“Then perhaps to-morrow?”

She nodded: “Yes, to-morrow at three o’clock.”

CHAPTER XX
ANOTHER LETTER FROM CHLODWIG HELMER

That night Helmer could not sleep. The experiences of the day had deeply agitated him. First, the morning call on Franka. The feeling of panic which she had so confidingly confessed to him, had seemed to transfer itself to him. What if she should suffer discomfiture on that day, when, so to speak, the whole world was directing its eyes on her? That would embitter her whole career, and he felt that he was responsible for her career.

The crises had been successfully passed; Franka had borne herself gallantly and had won a striking success, but this had not lessened his agitation and the success did not seem to him sufficient. It had not shown itself in the eager adherence of enthusiasts, filled with gratitude and devotion, but in the condescending applause of a curious and well-amused theater audience. To him she was a priestess, and to the whole people yonder she was a—diva. Had she not done a priest-like and heroic act? Had she not sacrificed herself in order to offer to the world a part of what appeared to her as truth and wisdom—only to give others, not herself, a little more happiness? For herself, indeed, she had treasures of happiness at her disposal—youth, beauty, wealth, freedom. Everything stood open before her: a life in the great world, with all its enjoyments of luxury and pleasure, a life of love at the side of a man who worshiped her, the joys of motherhood, ... and all this she had thrown over in order to devote herself wholly and entirely to the duties and cares of an apostleship....

“Oh, my poor Franka, my noble, sweet....”

With these words, spoken aloud, he interrupted the course of his thoughts. He was alarmed at the tender expression of his own voice—could it be that he really was in love with her? At this question other considerations occurred to him—circumstances which had mightily affected him in the last few days: the offering of the violets ... and then, after the address, just as he was about to go down into the hall to speak with Franka, there stood the prince again at her side.... It had caused a flaming agony to dart through his heart.... So he was jealous, was he? It was not to be denied—he loved her!

And even as he confessed the soft impeachment, he realized it as a heavy load of trouble, but at the same time so delightful, that not for the world would he have been willing to get rid of it. And was it really a new love; was it not rather one long kindled, which for years had been smouldering and had now burst into flame? Was not possibly this old sentiment the reason why in all these years, in spite of many more or less transient love-affairs, he had never been able to let his heart go completely? As a dramatic poet he had enjoyed many opportunities of frequenting the theater behind the scenes and many an adventure had come in his way. One of them was an affair which lasted two years. But it had not brought ease to his heart; rather it had become a burden. Fortunately it had been broken off gradually and without pain on either side. For some time he had been quite free, and was able to say that he had never been under the spell of a genuine passion. Always this or that quality had not quite satisfied him in those by whom he was attracted; always he had discovered that they lacked something; and the secret of it was, that he compared them all with Franka Garlett; not one of them came up to that ideal.

The following morning a letter was brought to Franka. She was sitting again on her balcony and looking out over the forest. Her first thought was, that the missive came from Victor Adolph, but a glance at the handwriting dispelled this assumption—the letter was from Helmer. She tore open the envelope and read:—

Two o’clock in the morning. It is in vain—I cannot sleep. Racing pulse and whirling thoughts deprive me of all possibility of rest. Now it occurs to me that I have the prescriptive right to address a letter at rare intervals to a sister-soul with whom I may commune most intimately.