The betrothal festivities to which Baron von Wallmoden and his wife had
been bidden were carried out to the letter. Antonie von Schönau plighted
her troth to her cousin, the heir of Burgsdorf.
The young people had known their parents' plan for years, and were fully
agreed as to its accomplishment. Willibald subscribed like a dutiful
son, to his mother's opinion that she was the suitable person to choose
his life's companion for him, and he had waited patiently her pleasure
as to the time when his betrothal should become an accomplished fact;
the thought of having his little cousin Toni for a wife was very
pleasant to him. He had known her since childhood, and she suited him
exactly. She was a girl absolutely bereft of romance, and Willibald knew
she would make no sentimental demands upon him, to which he, with the
best will in the world, had not the temperament to respond. Toni, for
her part, possessed that good taste for which Frau Regine had given her
credit. Will pleased her very well, and the prospect of being mistress
of Burgsdorf pleased her still better--in short, everything was as it
should be.
The newly betrothed pair were at the piano in the drawing-room, and Toni
was entertaining her lover with music, not voluntarily, however, but at
her father's request, for she herself considered music a wearisome and
superfluous accomplishment. But the head forester had insisted that his
daughter should show she was not educated in housewifery alone, but had
learned something at boarding-school as well. He was walking to and fro
on the terrace with his sister-in-law now; they had come there to listen
to the music, and discuss for the hundredth time the happiness and
prospects of their children. They had, as usual, soon drifted away from
pleasant topics and their contention was growing fiercer each moment.
"I really don't know what to think of you, Moritz," said Frau von
Eschenhagen, very red in the face. "You don't seem to comprehend the
impropriety of permitting such an intimacy. When I ask you who is the
school-girl friend of Toni's who is expected at Waldhofen, you answer me
coolly and complacently, that she is a singer who has been on the stage
of the Court theatre for some time. An actress, a theatrical star. One
of those wretched, frivolous creatures who--"
"But, Regine, don't fly into such a passion," interrupted her host
angrily. "You speak as though the poor soul had lost her character just
because she went on the stage."
"So she has, so she has!" Regine answered excitedly. "Who ever enters
that Sodom and Gomorrah goes down to the bottom at once and can never
rise again."
"That's flattering to the Court theatre company, at least," said Schönau
dryly. "But we go to see them just the same."
"As spectators! That's quite a different thing, though, for my part, I'm
opposed to encouraging such people at all. Will goes to the theatre very
little, and never without me. But while I, in the performance of my duty
as a mother, have guarded him from any intercourse whatever with such
people, you permit his future wife to come within their poisonous
influence. It's enough to make the heavens cry out!"
She had raised her voice almost to a shriek at the last, partly from
excitement, and partly to be heard by her brother-in-law, for the
musical production was noisy now, and sent forth loud, discordant sounds
through the open glass door. Toni had good strong wrists, and her touch
on the piano reminded one of the stroke of an axe on hard wood. Her
three listeners had strong nerves, but low speech was certainly an
impossibility.
"Let me explain the matter to you," said the forester appeasingly. "I
have told you already that this was an exceptional case."
"Marietta Volkmar is the grandchild of our good old doctor at Waldhofen.
His son died while still in the flower of youth. The young widow
followed her husband the very next year, and the poor little orphan came
to her grandfather. That was ten years ago, just after I had been
assigned to Fürstenstein. Doctor Volkmar became our family physician,
and his grandchild the playfellow of my children. As the school in
Waldhofen was a miserable affair, I begged the doctor to permit his
little one to come here and share the childrens' instruction. Then while
Toni was at boarding-school for two years, Marietta was in the city
pursuing her musical education, and, as a matter of course, their daily
intercourse ceased. Marietta, however, has always visited us regularly
during her vacations, when she came home to her grandfather, and I do
not see why I should forbid her doing so as long as she remains
respectable and honest."
Frau von Eschenhagen had listened to this reasonable explanation without
unbending in the least. She now said spitefully:
"Respectable and honest in a theatre! Every one knows well enough what
goes on in such iniquitous places; but you seem to take it as lightly as
does Dr. Volkmar, who for that matter looks honest and venerable enough
with his open face and long white hair. How he can send a soul
entrusted to his care, his own flesh and blood at that, on to certain
destruction, is beyond my comprehension."
"Regine, I always thought you a most rational woman, but in this matter
you have no sense at all. The theatre and every one connected with it
has always been proscribed by you, and yet you know absolutely nothing
about it. It was no easy matter for the doctor to allow Marietta to go
on the stage. That I know, for we talked it over frequently. It is not
for us who sit in warm nests and can provide lavishly for our children,
to sit in judgment upon other parents who earn their daily food with
labor and bitter care. Volkmar, though seventy years of age, works day
and night, but his practice brings him in little, for this is a poor,
sparsely settled neighborhood, and after his death Marietta will have
nothing."
"Then he should have made a teacher or a companion of her; that is a
decent way to earn one's bread."
"God preserve me from bread so earned. No one knows how the poor thing
would be used and ill treated. If I had a child who was dearer to me
than life, whose fate it was to earn her own living, and I was told that
she would have a brilliant future, and put money in her purse if she
went on the stage, I would say 'go!' you may depend upon it."
This avowal seemed to take the ground from under Regine's feet. She
stood for a moment gazing at him with frightened face. Then she said,
solemnly:
"Moritz--it makes me shudder to hear you."
"Well, if it gives you pleasure to shudder, don't stop on my account.
But when Marietta comes as usual to Fürstenstein, I will not send her
back, neither shall I raise any objection if Toni goes to her at
Waldhofen. So we need say nothing more about it."
Then Herr von Schönau cried out to his daughter, who was still pounding
away, that the window-panes were rattling and the strings of the piano
would be ruined. He did not really care a particle how much noise she
made, neither did her aunt, who answered him now, promptly and sharply:
"Well, there's one comfort at least, Toni will soon be married. Then
this friendship with the theatrical prodigy will be at an end. I give
you my word for it, that no such guests will be allowed within the walls
of Burgsdorf, and Willibald will not permit his young wife to keep up
any correspondence either."
"That means that you will not permit it," sneered the head forester.
"There are no yeas or nays in poor Will's life, he is only the obedient
servant of his dear mother. It is really remarkable how you can keep the
fellow, a man grown and soon to be a husband, so cowed down and under
the lash."
Frau von Eschenhagen threw her head back, more insulted than ever now.
"I believe I understand my responsibilities better than you. Perhaps you
would like to reprove me for educating my son to honor and love his
parents?"
"Ah, but there's a point where love leaves off and tyranny begins. You
have made Will quite stupid under your eternal tutelage. You couldn't
let him make his own offer of marriage even. The matter was an old story
to you, so you interfered as usual, without giving the poor boy a
chance. 'The affair is all arranged for you, children. Your parents have
settled it all for you. You are to marry one another. I give you my
blessing; now kiss one another, for you are betrothed.' That's the kind
of a stand you took. I, also, was taught to love and honor my parents,
but if they had attempted to woo my bride for me, they'd have heard me
sing another tune. And that boy of yours took it as quietly as possible;
I really believe he was rejoiced that he did not have to propose for
himself."
The excitement of the two had by this time reached fever heat, and it
was a fortunate thing that the noise from the piano drowned all further
conversation. Fräulein Antonie had great strength in her hands, and her
only idea of music was to make all the noise she could; one would have
thought a regiment of soldiers was storming a fort. Just now the noise
irritated her father, who wanted to hear himself speak.
"Toni, Toni, don't break the new piano in two with your thumping," he
shouted crossly. "What is it you are playing, anyway?"
Toni was working away bravely, notwithstanding the perspiration was
running down her face. Near her sat her lover on a little sofa, his eyes
shaded by his arm as he leaned back, his very soul steeped, as it were,
in the music. At her father's question the fair musician turned slowly
on her stool and answered in a half-sleepy tone:
"That is the 'Janizary March,' papa. I thought it would please Will, as
he is a soldier, you know."
"Yes; a dragoon by accident," muttered her father, as he stepped over to
his future son-in-law, who hardly seemed to appreciate the delicate
attentions of his fiancée.
"Well Will, what do you say to all this fine music?--Will, don't you
hear me? I believe upon my life he's sound asleep."
The young heir, aroused now by the scolding voices on all sides, rubbed
his eyes and looked at them with a dazed, drowsy air.
"What--what is the matter? Yes, it was very beautiful, dear Toni."
"Yes, to be sure it was," cried the head forester with an angry flash of
his eye. "You need never trouble yourself to play for him again, my
child. But come, let us leave this ardent lover to finish his nap in
peace. He has good strong nerves, I must say that for him."
With these words the irate father gave Antonie his arm and led her from
the room. But Frau von Eschenhagen, already highly incensed, felt that
her son's inattention to his sweetheart was an additional insult, and
now turned upon poor Willibald in a fury.
"Well, you have overstepped the limits of common decency, this time!"
she cried in a rage. "Your blessed father wasn't much of a carpet knight
in his day. He was engaged to me just twenty-four hours when he fell
asleep, too, while I played for him; but I waked him up after such a
fashion he never did it a second time I can assure you. Now go after
Toni this minute and say what you can to excuse yourself; she has reason
to be sorely vexed with you."
Regine took him by the shoulder and pushed him out of the door, as she
ended her tirade.
Will took all she said quietly enough, and went at once to make his
peace with his cousin. He felt really frightened over his ill-timed
slumber, but he had been tired, and the music wearied him greatly.
So he was very contrite as he entered the room in which his cousin was
standing at the window.
"Dearest Toni, do not be angry with me," he began, apologetically. "It
was so hot, and your beautiful music had something so soothing in it
that--"
Toni turned to him. It was certainly the first time that the Janizary
March had ever been called a soothing composition; but the crushed,
penitent look of her lover, who stood like a sinner awaiting
condemnation, restored her to good humor, and she held out her hand to
him, as she said heartily:
"No, I am not in the least angry with you, Will. I never cared about the
stupid music, myself. We'll find something more sensible than that to do
when we get to Burgsdorf."
"Yes, that we will," answered Will, cordially, as he pressed the
outstretched hand warmly. He would never have thought of kissing it.
"You are so good, Toni."
When Frau von Eschenhagen came upon the lovers a few minutes later, she
found them absorbed in the milk and cream question. The mode of
conducting a dairy in South Germany differed from that common in the
North. It was a subject of which Will never tired, and his mother felt
grateful in her heart for a daughter-in-law who had no uncomfortable
sensitiveness.
A little later, Will found an opportunity to win complete forgiveness.
Toni was anxious to get the evening post as soon as it arrived. She
complained, also, that something which had been ordered for supper had
not been sent from Waldhofen, and that a message which had been
entrusted to a groom, had not, she feared, been properly delivered. So
Willibald offered to go at once, and set all these vexatious trifles to
rights, and his offer was graciously accepted.
Waldhofen was a place of great importance to the mountaineers, though in
itself it was but a small town. It was about thirty minutes' walk from
Fürstenstein, and was an important centre for all the little villages
and hamlets scattered through the forest.
There was seldom a soul to be seen on the streets during the afternoon
hours, and it seemed a deserted, desolate place to Herr von Eschenhagen,
as he crossed the dreary market-place on his way from the post-office.
He had attended to the other errands first, and delivered the message,
which concerned the sending of a chest to Fürstenstein. As the streets
were of no interest to him, he turned now into a side road, where there
were neat little houses, with fresh, green little lawns in front. The
road was uneven and muddy after yesterday's heavy rain, but Willibald
was a countryman himself, and paid no heed to bad roads, so he walked on
now without a murmur.
He was in a very contented frame of mind, both as regarded himself and
the world at large. Here he was, a strong, healthy young man, with a
generous share of this world's goods, and the pleasurable thought that
he was engaged to be married to a girl who suited him, and who would, he
knew, make him a good wife.
A heavy, lumbering carriage came up the narrow, uneven road, along which
he was trudging. There was a large trunk strapped on the back, and
various bundles and boxes covered the seats within. Willibald wondered
to himself why any one had chosen such a miserable little lane, which
the recent rains had made totally unfit for vehicles, instead of taking
the wide, decently paved street. The coachman seemed to be in anything
but a happy frame of mind. He turned now in his seat, and said to the
traveler, of whom Willibald had not caught a glimpse:
"Now really Fräulein, we can go no farther. I told you before that we
couldn't get through here, and now you see for yourself how the wheels
stick in the mud--its a pretty piece of business."
"It is not very far," sounded a clear young voice from the depths of the
carriage. "Only a few hundred steps, farther. So please go on no matter
how slowly."
"What can't be done, can't be done!" announced the driver in a
philosophic tone. "I cannot go forward through this mire, and I won't.
We must turn back."
"I will not ride through the town." The clear voice had a decided,
defiant tone this time. "If you won't go through this lane, stop, and
I'll get out here."
The driver stopped at once, clambered down from his seat and opened the
heavy door, and a second later a slender girl jumped from the carriage;
jumped skillfully, too, for she landed on a dry place without coming in
contact with the mud and mire which surrounded her on all sides. Then
she took a view of her surroundings. But just before her the road had an
abrupt turn, so she could not see very far.
The young lady was evidently annoyed to find herself farther from her
destination than she had supposed. Then her glance fell on Herr von
Eschenhagen, who, coming from the other direction, had just reached the
bend in the road.
"I beg pardon, sir, but is the road passable?"
He did not answer at once for he was dumb with admiration at the
wonderful and graceful leap which she had just made. She had gone
through the air like a feather, and landed on the only dry spot on the
whole road.
"Don't you hear me?" she repeated, impatiently. "Do you know whether the
road is passable or not?"
"I--I am on the road now," he answered, rather staggered by the sharp,
dictatorial tone.
"I can see that for myself. But I have no high boots like you. What I
want to know is whether the road is as muddy as this all the way or not?
Are there any dry places? Great heavens! can't you answer?"
"I--I believe you will find it dry after you get past this bend here."
"Very well, then, I will venture. So you can turn back, driver, and
leave my luggage at the post-office opposite the market-place, and I'll
send for it. Wait. Hand me down that black satchel, and I'll take it
with me."
"But it's too heavy for you to carry, Fräulein, and I can't leave my
horses to take it for you," objected the coachman.
"Well, then, give it to that gentleman yonder. It's not very far to our
garden gate. Will you please take that black leather satchel, sir--the
one on the back seat with the heavy straps. Can't you hurry?"
The little foot stamped impatiently on the ground, for the master of
Burgsdorf stood and stared at her with open mouth. It was something new
to him to be commanded and disposed of in this way by a young woman; but
at the last imperious words he came bashfully forward and took the
satchel from the driver's hand. The young lady evidently thought it the
most natural thing in the world to ask his assistance.
"There," she said, shortly. "Now, driver, go back to the post-office,
and I'll pick my way through the Waldhofen mud."
She gathered her gray traveling cloak and frock around her and stepped
along quickly, picking her way carefully as she went, and keeping as
close as possible to the low hedge which bordered the road, while
Willibald, of whom she took no notice, trotted on behind with her
belongings. He thought he had never seen anything half so lovely as this
graceful, slender creature, who scarcely reached up to his shoulder, and
he feasted his eyes on the little figure as he followed after.
There was something more than ordinarily gracious and pleasing in the
young girl's movements, and in her whole appearance, and she carried her
little head with its mass of curly dark hair which no hat could keep
concealed, with a jaunty air. Her features were irregular, but they
wore an expression of saucy defiance, which with her large, dark eyes
and rosy mouth, and the little dimple in the chin, made up for all
imperfections of contour. The gray traveling costume, while simple in
the extreme, was well and tastefully made, and told that its fair wearer
was of another world than that of Waldhofen.
The road, after they had rounded the bend, was, as Willibald said, much
drier, though they still had to keep close to the low, hedge-hidden
wall, and take very careful steps to avoid the wet, muddy hollows. There
was no conversation between the two. Will would never have thought of
speaking, so he trudged on patiently, while his guide hurried forward as
rapidly as the way would permit, and apparently never troubling herself
about the meek burden-bearer in the rear.
In about ten minutes they reached a low garden gate at which the girl
stopped abruptly. She leaned over, and pulling out a little wooden bar,
opened it. Then she turned to her escort, if such he could be called,
and said:
"I thank you, sir. Please give me my satchel now."
The satchel, in spite of its small size, was much too heavy for her
little hands to hold. Willibald was, for the first time in his life,
seized with a knightly impulse, and declared the satchel was much too
heavy for her, and that he would carry it to the house for her. She
accepted his courtesy with a careless nod of approval, and turning
hastily, went through the small, well-kept garden to the back door of
the little old-fashioned house, on which the long afternoon shadows were
lingering. Now for the first time, the new-comer was seen from within,
and an elderly woman started out from the little kitchen, crying:
"Fräulein! Fräulein Marietta, you have come to-day. Ah, what joy, what--"
Marietta flew toward her and put her hand over her mouth.
"Hush! hush! Babette. Speak softly, I want to surprise grandpapa. Is he
at home?"
"Yes, the Herr Doctor is at home and is in his study. Will you go right
in, Fräulein?"
"No, I'll go into the front room and play a soft accompaniment, and sing
him his favorite song! Be careful, Babette, he must not hear us."
She went in on tiptoe, as noiselessly as an elf, across the old hall,
and softly opened the door of a little, low-ceilinged corner room;
Babette, who, overcome by joy and surprise, had not noticed the stranger
standing in the shadow, followed her dear Fräulein. The door was left
open, and Willibald could hear a cover laid back cautiously and a chair
pushed gently in place. Then she began a low prelude. The sounds which
the old worn out spinet gave forth were tremulous and thin, and made one
think of an ancient harp; but the maiden's voice recalled the lark's
song of rejoicing.
The singing was not long continued, for a door opposite was opened
hastily, and an old man with white hair appeared upon the threshold.
"Marietta! my Marietta, is it really you?"
"Grandpapa!" cried the young girl exultantly, as she ceased her song and
rushed forward to throw herself in the old man's arms.
"You bad child. Why did you frighten me so?" he said, tenderly. "I did
not expect you until day after to-morrow, and intended going to the
railway station to meet you. When I heard your voice so suddenly just
now, I believed my ears had deceived me."
The girl laughed out gaily like an excited child.
"Ah, I have succeeded in surprising you, grandpapa, haven't I? I came up
the back road, but the wheels stuck so in the mud that I had to get out
and walk part of the way. I came in through the garden and by the back
door--well, Babette, what is it?"
"Fräulein, the carrier is still waiting with the satchel," Babette had
just discovered that a stranger was on the premises. "Shall I give him
money for a drink and let him go?"
The young man, thus designated as the carrier, still stood, satchel in
hand, awaiting Marietta's pleasure. Dr. Volkmar turned at once, and
recognizing who it was, cried in a frightened tone:
"Good heavens--Herr von Eschenhagen!"
"Do you know the gentleman?" asked Marietta, without any especial
interest or surprise, for her grandfather, being the only physician in
the region, of course knew every one.
"To be sure I know him. Babette, take the valise at once. I beg your
pardon, sir. I did not know that you were acquainted with my
granddaughter."
"Why, we never saw each other before to-day," explained Marietta. "But,
grandpapa, will you not introduce me to this gentleman?"
"Certainly, my child. Herr Willibald von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf--"
"Toni's betrothed!" interrupted Marietta delighted. "O, how comical that
we should meet each other for the first time in the mud. If I had known
who it was I would not have treated you so cavalierly, Herr von
Eschenhagen. I let you walk behind me as though you were a veritable
porter. But why didn't you speak?"
Willibald didn't speak now, but looked stupidly at the little hand
which was extended to him. He felt he must do or say something, and as
it was an impossibility for him to speak, he grasped the little hand in
his great, brawny palm and pressed and shook it vigorously.
"Oh!" cried Marietta as she drew back hastily. "You have a terrible
grip, Herr von Eschenhagen. I believe you have broken my finger."
Willibald, glowing from embarrassment and mortification, was about to
stammer an apology, when the doctor came to his rescue by inviting him
to come in. This invitation he accepted without speaking, and followed
his host into the house. Marietta took the principal part in the
conversation. She gave a very amusing account of her meeting with
Willibald. Now that she knew he was her dear Toni's lover, she treated
him with all the familiarity and freedom of an old friend. She asked
question after question about Toni and the head forester, and her tongue
went on without rest or intermission.
To the young man who sat so silent and listened so eagerly, the girl's
pleasant, bird-like chatter was quite bewildering. He had met the doctor
on the previous day at Fürstenstein and had heard some talk of a certain
Marietta who was a friend of his fiancée. Who or what she was, or from
whence she came, he did not know, for Toni had not been very
communicative on that occasion.
"And to think of this excited child leaving you standing at the back
door, while she came in to play and sing to decoy me from my study,"
said Dr. Volkmar shaking his head. "That was very impolite, Marietta,
very impolite indeed."
The young girl laughed merrily, and shook her short, curly hair.
"O, Herr von Eschenhagen has not taken it amiss. But as he only heard a
bar or two of your favorite song, I think the least I can do is to sing
it all for him now."
And without waiting for an answer, she seated herself at the piano, and
again the clear, silvery voice with its bird-like notes, broke forth on
the evening air. She sang an old, simple ballad, but with such
expression, such pathos and sweetness, that a bright spring sunlight
seemed to enter and flood the little rooms of the old house. But no
sunshine was half so bright as the joy which lit up the face of the old
white-headed man, upon whose forehead lay the shadows of years and
sorrow, and on whose cheeks care had pressed deep furrows. With a
half-pathetic, happy smile he listened to the old familiar melody, which
spoke to his heart like a voice from his own lost youth.
But he was not the only attentive listener. The master of Burgsdorf, who
had fallen asleep amid the thunders of a military march, and who had
felt himself entirely in accord with Tom when she declared music to be
stupid, listened almost breathlessly to the enchanting strains. Such
music was a revelation to him. He sat, leaning forward in his chair, as
if fearful of losing a single note, with his eyes fastened upon the
pretty maiden, who, singing with all her soul, moved her little head
backward and forward with a graceful movement as she warbled forth her
sweet song. When it was ended Willibald leaned back in his chair with a
heavy sigh, and drew his hand across his eyes.
"My little singing bird," said Dr. Volkmar tenderly, as he rose and
leaned over his grandchild and kissed her forehead.
"Well, grandpapa," she said teasingly, "has my voice lost anything
within the last few months? But I fear it does not please Herr von
Eschenhagen. He has no word of commendation for me."
She turned to Willibald with the assumed sulky look of a spoiled child.
He rose now and came over to her.
A slight flush diffused his face, and in his eyes, usually so
expressionless, shone a new light.
"Oh, it was very beautiful!"
The young singer might be forgiven for having expected something more
then these few embarrassed words; but she felt the deep, honest
admiration which they conveyed, and understood at once that her song had
deeply impressed the taciturn stranger. She smiled pleasantly as she
replied:
"Yes, it is a sweet song. I have scored more than one triumph singing it
as an encore."
"As an encore?" repeated Will, with no idea of what she meant.
"Yes, at the theatre, which I have just left to visit grandpapa. I was
such a success, grandpapa, and the director wanted me to give up all my
vacation, but I had surrendered so much of it already to suit him that I
declared I would have these few weeks with you."
Willibald listened to all this with increasing astonishment. Theatre,
vacation, director, what did it all mean? The doctor noticed his
astonishment.
"Herr von Eschenhagen does not know what you are, my child," he said
quietly. "My granddaughter has been educated for an opera singer."
"How soberly you say it, grandpapa," cried Marietta, springing up and
drawing her little slender figure to its full height, as she said, with
an assumption of great dignity:
"For the past five months a member of the renowned and worshipful Ducal
Court theatre, a person in a responsible position and worthy of all
honor. Hats off, gentlemen!"
A member of the Court theatre company! Willibald drew himself together,
as it were, when he heard the fatal words. The well trained son of his
mother, he had a great abhorrence for all actors and actresses. He
stepped unwittingly, three steps back, and stared in amazement at the
young lady who had just made so startling and so frightful an
announcement. She laughed out loud as he did so.
"Oh, you need not manifest so much respect for me, Herr von Eschenhagen,
I will permit you to stand by the piano. Has Toni never told you that I
belong to the theatre?"
"Toni? No!" stammered Willibald, greatly disconcerted. "But she is
waiting for me. I must go to Fürstenstein. I have stayed here much too
long already."
"How extremely polite," laughed the girl, with a good-natured sneer. "It
is not very polite to us, but where your bride is, there should you be
also."
"Yes, and with my mother, too," said Will, who had a feeling that
something dreadful was threatening him, and to whom his mother seemed a
protecting angel. "I beg your pardon, but I have been here much too long
already."
He stopped abruptly, remembering that he had said these words once
before, but as none better offered themselves to his disturbed brain he
repeated them for the third time.
Marietta was half dead from suppressed laughter. Dr. Volkmar declared,
most courteously, that he would not think of detaining his guest a
second longer, and begged him to give his compliments to the head
forester and to Fräulein von Schönau.
The young man scarcely heard him; he reached for his hat, muttering some
word of farewell, and was off without delay. He had but one thought,
and that was to get away as quickly as possible. The good-natured,
scarcely restrained laughter confused him greatly.
When the doctor returned, after having accompanied Willibald to the
door, he found his grandchild half suffocated with laughter, while the
tears were rolling down her cheeks.
"I don't believe that lover of Toni's is quite right here," she said, as
she tapped her forehead with her finger. "First, he carried my satchel
and was as dumb as a fish; then he thawed out a little when I sang, and
now he is off on a run to Fürstenstein and his mother, before I have a
chance even to send Toni a message"
The doctor smiled, but it was a pained smile. He had observed this
stranger more closely than Marietta, and knew only too well what caused
the sudden and great anxiety to get away from the house.
"Evidently the young man is not much accustomed to ladies' society," he
answered evasively; "he's under his mother's thumb apparently, but he
seems to please his sweetheart, and that's the main thing."
"He's a handsome man," mused Marietta, "a very handsome man. But,
grandpapa, I believe he's also a very stupid one."
Willibald in the meantime had gone, almost on a run, to the nearest
street corner, and there he halted and tried to overcome his
bewilderment and collect his thoughts. It was some time before he
started slowly on his homeward way, and while standing dazed and stupid
in the little country road, he threw more than one glance back at the
doctor's house.
What would his mother say? She, who all her life had spurned the
play-actor as she would a reptile. And she was right, Will saw that
clearly; there was a sorcery about such people against which one needed
protection.
But if this Marietta Volkmar should see fit to go to Fürstenstein to
visit her girlhood's friend! The young heir was horrified at the
thought, and assured himself that he was horrified, but there was a new
light in his eyes all the while. He saw suddenly, in his mind's eye, the
reception room at Fürstenstein, and the piano at which his betrothed had
sat so long that day, but in her place was a dainty little figure, with
a perfect glory of curly brown hair around her head; and the heavy notes
of the "Janizary March" changed into the soft, pleading tones of the
old-time ballad, and in the midst of it all, broke out the clear,
bubbling laugh which sounded like music, too.
And all this sweetness was lost forever, both in this world and in the
next, because it had been seen and heard on the stage. Frau von
Eschenhagen had often expressed her views on that subject, and her son,
a good, obedient son always, looked upon her as an oracle. But now he
heaved a deep sigh, as he said half aloud:
"What a shame! What a lamentable shame!"