XXI.

The mirth and fun of the feast were at their height now. The

commander-in-chief had ordered that at twelve o'clock all officers

should be in their respective quarters, including those who had been

told off to the houses of the ranger, the mayor, and the other chief

denizens of the village. It was past eleven o'clock already. No time

was to be lost, if the guests wished to drain the cup of delight which

the hospitable mansion-house proffered in such abundance.

"Vivat Champagne!" exclaimed one of the young officers, taking a glass

of the foaming wine from the salver which a footman offered him.

"And pretty girls!" returned his friend von Koeppingen, emptying his

goblet at one draught, replacing it on the salver, and turning upon his

heel to hurry to the fair Augusta, with whom he was engaged to dance

the _Rheinlaender_, the music of which the orchestra was just playing.

"And where have you been, Ringberg?" asked another comrade, Herr von

Rollintz; "been gambling a little?"

"You know I never play," replied Kurt, who was leaning against the

door.

"Nor dance? Well, well, you are always so sensible; I feel half dead

already, upon my honour! And yet I have to dance this _Rheinlaender_

with the belle of the ball. I am looking for her everywhere; have you

seen her, perchance? Ah, there she is!"

Von Rollintz flew right across the room to meet Erna, who was just

entering from the tea-room. A minute later the pair whirled past Kurt;

von Rollintz, with radiant and glowing face, chattering even during the

dance, Erna still and pale, the long dark eyelashes lowered.

Kurt gazed gloomily after them; then he turned away and began pacing

the verandah. After a little while he saw, at the end opposite to him,

a gentleman ascending the steps, in whom, as soon as the bright light

fell upon him, he recognised Bertram. The young man advanced rapidly

two or three steps, then paused hesitatingly.

"Why, after all!" he murmured, "everything now would be in vain."

Bertram, who had gone up to one of the windows of the ball-room, was

now slowly coming along the verandah. It was painful to Kurt to meet

the man to whom, but a minute ago, he had been willing to apply for

help. So, happening to be just in front of the card-room, he slipped

in.

"He avoids me," said Bertram to himself. "In that case the mountain

will indeed have to go to Mahomet!"

As he was about to look for Kurt in the card-room, he saw, on his way

past the open doors of the ball room, Lydia in conversation with one of

the older officers, a conversation carried on by Lydia with her

customary abundance of gesture and the frequent use of her fan. He drew

nearer, and, as he had hoped, her ever-roving glance had soon lighted

upon him. A slight movement of his eyes was sufficient for the highly

experienced lady, who left the Major with a jesting word, and tripped

up to Bertram.

"You have something to tell me, dear friend?"

"Can you spare me one minute?"

"One minute? For you?"

She gave a sentimental glance at Bertram and started.

"Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "you are ill. You wish the doctor

sent for; but there is one here, nay, there are two,--pray let me...."

"Pray remain here," said Bertram, seizing her by the hand as she was

hastening away. "It is true that I feel rather worn out--a consequence

of the unrest and noise to which I am not accustomed--but otherwise

perfectly well. Let us sit down there!"

He pointed, to a couch near, and sat down; Lydia followed him with

trembling knees, shaking all over, feeling her heart rising to her

throat. The whole unusual approach of Bertram who was generally so

reserved, his pallor, his solemn manner--all this could have but one

reason, one meaning--and what was she to reply? Act surprise and

terror, of course! But not too long, just a few moments of half

fainting, with her head leaning back against the wall and her eyes

turned rapturously towards the chandelier.

"My dear friend--for I must appeal to your friendship--to your

love...."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia.

"To the love which you doubtless cherish for Erna, and which has, I

assume, misled you to this last extremely equivocal step of yours."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia again, but this time with accents of the

greatest terror, as of some one who suddenly feels the ground beneath

him giving way.

"I will not reproach you," continued Bertram, "which indeed I have no

right to do. I was wrong myself in not taking you into my confidence in

reference to Erna, in wrapping myself in secrecy and silence, and thus

all but compelling you to act alone and independently in order to help

our dear child to what, let us trust, will prove her lasting happiness.

But the remedy which you applied came too soon and was too strong; it

has not had the desired effect, at least not in the meantime; indeed,

at present things look desperately bad. Do not ask me how I have

learned this, I may tell you later on, when perhaps you will tell me,

too, how you discovered the secret which both guarded so carefully. All

this does not matter just now; but one thing is of the greatest

importance, and this I heartily beg you will grant me. We must

henceforth act in common, take no one into our confidence of whom we

cannot be sure that he aims at the same thing as we do--namely, at

Erna's happiness. And I think you will do best if you leave me to judge

when this is the case. Are you agreed?"

Poor Lydia was sadly embarrassed. For her terrible disappointment it

was some compensation that Bertram himself had evidently no matrimonial

intentions with reference to Erna, and that he was offering Lydia his

alliance and friendship. How gladly would she have agreed! How gladly

said yes to everything, averring that she would blindly obey his

behests. But alas, in addition to her first indiscretion which he had

so kindly pardoned, she had meanwhile committed another which he would

scarcely pardon.

"It is too late, I see," said Bertram, who had not failed to notice the

terribly anxious expression of her mobile countenance. "You have

already told Hildegard."

"No, no--not Hildegard--worse! far worse!" murmured Lydia, wringing her

hands and casting down her eyes. "In my anxiety, my--ye Heavens! I

cannot excuse myself on any other ground--in my tender anxiety, for you

... the Baron ... you ..."

"Pray speak distinctly," said Bertram, repressing his anger. "I must

know all. The Baron ..."

"He was so angry with you ever since that miserable letter--no, I

cannot tell you that; I am too much ashamed of myself--but Erna has

already pardoned me, and so will you. We had all lost our heads. He

asserted that you alone were to blame for his failure with Erna. And

that Otto had not given him the money--a great big sum--three thousand

thalers--was your doing too, he said. This morning already, before he

drove away, he vowed in my presence that he would inflict a terrible

vengeance upon you; and at dinner, when he sat next to me, he talked

dreadfully, and drank ever so much champagne--and I knew--I thought I

knew--I saw that Erna and Ringberg--Erna had denied him altogether; and

the girls--Augusta, you know, and Louise--told me that Ringberg used

constantly to meet her at their house ...! Erna was so excited when the

regiment came, and ..."

"Go on!" cried Bertram.

"And now the Baron wanted to make you suffer for it. And I really could

not tolerate it, seeing that perhaps I had contributed to the Baron's

wrath against you."

"And so you told the Baron all?"

Lydia was sitting with rigid, tearful eyes, and started in terror as

Bertram quickly rose.

"What would you do?"

"Try if I can repair the mischief a little."

"Let me go, I entreat you! and I will tell the Baron ..."

"And I wish you to tell him nothing. I wish you to remain where you

are, and to appear as unconcerned as possible to all, specially to

Erna, if she should come to you, which, however, I doubt; and mind that

you do not betray one word of what we have been discussing here. Will

you promise that?"

"I promise everything you wish."

"I shall not be ungrateful."

Lydia gazed after him with tears in her eyes as he hurried away. "I

shall not be ungrateful," he had said; and saying that, he had pressed

her hand--for the first time since they had met--and supposing,

supposing that it came to pass after all!

Major von Keberstein approached her again, and said laughingly--

"You seem to have had quite a long confidential conversation with the

gentleman who carried you off so abruptly from my side. And then a poor

old bachelor like me is not to get jealous!"

"I will do my best now to make up for it."

"It will take you all your time, we shall have to tramp back to our

quarters in ten minutes."

"Can you not throw in half an hour?"

"Not for worlds!" exclaimed the major, replacing his watch which he had

been consulting. "My orders are very strict."

"Then I must claim the ten minutes at least," she rejoined, gathering

her robe together and making way for the stout old gentleman by her

side on the couch.

In the adjoining card-room, too, the guests were bent upon making the

most of the last few minutes by doubling and trebling their high

stakes. All the players now were civilians, chiefly neighbouring

proprietors, who could afford to lose a few hundreds. Some of the

officers had at first joined in the game, but only at first, and with

very small stakes, as if to show that, so far as they were concerned,

the whole thing was a little harmless social amusement--nothing more.

When heavier sums began to be staked, they had at once ceased playing,

and had gradually melted away. The _Oberfoerster_, or ranger, who was

only looking on, thought that this had been done in obedience to a

signal from the Colonel himself, who had passed through the card-room

on his way out.

"All the better," the Baron had sneered; "then we shall remain snugly

among ourselves. _Faites votre jeu, Messieurs!_"

And indeed the Baron, so the gentlemen present thought, had good reason

to find his position a snug one. He was winning almost without

interruption. The heap of bank-notes and gold coins by his side was

ever increasing; among the bank-notes were already a good few slips, on

which the players had written their names and the amount of their

stakes; his gains were said to be several thousands. He asserted that

it was nothing like that sum, and repeatedly offered to let some one

else take the bank; but no one cared to accept his offer; and thus the

losers had no right to grumble, although for some time now they had

been, as one of them said, hurrying in pursuit of their own money. They

had need to hurry if they would overtake the money which was ever

fleeting. The Baron's proposal that the game should cease punctually at

half-past eleven, the time fixed for the conclusion of the ball, had

been agreed to, and it was now almost a quarter past. The Baron saw

already, from the large stakes which the players were venturing, that,

as the cards were more than ever in his favour, his gains would be

doubled; his jubilant mirth proved the excitement he was labouring

under; he had some funny word for every card he dealt, every deal he

scored, and all the while his eyes were glowing, and his busy hands

were twitching nervously. Suddenly there was a change. One of the

players had staked a sum equivalent to the total of his losses during

the evening--and had won! This daring play, and the success which had

crowned it, stimulated the others; and now everything went against the

banker. In a few minutes his heap had dwindled down to less than half,

and it became evident that if, during the remaining quarter of an hour,

the bank were pursued by the same bad luck, it must needs end with a

considerable balance the wrong way. The jests of the Baron became more

and more bitter; presently he took to whistling savagely through his

closed teeth, interspersing this with muttered curses; his eyes, now

roving restlessly around the room, seemed repeatedly to be fixing

themselves upon same one within the room. Suddenly he stopped in the

middle of a deal, and exclaimed, with a semi-audible curse--

"You are bringing me bad luck, sir! You are in my way, sir!"

These words, which he had uttered in the most violent way, were

accompanied by a fierce look at Kurt, who, to avoid meeting Bertram,

had entered the room a few minutes ago, and had since been standing

with folded arms among the spectators, who, attracted and enchained by

the sight of the maddening game, had, in ever-increasing numbers,

grouped themselves around the board of green cloth. The scene had not

had any attraction for him; his mind was far away; he had stared

mechanically before him without seeing anything; nor had he heard the

Baron's words; he only felt it disagreeable that several gentlemen near

him were looking hard at him. One of them thought it incumbent upon

himself to whisper to Kurt that the Baron had meant his remarks for

him. Kurt, under the impression that Lotter had been asking him to join

in the game, and not wishing to say it aloud, replied in a courteous

whisper to the gentleman who had called his attention to the fact that

the Baron had meant his remarks for him--

"I am sorry, but I never play."

He accompanied this by an apologetic shrug of the shoulders towards the

Baron, and turned upon his heel. As soon as he was free of the crowd

surging around him, he made for the door leading to the verandah,

hoping that there he would be left to himself and to his own sad

thoughts.

The Baron burst into a hoarse, mocking laughter when he saw Kurt turn;

he went on dealing, with trembling hands, then jumped suddenly to his

feet, exclaiming--

"Excuse me, but I must ask the gentleman, what he means by shrugging

his shoulders."

He flung the remaining cards upon the table, and was rushing towards

the door through the crowd of amazed and excited spectators, whom he

pushed rudely aside if they did not make way quickly enough. Before he

reached the door, however, Bertram faced him, barring the way.

"What do you want?" the Baron hissed through his teeth.

"I want to call your attention to the fact that you are the guest of

this house, and that you are on the point of basely violating its

proffered hospitality."

Bertram had spoken firmly, but in so low a voice that the Baron alone

could hear him. His look, too, was perfectly calm; even those next to

him, who saw but his face, whilst the Baron was turning his broad back

upon them, could not but think that it was simply some indifferent

communication.

The Baron was speechless with wrath. Bertram gave him no time to break

out. He continued in the same low, incisive tone--

"I see that you quite understand me. I need scarcely add that I am at

any time at your service, should you consider yourself in need of a

comment upon the lesson which I have given you."

"You shall hear from me, and forthwith!"

"The sooner the better!"

He bowed slightly; then, raising his voice as he turned to the others,

he said--

"A thousand pardons, gentlemen; but I was commissioned by our amiable

host to remind you that his military-guests have, alas! to retire

already; and that they will be wishing to bid you farewell."

As if in confirmation of Bertram's words, the music just then broke off

in the adjoining ball-room, the door flew open, and quite a host of

officers came rushing in. There could no longer be any question of

resuming the game, even if the players had been willing, which they,

however, certainly seemed not to be. Some of the older ladies had come

in, looking for their husbands; some others, young ones, followed; the

room was overflowing with guests; the players had difficulty in

getting back to the table to pocket their stakes. Not a few of them

had yet to square accounts with the Baron; they crowded round him, but

he was shoving the remnant of his gains--gold coins, bank-notes,

I.O.U.s--higgledy-piggledy into his pockets, and when questioned, as he

constantly was, replied with surly mien and in briefest words, and

repelled rather than answered their questions--muttering that they

might apply to-morrow; and that, in this confusion to-night, the devil

himself could neither hear nor impart information.

Bertram had eagerly watched, this scene, keeping close to the door

which led to the verandah. He made sure that the Baron's time was

meanwhile absolutely taken up, and that he would, not be able to think

of following Kurt and inventing some new reason for a quarrel, since

the first attempt had failed. Under any circumstances, the Baron would

have to settle with him first; and then he saw how, breaking away from

the players who were still surrounding him, the Baron hurried up to

meet Herr von Busche, who, looking very heated and flushed, was just

coming from the ball-room. The two gentlemen Bertram knew to be, as

shooting companions, on good, though not on specially friendly terms;

anyhow, there could be no doubt as to the subject of their present

discussion in yonder far-away corner, where the Baron was

gesticulating, while Herr von Busche, the young gentleman from the

Woods and Forests' Office, listened intently, now and again shaking his

head, and at last nodding it, more, it seemed, in courtesy than in

assent. Then Bertram remembered that it was time for him also to look

out for a second.

Looking for Ringberg, he saw him on the verandah, which now was filled

by the guests, among a small group of officers, already with helmets

and overcoats on, who were bidding him good-bye. These departing heroes

had their quarters in the village; they were in a mighty hurry; a

couple of servants were in readiness with lanterns to light up the

shorter way to the village, down the terraces; fair Hildegard had,

indeed, been mindful of everything needed. As the other officers were

hastening down the steps, Bertram stepped up to Kurt.

"Can you spare me a minute, Lieutenant Ringberg?"

Kurt was evidently very much surprised, but he at once bowed his

assent.

"To be sure, a minute will not suffice, if, as I hope, you will grant

my request."