"That is just it. She thought of nothing save what she thought advantageous," Lieschen eagerly interposed. "I cannot even pity her. She knew from Uncle Sastrow all about that odious Egon von Ernau,--that he was a man without heart or principle,--and yet she was quite ready to marry him because he was rich. It makes me indignant!"
"Ought she then to have refused to obey her father?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Yes, she ought! No father has a right to ask his child to disgrace herself by such a marriage. I am indignant with Bertha Massenburg. I never could have believed it of her. She was so charming, so good-natured, so kind, I liked her so much when she spent nearly the whole summer with us here at Osternau, about five years ago. I cannot bear to think that she could allow herself to be so dazzled by mere wealth. She deserves her punishment."
"My child, your judgment of her is very severe," her father said, gravely. "Since her mother's death, Bertha's lot has been a sad one. She was homeless, for her father, who spent his time in all kinds of dissipation, was deep in debt, his estates were mortgaged, and he took no interest in his child. She was obliged thankfully to accept shelter with her aunt Massenburg, at Königsberg. There her life must have been absolutely wretched. I know what a hard and loveless woman Gunda Massenburg is. We must not condemn Bertha for gladly consenting at last to anything that her father proposed that could deliver her from such a home. We should rather pity her. It is your duty, Lieschen, to receive her here with all the affection which you gave her in happier times."
"You have decided to invite her here, then?" Frau von Osternau asked, anxiously.
"Yes, Emma. The poor girl ought to find a refuge with us from the gossip and slander which have attacked her good name."
"But, Fritz----"
"Indeed it is our duty, disagreeable as it may seem, so let us say no more about it except in the way of arranging how your uncle's wishes may be most speedily fulfilled. I will write to-night both to him and to Bertha. Herr Pigglewitch is going to Breslau with Herr Storting to-morrow morning early. If he will kindly post my letters there we can have a reply by day after to-morrow night, and shall know when to expect Bertha. You will take charge of the letters, will you not, Herr Candidate?"
At this direct question Egon started as if from a dream. He had listened with intense attention to the letter, but had really heard nothing of what had since been said. It was his fault, all this wretched scandal which so painfully involved all these people, and from the annoyance of which Herr von Osternau and his family were not exempt.
When he left his father's house, as he thought forever, and succeeded in leaving Berlin without being seen or recognized by any one, he had taken genuine satisfaction in his success in vanishing without leaving a trace behind. He had derived a unique enjoyment from imagining the impression which his disappearance would produce among his acquaintances; he had never once fancied that his voluntary departure from the world could cause any real regret to a living being. He knew that his father was incapable of feeling genuine grief; there was no one to be pained by his sudden death. Egon had loved and been loved by no one. And his imagination had not played him false. Herr von Sastrow's letter described the theatric woo of the Councillor: if he had actually felt a degree of sorrow for his son's death he was more than indemnified by the opportunity for playing the part of a bereaved parent. His vanity was flattered by the sensation caused by Egon's disappearance.