Since the important evening above described, the dancing-lessons had
gone on regularly, and Anton, having got over the purgatory of the first
introduction, began to feel perfectly at home. Indeed, he became a
useful member of the association, and was a pattern of assiduity and
punctuality, and a striking contrast to Fink, who horrified the
dancing-master by declaring that the _galop_ step was fitted for every
and all dances alike, and by waltzing in the most eccentric orbits
conceivable.
The fact was, Anton was so happy that his transfigured aspect struck
both the young and the old ladies, confirming the former in their
conviction that he was good and true-hearted, and the latter in theirs,
that he was a prince in disguise. He himself best knew the secret of his
bliss. Every thought of his loyal heart revolved around its absolute
mistress. All dances or conversations with others he looked upon as
more flourishes surrounding her name; neither was he without his
reward. She soon treated him like an old friend; and, whenever she
entered the room, it was not till she had discovered his brown curls
among the circle that she felt at home in the brilliant assembly.
It is, however, a melancholy fact, that destiny never long permits a
child of earth to feel his whole nature and circumstances strung up to
their utmost sweetness and power. It invariably contrives to let down
some string while winding up another. Hence arises a discord, such as
Anton was now called upon to experience.
It was plain that the gentlemen of the counting-house looked with
critical eye upon the change in his way of life. There existed every
possible diversity among them, it is true; but all were unanimous in
pronouncing that, since he had attended these dancing-lessons, our hero
had greatly changed for the worse. They declared that his increased
silence was pride, his frequent absences in an evening tokens of
unbecoming levity; and he who had once been a universal favorite was now
in danger of being universally condemned. He himself considered the
colder bearing of his colleagues very unkind; and so it came to pass
that, for several weeks, he lived almost exclusively with Fink, and that
the two formed, as it were, an aristocratic section in opposition to the
rest.
Anton was more depressed by this state of things than he chose to
confess: he felt it every where--at his desk, in his room, nay, even at
dinner. If Jordan wanted a commission executed, it was no longer to him,
but to Baumann, that he turned; when Purzel, the cashier, came into the
office, he no longer accepted Anton's seat; and though Specht addressed
him oftener than ever, it was no comfort to have questions like these
whispered in his ear, "Is it true that Baron von Berg has dapple-gray
horses?" or, "Must you wear patent leather boots, or shoes, at Frau von
Baldereck's?" But Pix, his former patron, was the severest of all.
Excessive toleration had never been one of this gentleman's weaknesses,
and he now, for no very definite reasons, looked upon Anton as a traitor
to himself and the firm. He was in the habit of keeping his birth-day in
a most festal manner, surrounded by all his friends, and, knowing this,
Anton had purposely refused an invitation of Herr von Zernitz; yet, when
the day came, Fink and he were not included among the birth-day guests.
Anton felt this deeply; and, to make matters worse, Specht
confidentially told him that Pix had declared that a young gentleman who
associated with lieutenants, and frequented Feroni's, was no companion
for a plain man of business. As he sat alone and heard the merry
laughter of his colleagues, he fell into a melancholy mood, which none
of his ball-room recollections had the power to dispel.
For, truth to tell, he was not satisfied with himself--he was changed.
He was not exactly negligent of business, but it gave him no
pleasure--his work was a task. Sometimes, in writing letters, he had
forgotten the most important clauses; nay, once or twice he had made
mistakes as to prices, and Jordan had handed him them back to re-write.
He fancied, too, that the principal had not noticed him for some time
past, and that Sabine's greeting had grown colder. Even the good-natured
Karl had asked him, ironically he thought, whether he, as well as Fink,
had a pass-key. It was in this mood that he now sat down to look over
his own accounts, which of late he had omitted to keep punctually. He
was horrified to find that his debts amounted to more than he could pay
without mortgaging his little inheritance. He felt very unhappy and out
of tune; but fate willed that the discord should increase.
Two or three evenings later, the merchant, returning early from his
club, answered Sabine's greeting dryly, and paced up and down the room.
"What is the matter, Traugott?" asked she.
He threw himself into a chair. "Would you like to know how Fink got his
protégé introduced into Frau von Baldereck's circle? You were so ready
to admire this proof of his friendship! He has concocted a whole system
of lies, and made the inexperienced Wohlfart play the part of a mere
adventurer." And he went on to narrate all that we already know.
"But is it certain that Fink has done this?"
"Not a doubt of it. It is exactly like him. It is the same reckless,
unscrupulous spirit, that neither heeds the life nor the reputation of a
friend."
Sabine fell back in her chair, and again her heart swelled with
indignation. "Oh, how sad it is!" cried she; "but Wohlfart is innocent,
that I am convinced of. Such falsehoods are not in his nature."
"I shall know to-morrow," said the merchant; "for his own sake, I hope
you are right."
The next day the principal summoned Anton to his own apartment, and
telling him the rumors that had arisen, asked him what he had done to
contradict them.
Anton replied in much amazement, "That he knew nothing of such rumors as
these; that sometimes, indeed, he had been joked with as to his means,
but that he had always avowed how small they were."
"Have you spoken decidedly?" asked the merchant, severely.
"I believe that I have," was the honest reply.
"These idle tales would not signify," continued the principal, "but that
they expose you to the charge of having sought, by unworthy means, to
gain a position to which you are not entitled, and also that they tend
to degrade your parents' reputation, for it is given out that you are
the son of a man of very high rank."
"Oh my mother!" cried Anton, wringing his hands, and the tears rolling
down his cheeks. As soon as he could control his emotion, he said,
"The most painful part of all this is, that you should have supposed me
capable of circulating these falsehoods. I implore you to believe that I
never knew of them till now."
"I am glad to believe it," said the merchant; "but you have done much to
substantiate them. You have appeared in a circle and incurred expenses
which were alike unsuited to your position and your fortune."
Anton felt that he would greatly prefer the centre of the earth to its
surface. At length he cried, "I know it--you are right--nay, I knew it
all the time; and especially since I found that I had run into
debt"--here the merchant smiled almost imperceptibly--"I have felt that
I was on the wrong road altogether, though I did not know how to retrace
my steps. But now I will lose no more time."
"Was it not Fink who introduced you to that circle? Perhaps," said the
merchant, "he may be able to throw some light on the affair."
"Allow me to call him," said Anton, "and let him be witness as to
whether I knew of this."
"Certainly, if it be any satisfaction to you;" and Fink was summoned. On
entering, he looked with astonishment at Anton's excited aspect, and
cried, without particularly heeding the principal's presence, "The
devil! you have been weeping!"
"Over calumnies," said the merchant, gravely, "which affect his own
character as a respectable man of business, and the honor of his
family." And he proceeded to state the whole affair.
"He is quite innocent," said Fink, good-naturedly: "innocent and
harmless as the violet that blows in the shade. He knew nothing of this
ridiculous affair; and, if any one be to blame, it is I, and the
babbling fools who have spread the story. Don't torment yourself, Anton;
since it annoys you, we will soon set it all to rights."
"I shall go once more," declared Anton, "to Frau von Baldereck, and tell
her that I can no longer attend the dancing-parties."
"As you like," said Fink. "At all events, you have learned to dance, and
to hold your hat like a gentleman."
Before dinner, the merchant said to his sister, "You were right,
Wohlfart had nothing to do with it; it was all Fink's invention."
"I knew it," cried Sabine, drawing out her needle vehemently.
Anton worked hard all day, said little, and, when evening came, went up
stairs to dress, like a man whose mind is made up.
If Fink could have seen into his heart, he would have been shocked at
the sorrow there. It was not alone wounded self-love, mortification,
shame, but the anguish of bidding farewell to Lenore. As it was, "I
say," cried he, "I have a notion that you take this nonsense a great
deal too tragically. Are you angry with me?" holding out his hand.
"Neither with you nor with any one else; but let me for once act for
myself."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do not ask me. I have but one thing to do."
"So be it, then," was the good-humored reply; "but do not forget that
any thing like a scene would only amuse those people."
"Trust me," said Anton, "I shall make none."
It happened to be a very gay meeting, and there were more gentlemen
present than usual. Anton at once went up to Lenore, who came to meet
him more lovely than ever, in her first ball-dress, saying, "How late
you are! Come, papa is here, and I want to introduce you to him. But
what is the matter, you look so grave?"
"Dear lady," returned Anton, "I do indeed feel sad. I can not dance the
next dance with you, and am only come to apologize to you, and to the
lady of the house, for my abrupt departure."
"Mr. Wohlfart!" cried Lenore, clasping her hands.
"Your good opinion is more to me than that of all others," said he,
blushing; and proceeded rapidly to state the whole story, assuring her
that he had known nothing of it.
"I believe you," said Lenore, cordially; "and, indeed, papa said that it
was all most probably an idle tale. And because of this you will give up
our dancing-parties!"
"I will," said Anton; "for, if I do not, I run a risk of being
considered an intruder or an impostor."
Lenore tossed her little head. "Go, then, sir!" and she turned away.
Anton stood like one annihilated. Had he been ten years older, he might
have interpreted her anger more favorably. As it was, a bitter pang
thrilled through him. But the thought of what was still to be done
nerved him to overcome it, and he walked steadily, nay, proudly to where
Frau von Baldereck was doing the honors. All the most distinguished
members of the party were around her. The gaunt old countess sat
drinking a cup of tea. The baroness was there; and near her a tall,
handsome man, whom Anton knew instinctively to be Lenore's father. As he
advanced to make his bow to the lady of the house, his glance took in
the whole scene at once. Years have passed since then; but still he
knows the color of every dress, could count the flowers in the bouquet
of the baroness, ay, and remembers the gilt pattern on the countess's
tea-cup. Frau von Baldereck received his obeisance with a gracious
smile, and was about to say something flattering, when Anton interrupted
her, and in a voice that shook a little, perhaps, but was audible
throughout the room, began his address, which was soon listened to in
profound silence. "Madam, I have this day heard that a rumor has been
spread of my possessing lands in America, and exciting an interest in
certain high quarters. I now declare that this is all false. I am the
son of a late accountant in Ostrau, and I inherit from my parents hardly
any thing beyond an unsullied name. You, madam, have been kind enough to
invite me, an insignificant stranger, to take part in your _réunions_
this winter. After what I have just heard, I dare do so no longer, lest
I should thus substantiate the idle reports I have mentioned, and be
suspected of imposing upon your hospitality. Therefore I have only to
thank you sincerely for your past kindness, and to take my leave."
The whole party was struck dumb. Anton bowed, and turned to go.
Just then there flew out from the paralyzed circle a brilliant form, and
taking both his hands in hers, Lenore looked at him with tearful eyes,
and said, in a broken voice, "Farewell!" The door closed, and all was
over.
When life returned in the room he had left, the first words audible were
the baroness's whisper to her daughter, "Lenore, you have forgotten
yourself."
"Do not blame her," said the baron, aloud, with great presence of mind;
"the daughter only did what the father should have done. The young man
has behaved admirably, and we can not but esteem him."
A murmur, however, began to arise from different groups. "Quite a
dramatic scene," said the lady of the house; "but who then said--"
"Ay, who was it that said," interposed Von Tönnchen. All eyes turned to
Fink.
"It was you, Herr von Fink, who--" Frau von Baldereck majestically
began.
"I, my dear lady!" said Fink, with the composure of a just man unjustly
accused. "What have I to do with the report? I have always contradicted
it as much as possible."
"Yes," said several voices; "but then you used to hint--"
"And you certainly did say--" interpolated Frau von Baldereck.
"What?" coldly inquired the imperturbable Fink.
"That this Mr. Wohlfart was mysteriously connected with the Czar."
"Impossible!" cried Fink, earnestly; "that is a complete
misunderstanding. In describing the appearance of the gentleman, then
unknown to you, I may possibly have mentioned an accidental likeness,
but--"
"But the American property," chimed in Herr von Tönnchen; "why, you
yourself made it over to him, and requested us to keep the transaction a
profound secret."
"As you have kept my secret so well," replied Fink, "as to tell it every
where, and now in my presence, before all assembled here, you and
Zernitz are evidently answerable for the whole foolish rumor. And now
listen, gentlemen; my friend Wohlfart having once expressed a playful
wish to have land in America, I amused myself by making him a
Christmas-box of a certain possession of mine on Long Island, near New
York, which possession consists of a few sand-hills and a tumble-down
hut, built for wild-duck shooting. It was natural that I should ask you
not to mention this, and I am very sorry that, from such a trifle, you
should have spun a web that excludes a delightful man from our circle."
And then a cold irony spreading over his features, he went on: "I
rejoice to see how strongly you all share my feeling, and despise the
low snobbishness of soul which could consider a man more fitted for
society because a foreign potentate had evinced an interest in him. And,
since we have begun this evening's dance with explanations, let me
further explain, that Mr. Anton Wohlfart is the son of a late accountant
in Ostrau, and that I shall consider any further allusion to this
misunderstanding as an insult to my most intimate friend. And now, my
dear lady, I am engaged to your daughter for the first quadrille, and
can positively wait no longer."
In the course of the evening Lieutenant von Zernitz came up and said,
"Fink, you have made fun of us, and I am sorry to be under the necessity
of demanding satisfaction."
"Be rational, and do nothing of the kind," replied Fink. "We have shot
together so often, it would be a pity now to take each other for a
mark."
Fink being by far the best shot in the room, Herr von Zernitz allowed
himself to be convinced.
Anton had vanished from the fashionable circle like a falling star, and
he never reappeared therein. True, it did occur to Frau von Baldereck,
rather late in the day, that it would be proper occasionally to invite
the young man, to prove that he had not been tolerated merely as--what
he was not, and some other families thought the same; but as these
invitations came, as before said, rather late, and as Anton declined
them, his fate was that of many a greater man--society forgot him. For a
short time the two chief hatchers of the grand report, Messrs. von
Tönnchen and von Zernitz, spoke to him when they met him in the street;
for a whole year they bowed, then they too knew him no more.
The following day Anton told the merchant all that had passed, begged
him to forgive his late remissness, and promised greater attention in
future.
"I have no fault to find," replied the merchant, kindly. "And now let me
see the amount of your debts, that we may get your affairs in order."
Anton drew a slip of paper from his pocket, the cashier was called, the
sum paid, and put down to Anton's account, and that was settled.
In the evening Fink said to Anton, "You went off with flying colors; the
oldest man there declared aloud that you had behaved admirably."
"Who said that?" Fink told him it was the Baron Rothsattel, and did not
appear to remark his deep blush. "It would have been better," continued
he, "if you had not taken such a decided step. Why avoid the whole
circle, in which there are some who have a strong personal regard for
you?"
"I have done what my own feelings prompted," said Anton; "perhaps one
older and more experienced might have managed better; but you can not
blame me for not taking _your_ advice in this matter."
"It is singular," thought Fink, as he went down stairs, "what different
events teach different men to have and exert wills of their own. This
boy has become independent in one night, and whatever Fate may now have
in store for him, he is sure to acquit himself well."
It spoke highly, both for Anton and his friend, that their intimacy was
by no means decreased by the circumstances just related. On the
contrary, it was deepened. Fink behaved with more consideration, and
Anton gained more freedom, both of opinion and action. The influence of
the younger of the friends weaned the elder from many an evil habit.
Anton being more than ever zealous in his office duties, and more
obliging to his colleagues, Fink insensibly accustomed himself to
greater application and punctuality. There was only one subject that he
never touched upon, though he well knew that it was always uppermost in
Anton's mind, and that was the lovely young girl who had shown so much
heart and spirit on the occasion of his last dancing-lesson.