"Who on earth was that?" said one voice,--it was Baron Oldenburg,--"was not that the pretty Emily? What has the little angler been fishing for here in these troubled waters?--But now, Barnewitz, I ask with Hamlet: Whither do you lead me? Speak, I will go no further. Twice I have brought my baronial knees into unpleasant contact with coarse chair-legs, thanks to the abominable clair obscur which prevails in these rooms. Heaven be thanked! here is a causeuse: eh bien, mon ami; que me voulez-vous?"

"I pray you, Oldenburg, be serious for a moment," said Baron Barnewitz, and his voice sounded strangely subdued--"I really do not feel in the least like laughing."

"You are a strange creature! You and the like of you. You think an honest fellow cannot utter a serious word without making a face like a mute's. Humor is an unknown luxury here. Well then, my serious friend, what is the matter?"

"Listen, Oldenburg----"

"Hush! Are you quite safe here? It seemed to me I heard a cat behind the hangings."

"It was nothing."

"Eh bien; then announce to me your fatal tale in the fewest possible words."

The voices of the speakers became lower, but not so low that Oswald could not hear every word distinctly. He deplored his position, which compelled him to listen, but he saw no chance of escaping. As Oldenburg had recognized Emily von Breesen, he would have compromised her honor if he had shown himself now. He tried to open the window, in order to escape by a bold leap over the gooseberry bushes, which were right underneath, into the garden, and from there through the open door back again into the ball-room; but he abandoned the plan as too hazardous, and tried to reconcile himself as well as he could, though not without secretly cursing his evil star, to his half-ludicrous, half-painful situation.

"Oldenburg," said Barnewitz, "did Cloten ask you to let him sit by my wife, or was it a notion of your own?"

"Why do you ask that curious question?"

"Never mind. Just answer."

"Not before I know what you are aiming at."

"I want an answer and no subterfuge," said the furious nobleman.

"Your threats do not terrify me, Cassius," replied Oldenburg, in a tone, the royal dignity of which contrasted strongly with the hoarse, passionate voice of the other. "I tell you once more, Barnewitz, either you tell me what you mean by that question, or I refuse to answer."

"Well then, the thing is briefly this: Cloten is in love with Hortense!"

"Oh! and vice versÂ: is your wife in love with this lovely youth?"

"I wish he were where the pepper grows!"

"A very charitable wish, in which I join you with all my heart. Since when has this comedy been played?"

"Since our return from Italy."

"And what evidences have you?"

"A thousand!"

"And what do you mean to do?"

"Great Heavens! Oldenburg. You ask me as if I had been playing whist! I want to kill the rascal; I want to drive him from my place here with the whip!"

"Bon! And will you mention one of the thousand proofs?"

"Well, I should think to-night had given proof enough. First, she lets him take her to table; then she coquets with him in the most impudent manner----"

"Stop! Who told you all that?"

"Young Grieben."

"Then tell young Grieben that he might employ his sparrow-brains for a better purpose than to invent such foolish stories, and to report them to you. I sat nearer than he, and I am sure I observe as well as he, and I tell you that your wife and Cloten have behaved just as well at table, as,--well, as you can expect from a nobleman and a lady. And then, please consider that the whole arrangement was only a notion, and, as I now see, a bad notion of mine."

"I can rely upon that, Oldenburg?"

"I generally mean what I say."

"But it is nevertheless true," screamed Barnewitz.

"My dear friend, I have no opinion about that, and you would oblige me very much indeed if you would leave me out of the matter entirely. But if you want my friendly advice, I am quite at your service."

"What ought I to do?"

"Hang your horsewhip on its hook and avoid in every way making a scandal, in which no one suffers more in the end than he at whose expense the whole spectacle is performed, I mean the husband. Then I advise you to remember that our chronique scandaleuse is rich in such stories, and that, if every king among us should in each such case use his whip, there would soon not be saddlers enough in the country. Thirdly, I beg leave to advise you: abolish half of your kennel and all of your mistresses, if you have any. Let the hares eat their cabbages in peace, and the young fellows in the village kiss the pretty girls themselves; take some pains about Hortense, who, like all wives, asks for nothing better than to be beloved, and who is far too sensible not to appreciate your attractions at once, if she has any choice between yourself and Cloten; and finally, let us go again among men, for this philosophic controversy in this mystic twilight has nearly exhausted me, and I long heartily for a glass of champagne."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the drunken host, who, as it generally happens to simple men, fell from one extreme into the other; "yes, you are right, I am a very different sort of a man from Cloten, a miserable whippersnapper, and Hortense knows that pretty well. Ha, ha, ha! you are right, I have lived rather fast of late. You see that journey to Italy has demoralized me. Those wonderful women with their bright black eyes--yes, and À propos of bright eyes, I always wanted to ask you, is it all over with yourself and the Berkow?"

"With me and Frau von Berkow? What a mad notion is that now! what is to be over between us?"

"Why, Oldenburg, you don't want to persuade an old fox like myself that you only looked at the sweet grapes from a distance?"

"Listen, my jewel," said Oldenburg, and his voice sounded like a two-edged sword; "you know I take a joke like anybody, but he who dares touch Melitta's honor, by the great God, he dies by my hand!"

"Well, now, you see how you flare up again!"

"I flare up! I am as cool as iced champagne.--Yes, as I told you, Barnewitz; promise me not to do anything in this matter to-day, nor to-morrow, nor at any time, till you have conferred with me; especially don't let your wife see anything--you hear, Barnewitz, not the least sign?"

"Well, your good advice comes too late," said Barnewitz. "I told Hortense in passing a few words; she turned pale like a sheet. The rascal."

"That was very wrong, and not very chivalrous, my good knight of the sorrowful countenance," said Oldenburg; "old women talk, but men act. Such scenes between a noisy husband and a weeping wife are beyond all measure plebeian and vulgar, and if we know that we are right and others are wrong, we should be doubly mild, delicate, and tolerant. To be wrong and to have to confess it is punishment enough."

"Ah, Oldenburg, that is too refined for me; and then you don't know the women, if you think they take such matters very much to heart. In at one ear and out at the other. Come, Oldenburg, and convince yourself, if you can see, that I told Hortense ten minutes ago I would break every bone in Cloten's body if the abominable story was not instantly brought to an end!"

"Yes, you are a genuine Othello! And I, in my stupid good-nature, must try to wash this brutal Moor into a civilized European! Quelle bÊtise!"

When Oswald heard the voices of the two men no longer, and the music sounding across from the ball-room indicated that dancing had begun again, he came forth from his concealment. He expected that this suite of rooms ended in a long passage, which he had noticed in going up to the dining-room. He was not mistaken. There was a door into the passage in the next room; from there he slipped into the hall, and thence, unobserved, into the reception-room. Here and there they were still at whist, but most of the players had gone to the ball-room, where the German was to be danced. Oswald followed the crowd. His eyes sought and soon found Emily von Breesen. He hardly trusted his eyes, she looked so changed; the wild hoyden of just now had grown up into a young lady. She appeared taller and more dignified; her face, rosy before, was pale now, but her eyes shone with an unusual fire, and the jests of her partners elicited not even a smile. As soon as she saw Oswald, a smile flashed over her face. She turned towards him as he approached and said:

"One word, doctor,"--and then in a low voice, "I shall dance the German with you; I know you are not engaged. I have driven Count Grieben to such despair, he is gone off with the old people. He thought, no doubt, he would stun me--the fool! Pardon me, Baron Sylow, I am too tired yet. Dance with my cousin, she will be glad--Heaven be thanked! He is gone.--Oswald, you love me? love me really? I can hardly believe it. My head swims; I could scream for joy. Oh, please don't look at me so, or I must--I must fall on your neck and kiss you as just now. Are you angry, Oswald? It was bad in me, very bad, I know. But you see I could not help it. Why don't you talk, Oswald?"

"Because it is sweeter to listen to you."

"I am such a child, am I not? But why do you talk so formally?"

"Do you think we only love those we treat unceremoniously?"

"No, but we drop ceremony with those we love. Oh, I like that so much! Heaven be thanked, the polka is over. Come, let us try and find a good place; there by the window."

The gentlemen were busy obeying the ladies' orders and arranging the chairs; the circle was almost formed, when all of a sudden, high above the tuning of the obstinate instruments of the musicians and the clinking of glasses on waiters and of cups in the hands of thirsty people, voices were heard in an adjoining room which did not sound very festive. There were loud voices, hoarse with wine and rage--threats fell here and there--only a few words, but just enough to startle all who were in the ball-room, for a moment, out of their forgetfulness of the world. It was only for a moment, for a quarrel in coarse words was by no means a rarity in this refined society, and often lasted much longer than this time. Nor would this interruption have made any more impression than many others on similar occasions, if a second occurrence in the ball-room itself had not lent to the former a peculiar significance, which was quite clear to the cleverer part of the company. For hardly had the hoarse, threatening voices in the next room been silenced by a third voice, which seemed to exercise an undisputed authority over them, than Hortense, who was just about to dance the German, seized the arm of her partner and fell fainting on a chair, which the latter had just had time enough to draw up. The consternation was, of course, very great. Although a dozen smelling-bottles were at once ready, and cologne was poured on brow, eyes, and temples of the fainting beauty, it still lasted several minutes before she recovered enough to smile her thanks, with pallid lips, and to beg them, more by looks than by words, to take her back to the other room. This was done promptly, and those who remained behind looked at each other as if they did not know what to make of the event.

"I suppose the ball is over now?" asked Adolph von Breesen, who was to dance the German with Lisbeth, whom he adored, of Oswald, in an under tone.

"I am afraid so," replied the latter.

"Are we going to dance?" asked a third.

"Impossible," replied Langen; "I have ordered my horses."

"What was the meaning of that affair between Barnewitz and Cloten just now?" asked still another.

"Who knows? They had taken a glass too much. That is all," said Langen.

"I should be glad if that were all," said Breesen, "but I fear there is more behind it. They tell me Cloten left the house on the spot."

Baron Barnewitz appeared by Oldenburg's side in the ball-room. The face of the latter looked as calm as ever, but that of his host was purple with excitement, anger, and overmuch wine; his eyes were swimming, and his voice was unsteady, as he tried to persuade the gentlemen to go on dancing.

"Go home?--nonsense--can't let you go--Halloh! Champagne here--Home?--why? My wife faints at any time, for reasons and without reasons--why? I couldn't see anybody if that--Music! Hi! Go on, music!"

But in spite of these hospitable words, the effect of which was seriously impaired by the evident excitement of the speaker, and in spite of the first notes of the orchestra, which began with a truly fearful discord, very few only were disposed to continue the ball. All the others discovered suddenly that it was quite late, that they had been much longer at table than they imagined, and that it would be unwarrantable to continue festivities in which the hostess herself could take no part--and all the phrases of that kind with which people try to excuse their retreat when they have once determined to leave. One carriage after the other drove up to the door. Mothers looked for their daughters; these for their shawls and fans; everybody was making ready, saying good-by, dropping here a loud joke, there a malicious remark, and at times a stealthy word of love.--Oswald hardly saw anything else but the form of the pretty, impassioned child who had become so dear to him in a few moments.--Love is such a very strange thing that even the mere consciousness of having set loose the supernatural power in others suffices to awaken in us a sensation, which may not be love itself, but which resembles love most strikingly. Love itself is a mirror which reflects our image beautified, so that even the wisest and the most modest cannot help feeling gratified at the sight. Love makes gods of us, and we would not be men, would not be brothers of PhaËton and Ixion, if we did not all of us desire once upon a time to play the god, or at least to dine for once at the table of the gods. But what nectar can be as sweet as the kisses from the dewy lips of a young, lovely creature? as the glances from the eyes of a girl whose bosom swells, for the first time in her life, with loving longing?--as her words, confused and yet so intelligible, like the twittering of a young bird, who would like to break forth in full melodies and still cannot find the right notes as yet.

And Oswald had felt the touch of such lips; Oswald saw such young, beaming eyes rise to his full of bliss, and Oswald heard such low, love-breathing words. Was it a wonder that he spent the last few minutes of his interview with her in giving love for love; that he looked forward to the moment of parting with hardly less dread than she herself, who nearly broke out in tears when her carriage was announced? Emily had availed herself of the opportunity, when Oswald led her back to her aunt, to present him to this lady, who stood to her in her mother's place. A few clever and complimentary words had quickly won him the favor of the matron, who liked nothing better, thoroughly kind-hearted as she was, than to laugh a little at other people's expense. She also invited Oswald to come and see her very soon at Candelin (the estate of Emil's father, who was laid up with the gout, and could not go out).

"Yes, and then we'll have some pistol-shooting," said Adolphus, who came up to tell the ladies that the carriage was ready; "I shall invite a few other gentlemen, so that you won't be too badly bored at our house."

"I have only a very modest talent for being bored, and besides, I think the presence of these ladies, and your own, will be a better preventive against that malady than the company of a hundred persons," said Oswald, with a polite bow.

"You see, Adolphus," said the lively old lady, "Doctor Stein says exactly what I have told you a thousand times: only slow people are bored; you, for instance, and your sister, who are both dying a hundred times a day for sheer ennui."

"I am never bored, dear aunt," said Miss Emily, eagerly.

"Child, you begin to talk wildly; it is high time you should get home. Then au revoir, monsieur."

"I beg you will allow me to see you to your carriage," said Oswald, offering the old lady his arm.

"Vous Êtes bien aimable, monsieur," she replied, accepting the offered arm; "are you quite sure, Mr. Stein, you are not of noble birth?"

"As sure as of my existence, madam. Why?"

"This: you have in your whole manner something chivalrous, that we do not often see nowadays, and then only in our young men of the best families. Adolphus has still much to learn in that direction. Do you hear, Adolphus?"

"I always hear what you say, dear aunt," replied the young man, who followed them with his sister, "even when I have heard your words once or twice before. Emily, child, where are your eyes? That carriage was on the point of driving over you."

The ladies had taken their seats; Adolphus gave the coachman on the box some instructions about the road he was to take. Oswald was standing by the still open door; the aunt had snugly ensconced herself in her corner, and Emily was bending forward a little. The light of the carriage lamps and those at the house door fell upon her face. Her eyes were fixed upon Oswald; but she hardly saw him, for they were veiled by tears; she dared not speak; her trembling lips were eloquent enough. Her brother jumped into the carriage, and drew the door to. "All right!" The horses pulled. A little hand in a white glove beckoned from the window. That was the last sign. The next moment another carriage was on the same spot.

Oswald returned into the house. The company was quite small now, and among the few who were still there, waiting for their carriages and wrapped up in cloaks and shawls, there was no one of those with whom Oswald had come in contact during the day. Langen had been the first to leave, after repeatedly asking his new friend to be sure and pay him soon a visit. Oswald had inquired of the servants if the Grenwitz carriage had come back for him, but they had seen nothing of it. The smaller the company grew, the more embarrassing became his situation. He saw himself already, in imagination, the very last of all the guests, and had resolved rather to return on foot than to have to claim the hospitality of Baron Barnewitz. Just then, however, Oldenburg came from an adjoining room, and seemed to look for somebody. As soon as he saw Oswald, he came up to him and said:

"What do you say, doctor, I think we had better go."

"I should have been gone long ago," replied Oswald, "but just now I am without horses and carriage; I suppose the baron's coachman, who was to come back for me, has fallen asleep on the way."

"I take special pleasure in offering you a seat in my carriage," said the baron. "For the little dÉtour which I shall have to make, in order to set you down at Grenwitz, I shall be amply compensated by the pleasure of your company."

"I accept your kind offer very thankfully."

"Eh bien, partons!"

In the hall they met their host, who was evidently scarcely able any longer to perform his duties as such. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice had become most unpleasantly rough and hoarse. He talked of all sorts of things incoherently, while he made an effort to dismiss every one of his guests with a civil little speech, as he saw them to their carriage. "Want to go already--well, stay at home well--John, your carriage for your mistress--My respects to your husband! Ah! Poggendorf! old boy! Had not seen you here at all! Don't let that wife of yours go home alone! Glass champagne? Eh?--Oldenburg, doctor, not already? Nonsense! Glad to make your acquaintance--shoot devilish well--all right that you put down that Cloten--all right--famous fellow, doctor (tender embrace)--you are my bosom friend (sobbing)--my best friend (another embrace)--you ought to have killed him--the blackguard."

"Come, Barnewitz, I have to tell you something," said Oldenburg, slapping his host vigorously on the shoulder, and leading him a few steps aside from the carriage; "Excuse me a moment, doctor; Charles! make room, so the other carriages can come up!"

The two men walked up and down for some time in eager conversation, now disappearing in the dark part of the courtyard, and now visible again in the illuminated semicircle before the door. Oswald could readily imagine the subject of their conversation. Several times Barnewitz raised his voice, but he lowered it instantly upon a 'St! or a Hush! as a wild beast in a menagerie breaks out in a howl or a growl, and is instantly hushed by the look or the whip of the keeper. "That man has a magic power over others," said Oswald to himself, as he watched the tall, grim form of the baron walking alongside of Barnewitz, who was a head shorter, like Conscience in person by the side of a poor sinner. "I feel something of his dominion myself. There is a demon in that man, a demon which one must either love or hate, or rather love and hate at once; for I feel disposed to hate that man and I cannot do it. And what is he to me after all? If he still loves Melitta, as I think he does, I am more of an enemy to him than he to me. But why did Melitta never tell me how she stands with regard to that long ghost there? I would not have offended her to-day. Poor Melitta! How she looked at me--and what would she say if she had witnessed the scene in the window? Oh, that sweet, charming girl! And her eyes, too, were full of tears, as she sat in the carriage and looked at me so fixedly! Oh! who can be cruel enough to refuse the love of such a heart? And yet

Ah, Goethe! Goethe! What have you not to answer for? You also did not disdain the lily because the rose was so fair, and that is why they surround your head so often with a wreath of lilies and roses. You too would have accepted Emily's great heart, and you would have smoothed her brown hair and kissed her tenderly on her tender eyes! Oh, ye everlasting stars, how lovely the child was at that moment! For, all in all, she is but a child, and to-morrow she will awake in her soft little bed and think she has dreamt the scene in the bay-window during her sleep."

Thus Oswald tried to silence the voice of his conscience--for the moment he was successful.

"Will you get in now, doctor?" the baron said, as he came up with his host. "You understand, Barnewitz?"

"Rely upon it, I'll do what I promised," said the latter, who seemed to be very much benefited by the conversation with his Mentor and the cool night air. "Rely upon it, I give you my word of honor, that I----"

"Hush! Are you comfortable, doctor? Good-by, Barnewitz! All right, Charles!"