Helmer made a sudden motion and suppressed a groan. This did not escape the older man’s attention.
“Oh, Herr Helmer, is that disagreeable to you? Perhaps you are somewhat sentimentally inclined to your pretty table-companion and fellow-countrywoman yourself?... That would be quite natural. Don’t shake your head...young men are quite properly in love; I like to see it. I will not detain you ... go out on the terrace and interrupt the flirtation, if you object to it. It would be much better for the young lady if she should incline her heart to you....”
“Good Heavens! I could not enter into competition with the prince ... if things are actually as you seem to think.”
“Why not? ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’”
“You yourself, Mr. Toker, set me very different tasks from that of winning a maiden’s heart.”
“Hold on! Hold on!... I am no fanatic, no man of one idea. To work for a great public object does not require that a man should give himself body and soul to this affair. One must not neglect one’s duties toward one’s own happiness. When one has the foundation of domestic content, of cheerful peace of mind, one can work much more effectively for a great cause. It gives harmony and balance. And then, energy grows out of it as a tree springs out of a rich soil—you see, I can also speak in figures. Well, good-bye for now. I will go around among my guests for a little while longer. To-morrow we will take up our plot again.”
Helmer hastened out on the terrace: not as Mr. Toker had advised, to break up the flirtation, but to observe it. Yet in spite of his zeal to find that which would cause him misery—he found nothing: the couple was not to be seen on the terrace.
Franka had been for some time in her room. She did not turn on the light, but went out on the balcony and threw herself into her rocking-chair. She wanted to think over what had occurred in the very same atmosphere in which it had occurred—in the fragrant moonlit, summer night.
She drew her lace shawl closer over her shoulders and leaned back in her chair, rocking slowly to and fro. She recalled the words which had so overwhelmed her with amazement. Again she seemed to hear distinctly the accent in which “Franka, I love you” had been spoken and the still more momentous “You must not for an instant misunderstand me: I offer you my hand.” My hand—my hand ... like a refrain which runs in one’s head these words sang themselves to her, and here again were the same warm breath of the night, the same penetrating perfume of violets which emanated from the already half-faded bouquet that she wore on her bosom. He was in no hurry for a reply—so much the better! Had she given either a hasty “Yes” or a hasty “No,” perhaps she might be even now regretting it. So the decision was postponed: it was left to her free and deliberate choice, whether she should seize this marvelous Future, big with portentous eventualities, or reject it.... “Difficulties, reserves.”... Her pride revolted ... why had she not said “No” on the spot? But is it not true—a king’s son: such a step is not taken so easily. And it would involve sacrifices, renunciations, struggles....
That very morning she had been anticipating with some longing a thunderstorm of love—to tell the truth, the image of another lover had arisen in her mind; now in truth such a storm had burst upon her, but it had not brought any relief to her mental strain. In the dazzling lightning-stroke of that declaration of love by the one, the image of the other had grown somewhat pale, but was not wholly obliterated. Evidently this other did not love her. He had constantly shown himself active in promoting the interests of Victor Adolph; that very evening in the hall....