Julie had pursued her way with far more hesitation as soon as she
reached the street. She stood still more than once, as though she were
considering whether she should go on. In regard to Felix's letter to
Jansen--of whose contents Irene would have to be informed in order that
she might understand the flight of her lover--if she should send it to
her instead of delivering it herself, would not that be more
considerate? Would it not spare the poor girl the shame of looking in
the face a friend who knew of her lover's sins? And yet, on the other
hand, would it not be a last comfort to her to know that even those who
were most directly affected by it had not withdrawn their affection
from the deeply-penitent man, but would gladly have done anything to
convince him of the folly of his ideas in regard to his self-imposed
penance?
She felt that she ought to tell her all this immediately, and by word
of mouth, hard as it would be for her.
When she reached the hotel, the scenes of the preceding day rose up so
vividly before her that, fearful of meeting Nelida, she hurried up the
stairs without first making any inquiries at the office. Her anxiety
was superfluous. The countess had over-exerted her lame foot the day
before, and lay in bed in the greatest pain.
But, upon arriving up-stairs, the baron came forward to meet her with
such a woe-begone face, that she was greatly frightened.
"Where is Irene?" she cried. "Sick?"
"I hope not," answered the old gentleman, grasping her hand, and
evidently breathing more freely, as if a guardian angel had at length
appeared to him. "At least, she was in such excellent health two hours
ago that, in spite of the bad weather, she suddenly made up her mind to
start off over the Brenner pass, accompanied only by her maid."
"She has gone? Then I come too late!"
"My dear Fraeulein, you at all events come early enough to bring comfort
and aid to an old man. You see before you one who has had unexampled
ill-luck in his experience of paternal joys. My own daughter slams the
door in my face, and my other, my adopted daughter, who ought at least
to honor me as her educator and natural protector, runs away from me.
It comes all in a heap, to turn my hair gray before its time!"
"But why did you let her go? Why did you permit her--"
"Permit her! As if she asked for my permission! Just think of it, it
was _she_, on the contrary, who gave me permission to remain here a
while longer, in order that I might arrange my affairs 'in peace,' as
she expressed it, before following her--which, again, I am not to do
until I receive her express permission! Alas! my dear Fraeulein, have I
remained a bachelor, and manfully withstood all the fascinations of
your sex, merely to be put under the control of two grown daughters in
my old age?"
"Do tell me what reason Irene gave you for this sudden decision?" Julie
asked, after a pause.
"You are very good to suppose she would consider it worth while to give
me reasons!" cried the old gentleman. "Well-educated children are
accustomed to do whatever they feel like, and not to hand in a long
account to their foolish papas. That that rascal, Felix, is at the
bottom of it all--so much I have worked out by my talent for
combination. Last night she went to bed in the best of spirits, and
even condescended to give me a dutiful kiss, whose value I knew how to
appreciate because of its rarity. Early this morning, while I was
sitting here waiting for her to come to breakfast, a note arrived from
her _fiance_. I send it in to her, not suspecting anything out of the
way, and a half hour passes before I discover what the trouble is. All
at once the door opens, and my Fraeulein niece appears in complete
traveling-rig. 'Uncle,' she says--and her face is as pale and as set as
a wax doll's--'I am going to start off for Innsbruck by the next train.
I beg you not to ask the reason. You may be sure that I have considered
the matter maturely' (maturely! Only think of it, dear Fraeulein, a
whole half hour!) 'and, as I know that you won't be able to tear
yourself away from here so quickly, I sha'n't think of asking you to
accompany me. It will be sufficient if Louisa goes with me. I shall
make my first stop in Riva. From there I will write to you when you are
to follow. I'--and at this point her voice grew a little unsteady--'I
want to be alone for a while. You may say good-by for me to such of my
acquaintances as you see fit. Be sure and remember me most particularly
to Fraeulein Julie. _Adieu!_' I was, as you can imagine, somewhat taken
aback by this order of the day in true bulletin style. It was not until
she turned away, and I saw that she was really in earnest in what she
said, that I found enough breath to ask, 'But Felix! Does he know about
this? And what shall I tell him when he comes and no longer finds his
betrothed here?' 'He will not come,' she said. 'He--he is prevented.
You will find out all about it later. Now I must hurry, unless I want
to miss the train.' And with this, she was up and away! Oh, my dear
Fraeulein! I, too, can cry out with the old cabinet-maker in a
blood-and-thunder piece they are playing here at the theatre: 'I no
longer understand this world!' Tell me yourself, is there a kreutzer's
worth of common-sense in this whole comedy? To say nothing of the
capricious Fraeulein, there is the lover, who, only yesterday, swore by
all the stars in Heaven he was the happiest wretch who had ever been
pardoned with the rope already round his neck--he comes to a different
conclusion over night and 'is prevented!' Now, you associate with these
artists, Fraeulein Julie. Tell me, do they learn diabolical tricks of
this kind in their so-called Paradise, and are they the result of their
celebrated joviality? If so, then my Kabyles and Arabs are the most
Philistine of Philistines compared with these gentlemen!"
Julie had listened, full of sympathy, to this long outpouring of the
heart. Yet now she had to laugh.
"Dear Herr Baron," she said, "don't take the matter so to heart. I
think I am justified in assuring you that all will be cleared up and
come out right in the end. Whatever I can do to bring this about, I
shall naturally do with all my heart, since my own peace and happiness
depend upon knowing that the young couple are happy too. I hope soon to
be able to talk the matter over with your niece in person. In case you
should have any messages, I also start for the South to-morrow, and
shall most certainly go by the way of Riva."
"You, too!" broke out the baron, springing up as if he had been struck
by lightning. "Now the world is coming to an end! That was the only
thing lacking. No, tell me you are only joking! What is it that drives
you off as if you, too, had been stung by a scorpion? And, besides, you
made me a promise in regard to my child--or, perhaps, she goes too, now
that all Paradise is being loaded on a cart, and Bohemia retreats
through the deepest snow to the land of sunshine?"
"You make me laugh, dear baron, although I am truly in no mood for
laughter. I repeat, only have patience for a little while. I can't tell
you about it to-day. I hope to be able to put your mind at rest about
your daughter before I start. You will receive a few lines from me
tomorrow, and at the same time a letter to Irene's _fiance_, whose
address I don't know--for, the truth is, he has gone away because of an
affair in which his honor is at stake. Promise me, as a reward for what
I am going to do as your mediator with Herr Schoepf, to see that this
letter reaches Baron Felix's hands safely, at all costs. They must know
something about his whereabouts on his estates, and, if the worst comes
to the worst, we shall have to seek for him through the newspapers."
"Now I have it!" cried the baron, eagerly; "an affair of honor--a
_rencontre_--and that is why the girl was so beside herself that she
could not bear even my vicinity. Well, if that's the case, I don't feel
troubled. The boy has a sure hand, and won't be such a fool as to let
himself be shot dead now that he is engaged to be married. But only
tell me--_centre qui?_--overnight in this way--and all the while with
good comrades of his, and peaceable disciples of art to boot!"
Julie considered it her wisest course to make no other reply than a nod
of the head to this conjecture, which evidently completely allayed the
old gentleman's fears. He grew very jolly again, kissed her hand
repeatedly, and only begged her at parting to do her best to help him
fulfill his paternal duties.
"Tell the defiant little red-head," he cried after her, as she was
going down-stairs, "that I haven't the slightest desire to force my
tenderness upon her in person. We can get accustomed to one another by
letter, and familiarize ourselves with the thought that we have found
one another again. Life in Germany is too full of adventures for me. I
am going back to my quiet desert; and to you, my beautiful friend, I
will send the skin of the first lion I kill, as a reward for your
endeavors to help a father to a daughter who doesn't want to have
anything to do with him!"