“Am I to understand,” said I, “that Fräulein Ottilie Pahlen has repudiated this letter?”
“My good sir,” said he, looking at me, I thought, with a sort of compassion, as if he feared I was weak in my head, “I understand from the Court doctor that Mademoiselle Pahlen was the lady to whom the letter was at once offered, according to my request and yours. There is perhaps some mystery?”—here his interest seemed to flicker up again, and he smiled as who would say, “confide in me”; but I could not bring my tongue to this humiliation, less than ever then.
I flicked the poor, vinegar-sodden, despised epistle from the point of his sword, and, spreading it out once again, added to it in a sort of frenzy this appeal:
“For God’s sake forgive me! You cannot mean to send me away like this. Ottilie, write me one line, for from my soul I love you.”
Then I pasted the sheet again, and, drawing a line through the title, wrote above it in great letters:
“Fräulein Ottilie Pahlen,” and then I said to the officer:
“You will be doing a deed of truer kindness than you can imagine, Captain von Krappitz, if you will have this letter placed again in the hands of Fräulein Pahlen. More I cannot say now, but some day, if my fortune is not more evil than I dare reflect upon, I will explain.”
“Wait here half an hour,” he responded with a return of his good nature; “I am off duty and free for the rest of the day. If I can induce the Court doctor to attend to me—in truth, he is of a very surly mood this afternoon—I trust you may see me return a messenger of better tidings.”
Besides a very bubbling heat of curiosity there was real amiability in this readiness to help me.