Below, in the garden saloon, Bertram found only Otto and the Baron, who
abruptly stopped an eager conversation as Bertram entered. Otto looked
greatly embarrassed; the Baron gave him one angry look, then turned
away to the young ladies, who were walking on the verandah.
"I seem to have disturbed you," said Bertram.
"Don't be annoyed," replied Otto. "The Baron had, last night already,
disagreeable news from home, which is confirmed to-day, and will compel
him to travel back; and just now, in this time of tension, he wishes of
course--it is extremely awkward ..."
"In one word, he has officially asked you for your daughter's hand?"
"Not exactly officially; we really do not know about Erna. You had
undertaken to put us _au courant_, to advise and help us, and now you
are not helping us at all, and--and my wife is rather annoyed with you
on this ground."
"So I have observed; and therefore, to make up for previous omissions,
I'll give you my advice now: get rid of him as quickly as possible, and
spare Erna the humiliation of having to refuse the fellow."
"Humiliation? The fellow? How oddly you talk!"
"I talk how I feel. He is unworthy of Erna, absolutely."
"So you say; but why?"
Bertram made no answer. What good could it do now to have a dispute
with Otto about the worthiness or unworthiness of the Baron?
"You see," said Otto triumphantly, "you have no real reason to give!"
Then, seeing his friend look extremely grave, he went on--"I know of
course that you mean well by Erna, by me, by all of us. Perhaps you are
right, too, at least in this--that Erna may say: No. If she does, well,
then there is an end of it, and Hildegard and he may see how they can
best put up with it. If only it had not happened just now. I have my
head quite full enough as it is--all these officers coming to be
quartered here to-morrow, then the final debate on the railway
question, and then I just remember that I have also to redeem
to-morrow a certain mortgage, not much, only five thousand thalers, but
it happens most inopportunely, I wanted to talk to you about it before,
but I did not like to disturb you in your rooms; perhaps after dinner,
or to-night sometime--there is my wife coming, for God's sake no fuss,
I entreat you!"
Hildegard entered, Lydia followed soon after, the young ladies and the
Baron came in from the verandah, and they all went to dinner.
Conversation somehow flagged; every one was busy with his own thoughts,
and, if one were to judge by looks, these thoughts did not seem to be
pleasant ones, except in Hildegard's case. She kept smiling
mysteriously to herself, and at last, when there had been a pause of
some little duration, she held up a couple of letters which she had
laid by the side of her plate, and said--
"It is really too bad; here, I am sitting with quite a treasury of most
interesting surprises, and none of you take the trouble to show the
slightest symptom of curiosity. It would really serve you right if I
were not to say a word to you; but I will be gracious, as usual, and
let you participate in my joy. First, then, your mother, Agatha, has
after all yielded to my entreaties. It is most kind of her. She has a
big party to-morrow, too; some twenty officers, she says, and can ill
spare any of the girls. Still, she understands that I have even greater
need of them in our solitude, if the crowd of uniforms is not to become
intolerably monotonous--_enfin_, she'll send Louise and Augusta. They
will arrive to-day; so we shall really be able to have a dance to
morrow evening, if we invite the girls from the parsonage and a few
others. Well, what do you say?"