The Breaking of the Storm, Vol. III.

by Friedrich Spielhagen

CHAPTER I.

"Has Friedrich not come back yet!"

"No, General."

August, who had his hand already upon the door, was just leaving the room.

"One moment!" said the General.

August obeyed with a face of much embarrassment; the General had come close up to him, and there was in his countenance, not anger, as August assured himself by one nervous glance upwards, but something peculiar; while the deep tones of his voice did not sound peremptory but very strange, thought August.

"It is of great importance to me to know where my son is at this moment; Friedrich will perhaps not return immediately, and I am losing precious time. You do not know where Friedrich was to take the things?"

The faithful fellow trembled, and his broad, honest face quivered as if tears were not far off; it was only with an effort that he could answer: "Yes, General; Friedrich told me, and he has already two or three times had to take things there when the Lieutenant did not come home; she is called Fräulein Bertalda, and lives in ---- Street, and is, with all due respect, a person who----"

"Good!" said the General, "you need not send Friedrich to me now. It is possible that I may require to send you out. Be ready, therefore!"

"Breakfast will be ready. General----"

"I shall not breakfast to-day."

"Fräulein Sidonie was coming to speak to you, sir; can she come now?"

"I am very sorry--I am busy--you must tell Fräulein Sidonie."

The General turned back into the room. August, in his heartfelt anxiety, longed to say: "If only our young lady were here!" But he did not venture, and so slipped out.

"Part of it was true then," murmured the General, "so I suppose the rest will be also."

He went up to his writing-table, on which lay an open letter that he had received a quarter of an hour before from Herr von Wallbach. Bending over it in vague bewilderment, supporting himself by one hand on the table, he almost mechanically perused it again, then raised himself with a long-drawn breath and passed his hand over his bushy brows, as if trying to sweep away from his mind, like a bad dream, the fearful thing which he read there. Not merely what he read! between the lines there flitted to and fro terrible things which he himself had mentally inserted whilst he read, as in a bad dream the most dreadful part is not in the images which a terror-stricken imagination calls up, but in the expectation of horrors that are still to come. And yet! what more could come, when an alliance with the Werben family was declined as dishonourable! when satisfaction was denied to a Werben!

The latter point, as the most comprehensible, was that to which the unhappy man's wandering thoughts returned and clung most persistently.

A betrothal broken off was a thing that had happened before and might happen again; it was a trifle even, a mere nothing, if only honour were untouched by it, if only Ottomar could stake his life upon his unimpeachable honour. Might not Wallbach's cowardice--he had always thought the man a coward--be taking advantage of Ottomar's difficulties, which "had reached a height and assumed a character that made it dubious, at least, if Herr von Werben were still entitled to demand satisfaction as an officer and a gentleman, or even from the standpoint of ordinary honesty."

This must be cleared away! He had thought since that last affair, when in the autumn he had paid the bills which had come into his hands, that everything was settled, since no more bills had been presented to him--he had erred, grossly erred. Ottomar in his need had drawn more bills--he himself was the cause of Ottomar being in such need!--why had he at that time so sternly refused him any further assistance? Might he not have known that such embarrassment cannot be at once ended? that when a man's true friends refused their assistance he would turn to false friends who would ruthlessly make profit out of his position, as had evidently been the case here? No matter, no matter! all should be forgiven and forgotten, if Ottomar would only confide in him again, would only allow him to put things straight for him again, as he had so often done. But could he do so? Counting all that he possessed, he could not make up more than about ten thousand thalers. That might not be enough; as much again might perhaps be wanted; it should be found then, it must be found--it must! Ottomar had evidently sent his man for his sash that he might make the necessary communication to his colonel of what had occurred. Herr von Bohl would of course require that the money difficulties should be settled before bringing the matter before a court of honour. He himself would then become surety to the fullest extent for Ottomar's debts; their old friend would for once--once more! not look too closely into it; he would accept the surety and let the matter rest till all was settled. If only Ottomar would not now, at this very time, let himself be led into taking steps--that must be the meaning of the obscure part of Wallbach's letter; what else could the man mean?--steps which could only increase the difficulty of arranging the business. That an officer should put his name to a bill with the most exorbitant interest--that was, alas! for Ottomar no new thing! The fact that he had sent for plain clothes as well as for his sash appeared to point to some such intention. There was not a moment to lose! he had lost only too many in his first bewilderment! The General rang the bell. He was himself in plain clothes this morning, as he usually had been since his retirement; he would put on his uniform. It would take him a few minutes longer, but he always felt a little want of confidence without his uniform, and there must be no want of confidence to-day. As August still did not come after he had rung a second time, he was about to go to his bedroom, when there came a knock at the door, and on his irritable "Come in!" Captain von Schönau entered the room.

"I beg your pardon, General," said Schönau, "for coming in unannounced, but I did not find your servant outside, and my errand here will bear of no delay."

The perfect calmness and concentrated energy which generally marked the Captain's well-cut features had given place to an expression of the deepest anxiety and trouble.

"You come about Ottomar's affairs?" said the General, mastering his fears, and stretching out his hand to the Captain.

"Yes, General, and I beg and implore you to allow me to keep silence as to how I obtained my knowledge of the state of his affairs. But the state is this, that without any delay whatever, and before the matter comes to Herr von Bohl's knowledge, those bills of Ottomar's which are due to-day, and are in the hands of a banker here, whose address I know, must be paid. I know also the total of them. The sum is large, so large that so far as I know, General, neither you nor I alone could pay it; but together we might find it possible if, as I do not doubt, you will put at my disposal all that you can lay your hands upon, and will allow me to take the further management of the affair into my own hands and deal with it as if it were mine."

Schönau had spoken with decision, but in breathless haste, and the General could not doubt but that the Captain's thoughts had taken the same direction as his own. So long as Ottomar was left to himself, and attempted to save himself in his usual fashion, any delay could only increase the difficulties of his position, perhaps make it impossible for his friends, with the best will in the world, to help him. However painfully his pride was wounded by the conviction that he could not avert the threatening danger by his own efforts, he had made up his mind, even while Schönau was speaking, to accept the help so generously offered to him, supposing that he found it possible to repay the debt thus incurred. This he expressed in the fewest words, at the same time explaining the state of his finances and naming the sum which at the utmost could be raised upon the security of his interest in his house.

"Will that suffice!" he asked, "and for how much shall I be indebted to you?"

"It will suffice," said Schönau; "and I only ask now for a line to your banker, giving me full powers."

"You have not answered my last question," said the General, as with rapid pen he wrote the required words.

"I must beg you to excuse me from answering," replied Schönau; "be satisfied that the remainder does not surpass my means, and that it will be an honour and a pride to me to be able to serve you and your family."

The young man's steady clear voice faltered as he said the last words.

As the General continued writing, he remembered that amongst their friends Schönau's and Elsa's names had been often coupled together in jest, with the regret that it might not be done in earnest, as the two were far too good friends ever to fall in love with each other. He had shared this view, not without some regret. Could he have been mistaken? Could Schönau--it would be no detraction from his generosity--be offering help less to the father of his friend than to the father of the girl he loved? In the excited state of his mind these thoughts had taken no more time than was required to carry his hand from the end of one line to the beginning of another; and moved by the sudden consideration, he stopped in his writing, and looked up at Schönau who stood by him.

A sad smile played round the Captain's firmly-closed lips.

"Do not stop, General," said he; "I desire and expect nothing, I assure you, but the continuation of your friendship and that of your belongings."

The General compressed his lips and went on writing. It was bitter--most bitter to him to have to take everything from the full hands of this generous friend, with no power of returning to him anything from his own empty ones--it was too bitter! A cloud came over his eyes; he was forced to break off.

"There is nothing but the signature wanting," urged Schönau, leaning over his shoulder.

"I cannot do it, Schönau!" said the General.

"I implore you," cried the Captain, "life and death hang upon it--oh! my God!"

Startled by a sound at the door, he had turned and saw Colonel von Bohl enter the room.

"Too late!" muttered Schönau; and then, with a desperate effort to save what was already lost: "Your signature. General!"

But the General had turned round, and had seen the Colonel. Ottomar then had been to him already--had told him everything; the affair could go no further without consultation with his commanding officer.

The Colonel's usually severe military aspect had the stamp of a solemn gravity upon it now, as he said, after briefly apologising for his intrusion:

"Have the goodness, my dear Schönau, to leave us. I have a communication to make to the General which will admit of no delay, and which I must make without witnesses."

A word trembled upon Schönau's lips, but he restrained himself, and only bowed and said:

"Certainly, Colonel!" and then turning to the General: "May I ask permission to pay my respects meanwhile to Fräulein Sidonie!" then, after a little pause: "In case you should wish, however, to see me again, I think my visit will be a long one."

He bowed again and went. The General looked after him with fixed, terrified eyes. Evidently there was some understanding between Schönau and the Colonel, although they had not spoken to one another yet; evidently both knew something that Schönau had not said, and that the Colonel had now come to say. He shuddered as before when he had laid down Wallbach's letter; again there came upon him that agony of fear, only now it was no longer lingering at the threshold; now it had come close to him in the person of this iron soldier, in whom, though he had never formed any intimacy with him socially, he had always seen and honoured the pattern of a soldier after his own heart. The door was shut behind Schönau.

"I know all," cried the General; and said to himself, at the same moment, that he had spoken falsely.

The Colonel shook his head.

"You do not know all, General; Schönau could not tell you all, or rather, as I suspect from his manner, would not tell you all."

"Then I am prepared for anything," said the General in a hollow voice.

Again the Colonel shook his head.

"I wish you were, but I think it is impossible. You must be prepared for the worst; your son's bills, which fall due to-day, are all forgeries."

The General fell back as if he had been shot, his hands convulsively grasping the air. The Colonel sprang forward to save him from falling, but with a frightful effort the unhappy man recovered himself before the other could touch him, and stammered: "I--I thank you--it is over--it is----"

He could say no more, he could bear no more, but fell back into his chair, pressing his cold hands to his throbbing temples, and muttering with bloodless lips: "It is all over--all over!"

The Colonel, who could only with great difficulty retain his own composure, drew forward a chair, and said:

"It is terrible, I can offer you no word of consolation, for I know only too well that you will not take it as an extenuating circumstance that it was your name, his father's name, in and by which the fraud was carried out."

"You are right, quite right," said the General; "the fact is irrelevant--absolutely irrelevant."

Had he understood? Did he know what he was saying? The Colonel, who had not taken his eyes off him, almost doubted; the dark eyes, usually so steady, stared vacantly into nothing; the voice that had formerly been so strong and decided, sounded harsh and wavering as if his mind were giving way; the Colonel thought it best to recall him to a sense of the reality, however terrible, by a relation of the circumstances.

He related, therefore, in his dry way, that Ottomar had come to him at about ten o'clock, and had immediately on his entrance announced to him, with the calmness of utter, hopeless despair, that he had that morning sent a challenge by Herr von Lassberg to Herr von Wallbach, on account of certain reports, now current in society, concerning on the one hand his relations with Fräulein Ferdinanda Schmidt, and on the other Fräulein von Wallbach's conduct with Count Golm, which reports could only have originated with Herr von Walbach. That Herr von Wallbach, without further reference to the truth or untruth of these reports, or to his share in spreading them, had refused satisfaction, until Herr von Werben had cleared himself from the suspicion of having lately made use of improper methods to free himself from his money difficulties. He, Herr von Wallbach, would of course be ready to give satisfaction for this insinuation touching his honour in case it should not be substantiated.

"Unfortunately," continued the Colonel, "Herr von Wallbach was but too sure of his facts. His informant, whose name, I know not from what consideration, he refused to mention even to Herr von Lassberg, could only be, according to your son's assertion, the very man with whose assistance this miserable fraud has been carried out; a man whose name, if I remember rightly, has been often mentioned lately in the Wallbach circle--Signor Giraldi."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the General. "My son could not--impossible!"

"I beg your pardon, General," said the Colonel, "I am repeating to you exactly the account which I received from your son's mouth, and which I believe to be perfectly truthful. According to him, from the first moment of their acquaintance, Signor Giraldi manifested the most lively interest in your son. Herr von Werben intimated also that Signor Giraldi had known and encouraged his passion for a certain lady; but he did not go further upon this point, only added that these, as he believed, equally treacherous efforts had proved absolutely useless. Although from his agitation Herr von Werben's account omitted some details, I must suppose that he has been, with regard to his money affairs, also the innocently guilty victim of a villain who has mercilessly made use of his unsuspicious and blind confidence for ends which escape my comprehension. It seems that Herr von Werben's evil genius recommended him, as the easiest means of freeing himself from his difficulties, to speculate on the Exchange, under a feigned name of course; that he enticed him into the wildest speculations, allowed him to win two or three times at first, till suddenly the luck changed and turned more and more against him; and then, as usual, bills had to be given, to which at first your son's name was put, and afterwards, as the sums grew larger, yours, General, was forged, with the help of the credit which Signor Giraldi enjoyed, although he declares himself to be without any available means. That the bills might not come into your hands too soon, they were lodged at first with various bankers, and finally with one alone whose name has unfortunately escaped me. Signor Giraldi undertook to meet them regularly as they fell due, and promised of course to meet them also to-day when the enormous sum of twenty thousand thalers is due. Herr von Werben of course went at once, on the receipt of Herr von Wallbach's answer, to Signor Giraldi's hotel; Signor Giraldi had left in the night. From that moment Herr von Werben seems to have given up the case as hopeless. Signor Giraldi had, as you may suppose, most distinctly engaged to receive him at this hour; the people of the hotel declared that he had not so much as mentioned his destination; it was only when Herr von Werben, whose suspicions were aroused by the porter's manner, offered him a considerable bribe, that he learned from the man that Signor Giraldi had gone to Warnow, where letters were to be forwarded to him. With despair in his heart he hastened to the banker, to hear only what he had expected: that Signor Giraldi had made no arrangements for meeting the bills, which however had not yet been presented, but on the contrary had withdrawn from the bank yesterday afternoon the remainder of the very large sum--half a million, if I mistake not--which he had deposited with them. Half an hour later Herr von Werben was with me."

The Colonel paused; he could no longer endure the sight of the General, who still stared straight before him like a man bereft of his senses. What was he brooding over? Undoubtedly upon the final end of the story, and undoubtedly also upon the same brief and bloody end which in his innermost heart he felt to be unavoidable. But this man was the father! he had not fully considered that before. He had not allowed himself to put forward any extenuating circumstance; now he ransacked his mind for any such circumstance, for any sincere word of comfort even in which he could himself have faith.

But he found none.

"Shall we ask Schönau to come in again?" said he.

The General lifted his fixed eyes, evidently not understanding why the Colonel should ask the question, having probably forgotten that Schönau was still in the house.

The Colonel did not wait for his answer, but rang the bell and desired August, who immediately appeared, having been in the kitchen giving vent to his grief to the old cook, to summon Herr von Schönau. The Captain meanwhile had been passing a most uncomfortable half-hour. With the terrible certainty that he had come too late, and that Ottomar was lost, now that he had officially informed his commanding officer of his misconduct, and that the latter, as was to be expected from his opinions and his ideas of honour, had acquainted Ottomar's father with what had occurred; with the miserable anxiety which increased every moment till it became an unspeakable terror, that now--now--at this very moment might happen, perhaps had already happened, what must plunge his loved and honoured friends into unutterable grief, it was too painful to have to keep up a conversation with the good-humoured, unsuspecting, and talkative old lady upon indifferent or tiresome subjects, such as the bad weather, the next ball at court, or a doubtful passage in "Malortie" which had already cost the compiler of "Court Etiquette" several sleepless nights.

"And, before I forget it," said Sidonie, "have you heard yet of the shocking thing that happened last night, and of which, people tell me, the whole town is talking? I am sorry for our neighbour, poor Herr Schmidt; he is a very respectable sort of man I am told, and he keeps a man-servant who is--only think, my dear Schönau!--a cousin or something of the sort of our August, and August told us--my brother and me--since Elsa has been away he always takes his coffee with me, which he used not to do, but he is always so kind and attentive-- What was I saying, my dear Schönau? oh! yes; it is another proof to me that nothing but harm and evil can come out of societies that have once imbibed the poison of democratic tendencies. A young man who has been educated in those pernicious principles has no safeguard in the critical moments of his life such as religion and family honour, thank God, afford us. At such moment he seizes--not I dare say without some struggles--for after all we are all children of God, however few of us walk in His ways--but still he seizes upon improper, doubtful, desperate, and even criminal means. Millions, so I am told, he has stolen from a safe entrusted to him; and then to take flight at the very moment when he was giving a large party. What recklessness! what a want of the most ordinary delicacy, although, quite between ourselves, my dear Schönau, I do not think it particularly delicate of us to take part in festivities which end in such a way. I indeed might triumph, for what in the world could prove better than such occurrences how necessary is the existence of well-ordered small courts, as schools of morals and manners, of chivalry and true goodness, to our distracted and increasingly democratic society? But heaven forbid that I should feel such pride! My sentiments are those of silent grief and tender pity, all the more that, as you know, Ottomar also could not deny himself this equivocal pleasure. When the models of modern chivalry go and dance at Herr Schmidt's, Herr Schmidt himself, indeed, is none the better for it, as we see, since a crow will always remain a crow; but the swans, my dear Schönau, I only ask you, can the swans retain their purity in such company?"

Schönau was spared the necessity of answering, as August here came to summon him, and he took his leave in a way which so little agreed with his usual irreproachable demeanour, that Sidonie, as the door closed behind him, shook her head, and opined that her little lecture would not come amiss to the Captain.

"I beg your pardon, Captain," said August, as they crossed the hall to the General's room.

Schönau looked round.

"I beg your pardon, Captain, but I am sure something has happened to our young gentleman. Could not you let a faithful servant, sir, who has been eight years in the family, and would go through fire and water for the General, or the Lieutenant, or our young lady, know what it is?"

The tears were rolling over the honest fellow's cheeks, and Schönau's own eyes were moist.

"No," said he, "I cannot tell you. We must hope that all may yet be well."

He gave August his hand.

"God grant it!" said August, wiping his eyes with the other hand; "I don't think man can do much. But I wanted to say, too, if you wished, sir, to speak to our young gentleman, he will be at the lady's in ---- Street--you know, sir."

When Schönau entered he found the two others sitting in silent meditation. At a sign from the Colonel he sat down, but, as the youngest, did not venture to break the unnatural stillness. At last the General raised his head; he seemed to the Captain to have grown years older, and his voice was dull and toneless like that of an old man.

"You are aware, Captain, what--on what account----"

The words came with difficulty from his throat.

"Yes, General," said Schönau. "Herr von Wallbach came to me this morning, with the acknowledged purpose of justifying his conduct in the eyes of Ottomar's friends and those of his family. He was evidently playing a carefully prepared game. For while he skilfully avoided every expression which could directly accuse Ottomar, I could plainly perceive by every word that he was absolutely certain of his facts, and that Signor Giraldi had initiated him into the minutest details of this unfortunate affair. From him also I learned the sum at stake, and the name of the banker who held the bills, who happens to be also my uncle's banker, and with whom I am personally acquainted through business which I have transacted for my uncle--Messrs. Haselow & Co, I hastened there at once, but came too late; Ottomar had just been there. I am sorry to say that his only too easily explained agitation and his distracted questions have at least startled those gentlemen, but I am convinced that I allayed any doubts by asserting positively--I was obliged as matters stood to take the liberty, General--that before this evening all bills due should be taken up. I intended then, when I had collected the money with your assistance, sir, to pay these bills, and--"

The Captain hesitated.

"To save a swindler from his just punishment," said the General, without looking up.

"To save a man whom I venerate beyond all men, from unmerited suffering," returned the Captain.

"That implies a reproach to me, Captain von Schönau!" said the Colonel, knitting his brows.

"Pardon me, Colonel, if I differ from you. I had here no office but that of friendship. You, sir, as Colonel, had received an official communication, of which you were obliged to take notice, the more so that the idea of an arrangement of the affair would not and could not strike you as it would me."

"That is to say, if I understand you rightly, that as soon as the arrangement was effected you would have considered the affair at an end? I confess that, however painful it is to me, I cannot agree with you in that view."

"Pardon me again, I did not intend to say that."

"I should be much obliged to you, Captain, if you would communicate your opinion to me without reservation, in the presence of General von Werben."

"I am obliged to you for the permission, Colonel; the whole thing turned for me upon the question of sparing as much as possible the General and his family, as they so fully deserve to be spared. This of course would require also that my friend should be spared to a certain degree. That is to say, the bills must be paid, as I hoped to be able to pay them with the General's help, and they must be paid as the General's bills. I should then of course have required that my unhappy friend should leave the service, under some pretext that might easily have been found, and should retire absolutely into private life."

Schönau had raised his keen eyes imploringly to the Colonel, who, on his side, never turned his look from the speaker. He understood him now for the first time. In explaining his own plans the Captain had at the same time suggested the line which he wished his commanding officer to adopt as a guide to his action if not to his views. Even in this light the matter was one of great gravity, the Colonel felt and knew this well; but the sight of the venerable man before him so utterly broken down, the remembrance of Ottomar's thousand proofs of courage before the enemy, and all the tender memories and compassionate feelings which crowded upon his mind, all told him that he had already gone to his utmost length, that he could do no more, that notwithstanding what he felt to be his duty, he must accept the compromise suggested by the Captain, at any rate must refrain from putting forward the reasons against it.

"Thank you. Captain," said he; "I hope that, even as regards the claims of the service, this most unhappy affair may be settled as you propose. I am glad on this account, that in the first shock and bewilderment, as I must confess, of what might happen next, I gave Herr von Werben three days' leave of absence, which he had requested on account of private affairs, though he entered into no particulars on the subject, nor did he confide to me the object of the journey which he must undertake in consequence. This leave of absence will be a very proper preparation for sending in his papers, which must be done at the same time with a notification of his wish to retire, and which I will undertake to support with the authorities. I only require first that the bills should meanwhile be settled by Captain von Schönau in the manner suggested."

Schönau gave the Colonel a grateful look and rose. He would not hazard the unexpectedly happy result of the interview, and he knew too well that every word further spoken now might and would endanger it.

"I am already late for my work," said he, "and I must go down to the Staff Office to ask leave of my chief for the day. I will then immediately settle the matter of the bills, if the General will have the goodness to give me his authority, and then, with your permission, inform Herr von Werben, whom I think I know where to find, of what has been decided here. May I ask you, General?" and Schönau pointed towards the table on which lay the unsigned power of attorney.

The Colonel had risen also.

"One moment, gentlemen," said the General.

He walked up to the table, took the paper and tore it into two pieces, which he threw into the waste-paper basket.

It was done without any visible emotion, without any apparent thought of those present, as if some one alone in his study had torn up and thrown away a letter that had now become worthless. The Captain shuddered at the fall of the rustling paper, as a pitiful judge might do as he puts on the black cap.

"I thank you, gentlemen," continued the General, who seemed to have completely recovered his self-possession; "you, Colonel, for the humanity which would have extended to another man's son the mercy you would surely have denied to your own; you, my dear Schönau for the affection which would lead you to sacrifice not merely your fortune, but, like the Colonel, your conviction also.

"I cannot accept this sacrifice, gentlemen. One wrong figure spoils the sum, one false premise nullifies the conclusion. You must allow a father to draw the inference which you from friendship and compassion would not draw. If with the assistance of Captain von Schönau--for alone it would be impossible--I took upon myself my son's fraud and thus--which God forbid!--allowed a man who is himself not rich, like you, my dear Schönau, to impoverish himself for the sake of a swindler, my son would then be allowed, there being nothing further against him, to retire with honour. His Majesty, our gracious commander-in-chief, would certify to the honour of a man, who, before God and his conscience, before his father and you, gentlemen, who cannot at this moment raise your eyes to me, is dishonoured. He could call to account those who doubted his honour, and there would be enough of them--his enemies would see to that--he who must acknowledge to himself that they are in the right, and that in the very act of demanding and receiving satisfaction he was perpetrating another deceit.

"And thus, gentlemen, the one lie--forgive me the word!--would call forth a thousand new lies; and we who sit here should have spun this web of deceit, and must leave those who become entangled in it without warning or aid.

"The situation is impossible, gentlemen! Impossible--even for my son. Guilty as he is, he cannot be so false to the blood of his ancestors as to determine to exist at the mercy of even his best and most generous friends; to live under the sword of the doubtful reputation that must precede and follow him whichever way he turned; to endure the scorn that any man might make him feel as he pleased, without the power of defending himself.

"And it is impossible--to me. Suppose to yourselves that I were the president of a court of honour which had to decide upon this case; forget for a moment that I am a father--and you would, you must answer me that it is impossible."

"I cannot forget it!" cried Schönau wildly; "I cannot!"

"You must," returned the General, "as the Colonel here has already done."

The Colonel was in the most painful embarrassment. The General was undoubtedly right, and he would thus be released from a very difficult position; and yet! and yet!

"I have already expressed my most decided wish to arrange the affair without letting matters proceed to extremities," said he, "I hope the General may yet persuade himself of the possibility of so doing, however difficult I allow such a solution may be. Meanwhile, Herr von Werben is on leave of absence. Bills of exchange have, if I remember rightly"--the Colonel attempted a smile--"three days' law. Let us make use of this delay granted by the law; three days count for a great deal under some circumstances in the life of a man. Shall we leave the General alone now, my dear Schönau?"

The two officers went silently down the street, with their heads bent, and from time to time pressing on their caps more firmly, which the storm that raged through the streets threatened to blow away. At the corner of the cross street Schönau said: "I must take a carriage from here, Colonel."

"You are going to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is a hopeless case, my dear Schönau."

"I fear so."

"You will bring me news!"

"Certainly, sir."

"It is eleven o'clock now; I shall be at home till two."

The Colonel pressed the Captain's hand with a warmth very unusual for him, turned up the collar of his overcoat, and went on down the street. Schönau's cab drove quickly up the side street.

The General had remained standing at the door, to which he had accompanied the others, and listened mechanically to their steps upon the stone floor of the hall, then under the window of his room, and passing away down the street.

Now he could hear nothing more, excepting the storm which was raging without. They were gone, these men of the highest honour, the representatives of his class, gone after pronouncing sentence upon the dishonoured and unworthy member of that class.

And that sentence was--death.

Death by his own hand.

And his father must announce it to him.

No! not that; only confirm what he must have already said to himself; only say: "Your father, agrees to what you have already decided upon, and may God have mercy upon your soul!"

He pressed his hands together, and heavy cold drops of sweat stood on his deeply-furrowed brow.

"Must it be? oh God, my God, have mercy upon me! must it be?"

But no word of comfort or hope came to him. All was dumb within him, in his burning head, in his panting breast, and through that dumb silence only the fearful words: "It must be!"

When August entered the room at the sound of the bell, the General was sitting, turned away from him, at his writing-table, leaning his head upon his hand. On the round table behind him, on which he used always to put his finished papers, stood a box, and on the box lay a letter.

August turned cold all over; it was the box in which his master kept the two beautiful old pistols which he had inherited from his father, and on which he set such great store.

"My son is obliged to undertake a long journey," said the General; "and he will require my pistols. The key is in the letter. You will go to him at once, and take him the box and the letter; there is no further message, the letter contains everything. Afterwards I shall go away also; when you come back you will put up my things for a few days' absence."

"Very well, General," said August, merely to say something, and so perhaps to get free of the horror which oppressed him.

With mechanical obedience he had carefully taken up the letter and box, and stopped at the door.

"Shall I say anything kind from you to the Lieutenant, sir?"

There was a few moments' pause before the answer came.

He mustered all his courage:

"Tell him, I hope to God to be with him soon again."

The faithful servant breathed again. He was satisfied now; whatever had happened between the General and the Lieutenant must be something very bad, much worse than it had ever been before, but if the General hoped to meet the Lieutenant again, and that very soon too, there was nothing to break one's heart over, and it would soon be all right, as the Captain had said indeed.

But when August had left the room, the General let his head fall upon his clasped hands, and so sat for a long time, while his whole frame was shaken at times as if with ague, or at others a dull groan was forced from his oppressed breast, as he prayed for his son's soul, and took leave of that son of whom he had been so proud, and who might no longer live now with the shame that he had brought upon himself; the son whom he had so dearly loved, and whom he still loved, oh! how dearly!

At last he rose, an old, broken-down man, with but one thing more for him to do on earth.

For that, he knew that his strength would suffice.

And not trembling and with burning tears as he had loaded the pistol which he sent to his son, but with a steady hand and rigid flaming eyes did he load the second, with which to shoot down the scoundrel who with devilish cunning had enticed his son to disgrace and death.