Meanwhile, the Rahnstadt burgomeister, who was Axel's magistrate, had
arrived at Pumpelhagen, bringing Herr Slusuhr, the notary, as his
recording clerk.
The man had acted very discreetly; as soon as he had read Habermann's
letter, he had sent policemen round to all the alehouses and shops,
where laborers resorted, to inquire whether and when the day-laborer
Regel, of Pumpelhagen, had been there, and in this way he found out
enough to assist him in the examination. The laborer had come to him,
yesterday afternoon, about four o'clock, and had got his pass made
out; he had showed him the package of money,--the gold was sewed in
black-waxed cloth,--and the burgomeister had looked at it closely
enough, to see that the seal had not been tampered with. The man had
told him,--he was on the whole, rather talkative,--that he should
travel all night; it was pretty hard, to be sure, at this time of year;
but the man was a strong, hearty fellow; it would be no darker, for the
snow made it light, and, towards midnight, the moon rose; so he had
advised him to set off immediately. This however, as he had
ascertained, he had not done, he had gone into several ale-houses, and
treated himself to liquor; even by nine o'clock he was not out of
Rahnstadt, he had stopped before a shop, and drank brandy, and bragged,
and talked of his great sum of money, had also showed the packet to the
shopman. Where he had stayed, afterwards, he did not know; but so much
seemed to be certain, the man was grossly intoxicated; and the justice
now asked Axel and Habermann, whether the fellow were in the habit of
drinking.
"I do not know," said Axel; "in these particulars, I must rely upon my
inspector."
Habermann looked at him, as if this speech seemed to him a very strange
one, and he would have said something about it; but he merely remarked
to the burgomeister that he had never noticed anything of the kind, or
even heard of it; Regel was always the soberest fellow on the place,
and in that respect he had no complaints to make of any of the people.
"May be," said the burgomeister, "but it wasn't quite right with the
man; there is always a first time,--he had certainly been drinking
before he came to me. Let his wife come in."
The wife came. She was a young, pretty woman; it was not long since she
had been running about, a young girl, as fresh and bright as only our
Mecklenburg country girls can be, but now sickness had washed off the
maiden roses from her cheeks, and household labor had made the soft,
rounded outlines a little angular,--our housewives in the country grow
old early,--moreover she wore mourning, and was trembling all over,
with anxiety.
Habermann pitied the poor woman, he went up to her, and said,
"Regelsch, don't be afraid; just tell the truth about everything, and
it will all come right again."
"Good Lord, Herr Inspector, what is this? What does it all mean? What
has my husband done?"
"Just tell me, Regelsch, does your husband often drink more brandy than
he can carry?" asked the justice.
"No, Herr, never in his life, he drinks no brandy at all, we don't keep
it in the house; only at harvest time, he drinks a glass, when it is
sent down from the manor house."
"Had he drank any brandy, yesterday, when he left home?"
"No, Herr! He ate something first, and then he started off, about
half past two. No, Herr,--but wait, wait! No, I did not see him, but
yet--oh, Lord, yes! Last evening, when I went to the cupboard, the
brandy-bottle was empty."
"I thought you didn't keep any brandy in the house," said the
burgomeister.
"No, we don't; but this was a little of the funeral brandy; we buried
our little girl last Friday, and there was some left over. Ah, and how
he grieved! how he grieved!"
"And do you think your husband drank it?"
"Yes, Herr, who else should have done it?"
The evidence was recorded, and Regelsch was dismissed.
"So!" said Slusuhr in an insolent way to Axel, and winked towards the
burgomeister, "we have got at the brandy, if we could only get at the
money!"
"Herr Notary, write!" said the burgomeister, quietly and with dignity,
and pointed with his finger to his place: "The day-laborer, Regel, is
brought in, admonished to tell the truth, and gives evidence."
"Herr Burgomeister," said Axel, springing up, "I don't see what this
brandy story has to do with my money. The fellow has stolen it!"
"That is just what I want to find out," said the burgomeister, very
quietly, "whether he has stolen or, more properly, embezzled the money,
and whether he was altogether in a condition to do such a thing," and
going up to the young Herr he said, very kindly, but also very
decidedly, "Herr von Rambow, a thief, who intends to steal two thousand
thalers, does not begin by getting drunk. Moreover, I must tell you,
that as a magistrate, I have to consider not only your interests, but
also those of the accused."
The day-laborer, Regel, came in. He was deadly pale; but the distress
which he had shown in his whole manner, before the old inspector, in
the afternoon, had left him, he looked almost like old oaken wood, into
which no worm ventures.
He acknowledged that he had drunk the brandy at home, more yet in
Rahnstadt, and that he had been with the shopkeeper, about nine
o'clock; then he had spent the night with his friends, in Rahnstadt,
and about six o'clock had started for Rostock; but there he stuck to
his story: by the Gallin wood, two fellows had attacked him, and taken
the money by force. While the last of his deposition was being taken
down, the door opened, and the laborer's wife rushed up to her
husband,--for police-laws are not very strict, in our primitive
Mecklenburg tribunals,--and grasped his arm: "Jochen! Jochen! Have you
made your wife and children unhappy forever?"
"Marik! Marik!" cried the man, "I have not done it. My hands are clean.
Have I ever, in my life, stolen anything?"
"Jochen!" cried the wife, "tell the truth to the gentlemen!"
The laborer's breast throbbed and his face flushed a deep red, but in a
moment he was as deadly pale as before, and he cast a shy, uncertain
glance at his wife: "Marik, have I ever, in all my life, stolen or
taken anything?"
The wife let her hands fall from his shoulder: "No, Jochen, you have
not! You have not, truly! But you lie, you have often lied to me." She
put her apron to her eyes, and went out of the room. Habermann followed
her. The day-laborer, also, was led away.
The burgomeister had not disturbed the interview between the man and
wife,--it was not in order, but it might furnish him a clue, by which
he could draw the truth to light. Axel had started up at the woman's
words, "You lie, you have often lied to me," and walked hastily up and
down the room; his conscience smote him, he did not exactly know why,
this evening, he only knew that he also had never stolen or taken
anything, but he had lied. But so it is with the soul of a man who is
not sincere, even at the moment when his conscience troubles him, he
lies again, for his own advantage. _His_ case was quite a different one
from the laborer's; he had only told a few falsehoods, for the benefit
of his wife, that she might not be disturbed, the laborer had lied to
conceal his guilt. Yes, Herr von Rambow, only keep on like that, and
the devil will surely, in time, reap a fine harvest!
Slusuhr had finished his writing, and again went boldly up to Axel:
"Yes, Herr von Rambow, he who lies will steal."
That was an infamous speech, to a man in Axel's present humor, and when
he knew, also, how near Slusuhr's business came to stealing; he was not
merely astonished, he was terrified at the fellow's impudence. He might
not have been so, if he had known what people said about the notary.
People used to say, that the Herr Notary's father had wished to sell
him, when a little boy, to the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, as a runner,
and with this design had taken him to the Herr Doctor and Surgeon
Kohlman, at New Brandenburg, to have his spleen cut out, so that he
could run the better; but the Herr Doctor, who knew everything else,
and claimed to have been appointed by the Lord Minister of the Supreme
Wisdom for New Brandenburg, had, in an unfortunate moment, when his
eyes were a little dim, cut out the conscience, instead of the spleen,
so that Slusuhr had to journey through life, with a spleen, and without
a conscience, and not as a runner, but as a notary.
There was nothing more for the magistrate to do at present; the
witnesses, and the friends of the laborer, who had last seen him, were
not at hand, and the burgomeister gave orders that the prisoner should
be kept under guard, for this night, at Pumpelhagen, and taken to
Rahnstadt the next day.
"He shall be put under the manor house, in the front cellar," said Axel
to Habermann, who had come in again.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, "Isn't it better to leave him in the
chamber at the farm-house? There are iron bars--"
"No," said Axel, sharply, "there are iron bars in the cellar, too; I
wish to avoid collusions, which might take place at the farm-house."
"Herr von Rambow, I am a very light sleeper, and if you wish it, I can
have another person to watch at the door."
"What I have ordered, I have ordered. The business is of too much
importance, for me to trust to your light sleep, and to a comrade of
the rascal's."
Habermann looked at him inquiringly, and said, "As you command," and
went out.
It was nearly ten o'clock, the supper table had long been waiting,
Marie Moeller was scolding because the baked fish would be cooked to
death, Frida was also annoyed over the long delay of the supper, and
only through her conversation with Franz was able to muster a little
patience, when the gentlemen came in, after the trial. Frida went up to
the burgomeister, in her bright way: "Isn't it so? He hasn't stolen the
money?"
"No, gracious lady," said the burgomeister, with quiet decision, "the
day-laborer has not stolen it, but it has been stolen from him, or he
has lost it."
"Thank God!" cried she, out of a full heart, "that the man is no thief!
The thought that we had dishonest people on the place, would have been
dreadful!"
"Do you think that our people are bettor than all others? They are just
such a set as on any other estate, they all steal," observed Axel.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, who had also come in to supper, "our
people are honest, I have been here long enough to be fully convinced
of it. No thieving has occurred, during the whole time."
"Ah, so you have always said, and now we have this,--now we have this!
My foolish credulity had cost me two thousand thalers. And if you knew
the people so well, why did you send this particular man?"
Habermann looked at him in astonishment. "As it seems," said he, "you
wish to put the blame upon me; but if there has been a fault in the
matter, I do not take it upon myself. It is true," he added hastily,
and his face flushed with anger, "I sent this man; but only because you
had employed him constantly as a messenger, in carrying money; he has
already been sent by you more than ten times to Gurlitz, and the Herr
Notary, here, can testify how often he has been to him on such
errands."
Frida looked hastily over to Slusuhr, upon these words, and the Herr
Notary had turned his eyes towards her; they said nothing, but,
different as their thoughts were, it seemed as if each had read the
very soul of the other. Frida read, in the secret, malicious joy in the
notary's eyes, that he was the chief enemy of her happiness, and the
notary read, in the dear, sensible eyes of the young wife, that she was
the chief obstacle in the way of his and Pomuchelskopp's plans. Axel
would have given a hasty answer to Habermann's words, but he held his
peace when he saw the old man's steadfast gaze, and then Frida's
questioning glance resting upon him. Slusuhr was also silent, and lay
in wait; he was the only one who could see through the thorn-bush,
which was growing in this garden, and now he lay behind the thorn-bush,
and watched, to see if a hare would not run in his direction.
The justice and Franz were the only ones who had no suspicion of the
disturbance caused by Habermann's hasty words, and they alone carried
on the conversation at table. When the company rose from the table,
they separated; the justice remained through the night.
All were asleep in Pumpelhagen, only two married couples were still
waking; one couple was the Herr von Rambow and his wife, the other was
the day-laborer, Regel and his wife. The one pair sat close together,
in a warm room, and the night was so silent about them that one might
well have a desire to open his heart, and find courage to speak the
truth. But it was not so. Frida begged her husband earnestly to confide
in her, she knew already that he was in great pecuniary embarrassment;
they would retrench, but the dealings with Pomuchelskopp and Slusuhr
must be given up; he should talk with Habermann, he would show him the
right way.
Everything went by halves with Axel, he did not exactly lie, but
neither did he tell the truth. That he was in temporary embarrassment,
he would not deny; when a man had two thousand thalers stolen, he might
well be embarrassed; he had exchanged nothing as yet, had also been
able to sell nothing,--that he had sold a fine crop of wheat, in
anticipation, and got the money for it, he did not tell her. His
dealings with Pomuchelskopp and Slusuhr--he said nothing about
David--could do him no harm, those were old, made up stories,--he did
not speak of the new loan from Pomuchelskopp,--and the people were
prejudiced against him; as for Habermann,--and here he became excited
for the first time,--he could not consult about money matters with his
inspector, it was not suitable for him, as master. Axel did not exactly
tell falsehoods, and when he put his arm around her, and said that it
would all come right again, he said what at the moment he believed to
be the truth. She left him with a heavy heart.
The other pair were not sitting in a warm room; the laborer lay in the
cold cellar, and his wife crouched on her knees outside, before the
cellar-window, in the fine, cold November rain; they were not close
together, an iron grating divided them. "Jochen," whispered she,
through the broken window-panes, "tell the truth."
"They took it from me," was the reply.
"Jochen, who?"
"Eh, do I know?" said he, and it was the truth; he did not know who the
woman was who had taken the black packet, in broad daylight, and on the
public road, out of his waistcoat pocket, as he, not yet recovered from
the intoxication of yesterday, and having just taken a couple of
glasses on an empty stomach, was tumbling along towards Gallin. He did
not lie, but he could not tell the truth; how could he confess that
from him, a young, strong fellow, a woman had taken the two thousand
thalers, on the open street? He could not do that, if it should cost
him his life.
"Jochen, you are lying. If you will not tell me the truth, tell it to
our old inspector."
No, to him, of all others, he could not tell the truth, for he had
promised him he would not lie any more, and he had admonished him so
earnestly,--he could not tell him.
"Marik, get me my chisel, and a couple of thalers in money."
"Jochen, what are you going to do?"
"I will go away."
"Jochen, Jochen! and leave me here, with the poor little ones?"
"Marik, I must go; it will never go well with me here again,"
"Jochen, tell the truth, and it will be all right."
"If you don't bring me the chisel and the money, I will take my life,
this very night!"
And here, also, there was much begging and pleading and talking, as
there was upstairs in the warm room, but the truth would not come out,
no more here than there, it was kept back, here as there, by the shame
of confessing inconsiderate and disreputable actions, and here, also,
the wife left her husband with a heavy heart.
The first thing next morning came the news, setting all Pumpelhagen in
an uproar, that the day-laborer, Regel, had broken out, and run away.
The justice made preparations to have him arrested again, and rode off,
homewards, with the Herr Notary. Axel was in a rage,--no one knew why;
but it was with himself; and because he could shove the blame upon
nobody else, for he himself had given orders that the man should be
locked up in the cellar.
After breakfast came Pomuchelskopp, to inquire about the matter, of
which he had heard, as he said. Franz greeted him coldly, but so much
the warmer was Axel's reception. He knew well how to talk of the
matter, the laws were too easy towards these low fellows, and the
burgomeister at Rahnstadt was much too good to the rascals; he told
thief-stories, out of his own experience and that of his acquaintances,
and finally said that he believed, like Habermann, that the fellow had
not done it. "That is to say," he added, "not of his own accord, he can
merely have been the tool of another, for no day-laborer would venture
to steal two thousand thalers which had been entrusted to him; there
must be a cleverer rogue in the background. And therefore," said he, "I
advise you, Herr von Rambow, to have an eye on the people who may have
assisted his flight, and especially on those who take his part."
Axel's feelings, through the loss and through his anger, were like
freshly prepared soil, and whatever seed fell therein, even were it
darnel and cockles, must sprout up finely. He walked up and down the
room; yes, Pomuchelskopp was right, he was a practical old fellow, who
knew the world, that is to say, the agricultural world; but who could
have been concerned with Regel in such a business? He knew of no one.
Who had taken Regel's part? That was Habermann, he had said expressly,
from the first, that he must have lost the money. But he had been so
angry with the fellow, at the first news. Well, that might all have
been acting! And why had he been so anxious to have the laborer close
by his room, in the chamber? Perhaps that he might have intercourse
with him, perhaps that he might be better able to help him off.
For an intelligent man, these were very stupid thoughts, but the devil
is a cunning fellow, he does not seek out the prudent and strong, when
he wishes to sow darnel and cockles in the fresh furrow, he takes the
foolish and weak.
"What is the Herr Inspector doing with that woman?" asked
Pomuchelskopp, who had stepped to the window.
"That is Regelsch," said Franz, who stood near him.
"Yes," said Axel, hastily, "what has he to do with her? I must find
out."
"That is very singular," said Pomuchelskopp.
Habermann stood in the yard, with the laborer's wife, apparently
persuading her to something; she resisted, but finally yielded, and
came with him towards the manor house. They entered the room.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, "the woman has confessed to me that
she helped her husband away in the night."
"Yes, Herr," said the woman, trembling all over, "I did it, I am
guilty; but I could not do otherwise, he would have taken his life
else," and the tears started from her eyes, and she put her apron to
her face.
"A pretty story!" said Axel, coldly,--and he was usually so
kindhearted--"a pretty story! This seems to be a regular conspiracy!"
Franz went up to the woman, made her sit down, and inquired, "Regelsch,
didn't he confess to you what he had done with the money?"
"No, young Herr, he told me nothing, and what he said was false; I know
that; but he hasn't taken it."
"How came you," said Axel roughly to Habermann, "to be questioning this
woman without my orders?"
Habermann was startled at this question, and still more at the tone in
which it was expressed; "I believed," said he, quietly, "that it would
be well to find out how and when the prisoner got away, in order to
obtain some hint of his present place of concealment."
"Or perhaps to give some!" exclaimed Axel, and turned quickly about, as
if he had done something which might cost him dear. The result was not
quite so bad as he had reason to fear, for Habermann had not understood
the meaning of his words, he heard merely the tone, but that was enough
to lead him to say, with serious emphasis, "What you mean by your
words, I do not know, and it is a matter of indifference to me; but the
manner and tone in which you have spoken to me, last evening and this
morning, are what I will not take from you. Yesterday I was silent,
out of consideration for the gracious lady, but in the present
company"--here he glanced at Pomuchelskopp--"I need not exercise such
consideration," and with that he left the room. The laborer's wife
followed him.
Axel was going after him; Franz stepped in his way: "What are you going
to do, Axel? Recollect yourself! You are in fault, you have bitterly
wronged the old man, as he evidently thinks."
"That was a bold move," said Pomuchelskopp, as if he were talking to
himself, "that was a bold move, for an inspector," but he must be going
home, he said, and called, out of the window, for his horse. He had got
things started finely.
The horse was brought, Axel accompanied his Herr Neighbor out of the
door; Franz remained in the room. "Certainly a very good man, your Herr
Cousin," said Pomuchelskopp, "but he does not know the world yet, does
not know yet what is proper for the master, and what for the servant."
With that, he rode off. Axel came back into the parlor, and threw the
cap, which he wore because the morning was cold, into the sofa corner,
exclaiming, "Infamous cheats! The devil take the whole concern, if one
can no longer rely upon anybody!"
"Axel," said Franz, going up to him kindly, "you do your people great
wrong, you do yourself wrong, dear brother, if you cherish such an
unjust hatred in your benevolent heart."
"Unjust? What? Two thousand thalers have been stolen----"
"They are lost, Axel, through the inconsiderate fault of a
day-laborer."
"Oh, what, _lost_!" exclaimed Axel, turning away, "you come with the
same story as my Herr Inspector!"
"Axel, all intelligent people are of this opinion, the burgomeister
himself said--"
"Don't talk to me of that old nightcap! I should have conducted the
examination myself, then we should have come to quite a different
conclusion, or if I had only got hold of the woman first, this morning,
her story would have been quite another thing; but so? Oh, it is all a
contrived plot!"
"Listen to me, Axel, you have made that allusion once before," cried
Franz sharply and decidedly; "fortunately, it was not understood; now
you make it for the second time, and I, for my part, must understand."
"Well, then you may understand that it is not made without sufficient
grounds."
"Can you make such a declaration to your own conscience? Would you, in
your unjust excitement and with wanton cruelty, cast such a stain upon
sixty years of honorable life?"
This touched Axel, and cooled him off a little, and he said peevishly,
for his unnatural excitement was wearing off, "I have not said that he
has done it; I only said he might have done it."
"The suspicion," said Franz coldly, "is as bad as the other, as bad for
_yourself_ as for the old man. Remember, Axel," said he, impressively,
laying his hand on his cousin's shoulder, "how long the old man has
been, to your father and yourself, a faithful, upright steward! To me,"
he added, in a lower tone, "he was more, he has been my friend and
teacher."
Axel walked up and down, he felt that he was wrong,--at least, for the
moment,--but to confess, freely and fully, that he had endeavoured to
shove off the blame of his own foolishness and untruthfulness upon
another was too much, he had not the clear courage to do it. He began
to chaffer and bargain with himself, and availed himself of the
expedient which the weak and dishonest are always ready to employ,--he
carried the war into the enemy's camp. In every age, up to the present
time, truth is yet sold, in a weak human soul, for thirty pieces of
silver.
"Oh, to _you_!" said he, "he would like to be still more to you."
"What do you mean?" asked Franz, turning round on him sharply.
"Oh," said Axel, "nothing more! I only mean you may call him 'Papa,' by
and by."
There was an unworthiness in this speech, in the intention to offend
the man who had been firm enough to tell him the truth. Franz flushed a
deep red. His deepest, holiest secret was brought to light, and in this
insulting manner! The blood rushed to his face; but he restrained
himself, and said, shortly:
"That has nothing to do with the matter."
"Why not?" said Axel. "It at least explains the warmth with which you
defend your Herr Habermann."
"The man needs no defence of mine, his whole life defends him."
"And his lovely daughter," said Axel, striding up and down, in great
triumph.
A great passion rose in Franz's soul, but he restrained himself, and
asked, quietly, "Do you know her?"
"Yes--no--that is to say, I have seen her; I have seen her at the
parsonage, and she has often been here, with my wife, and my wife also
has visited her. I know her merely by sight; a pretty girl, a very
pretty girl, 'pon honor! I was pleased with her, as a child, at my
father's funeral."
"And when you learned, that she was dear to me, did you not seek a
nearer acquaintance?"
"No, Franz, no! Why should I? I knew, of course, that nothing serious
could come of such an attachment."
"Then you knew more than I."
"Oh, I know more still, I know how they set traps and snares for you,
and were always contriving ways to catch you."
"And from whom did you learn all this? But why do I ask? Such childish
gossip could have been hatched in but one house, in the whole region.
But since we have mentioned the matter, I will tell you frankly, that I
certainly do intend to marry the girl, that is, if she does not refuse
me."
"She would better beware! She would better beware!" exclaimed Axel,
springing about the room, in his anger. "Will you really commit this
folly? And will you give me this affront?"
"Axel, look to your words!" cried Franz, whose temper was getting the
upper hand. "What business is it of yours?"
"What? Does it not not concern _me_, as the oldest representative of
our old family, if one of the younger members disgraces himself by a
_mesalliance_."
Yet once more Franz restrained himself, and said:
"You yourself married from pure inclination, and without regard for
subordinate matters.
"That is quite another thing," said Axel, with authority, believing now
that he had the advantage. "My wife's family is as good as mine, she is
the daughter of an old house; your beloved is the daughter of my
inspector, adopted out of pity and kindness, by the Pastor's family."
"For shame!" cried Franz, passionately, "to make an innocent child
suffer for a great misfortune!"
"It is all the same to me," roared Axel, "I will _not_ call my
inspector's daughter cousin; the girl shall never cross my threshold!"
All the blood which had rushed through Franz's veins and flushed his
face, a moment before, struck to his heart; he stood pale before his
cousin, and said in a voice, which trembled with intense excitement:
"You have said it. You have spoken the word which divides us. Louise
shall never cross your threshold, neither will I."
He turned to go; at the door he was met by Frida, who had heard the
quarrel in the next room: "Franz, Franz, what is the matter?"
"Farewell, Frida," said he, hastily, and went out, towards the
farm-house.
"Axel," cried Frida, running up to her husband, "what have you done?
What have you done?"
"I have showed a young man," said Axel, striding up and down the room,
as if he had fought a great battle with the world-out-of-joint, and
made everything right again, "I have showed a young fellow, who wanted
to make a fool of himself over a pretty face, his true standpoint."
"Have you dared to do that?" said Frida, sinking, pale, into a chair,
and gazing with her great, clear eyes at her husband's triumphal march
through the room, "have you dared to thrust your petty pride of birth
between the pure emotions of two noble hearts?"
"Frida," said Axel, and he knew very well that he had done wrong, and
his conscience smote him, but he could not confess it, "I believe I
have done my duty."
Any one may notice, if he will, that the people who never in their
lives do their duty always make the most use of the word.
"Ah!" cried Frida, springing up, "you have deeply wounded an upright,
honest heart! Axel," she begged, laying her folded hands on his
shoulder, "Franz has gone into the farm-house, follow him, and repair
the injury you have done! Bring him back to us again!"
"Apologize to him, in the presence of my inspector? No, rather not at
all! Oh, it is charming!" and he worked himself again into a passion,
"my two thousand thalers are stolen, my inspector finds fault with me,
my Herr Cousin stands by his dear father-in-law, and now my own wife
joins herself to the company!"
Frida looked at him, loosened her hands, and, throwing a shawl over her
shoulders, said, "If you will not go, I will," and went out, hearing
him call after her, "Yes, go! go! But the old sneak shall clear out!"
As she crossed the court, they were bringing round Franz's carriage,
and as she entered the inspector's room Habermann had just been saying
to the young man, "Herr von Rambow, you will forget it. You have spent
your life hitherto, in our small circle; if you travel,--as I should
think advisable,--then you will have other thoughts. But, dear Franz,"
said the old man, so trustingly, in his recollection of earlier times,
"you will not disturb the heart of my child?"
"No, Habermann," said Franz, just as the young Frau entered the room.
"Good heavens!" cried Habermann, "I have forgotten something. You will
excuse me, gracious lady!" and he left the room.
"Always considerate, always discreet!" said Frida.
"Yes, that he is," said Franz, looking after the old man. The carriage
drove up, but it was kept waiting; the two had much to say to each
other, and, when at last Franz got into the carriage, Frida's eyes were
red, and Franz also dashed away a tear.
"Greet the good old man for me," said he, "and greet Axel, also," he
added, in a lower tone, as he pressed her hand.
The carriage drove off.