The conversation between the baroness and her husband lasted for some time, but Anna Maria was unlucky today in her diplomatic negotiations. She had not been able to bend her daughter's pride, and she was not able, now, to convert her husband to her views, yielding as he generally was. It is a well-known fact, that very pliant persons are apt to become most obstinate and self-willed on some points. It looks as if these points were impregnable fortresses, places of refuge for the will of such men, to which they retire when they have been beaten and overcome everywhere else, in order to defend their independence here to the uttermost. The baroness had experienced this more than once during her lone dominion over her husband. The latter generally confided blindly in her, and worshipped her with a kind of idolatry; but every now and then a spirit of opposition had risen in him, and frequently in matters where she had least expected resistance. She had always known how to avoid difficulties in such cases, by prudent and timely concessions. She had paid little attention to these occurrences, because they were generally caused by mere trifles. But if she had compared these cases of "stubbornness" of the old gentleman with each other, she would have found that they always showed the plain, honest good sense, and the inexhaustible goodness of the baron, as arrayed against some cunning, selfish measure on the side of his wife. The old gentleman might not be considered very clever, but there was something in him that was more powerful than all his wife's sophisms; a divine spark which, if needs be, could still blaze up in a flame. This spark of divine fire was the power of forgetting himself for the sake of others, and of finding his own happiness in the happiness of others. For there never was a greater truth uttered, than that charity is high above all the knowledge and the highest powers of man, and the greatest of all virtues.

People who look upon charity and love as very superfluous articles of luxury, and who have little opportunity to see their efficacy in themselves, are apt to forget these elements in their calculations. This is what happened to the baroness. It had never occurred to her that the baron might really love his child, and that he then would naturally value her happiness more highly than all worldly advantages. And now an almost incredible thing happened. The old gentleman declared most positively that, if Helen was sure she could not love Felix, the matter was settled once for all times. He did not deny the advantages which such a match could not fail to secure to all the parties interested, nor the pleasure with which he himself would have seen such a union. But he insisted upon due regard being paid to Helen's peace and happiness. And here he took his stand. Anna Maria did not spare words; she even had recourse to tears. She painted Helen's defiance and her improper conduct during the last interview in the darkest colors; she threatened the old man that she would resort to extremities, and leave him to choose between herself and his disobedient child, as she did not mean to be disgraced by seeing her daughter triumph over her in her own house--it was all in vain; the old gentleman maintained his position with the utmost tenacity. He would not admit that Helen was a bad girl; she might have been carried away by passion, but she was not bad at heart; she would soon come and ask her mother's pardon. And even if she should be less good than he believed her, even if she had behaved badly towards her mother, that was yet no reason why she should be forced into a hateful union. All the baroness could obtain was, that Helen, if she still refused, should leave home for a time. The father consented to this, because he thought it best for mother and daughter to part for a time, until the passions should have subsided a little on both sides. He did not object to Helen's going to Grunwald instead of Hamburg, because that would enable him to see her more frequently, and because he looked upon the whole arrangement only as a provisional one, which would, in all probability, not last long. Anna Maria, on the other hand, had to be content with this result, as she had constantly to fear that Helen, driven to bay, might make that unpleasant affair of the letter known to her father. This fear had made her less energetic in the whole conversation than she usually was. Her bad conscience had made a coward of her, and this cowardice had made it easier for the baron to triumph. He kissed his wife on the forehead, as he always did after a scene of more or less painful controversy, thanked her for her readiness to fall in with his views and wishes, and expressed a hope that the peace of the family would ere long be fully restored.

"I should feel wretched, if I had to see those I love best upon earth divided among themselves," the good old man said, with tears in his eyes. "I have prayed to God all these days for light to show me what I ought to do in this matter. I should be sorry to have in any way offended you, dear Anna Maria, for I know how much I owe you; but I have also duties towards my daughter, and I cannot consent that you should make her unhappy, with the best intentions in the world. God knows, I desire nothing but your happiness; and now, my dear Anna Maria, let us go to dinner, for, if I am not mistaken, dinner has been announced twice already."

The baroness was to have no rest to-day.

The melancholy dinner, at which neither Oswald, who would not leave Bruno, nor Helen, who excused herself on the plea of a bad headache, had made their appearance, was over, and the baron had just gone out to have a talk with Helen and to inquire after Bruno. The baroness had remained alone with Felix, and knew she would have to tell him the disagreeable news that their joint plans had been utterly defeated by Helen's obstinate resistance and the baron's stubbornness. How could she make such a confession, she who had boasted so much of her unlimited power over her husband; she who had not only originated the plan, but who had carried on the whole transaction! It was a hard task for the selfish, ambitious woman.

How much she now regretted ever having read that letter! It had told her little more than what she already knew, and how she had compromised herself! She could no longer use her full authority against Helen, for her daughter had a formidable weapon in her hands. Anna Maria knew full well that the baron would never approve of such a breach of faith, especially in his present state of mind. Nor could she be more candid with Felix. She had to tell him that the battle was lost, and had not even the consolation to be able to show him that it was lost only by an unfortunate accident.

The bitter cap had to be drained. Felix could not trust his ears. He, Felix, Baron Grenwitz, had been refused, spurned with contempt, in the one single case in which he had been in earnest! And by whom? By a girl fresh from school! And possibly for the sake of an obscure person, whose sole merit was that he looked almost like a gentleman. Felix behaved as if the world must come to an end now. To lose Helen well, he might have found consolation for that; but to lose, with her, also the prospect of seeing his debts paid, or rather, of seeing his credit considerably improved, that was far worse, and a very serious matter to a man like Felix. Helen's dower, the sums which his uncle had promised to advance in order to enable him to make his exhausted estates once more productive, all to be lost--no! they could not trifle with him in this way! He had done all he could do; he had thrown up his commission (better: he had been forced to leave the army); he had been authorized by the baroness to make his engagement publicly known, and now--his commission, his future wife, his honor--all lost!

"I shall blow out my brains," he cried pathetically.

The baroness tried to calm him--and she succeeded very quickly--by promising him that, in spite of the failure in his courtship, the other parts of the agreement should stand as if he had succeeded.

When they had settled this important point they were able to discuss with a little more composure the question as to what might be the real reason for Helen's refusal. To Felix's great astonishment, the baroness insisted upon it, that there existed a regular attachment between Oswald and her daughter. She would not tell what made her think so with certainty; but she was so persistent that Felix at last admitted "the thing might be possible, ridiculous as it was." "That man is a cunning fox," he said. "Timm warned me against him from the beginning; I did not attach much importance to what he said, because he and Stein seemed to be good friends. But I see now Timm was right."

A servant brought the baroness a letter from Grunwald, that had been sent by a special messenger.

"From Mr. Timm," she said, surprised, when she had opened the letter. "I am quite curious to see what he can have to write. I hope he was paid properly. Excuse me, dear Felix."

Her face, however, gradually assumed such an expression of astonishment, consternation, and terror, as she went on reading, that Felix could not keep from saying:

"But, dearest aunt, what is the matter? You have turned as white as the wall!"

"Oh, it is hideous!" said the baroness. "It is scandalous! These scoundrels! It is a regular plot! These scoundrels!"

"But, for Heaven's sake, what is the matter?" cried Felix.

"There, you may read yourself!" said the baroness, handing him the letter, trembling with rage.

Felix took the letter and read:

"Madam:--It is not my fault if the contents of this letter should prove unpleasant to you. You know the veneration I feel for yourself and your whole family; you know the zeal I have always shown in your service, and the gratitude I have felt for your amiable hospitality in former days, and especially during the last happy days. If I must, therefore, speak and act in a manner which seems to contradict these sentiments, I hope you will see at once that the contradiction is only apparent, and that I am compelled to act by a principle which is even higher than personal friendship and individual respect: I mean the duty we all owe to Justice.

"This innate sense of right, which I have no doubt inherited from my sainted father, forces me to inform you, without the slightest delay, of a most remarkable discovery which I have recently made.

"You know that my father was a lawyer in Grunwald; that his practice was as large as his reputation for uprightness, conscientiousness, and ability was extensive, and that he counted the very first families of the province among his clients. Thus he stood also in his business relations with Baron Harald Grenwitz, and was, moreover, as I have often heard him relate, bound to him by personal friendship. At least my father frequently mentioned that the late baron intrusted him with the management of the most delicate family matters. The truth of this assertion is strongly confirmed by the discovery of which I have spoken before.

"It consists in this: I have found, by chance, several packages of papers and letters, all of which once belonged to Baron Harald, and were by him intrusted to my father for unknown purposes (as there is no explanation given anywhere in the baron's handwriting, or in my father's). In all probability they were intended to help my father in discovering the child to which the baron had, in a special codicil, bequeathed a considerable fortune. There is no doubt, at all events, that such a search can only be begun by the aid of these letters and papers, and, of course, they are indispensable for success. I am also persuaded that nothing but my father's sudden death has prevented him from obtaining such a result, and that an able lawyer could easily take up the thread of his investigations where it dropped from the hand of my father.

"The papers consist of, 1. A bundle of letters of a certain Mademoiselle Marie Montbert, addressed to Baron Harald Grenwitz; 2. A like bundle of letters written by the baron to the young lady; 3. Several letters from a certain Monsieur d'Estein to Mademoiselle Montbert; 4. Several family documents concerning Mademoiselle Montbert; 5. A perfect copy of the last will of Baron Harald, together with the codicil, which contains, as you know, not only the conditions attached to the legacy, but also the means by which the child in question may most easily be discovered and authenticated. You know that the codicil contains, in this part, the names of Mademoiselle Montbert and of Monsieur d'Estein, and it need not be stated that these persons are the same as those who wrote the above-mentioned letters.

"So far, all I have reported to you has nothing especially surprising for those who are not personally interested in the affair. But what I have to say next is so extraordinary that I must ask your permission to state it in person, I can only tell you, that in Mr. d'Estein's letters the name occurs which that gentleman proposed to adopt after having succeeded in rescuing Mademoiselle Montbert, and that this name, if you simply leave off the d' and the E, agrees with that of a gentleman who has been living for some time in your family. I may add that, for my part, I am fully convinced of the identity of this person with the unknown heir to Stantow and Baerwalde, especially in consequence of communications made to me by that person himself about his family and his early youth.

"While this is my personal conviction, I have yet taken care not to mention it as yet to the person in question, as, after all, there might be some doubt about it yet, and I did not wish to excite hopes which might possibly not be realized.

"I break off here, in order not to anticipate too fully my oral report (perhaps you will shortly be in Grunwald? or do you desire me to come to Grenwitz?), and also in order not to risk too much in confiding these valuable secrets to a letter.

"Accept, madam, the assurances of my," etc., etc., etc.

"Here is a 'Turn-over,'" said Felix, turning over the last page.

"P.S.--As the papers are scarcely quite safe in my own rooms, I mean to place them in the hands of a lawyer, in case you should not, very promptly, dispose of them otherwise.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Felix; "there the fox shows his cunning! In case you should not otherwise dispose of them, underscored: i. e., have the goodness to name the sum which you think you can afford to pay for these papers, and the secret goes no farther!--Ha, ha, ha! Yes, yes, Timm is a clever fellow, I always knew that."

"Then you think he has really found the papers?" asked the baroness, in astonishment.

"Why not?" said Felix. "The thing looks extremely probable, and I advise you to buy the papers before they rise in the market."

"And do you also think that this--that this man--I can hardly speak of it calmly--that this Stein is really Harald's son?"

"It is by no means impossible," said Felix.

"No, it is impossible," cried the baroness, with great vehemence; "the whole is a wretched plot, an abominable conspiracy between the two sharpers. The letters are forgeries; they have been concocted and written by the two rascals when they were here together. It is a mere invention to frighten us and to extort money from us--or perhaps, ha! now I see! Don't you see, Felix, what they are after? They want Helen! One is to have the money, the other the girl! Ha, ha, ha! Capital! What a pity Helen did not say anything of that also in her letter to Mary Burton, for I wager she is in the plot too. But they shall not get anything, not a dollar!"

"Do not take the matter too lightly, dearest aunt," said Felix. "I tell you Timm is a clever fellow, and if the letters are really forgeries, you will find they are prodigiously well done. They will give you trouble. Will you listen to my advice?"

"Well!"

"Let me go to-morrow, or at some time, to Grunwald and talk with Timm. I have had, in former times, many a conversation with him, and he knows that I am not easily hoodwinked. We shall have to pay something, I am sure, but I can get the papers cheaper than anybody else."

"And what is to be done with Mr. Stein?"

"He must be turned out in disgrace. Will you leave that also to me?"

"Yes, do what you like. Only relieve me of that man."

"I'll do it. There will probably be an occasion for it this very night. The more noise is made about it the better. He shall lose all desire to have anything more to do with us. But you must not say a word of it to uncle."

"For heaven's sake no!" said the baroness. "He is capable of introducing Mr. Stein, this very night, to the whole company as our esteemed relative. He is almost childish now, and I can no longer trust him in anything."

"Well then," said Felix, kissing his aunt's hand, "rely upon me. We'll carry the matter through, I am sure. But I think, dear aunt, it must be high time to get ready. For heaven's sake, it is five o'clock, and some of the guests will come at six! How can I get ready in an hour?"