The door closed behind the colonel, and Leo was once more alone, free to indulge in his own reflections. What troubled him most was his father's resolve to fight Bertram. It was but too certain that the obstinate old soldier would act upon his determination as soon as possible. In imagination he saw his father fall in a conflict with the man who had so insulted himself, and forgetting his own future, he thought only of how this duel might be prevented.

A sudden idea flashed upon him, showing him he hoped a means of attaining this end. In the greatest haste he changed his dress, laying aside his uniform forever,--since he had already handed in his resignation and received leave of absence, he no longer considered himself as belonging to the service, and he hoped, moreover, in the dress of a civilian to escape immediate recognition on the part of his former comrades.

Once more he paused before the picture on the easel, and murmured as he gazed at it, "All this is your work. You drive me forth into the world; you have destroyed all my hopes; and yet I cannot chide you,--not even although you turn from me those dark, enchanting eyes! Farewell! I dare not gaze longer into their depths: they bewilder my heart and soul, and now I need every faculty I possess to help me to carve out my future. Farewell, forever! I must see you never again!"

After one long, last look, he took the portrait from the easel and leaned it with its face against the wall. Then he hurriedly left the room and the house.

In the street, seeing Count Waldheim in the distance, and wishing to avoid all discussion of his affairs with any one for the present, he turned in an opposite direction, called a fiacre, and was driven rapidly to a retired and extremely handsome villa in the suburbs. Here a footman in rich livery instantly appeared, opened the carriage-door, and evidently had been taught to regard Leo as an honoured guest.

"Is Herr Delmar at home?"

"To you, Herr Lieutenant, but to no one else. My master is at dinner, but he has given orders that you are to be admitted at all hours. I will announce you immediately."

"No need, I will announce myself."

"As you please, Herr Lieutenant; my master dines in the garden-room."

Leo nodded in answer to the man's low bow, and then hurriedly passed through the hall and several antechambers on his way to the familiar garden-room. He paid no heed to the more than princely luxury of the surroundings, scarcely even glancing at the splendid pictures with which the walls were hung, but hurried on.

Surrounded by rare tropical plants, in a room the walls of which were almost entirely of glass, but kept perfectly cool by the constant play of a fountain, a table was spread, at which sat Herr Paul Delmar, with a liveried servant behind his chair.

The lord of this magnificent villa, of several other princely estates, and of a capital of several millions, was a young man thirty years old at most,--not strictly handsome, but of an interesting, cheerful countenance, in which sparkled a pair of brilliant black eyes. The nose was too large and the skin too sallow for beauty, otherwise the features were admirable, and the whole bearing and air of the man extremely attractive, especially when the face was lit up by the frequent half-kindly, half-ironical smile.

"Is that you, Leo?" he cried to the new-comer. "A rare guest, indeed; sit down. A place for Herr von Heydeck," he gave orders to the servant.

"No, no, Paul, I cannot; thanks," Leo replied.

"Have you dined?"

"No, but----"

"Then I'll take no excuse. Not on your account, Leo; you know how selfish I am,--my own comfort is my chief care. Nothing would taste as it should with you sitting there fasting and hungry."

"But I'm not hungry; I assure you I have not the least appetite."

"But I have, and you shall not spoil it by sitting there eating nothing and watching me. There is nothing in this world of more importance than a good dinner; I pity any man who does not know how to appreciate so refined an enjoyment. A bad dinner is the greatest of losses: it can never be repaired,--it has gone forever! He only who knows how to eat appreciates the full value of life. Here is your plate, Leo,--my Jean is an active fellow,--and now take your soup; season it as you like it, and, for heaven's sake, look like a reasonable being. Such a long face as yours is as bad for the soup as if the cook had over-salted it."

Delmar set his friend an excellent example, which Leo gradually followed. The events of the day had made him forget his dinner and turn from the idea of food, but youth and health soon asserted themselves, and to his host's satisfaction he did ample justice to the admirable repast before him.

During dinner he did not touch upon what he had come to say,--he knew that his friend disliked all disturbing emotions during his meal-times, and as he wished to secure his entire and undivided attention he waited until the servant had brought coffee and retired before he began. "I have come to you to-day, Paul, to ask you to help me."

"Indeed! I shall be only too delighted; but I mistrust you,--you know it is an old quarrel between us that you always give and never accept."

"To-day I will accept, and a great service from you too,--if you will do it for me."

"Anything in my power, Leo, is done for you before you ask it. You could hardly ask too much, as you know."

"I knew what you would say, Paul," the other cried, grasping his friend's hand cordially.

But Paul withdrew it with a smile. "For heaven's sake don't be sentimental," he said; "and pray don't imagine that I stir a finger for you out of consideration for you. Everything that I do, I do solely for my own sake. It gives me pleasure to do something for you,--it disturbs the tedious monotony of existence. I may perhaps hit upon something entertaining; that is why, and only why, you could hardly ask too much of me! You know very well that I am an incorrigible egotist, and therefore, and because I am devoured by curiosity, tell me what you want."

"You shall learn, you miserable egotist, whom gross selfishness drives to any amount of self-sacrifice for a friend; but before I tell you you must know what has happened to-day." And Leo described calmly and frankly the events of the day.

When he repeated his expressions with regard to Eva Schommer Delmar gave a nod of assent, and said, "A severe but perfectly correct summary of the heiress's character. I met her to-day just as you were discoursing so amiably about her. I rode past her carriage and had a most gracious bow. The fair Eva knows that my millions outnumber her own, and esteems me accordingly. You are right, Leo; pride of purse is more disgusting than pride of birth. FrÄulein Schommer is an odious creature."

Paul gave one keen glance at Leo as he spoke, and noticed that the latter suddenly flushed as he replied, "Certainly you have no right, Paul, to speak thus of FrÄulein Schommer. I did not know that she had injured you."

"I am not speaking of myself. I was only confirming your judgment, your own words."

"Which I acknowledge to have been hasty and unjust. You do not dream, Paul, what disastrous results they had for me. Listen!"

Paul smiled and nodded, promising not to interrupt again; but he did not keep his word, for when his friend described Bertram's interference, and repeated word for word what he had said, he started up in violent agitation, threw away the cigar which he had just lighted, and exclaimed, "What! the scoundrel dared to accuse you of dishonourable conduct? Is the fellow mad? And what did you do, Leo? Struck him across the face with the flat of your sword I trust as he deserves. At all events, I hope you were not insane enough to challenge a rogue who could not insult you?"

"You know my principles with regard to duelling."

"Of courage; but who thinks of principles in such a case? I envy you the capacity to do so. Fortunately then you did not challenge him. Of course you gave him a suitable memento of the occasion? Go on, Leo; I will control my cursed temper if I can and not interrupt again."

He lighted another cigar and leaning back in his chair kept his word this time. With exemplary patience he listened while Leo circumstantially related all that had occurred: his conversation with Colonel von Herwarth, his resignation from the service, and then his interview with his father, finally giving Delmar his uncle Ferdinand's letter to read.

As the story went on Paul was strongly tempted to break his promise. He moved uneasily in his chair when Leo told of his resignation, and when he heard that the old colonel proposed calling out Bertram he was on the point of bursting into a rage, but he controlled himself, and suppressed all comment. On the other hand, he quite chuckled over the old colonel's command that his son should forbear to earn his living by honest labour, and instead rescue the family honour by a wealthy marriage. And he read through Ferdinand's letter without a word.

"Now, Paul, you know everything," Leo said in conclusion, "and you must have some suspicion of what I want of you. It lies in your power to prevent any duel between my father and Bertram. You once hinted to me in confidence that you were privy to some disgraceful conduct of Bertram's. You have but to tell my father of this, and his principles will forbid his calling out a scoundrel. This is why I am come to you. I am sure you will relieve me of this anxiety, which is the worst that I have to endure at present."

Paul leaned back comfortably in his arm-chair and blew forth several artistically-formed rings of smoke, then sipped his coffee and proceeded to blow forth more rings, as was his custom when buried in reflection.

His silence troubled Leo. "You do not answer me, Paul. Can you not or will you not help me? I remember you were with Bertram a great deal last winter, but I never really regarded you as his friend."

"Friend of that scoundrel? I wouldn't give that for his friendship!" And he snapped his fingers. "He was my slave," he continued. "I paid him well, that I might get rid of him when I did not want to use him any longer, and I will do it now! Cast the shadow from your brow, you anxious, heavily-principled son of a hot-headed father. This nonsensical duel is out of the question. I promise you that I will prevent it. I settled that in my mind instantly, and it seemed such child's play to me that I had ceased to think of it. I was thinking of you, Leo; the fact is that I am more and more convinced that you are the strangest, most enigmatical human being on God's earth. I regard you as I should some fabled monster of prehistoric times. We have grown up together, I thought I knew you, and yet you are continually taking me by surprise."

"I really cannot see what eccentricity of mine has just at present provoked this rather unflattering outburst," Leo remarked, not very well pleased.

"I suppose not; the fact is it is useless to be surprised at you, for you are made up of eccentricities and never do anything like other people. You are an artist and a scholar, opposed on principle to war, nevertheless you became an officer in the army, and behaved like a hero in the field. You have a friend--a millionaire--who desires nothing more ardently than to serve you, and you live with the greatest economy upon your meagre pay, denying yourself every enjoyment, although I confess you never look like a poor man. You are a democrat of the purest type, and yet get along delightfully with your aristocratic comrades without ever being false to your principles."

"I should have thought all this was nothing new to you."

"True; but to-day you have capped the climax of your inconsistencies. You say yourself that it pains you to send in your resignation, and yet you do it, although you could by a single word have crushed to the earth the infamous coward who insulted you, and who of course knew that you would not call him out. You cannot fight a scoundrel any more than can your father. You might have done for yourself what you have done for him."

"That would have been cowardice, and a falsehood besides; for I refrain from calling Bertram out not because the fellow is a scoundrel, but because I consider duelling criminal. I will never disgrace myself by hypocrisy and a denial of my principles."

"Heroism! extraordinary, antediluvian heroism! I repeat, I regard you with admiring awe, Leo; although I, poor grovelling earth-worm that I am, cannot climb to your sublime heights. And this is just why I am so infatuated about you,--for if you were like me! should find you as desperately tiresome as all the rest of the world,--and why I am anxious about you, for with your prehistoric truth and honour you'll hardly have much luck in this present world. Just now for example, you are in a charming little scrape, and I am really anxious to know how you will pull through it. You have sent in your resignation and have to begin life with nothing, or next to nothing. Tell me frankly how much money you have laid by, for I am convinced that you are an admirable economist and have contrived to lay by something."

"No, I have laid by nothing, but I inherited from my mother about two thousand thalers which I have never touched, and which will be amply sufficient to support me until I have arranged my future existence."

"And you are going to diminish that pittance? Will you not at last be reasonable, Leo, and see that you can give me no greater pleasure----"

"Not a word more, Paul! You know that you can never offend me except by offering me money."

"I am dumb, but I cannot suppress the remark that you are a greater egotist than I. What the deuce is the good of my money if the man whom I love best in the world will never take a penny of it, and looks as if he would bite me if I so mach as mention his doing so? But there, I am dumb. I must take you as you are. You will live on your two thousand thalers then until you have arranged your future existence,--what sort of an existence? I am greatly mistaken if you contemplate acceding to your amiable uncle's proposal."

"Never! the mere idea of marrying for money disgusts me!"

"I thought so. For my part, my sentiments are expressed in the saying, 'Wealth is no disgrace, and poverty no virtue;' but you would of course refuse your cousin Hilda's hand, just because she happened to be wealthy."

"No; if I loved her and was loved by her, I should, although I admit it would be difficult and against the grain, try to forget that she was rich; but I do not love her, and I never can love her!"

"You don't know her yet. To be sure, judging from her father, whose letter is not exactly instinct in every line with delicacy of sentiment, there is not very much to be expected of her; but she may, nevertheless, be an extremely charming girl."

"And if she were,--if she were possessed of the beauty and amiability of an angel,--still I could never love her!"

"In--deed, in--deed? You seem surprisingly secure in your knowledge of yourself. Hm! I suspected as much. I remarked, you may remember, that you were in a deuce of a scrape. You'll have, at all events, to sacrifice some one of your principles, for I suppose you number filial duty among them. Do you forget that your father threatens to disown you if you sully his name by quill-driving or daubing canvas for a living, and if you do not start to-morrow for the Tyrol to see your uncle? Take one piece of advice from me, Leo: obey this last demand of your father's. Go to the Tyrol and make your uncle a visit,--you bind yourself to nothing by doing so. It cannot hurt you just to look at your cousin Hilda--the name sounds really very pretty--besides, it is best for you to be out of the way for the present of all the gossip that there will be here. Nothing surely can be more beneficial to your art than a sojourn among the glorious Alps. Be reasonable for once, Leo. Time is everything to you now. In time your father, even though he be as thick-skulled as yourself, must listen to reason, and see that a Heydeck can work without disgrace if he has not money enough to live upon."

Paul's advice was so reasonable that Leo could not but accept it. Undesirable as nearer intercourse with his uncle and cousin must be, judging from the letter which had produced a very unfavourable impression, he could not but feel it his duty to conquer his aversion to the journey which his father had enjoined upon him. Paul was right; it was very desirable to gain time, for only with time was there any chance of combating successfully the old soldier's prejudices. And so, after a short pause of reflection, Leo declared that he would follow his friend's advice and set out for the Tyrol the next morning, if Delmar would first assure him that the duel between the old colonel and Bertram should not take place.

"You may be certain of it this very evening," Delmar said, highly delighted. "My slave is bound to me by such fetters that if I choose he will ask your pardon on his knees!"

"That I do not desire."

"What you desire does not concern me at present, but that I fulfil my promise and make this crazy duel impossible for your father, and that shall be done immediately. Do me a favour in return, I pray. Take me with you to the Tyrol to-morrow."

"You want to go to the Tyrol with me?"

"Yes, I do; it is horribly tiresome and stupid here in K----. I cannot stand it any longer. I want to breathe Alpine air."

"But, Paul, we cannot possibly travel together. Remember I must husband my means and travel third-class, and stop at second-rate inns."

"I will travel third-class with you; it will be a change, and much cooler and pleasanter in summer."

"But the second-class hotels? Do you forget what you said only a little while ago about a bad dinner?"

"For heaven's sake don't call me to account for all the nonsense I talk! In short, I want to go with you. We will travel afoot, student fashion, and sketch and amuse ourselves as we can. Of course you will have to stay with your uncle at Castle Reifenstein, but there will surely be a tolerable inn somewhere near, where I can take up my quarters. I want to be at hand to see what becomes of you."

"Do you insist then upon making this sacrifice for me, Paul?"

"For the love of heaven don't grow sentimental again! I have no idea of making any sacrifice for you. I am not thinking of you, but of myself. I shall like the joke of it, of travelling afoot instead of en millionnaire, I wish to study life in its various phases, with you for my companion. On the whole, you see, you are a very entertaining fellow, that is all. Pure selfishness,--nothing else, I assure you. So now go home and pack your portmanteau, that we may start early to-morrow, while I look for our mutual friend at BÜchner's, where he is sure to be at this time, and where I propose to rattle his chains in his ears."

Bertram had at last attained the summit of his hopes. The lovely heiress, Eva Schommer, was his betrothed; his dearest wish was fulfilled, and yet he could not thoroughly enjoy his good fortune. He listened most amiably to the congratulations of the astonished and delighted Uncle Balthasar, and to those also of Aunt Minni, who was less astonished and less delighted, or at all events refrained from any distinct expression of astonishment and delight. He reciprocated good-humoured old Balthasar's expressions of esteem and good will, but yet he could not help feeling as if the betrothal in some way were not genuine.

And yet Eva, her resolution once taken, accommodated herself to her position with much more readiness than Bertram would, from what she had said to him, have supposed possible. She received her uncle's and aunt's congratulations pleasantly, and when Uncle Balthasar suggested that she should address her lover familiarly by his Christian name, and seal their betrothal with a kiss, she refused it is true, but not unkindly and with a smile. She gave Bertram permission to make the betrothal public after the usual fashion, by sending cards to all their acquaintances, but insisted that all congratulations should be addressed solely to him, positively refusing to receive the usual congratulatory visits. The next day, if her kind uncle Balthasar was agreed, she meant to leave K---- for several weeks or even months.

At this unexpected intelligence Uncle Balthasar opened his eyes in astonishment. "Good gracious, Eva my dear," he said, "the thing is impossible! You can't think of going alone, and how are we all to be ready by to-morrow?"

But Eva declared that it would be very easy. She had long desired to see Switzerland or the Tyrol, and very little luggage was necessary for a journey to the mountains. Nanette and Wilhelm could easily get everything ready in the course of the evening: she herself and Aline might assist; and, if her kind uncle and aunt would only not say no, nothing should hinder their departure by noon the next day in the express train.

When did Uncle Balthasar ever say no to any request of his niece's? He could no more do so than could Aunt Minni, who with a gentle sigh resigned herself to her fate, and only asked meekly whither they were going; a question which Eva could not answer. She begged her uncle to decide where to go,--it would perhaps be best that he should consult with Aline,--there was the whole evening in which to make their choice.

Eva never asked Bertram's advice as to their destination, and when, with some hesitation, he asked whether it would not be possible to postpone for one day their departure, in order that his aunt, Madame von Sturmhaupt, might express to Eva the pleasure she would so surely feel in her nephew's betrothal, he received from Eva so quiet and firm a refusal by way of reply, that it was plain to see that he was not to found upon the fact of his betrothal any right to make requests. She declared positively that she would receive no congratulatory visits,--not one. Her intention to leave K---- on the morrow was, since Uncle Balthasar had given his consent to the plan, unalterable, and would assuredly be put into execution.

This was very sharp and decided, but the effect of it was a little softened when Eva kindly added that she hoped Herr von Bertram would spend this last evening before her departure in her home-circle, and that when he returned with the intelligence that his quarrel with Herr von Heydeck was satisfactorily adjusted, he should learn whither they intended to go.

This was a distinct dismissal and reminder that his promise was yet to be fulfilled, and Bertram thus understood it.

He kissed the hand which Eva extended to him, did the same by Aunt Minni, and took his departure, refusing Uncle Balthasar's offer to accompany him, on the ground that only the absence of all formal ceremony on the old man's part could make him really feel like a member of the family.

But this was not his reason for desiring to leave the room alone; he had a presentiment that he should find Nanette in the antechamber, and he had good grounds for wishing to see her alone. He was not deceived,--the first thing that met his eyes as the door of the drawing-room closed behind him was the waiting-maid, who was busy very near the door. She greeted him with a low courtesy; her face was crimson, and she regarded him with a malicious smile as she whispered, "I give you joy, Herr Lieutenant----"

"You have been listening!"

"Of course; what was I here for?" she replied, pertly.

"I am not blaming you, my dear; quite the contrary."

"Oh, indeed, I'm not going to listen for you. It is bad enough without that to have brought me here to this proud Zantuppy. I hate her, I do! And I'll not stand it long in this low place, let me tell you! 'Tis a sin and a shame that I must look on while you betroth yourself to the creature, and you asking me to help you, too!"

In her agitation Nanette forgot to whisper, as she had done when she first addressed Bertram. She did not speak loudly, although sufficiently so to cause Bertram fear lest she should be heard in the drawing-room.

"Do be quiet; speak softly, my dear girl," he begged, seizing her hand. "You know it is only out of love for you, and that I may be able to provide more handsomely for you, that I am forced to make a wealthy marriage. But we cannot talk here,--we may be discovered at any moment. Come early to-morrow to my aunt's; I will be there. Keep your eyes open, my dear child, for both our sakes. Farewell, my little darling, till we meet."

He looked cautiously towards the door: it was tightly closed; he then snatched one kiss from the extremely placable Nanette and was gone.

This meeting with Nanette did but increase his anxiety of mind. The tie that bound him to Eva was as yet but weak and frail; until the betrothal was publicly known it might easily be dissolved, which it certainly would be if Eva's desire with regard to the quarrel with Heydeck were not fulfilled. It was of the first importance that this tie should be made firm and indissoluble, and to this end he must act with energy and promptitude.

He decided upon a plan of action as soon as he left the villa, but he did not proceed to its execution with any very great satisfaction, for he was staking his whole future upon a single card. He had made an appointment with Count Waldheim to meet him at the Casino, and thither he betook himself. This interview with Waldheim was the first step in the carrying out of his scheme; the first, and by no means the easiest,--he dreaded it.

Waldheim was a gay young officer, but a man of stainless honour, wherefore Bertram considered him a most important ally. He dreaded greatly lest he should refuse him his support.

When he reached the Casino he found to his satisfaction that it was nearly deserted. Count Waldheim sat solitary at a table in the large dining-hall, a cup of coffee before him, reading a newspaper. He had remained there solely to redeem his promise to Bertram. "You have sorely tried my patience," he grumbled, when the man he had been waiting for at last appeared. "I have been bored here for more than an hour."

"You will forgive me I know, my dear Count, when you learn that the hour has brought me the fulfilment of my dearest hopes. You are the first to learn from me the intelligence of my betrothal to FrÄulein Eva Schommer!"

"Ah--I give you joy!"

The wish did not sound quite cordial, preceded as it was by a long-drawn-out 'ah,' not at all flattering in emphasis; but Bertram took no notice of this. He knew Waldheim's opinion of the connection, and he refrained from saying anything to induce a further expression of it.

"I am a fortunate man," he continued; "and to you, to your friendship, I owe my good fortune. Everything has happened as I had anticipated it would. After your speaking, according to your promise, to Balthasar, Eva sent for me. I should never have dared to declare myself to her if she had maintained her former cold reserve, but in this interview her pride gave way,--her heart betrayed itself. Her agitation, her maidenly terror, lent me courage. I confessed my love for her; she did not reject it, and thus I may thank you for my present happiness."

"You do not owe it to me, but to your own skilful play," the Count replied. "I only hope you will be as content in the end as you are at present; that you will not find Herr von Heydeck's friend waiting for you at your rooms."

"No fear of that; but indeed, to speak frankly, I am now extremely sorry for my attack upon Heydeck. I wish I could recall it."

"What! when it has been the means of your betrothal?"

"Yes, in spite of that, for I cannot but feel that I have done very wrong. I have attacked a man who possesses no means of defence. I thought Heydeck a coward, and was content to insult him, but I have learned better. He will not challenge me; he will bear my insult unavenged; not from cowardice, but because his principles forbid his fighting a duel, and he will sooner endure any disgrace than be false to them."

"Impossible! you are dreaming!"

"No, I am sure of what I say,--sure. If you doubt it ask Heydeck's best friend, Herr von Herwarth, who will confirm my words."

"Did Herr von Herwarth give you this extraordinary piece of intelligence?"

"No; I learned it from another source quite as trustworthy. I am not at liberty to say more with regard to it, but I am in a most embarrassing position. I have mortally insulted a man whose principles forbid his avenging the insult, which will consequently ruin his future career. He will be forced to leave the service in disgrace, and he has no fortune. In spite of his strange ideas Heydeck is an excellent officer. I cannot reconcile it to my conscience that I have been the means of driving so good an officer from the army. Advise me, my dear Count, what to do in this case."

Count Waldheim listened with increasing surprise to Bertram's words. "I advise you?" he replied. "I am utterly confused by the contradictory statements you make. Heydeck is an excellent officer and no coward, and yet his principles require him to prefer disgrace to duelling. This is incredible--a contradiction in terms. And then your sudden regret, this tender consideration for the man whom, saving your presence, you wilfully and grossly insulted to serve your own purpose. I cannot understand you nor advise you."

"I feared so, for unfortunately the whole matter is so strange that my regret must seem incomprehensible. Who can advise me if you, who saw the whole affair, cannot? I cannot be the ruin of this unfortunate man. He is capable of putting a bullet through his brains in his despair, and if by my fault he should do so I never should forgive myself. If you will not and cannot advise me, I must follow the dictates of my conscience. I must retract my offensive expressions to Heydeck in the presence of witnesses and ask his pardon."

"This then is what you wished to lead up to by the extraordinary story you have been telling me, Herr von Bertram," the Count said, with undisguised contempt in voice and look. He arose and buckled the belt of his sabre. "Do what you think best, or, as you are pleased to express it, 'follow the dictates of your conscience,' but pray do not require me or your other comrades to believe that Herr von Heydeck's unerring aim with a pistol has no share in your magnanimous resolve!"

Casting a last contemptuous glance at Bertram, the Count was about to leave him, but the dragoon detained him. "You must not leave me thus, Count Waldheim," he said, "with a suspicion in your mind of my courage and integrity. The disgraceful doubt which you have expressed gives me a claim upon your honour to see that justice is done me. I now request you to see Herr von Heydeck and learn from his own lips the confirmation of what I told you. If he announces his intention of calling me out for insulting him, I entirely resign all thought of begging his pardon. I shall gladly accept his challenge, and rely upon the fulfilment of your promise to act as my second. If, on the other hand, he confirms what I told you, and will not send me a challenge because his principles will not allow of his doing so, you will tell him from me that I shall await him at BÜchner's to retract my words in the presence of witnesses. Only by fulfilling this my request, Count Waldheim, can you atone for the shameful suspicion which you have expressed of an old friend and comrade."

Bertram had his voice and countenance under perfect control, and was moreover, as we have said, an excellent actor. His simulated indignation would have deceived a much keener observer than honest Count Waldheim, and it produced the effect he had intended. Waldheim felt ashamed of his hasty judgment; he acknowledged that he had sinned against friendship for a comrade, and, in his regret for having done so, he consented to do as Bertram requested, which in any other case he would hardly have done. He promised to find Heydeck, and either to bring him to BÜchner's or to return to Bertram with the intelligence that he might expect a challenge.

With a pressure of the hand, which the Count returned but half cordially, Bertram bade him farewell, and took a long and roundabout way to BÜchner's, where the momentous interview was to take place.

When he reached the restaurant most of the tables beneath the awning were already occupied by the officers of the various regiments in garrison at K----. Many of those present had been witnesses of the morning's occurrence, and all were perfectly informed of what had taken place. The affair had made a great stir among the corps of officers, as Bertram could plainly see by the gloomy looks with which he was regarded by his comrades, some of whom took evident pains to avoid seeing him, that they might not be forced to return his salute.

His self-satisfied mood was somewhat impaired by the annoyance that the evident avoidance of his comrades caused him. He would have liked to turn away and leave the restaurant, but he had promised to wait for Count Waldheim and Heydeck. He looked round to find a seat. If any table had been quite unoccupied he would have seated himself at it; but there was not one such to be found,--a few single seats were empty, and towards one of these he made his way. It was at a corner table, and two of the officers of his own regiment, and his personal acquaintances, were already seated at it.

He approached, and, nodding with his usual easy familiarity, he asked, without noticing the icy acknowledgment of his greeting,--

"Is this chair taken?"

"No," was the reply, "nor the table either; we are just going." And the two men arose and with a brief salutation left the table, although their coffee-cups were scarcely half emptied. That they left simply to avoid Bertram's society was evident, since they stopped near another table, and, entering into conversation with some acquaintances, ordered a waiter to bring chairs. Thus they did not leave the place, but took their seats at another table.

Bertram bit his lips in a rage, but he was powerless to resent the silent contempt of his comrades. He could not demand satisfaction for cold glances and slighting acknowledgments of his salute. He was excessively uncomfortable among these men whom he had been wont to call his friends, but who avoided him as they would not have done had they been strangers. The minutes passed on leaden wings; he cast many an expectant glance towards the promenade outside, but full half an hour elapsed before Count Waldheim appeared--alone. The Count's humour was apparently none of the best: his brow was dark. He came up to the table at which Bertram was sitting, but did not take the chair which the dragoon pushed forward for him. As he stood beside it he said,--

"I did not find Herr von Heydeck at home; his servant told me that he had gone out just before, in plain clothes; whither he could not say, nor did he know when his master would return. From there I went to Herr von Herwarth, whom I found at home, and I asked him frankly if he knew anything of Heydeck's intentions with regard to your affair."

"Well? He must have confirmed what I told you."

"He did and he did not. At first he seemed unwilling to speak out. He believed Herr von Heydeck had not as yet made up his mind. He displayed a certain hesitation, a reserve, which I only overcame by extreme frankness. I asked him directly whether it were true that Herr von Heydeck was opposed to duelling from principle, and he admitted that it was so, but expressed the hope that in this case his friend would prove false to his principles and comply with the law of honour. I thought myself justified after this in telling him exactly what had passed between us, and it was well that I did so, for Herr von Herwarth is a man of honour, and quite agrees with me that this matter can be honourably adjusted only by a duel. He promised to find Herr von Heydeck, and to use all his influence with him to induce him to repudiate his extraordinary principles, and only in case he should prove unsuccessful is he to tell him that he will find you here, prepared to make him full reparation. I hope I have acted according to your wishes, Herr von Bertram."

This was not precisely the case, but Bertram dared not confess that the insistance upon the duel was not at all according to his wishes, and he thanked Waldheim warmly for his services.

While engaged in conversation with the Count, he had not noticed that there had suddenly arisen an unwonted stir among the military men assembled at BÜchner's. All eyes were turned towards an aged officer, who had just appeared beneath the awning. He was standing at the entrance, leaning on a stout bamboo cane, scanning the assemblage; his grave stern glance passed from table to table, apparently seeking some one whom he could not readily distinguish among the numbers of officers present.

"Gentlemen, does either of you know First Lieutenant von Bertram?" the old man asked of two young infantry officers, who were seated at a table playing dominoes.

Before either could reply, Paul Delmar, who had appeared beneath the awning simultaneously with the old man, answered, "Do you wish to speak to Herr von Bertram, colonel? Yonder he sits beneath the awning, but in the farthest comer. Count Waldheim is standing beside him."

"My old eyes are not worth much," growled the colonel. "Sir, I thank you. Your face is familiar to me, but just at present I cannot recall your name; my memory leaves me in the lurch. 'Tis the curse of old age; my senses fail me, and even my memory forsakes me."

"It is many years, colonel, since I had the honour of seeing you, and I may well be changed since then. I went to school with your son, and as his friend used to be continually at your house. My name is Paul Delmar."

"Ah, little Paul, son of the wealthy banker. It is indeed long since I saw you last. And you know Herr von Bertram?"

"I do, colonel."

"Then do me the favour to conduct me to him and introduce me. I have something to say to the gentleman, and I know him but slightly, or rather not at all. Will you oblige me?"

"Certainly, colonel; this way, if you please."

Delmar led the way, the colonel following slowly. Every step evidently caused the old man pain, but he mastered it and walked on, leaning heavily on his cane, and saluted respectfully on all sides by the younger officers, who looked after him with unfeigned sympathy.

When he reached the table at which Bertram was sitting, Delmar said, by way of introduction, "Herr Premier Lieutenant von Bertram, Colonel von Heydeck."

Bertram sprang up and suddenly became very pale at sight of the old officer, whose approach he had not noticed. A grim smile hovered upon the old man's lips as he remarked the impression he produced; his tall, slightly bent figure straightened itself proudly as he gazed scornfully at the dragoon, whose glance could not meet the eyes so bent upon him.

"I have asked for an introduction, Herr von Bertram," said the colonel, in a loud voice that was distinctly heard everywhere beneath the awning, "that I might call you to account for a scoundrelly----"

"Stay, colonel! You must not go on!" Paul Delmar interrupted the old man at this point.

"Sir, by what earthly right?" the colonel burst out, angrily.

"I appeal to your honour, colonel. I am firmly convinced that it is an unalterable axiom of yours that no man of honour can fight with a scoundrel whose word is worthless, and it is one of my axioms that no man of honour has the right to quarrel with a scoundrel with whom he cannot fight. Herr von Bertram is no opponent for you. You can no more fight with Herr von Bertram than can any words spoken by him insult your son; and, besides, there shall be not the smallest provocation for your challenge, inasmuch as the gentleman will instantly declare before all present that he recalls every offensive word addressed to your son this morning, and that he humbly begs pardon for having uttered them."

Paul's words produced a truly magical effect. Bertram upon whom all eyes were fixed, stood, with downcast looks, like a condemned criminal incapable of any reply, the consciousness of guilt so manifest in his countenance that even the unsuspicious Count Waldheim was disgusted with his friend's cowardice, and stepped back leaving him standing alone.

The colonel was thunderstruck. That a civilian should dare to treat an officer thus in a public place transcended his power of belief; his amazement deprived him of utterance. He looked from Bertram to Delmar. What to think of it all he did not know. But one thing was perfectly clear,--that Herr von Bertram must be a scoundrel, with whom no man of honour could condescend to fight.

Delmar allowed several seconds to pass to give the old officer time to collect himself, and then continued: "Let me beg, colonel, that you will allow me to say several words to Herr von Bertram in private, after which you shall receive from him any satisfaction you may desire. Herr von Bertram, have the kindness to step into this empty room with me. You cannot but desire that what I have to say should be said in private. Go first, if you please."

Paul motioned towards the glass door of a room frequented by BÜchner's guests in winter or in rainy weather. Bertram entered it, and Delmar followed him. They were quite alone in the large, empty room, and could speak in low tones without being overheard, although a hundred eyes were watching them through the wide folding-doors and open windows.

"You have heard what I require of you, Herr von Bertram," Delmar began the short interview. "I advise you to comply immediately, or you will force me to produce a certain worthless note, in which you promise to pay upon your word of honour, and to prove that you have broken that word by showing a certain check, bearing the signature of Count Waldheim, which I should like to have him verify."

"What have I done, Delmar, to provoke you to treat a friend with such cruelty?" Bertram asked, in despair.

"Do not profane the word friend," Delmar replied, sternly. "I never honoured you with my friendship, as you well know. I never concealed my contempt for you. I bought you with my money. It amused me for a while to be introduced to certain exclusive aristocratic circles which were closed to me in spite of my wealth. I made use of you for this purpose. When you presented me everywhere as your dearest friend, you knew perfectly well why you did so. I never said one word to you that could justify you in calling me your friend. But of what use are these explanations? They are entirely unnecessary between us. I ask now, are you willing to make the humble--I repeat the word--humble apology which I require, outside, beneath the awning? Decide quickly. I can give you no more time."

"If I do so, will you promise me to show no one my note and the check?"

"I will promise you nothing, except that in the case of your refusing to comply with my demand I will show both publicly."

"But by so doing you will destroy all chance of my ever paying you. You will lose ten thousand thalers."

"Which you never will pay in any case while you live!" Delmar replied, with a smile of contempt.

"Which I certainly will pay, and that shortly. I have been betrothed to-day to Eva Schommer."

"Indeed? I congratulate you. I never had an exalted opinion of the lady, but I should not have thought she would have chosen exactly such a husband."

"You see now that I can pay my debt as soon as I am married to the heiress, but if you ruin me----"

"You will be sent to jail as a forger, and will never refund the money which I once foolishly lent you and which I considered lost long ago. True, but that is a matter of entire indifference to me. I require you to obey me! Make up your mind! Do you hesitate? Well then your fate is decided!"

Delmar turned towards the door, but Bertram seized his hand, and cried in a tone of entreaty, "Have pity upon me! Do not ruin me! I will do what you ask,--only let me make the apology in a less humiliating form!"

"Not a word shall be changed. I insist upon a humble apology!"

"I will make it, but let me add that my betrothed has requested me to do so publicly."

Delmar laughed aloud. "A request as modest as it is extraordinary. For the sake of its oddity I will grant it."

Bertram's face, as he returned beneath the awning, followed by Delmar, was ashy pale, and there was a strange flitter in his eyes, but his demeanour was calm and composed. He stepped up to Colonel von Heydeck, who was awaiting his return with the utmost impatience.

"Colonel von Heydeck," he began in a low voice.

"Louder," said Delmar.

Bertram obeyed; he raised his voice so that it could be heard by most of those present. "It is my duty as a man of honour, Colonel von Heydeck, to atone for a wrong committed in my haste this morning, and this is the more incumbent upon me, as I have been earnestly entreated by my betrothed, FrÄulein Eva Schommer, to do so."

A murmur was heard among the officers present. "Betrothed to the lovely Eva Schommer! Impossible! Scandalous! Poor girl!" These and similar expressions were uttered so loudly that for a moment they interrupted what Bertram had to say, but when curiosity had got the better of surprise, he continued: "This morning I grossly insulted your son in this place; I herewith retract the offensive expressions I then made use of, and publicly beg his forgiveness."

"Humbly!" Delmar interrupted him.

"And humbly beg your son's pardon," Bertram obediently repeated.

"Disgraceful! Infamous! Shameless! The fellow must leave the service!" Such exclamations were heard on all sides, no longer muttered in low tones but spoken aloud in disregard as to whether or not they were overheard by Bertram. The officers retreated from about their late comrade as from some plague-stricken wretch whose vicinity was contagion, and Bertram, with Paul Delmar and the old colonel, was left standing in the centre of a wide circle.

"Are you entirely satisfied, colonel?" Paul whispered to the old man.

"You were right, the fellow could insult neither my son nor myself," the colonel replied, not deigning another glance at the lieutenant. "Come, my young friend, give me your arm, I need some support, and I may well look to you for it, for you have just done me a most important service. I should like to thank you, but not here with these hundred eyes upon us. Let us go outside and walk a while beneath the lindens."

And leaning on Delmar's arm, the colonel hobbled towards the entrance, the young officers saluting him respectfully as they made way for him to pass.

Thus Bertram was left alone, shunned by every officer and stared at by every civilian present. He felt that his fate was sealed, but he would nevertheless make one more struggle against it. His last hope was in Count Waldheim, who was standing at a little distance in conversation with two other dragoons. Bertram approached him, and the Count did not retreat, but with a haughty air awaited the address of his former friend.

This was a good sign. He was not too angry then to be appeased. Bertram relied upon his smooth words, which had so often imposed upon the Count's guileless good nature,--he summoned all his impudence to his aid, and succeeded in assuming an air of entire nonchalance as he said, turning to Waldheim, "That was a hard duty to fulfil. Come, my dear Count, let us go to Herr von Herwarth that he may confirm what I know to be true. The fulfilment of my intention of which you were informed and of which you approved, has been hastened by the appearance of the old colonel, for my conscience would never have allowed me to quarrel with one so aged and so honourable. I should----"

"I beg you, sir, to spare me any further remarks," Waldheim said, interrupting the flow of Bertram's speech; "I forbid you ever to address me again. I awaited your approach solely for the purpose of saying this to you. I should else have followed the example of my comrades and turned my back upon you with contempt."

"Count Waldheim, you shall answer to me for this. I demand satisfaction----"

"You have lost all right this day to demand satisfaction of any gentleman; the only weapon I should use upon you is a horse-whip."

The Count spoke so loud that his words were heard by all the by-standers. "Bravo!" they exclaimed, while Bertram, trembling with rage, half drew, his sabre from its sheath. His brother officers, however, closed in a group around Count Waldheim, as if to shield him from attack.

Bertram stood alone. He might have had the courage to reply to Waldheim's mortal insult by a cut with his sabre; but he could not brave such numbers of antagonists. With an oath, he dashed the sabre back into its scabbard, cast a glance of deadly hatred about him, and strode away. Behind him he heard scornful laughter and loud expressions of contempt, but he did not venture to heed them or to look back.