. And short work is always made with a snob. He is not wanted in a regiment in which the other officers are supposed to live economically, but who, in reality, are over head and ears in debt. My so-called ostentation and snobbery would be an excellent reason for getting rid of me, and I don't want that. I do not myself believe that my life as a lieutenant will be a long one; but whenever I do go, I shall be able to tell myself and the others why I am going. I shall hold my head high, but they will be covered with shame, if, indeed, they are capable of feeling shame."

Olga saw the deep furrows on his brow, and she noticed his intense emotion.

"George," she begged in a gentle voice, "come here to me, let me kiss you, do not get so angry about these officers."

"My darling, it is all very well for you to talk—not get angry indeed! To-day seems specially appointed for the revelation of all kinds of things which have hitherto been kept silent. I may as well tell you, therefore, that I suffer frightfully in my present surroundings, yet I am conscious of no other fault but that of belonging to the middle-class. If, indeed, these aristocratic gentlemen were free from all faults and failings, if they were really superior in military and other duties, if the officers were in very truth what they ought to be—an example of chivalry and honour; if they possessed nobility, not only of birth but of feeling and disposition, then I would not hesitate for a moment. I would say to them frankly and freely: 'I feel that my presence is unwelcome to you. From the modern and enlightened point of view I do not in the least understand your standpoint, but in spite of that I honour you, and I will no longer be an annoyance to you.' But consider how matters really stand? Of course, there are exceptions, honourable exceptions everywhere, and it would indeed be sad if there were not any among the nobility. I can only judge, however, by what I have seen myself, and I must say that in their mode of life and interest in their military duties, the most aristocratic officers are not one whit superior to my bourgeois comrades, whom they look down upon with such contempt. And what a protection a title is! The world, which nowadays is more or less democratic, is not to have the pleasure of seeing an aristocrat sentenced to punishment, the people are not to be given the joy of saying: 'After all, these noblemen are just like other people.' In every way a nobleman has all kinds of advantages, not because he does anything particularly wonderful, but simply because, according to old women's tales, he is something wonderful. And one can no more fight against this than against stupidity. I get so enraged about this, that in spite of my uniform I am almost inclined to be a social democrat. I see more and more how the middle-class person is more or less regarded as a creature whose only justification for existing is that he forms the dark background which shows up the nobleman so brilliantly and gloriously."

"Good gracious, George," cried out Olga, quite frightened, "I don't know you when you are in this mood; I have never heard you speak, boy, so bitterly before."

"I am not bitter now, I assure you. What I told you was not said on the spur of the moment, but is the result of much thought and mature and keen observation. But now let us stop speaking about these serious things. I will just go and send off the money to this noble Willberg, and then, my darling, I am entirely at your disposal."

He rose from his seat to go to his writing-desk, but Olga held him back. "Will you do me a favour, George. You know I have never asked you for anything important, but this time it is. Will you grant it me?"

"Certainly, if I can. Why not? I am very fond of you."

"And I am very fond of you; it is just because of that I ask you to give me your word that you will do what I want."

"My darling, how can I do such a thing? One must not pledge his word of honour lightly; you know perfectly well I would do anything for you if I could. Now what is it?"

She had risen from her reclining position, and looked at him entreatingly, her eyes dilating. She was quite white from mental excitement, and her voice trembled as she said: "Do me the favour, and don't send the money to Willberg."

He regarded her with intense astonishment. "Why ever not? The money is lying idle here, and even if I hadn't it myself I could easily get it. I have constantly offered Willberg my help; I must certainly give it him now. Besides, it is a great satisfaction to me, as you will understand, that he should have to apply to me again. You don't want to spoil my pleasure, do you?"

And he turned to go, but Olga kept him back. "George, give your money to whomsoever you like—do with it whatever you like—it is no concern of mine, but you must not help Willberg. Do you understand? You ought not to help him!"

She spoke with such resolution and determination that he went up to her and seized her hand; he noticed how she trembled, and a feeling of nervous excitement took possession of him.

"Olga, you are keeping silent about something; you must have reasons which you are concealing from me, but I insist on knowing everything. When you ask me not to help Willberg, and tell me that I ought not to help him, you must also tell me the reason why."

She looked at him with an expression of profound love. "Do not ask me, do not torture me, I cannot tell you."

"And what if I insist?" He also had become deadly pale, and he held her hand in an iron grip. "I insist upon knowing—do you understand? You must not utter a half complaint, but you must have the courage to tell the whole truth. I have always considered you an honourable, faithful and upright person—don't show me I have made a mistake."

A mighty conflict raged within her as she stood by him; her eyes were cast down, her whole body trembled, and she was swayed and tossed about by terrible mental struggles. Then she raised her eyes and looked at him frankly and openly. "Very well, then, you shall know all, but only on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"That you give me your word of honour not to tell Willberg a word of what I am going to tell you. There is no reason why you should not do that."

He regarded her doubtfully. "Is that really so?"

Then she looked him straight in the face. "Yes, but, in spite of this, if you are ever in a situation when you can no longer keep your promise, then I will release you after eight days—no more nor less; till then, you can quietly think over what I have to say to you." And after a little while she asked him, in a hesitating tone of voice, "Do you really insist that I am to tell you everything, when the result may be that we separate, and are never more friends?"

A dark suspicion arose in his mind. "You were once on intimate terms with Willberg?" he asked with excitement, but then, more calmly, he went on: "But I could not very well be angry with you about that, for you could not have possibly known then that we should ever have met."

Olga bit her lips in fury. "I know that only too well. I told you that the villain who betrayed me took his life soon after. That was not true; he is still living, and his name is Willberg."

George fell back as if he had been struck, then he sprang up and seized Olga by the shoulders. "Tell me, it is not true—it cannot be true."

She freed herself from his grasp. "Come, George, be reasonable; what has happened cannot be altered now."

He sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "What a blackguard!" he said, gnashing his teeth, "what a blackguard!" And suddenly springing up, he demanded: "Swear on your oath—have you still any connection with him, or does he know that we are intimate?"

"I am perfectly faithful to you," she answered him calmly, and he knew from the tone of her voice that she was speaking the truth. "I have only seen Willberg once since."

"And when was that?" he asked, with great excitement.

"On the very day that I met you for the first time. He sent me a letter, saying he must see me without fail on a matter that concerned my own interests. At first I did not mean to answer him, but when I read the letter again, I felt sure that it really was a matter of serious importance. So I named an hour when I would be at home to him. And he came."

"Go on," urged George, as she was silent for a moment. "What did this honourable gentleman want with you?"

"He said he had quite by chance seen us together one evening, and had followed us unobserved—I had no ground for denying my acquaintanceship with you; indeed, I could not, in view of what he had seen—and he entreated me most imploringly not to mention his name to you. I had never intended to do so, and had formerly made up my mind to be silent concerning his name, but, in spite of that, I appeared as if I were greatly astonished, and asked why he made such a request?"

"And what did he answer?"

"He said that he must admit that he had not treated me quite fairly that night."

"'Quite fairly'—that is splendid!" sneered George.

"He knew that he ought to have given me some compensation, but he was not then in a position to do anything for me. Now he offered me one thousand marks, partly as hush-money for the future."

"Did you take the money?"

"Before his very eyes I threw it into the blazing fire, and rejoiced in his look of horror. After that he returned to the object of his visit. He begged me not to tell you what had happened. He and you were in the same regiment, I ought not disturb the friendship which existed between you. Probably you would not think he had acted quite rightly (so he said), it might lead to a quarrel. Such a thing is very disagreeable, especially in a proud and distinguished regiment, which, more than all others, must preserve outward appearances. And, besides, you could not fight a duel on my behalf. To cut the story short, I don't remember what else he said; I listened to him without answering a word, and the longer I was silent the more humble and pitiable he became, till at last he stood before me like a schoolboy who has been severely rebuked. He fell on his knees, begged my pardon, and entreated me to keep silence; it was then that I promised never to mention his name to you. To-day I have given his name, but I was compelled. It is your fault, not mine, for I spoke on your account. You may be sure I don't want to run the risk of losing you because of him." Suddenly she was overcome with anguish that now she would be repulsive and hateful in his sight; she sprang towards him and fell on her knees. "George, tell me you still love me, that you will not send me away—it was not my fault."

He bent over her and kissed her on the forehead.

"Get up, dear, why should I be angry with you, indeed? How could I hold you responsible for what a villain did, and it's not your fault that his name is Willberg? But he shall answer for what he has done."

"He must not do that," cried Olga; "you have given me your word to tell him nothing about it, and you will keep it, for I do not believe that any occasion will arise to make me absolve you from your promise."

He sank into a chair and looked gloomily in front of him. Had he the slightest ground for proceeding against Willberg? He might of course say to him: "I know a young girl, and am aware that you have treated her like a blackguard." Willberg could not possibly allow this insult to pass unnoticed; there would be, at the least, a quarrel, probably a duel, and, as a result, an investigation by a Court of Honour. A good deal of dirt would be thrown about, but what would be the use of that? Willberg would most likely be dismissed from the army, and what then? What advantage would that be to anybody? There would be one less dishonourable man in the army certainly, but who would have to bear the consequences of that? Only George, for he would never be pardoned for having acted so harshly towards the darling of the regiment. Willberg after his dismissal would still find faithful friends enough who would help him. He would not suffer too excessively in no longer wearing officer's uniform. No, George could take no steps against him, he had no case against him; he was obliged to admit to himself that personally Willberg had done him no harm, no injury, and if he stepped in on behalf of Olga's honour, the town and the world would shake their heads, and the colonel would make it quite clear to him that men do not fight a duel on account of a young woman like Olga. She was certainly an excellent, worthy young woman, she was under a talented actress, but still—in imagination George heard their remarks, and he doubled up his fists in a fury of rage. Then another thought occurred to him. What would his parents, what would Hildegarde say, when they learnt that he had fought a duel for the sake of his mistress? They must not know anything whatever about the matter.

For nearly five minutes George sat deeply immersed in thought, and Olga watched his expression with intense anxiety: her reputation, her career, were at stake. What had taken place between her and Willberg was known only to themselves and George; she had told no one about it; she had never mentioned the name of her betrayer. If George thought the affair ought not to rest with him, and that he ought to inform the Court of Honour concerning it, then she would be forced to absolve him from his promise, and the whole town would learn in a few days what up till to-day was a secret. She would not be able to remain in Berlin; she felt that she could never again face an audience who knew how she had been treated.

"Well, George," she said at last, "have you yet made up your mind what you are going to do?"

"Yes," he answered firmly, "the blackguard deserves to be struck in the face, but I shall not do that; I shall not say a word of what you have told me to anyone, not even to him, however difficult it may be for me. But I am obliged to act thus on your account, for I care too much about you to expose you to public discussion, public gossip, and probably to universal condemnation, for the world must have suddenly changed if in spite of everything it does not hold you to blame. But as I have just said, I will not do so, and so there's an end of the matter."

She clung to him and put her arm round his neck.

"Thank you, George."

He led her to the chaise longue and sat down by her side. "Good God, what filth! There is just one thing I should like to know. Do you happen to remember the day—I mean the date when this—this—creature came to you and entreated you to keep silence?"

"How could I not remember it?" she said teasingly, trying to restore him to a happier frame of mind: "don't you know I just told you it was the day after I first met you. Surely, George, you have not forgotten that!"

He knitted his brow. "Don't be vexed, Olga, but my brain is in such a whirl just now that I simply can't remember a thing."

She took from her finger a diamond ring which he had given her in remembrance of their first meeting, on which the date was engraved. Then she handed it to him.

"Yes, of course, how could I have forgotten it!" He was suddenly thoughtful, and then he jumped up with a start.

"What is the matter now?" she asked, frightened.

"Nothing, nothing," he assured her; "I just remembered that when Willberg came to me for the first time to borrow money, he must have known of our relations. He had seen you, and yet he had the audacity to come to me. Now it's all clear to me; now I understand why he begged me so urgently not to say a word to anyone; he feared that perhaps I would tell you, and that then it would come out how he had treated you. Of course, that was it!"

He strode up and down the room, occupied with his own thoughts.

"George," Olga begged; "do me the favour of writing a few words to Willberg. Tell him you cannot give him the money, and then forget the hateful story."

George stood still. "You are right; Willberg is waiting for news. I forgot all about that; and the forms of politeness must be preserved, however difficult it may be."

He wrote a few lines, in which he regretted that he was not at the moment able to place the money desired at his friend's disposal, and then he sent his servant with the note.

"One thing worries me," said George: "I do not know if I have enough self-control and strength of mind to meet Willberg calmly to-morrow and act as if I was not aware of his shameful behaviour."

"Can't you keep out of his way. He is in another company, I know, and is he not in a different battalion?"

"That is so, but of course I meet him at mess, and even if I do not meet him to-morrow I shall have to the next day, for we may not absent ourselves from the mess dinner for more than two days without an adequate reason. I fear that my blood may not be sufficiently cool by then."

Olga thought for a moment, then she asked: "Cannot you get leave of absence? I should of course be very sorry not to see you for a week or a fortnight, but a holiday would do you good; you would enjoy yourself and have a change of thought. You could easily get leave, I should think."

"That is so," he agreed, "there is not much doing just at present, and they could not refuse me leave of absence, but where should I go? Home? I don't want to see my father and mother just now. I could not be light-hearted and gay, and they would notice that something depressed me; my coming would upset them instead of delighting them."

"I know," cried Olga suddenly: "You said just now you would like to enjoy your life. Go for a fortnight to Paris, to Monte Carlo, or anywhere else where it is delightful, and when you see beautiful women, give them my greeting, and tell them they are to be good and kind to you; I shall not be jealous." And then with a roguish laugh she added: "You know you will not remain faithful to me."

"I shall," he said firmly.

"No, no," she answered laughingly. "I wager anything you won't."

"But I shall have no chance of being unfaithful to you."

She looked at him astonished. "How do you mean? For what reason?"

"For the simplest of all reasons—you will come with me."

"George!" Laughing and crying with joy, she flung her arms round his neck. "You will take me with you? I shall see Paris or some other beautiful town? George, you are really too good and kind," and she kissed him again and again. Suddenly she stopped.

"What is the matter with you?"

"I cannot go with you."

"Why ever not?"

"You shall not be able to say that I persuaded you into taking a holiday for my own advantage; besides, I do not know if I can get permission to go."

"The first reason is absurd," he said. "I am not so sure if it will be a pleasure to come with me, but you give me great happiness by your company. Nothing is more unpleasant, at least to me, than to travel alone, to sit in a carriage by oneself, to have meals alone, to wander through the museums and galleries alone, and to have no one with whom one can discuss things. There will be no difficulty about getting permission; just now you are not very busy at the theatre."

"Yes, but—the rÉpertoire may be changed any day."

"Dear child," he assured her, "your director is not a brute. To-morrow ask him to give you leave of absence, and if he makes any difficulties tell him you are prepared to pay two to three thousand marks' compensation if he will absolve you from a fortnight's duty. I assure you he will give you a holiday for as long as you like."

She seized hold of his hand and kissed it gratefully. "How dear and kind you are. Do you mean you will pay so much money to free me from my engagement? But I can tell you I shall first offer five hundred marks, then another five hundred, and so on, but under no circumstances will I give more than two thousand."

He laughed gaily. "You can do as you like as regards that. I will give you the money at once. Whatever you have over belongs to you, of course."

She clapped her hands with joy. "I shall buy a very elegant travelling costume with it."

"Don't do it, darling," he requested. "Whatever you need in the way of dresses I will buy you in Paris. During all the time that I have been a lieutenant I have never spent half my allowance, and so it has gone on accumulating. Now I can spend a large sum of money without any conscientious scruples."

"Shall we really go to Paris?" she asked, with beaming eyes.

"If all goes well, to-morrow evening. We will take my man with us. I can rely absolutely on his silence. You will get in at the North Station, I at the South. I will carefully examine the train to see if any of my acquaintances are in it, and I will have a carriage reserved for us, so that we may travel in state. And if anybody sees us together later on, what does it matter? And, besides, who knows us in Paris?"

"Have you ever been there?"

"Yes."

He began to tell of the beauties and charms of Paris, and, tenderly clinging to him, she listened to his description of the delights which she was to enjoy with him.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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