"In Austria it is however possible," replied Felix. "I shall return to Master Colins in Innsbruck. The noble minded Kaiser Max admits both confessions, and marriages between members of the two religions are not uncommon there." Erastus shook his head thoughtfully. Lydia's resigned calm also led him to ask himself, whether his child was not in reality acting in obedience to his wishes, and whether this young heart was really ripe enough for binding vows? He at last said, "I will seek more information as to how matters stand in Innsbruck, do you likewise seek to know more about our faith. Lydia is still young. Let us put off the final word to a later day." Thus it remained. Master Felice would have willingly appeared in the character of an accepted lover, but as Erastus permitted him to visit Lydia as before, he declared himself satisfied for the time. When his work was over, he hastened to Klytia, and sat joking and lounging at her side. She was ever gentle and kind to him, but never cast her thoughtful quiet manner aside. She had assumed a timid reserve, which forbade any too demonstrative love. The excitement of decision once over the poor child felt herself to be inwardly divided against herself. She loved, but whether Paolo, or Felice she knew not; she was engaged, but the father forbade any public acknowledgment. Good and gentle of disposition she suffered Felice to love her, without however granting him the slightest rights. Usually, when the artist visited her of an evening, her Dante lay ready, and by compelling him to read aloud, she held his passion in due bounds. But even the majesty of Dante's poetry became melodious song when read by the loving artist, and we may well imagine what verses he most looked forward to, in the hope, that the narrative of Francesca da Rimini would serve to thaw her icy reserve. But Lydia had wisely looked over the book beforehand, and was prepared against this would-be adopted means. The fifth canto containing the story of Rimini's unhappy lovers, lay open in its usual place, on the evening so much longed for by Felice, but Lydia received him with maidenlike sedateness. He had that day carefully curled his locks and held in his hand one of those dark-red roses which had first told his love, but he had not the courage to offer it to her, for she had moved her seat further from him than on any previous evening. It is true he read beautifully that day, or nearly as beautifully as "he," but as he was just about to begin the story of the lovers, who also read together, "how Lancelot wrapped in pure love," to "often did their eyes meet and lovingly rose the color in their cheeks, and often did he kiss the smile of his beloved," she closed in maidenly scorn the book and her "we won't read any more to-night" dispelled in an exasperating manner Felice's hopes. Out of humor and disappointed he sat near her turning over the leaves of Lydia's prayer book. He found pressed therein a blue flower. It stabbed him to the heart, for the maiden had thrown his rose out of the window the moment it withered. Hastily did he close the book which only hid Paolo's flowers. The following evening Lydia begged him to read to her one of the sonnets of his beloved Michel Angelo. He noticed with joy whilst he read, how tenderly her blue eyes were fixed on him, but when he left off, to return her gaze, she murmured as if in a dream: "He is paler." Thus it became clear to him that she only sought Paolo's features in his own. She grew more and more sad and still. It appeared to him as if the blooming color on her cheek paled. "She has deceived herself," he sighed. "When the sunflower is forcibly prevented from gazing at the sun, it withers away. Paolo will ever be her Apollo. Poor child!" But a colder feeling entered into his own heart, he could never rejoice in a love, which he owed to another, and which through him was bestowed upon his brother. "She wished to marry Paolo in effigie," he murmured angrily to himself, "and she does not even find the image resembling."
CHAPTER III.
After the completion of the mysterious exercitia, Paul returned to Heidelberg from Speyer. His brother found him serious, pale, but calmer than before. Instead of the lurid passionate glare of the eye which had so often terrified Felice, he found him at times struggling with his tears. He did not resume his office in the Stift. The parson of a neighboring village, who was looked upon as a Lutheran at heart, filled that post. From the mouth of the Abbess, who had inquired into Paul's unexpected disappearance and Lydia's sudden illness with more suspicion than any one else and who thereby had come nearer to the truth, did he hear of the misfortune which had befallen his beloved pupil. During her narrative the old lady had fixed a curiously cold and searching look on him, and her fingers played with the rosary, no longer at her side. Luckily for him he did not at first connect this event with the appointment made by him on the Kreuzweg, so that he was enabled to ask in an unconstrained manner for exact details. "I heard the news on the same day that I received your letter from Speyer," said the Countess in a cold tone, and again she looked at him with a piercing gaze. Abashed he rose up and hastily took his leave. It was evident that this woman saw through him, and only had to open her mouth to ruin him.
Added to his crime towards the ministers was now another towards Erastus, whose child perhaps crippled for life, had had her peace of mind destroyed in any case through him. From that hour he no longer ventured to visit the Stift. Hastily did he reject his brother's offer to share his dwelling in the Schloss. He preferred taking an apartment by himself in the marketplace. There he often worked till late in the night, as might be seen from the light in his window; by day he would stand for hours at the window and survey with saddened look the throng in the market, or follow with his eye the single individuals who might at a later hour cross the emptied square, as if envying each man his freedom. After some time had elapsed, when once again a more sympathetic relation had sprung up between the brothers, Felix made known to him his engagement to Klytia. Paul turned pale, and for the first time the tigerish glare in his eyes intimidated his brother; then silently did he turn to the window. "I know she loves thee," added Felice, "but thou art not freed from thy oaths. Renounce thy order and I will at once retire. But Klytia is too good to be toyed with, she must not be torn up as a flower on the road-side, for a passing pleasure and then cast away."
"I have raised no objections," said Paul in a husky voice.
"Then dost thou renounce her?" asked Felix earnestly.
"It is well as it is. I wished to free myself when in Speyer but did not succeed. We are bound by more chains than you imagine. I must have become Protestant in earnest, so as to shake them off; that I cannot do. I must have given up all hopes of returning to Italy, and that also I cannot do. I cannot be free, but I have sworn, never to let myself be made a tool of again."
Felix pressed his hand. "Thou shouldst quit thy dubious position here altogether."
"That I will do. But I can only do so by order of my superiors. I am waiting for them, God only knows with how much sorrow."
Thus the brothers parted. Grief concerning Klytia had disclosed the true feelings of Paul's heart more than ever before, and Felice now knew what fierce contentions had taken place, in spite of this cold pale face.