"You have slept badly, mouse; look at your poor eyes. You worry me, you
pale person."
With these words Erwin greets his wife the next morning at breakfast,
kisses her lightly on the forehead, then reads his letters, swallows a
cup of coffee in great haste, greets Miss Sidney, who enters with her
little pupil, absently though pleasantly, lets himself, still
pleasantly but somewhat passively, be embraced by his little daughter,
puts his letters in his pocket and hurries away, but turns at the door
and cries: "Do not expect me to lunch, Elsa; I have a great deal to do
in Radewitz."
Now he has gone, Elsa's eyes have grown sad. For a few minutes after
Miss Sidney has led Litzi away Elsa remains at the deserted breakfast
table and crumbling a roll, murmurs, "He has forgotten."
To-day is their wedding-day, a day which Erwin has always made much of,
which has always been a day of sweetest recollections. She had remained
in her room this morning longer than usual, because she had hoped that
he would seek her. In vain! Then she, poor Elsa, had expected a little
surprise at the breakfast table--in vain!
So now she sits there and hopes that perhaps he will return.
Yes, he returns--his steps rapidly approach, her heart beats fast, the
door opens, Erwin bursts in with hat on his head, and cries: "Elsa,
don't forget to send the White Duchess to Traunberg. I have not time to
give the order," and disappears.
"He has forgotten--decidedly forgotten!" cries Elsa, "for the first
time!" Then she leaves the breakfast room.
Time passes slowly and sadly for her. "It is a trifle not worth
speaking about," she tells herself again and again. "I should have
reminded him," but then she feels herself grow hot.
"He did not forget Linda's horse," she murmurs bitterly, and adds still
more bitterly: "He is bored. Every diversion is welcome to him. Poor
Erwin!"
The day passes--the dinner hour draws near, several minutes before five
Erwin at length returns. Heated and irritable he seeks her in her room.
"How vexed I have been!" he cries as he enters.
She smiles, a little excitement overcomes her. But soon it turns out
that he has not been vexed at his forgetfulness--oh, no!--only at the
cheating and roguery of his sugar factory director.
"It serves you right," remarks Elsa, coldly. She cannot deny herself
the satisfaction of making some sharp remark to him. "When he
introduced himself to you, you told me 'the man is repulsive to me!'
and when he came back again you engaged him. You always do so. At the
first glance you judge men according to your instincts, and very
justly; at the second glance you judge them by the universal statutes
of lofty philanthropy, and always falsely. I know no one for whom it is
more unpleasant to believe ill of his neighbor than you."
"God be praised and thanked that the counterbalance of a desperately
distrustful wife is given me, then," cried Erwin, somewhat irritably.
Then a pair of large eyes meet his gloomily. "My distrust is a disease,
and you know the cause," says she, earnestly.
The shrill dinner-bell at this point interrupts the conversation.
After dinner--Miss Sidney has gone into the garden with Litzi to
play grace hoops--the husband and wife sit vexedly silent in the
drawing-room, when a servant presents a letter to Erwin from
Traunberg. Elsa has at once perceived that it is in Linda's, not in
Felix's handwriting. Erwin has opened it, apparently indifferently,
then suddenly the blood rushes to his cheeks, almost violently he
throws the letter away, kneels before Elsa and takes both her hands in
his. "How could I forget the 27th? Elsa, are you very angry with me?"
he cries.
It would be hard to remain angry with him, if he had not been reminded
of his duty by just Linda. But this vexes Elsa so much that she answers
his warm glance and pleasant smile only with a cool "Why should I be
angry?" as indifferently and calmly as if the 27th no more concerned
her than the date of the battle of Leipzig.
"Had you forgotten, also?" he asks, wounded.
"Forgotten?--what?" asks she, dully.
"That to-day is my lucky day--the loveliest day of all the year for me?
Oh, Elsa! Has it become indifferent to you?"
His voice goes deep to her heart, but she is ashamed to be so moved by
his first warm words--is ashamed to show him how his forgetfulness has
pained her. In proud fear of having shown too much feeling, she hardens
her heart, and with the peculiar histrionic talent which is at the
disposal of most women in critical moments, and which they love to
display, so as to thereby ruin the happiness of their life, she says
calmly, pleasantly, half laughingly: "Ah, indeed!--I should tease you
for your lack of memory!"
"Elsa!" confused and surprised he looks in her eyes. "Do you not
remember how we have always valued the day; do you not remember the
first year? You had forgotten it, then?--and when I put the ring on
your finger--perhaps you do not wear it any longer?"
"Oh, yes;" and Elsa looks down at the large diamond which sparkles like
a dewdrop or a tear near her wedding-ring.
"Well, you were ashamed, then, not to have thought of me," he
continued, "and then--then you repeated to me, half crying, half
laughing, very tenderly a little childish wish: 'Had I an empire I
would lay it at thy feet, alas, I can offer you nothing but a kiss,' do
you not remember, Elsa?"
But Elsa only replies coldly, almost mockingly: "It is very long
ago--hm! What does Linda write to you besides that to-day is the 27th?"
"I have not read all of her letter, read it yourself if you wish," and
with that he hands his wife the letter.
Elsa at first struggles with herself, but then she reads it, and half
aloud:
Dear Erwin:--It is really too charming in you to so kindly gratify my
thoughtless wish. Many, many thanks for the beautiful White Duchess.
Felix just tells me that to-day is the 27th, a day on which you will
have no pleasure in playing lawn-tennis with me. You might perhaps
force yourself to come so as not to vex me, solitary as I am now.
Therefore I release you from your promise. Kiss Elsa for me, and, with
most cordial greetings, Sincerely yours, Linda Lanzberg.
"How well she writes," says Elsa, who is sorry that she can find
nothing to complain of in the letter, and with the firm resolve not to
let her jealousy be perceived in the slightest, she continues: "I
should be sorry if our foolish lovers' traditions should prevent you
from amusing yourself a little, my poor Erwin." She had taken up some
fancy work and seemed to ponder over a difficulty in it. "Pray go over
to Traunberg and invite Linda to dinner Sunday."
Erwin gazes angrily before him. "You send me away,
Elsa--you--to-day--on our wedding-day?" says he then, slowly.
She laughs lightly and threads a fresh needle. "Ah! do not be childish,
Erwin," cries she. "It is not suited to our age now."
He pulls the bell rope violently. "Elsa," he whispers once more before
the servant enters, but with such intolerable cordiality she says,
"Well, Erwin?" that he turns away his head and calls to the servant,
who just then appears, "Tell Franz to saddle my horse."