“Are you there, Franka?” It was Frau von Rockhaus. She had turned on the light in the room and was now standing in the balcony door. “I did not see you any longer downstairs and supposed that you had gone to bed.... Why didn’t you call me?”
“I knew that you would soon be following. It is pretty late.”
“That was a very pronounced wooing this evening,” observed Frau Eleonore. “Did he propose at last?”
“Who?”
“Who! The prince, of course!”
“You are inquisitive, dear Eleonore. Let us go to bed. I am sleepy. Good-night.”
She rang for her maid and went to her bedroom. But she found no rest.
Victor Adolph also spent a restless night. During the past forty-eight hours events and impressions had been overwhelmingly sweeping in upon him. That address of Helmer’s, opening new perspectives before his soul; the tidings that perhaps a throne would be offered him; that conspiracy for the advantage of the contemporary world, which John Toker wanted to conduct with his assistance; and finally this summer night’s dream which had ended with such a sudden and mighty flaming up of passion that he had surrendered to it for all time....
The tormenting part of the situation was that he saw himself facing not merely one, but several fateful questions. When he wanted to devote himself to thoughts of his beloved arose the vision of the beckoning throne, and when he attempted to balance the chances and the obligations which such a change of conditions would bring with it, then arose the image of the woman whom he loved—to whom he had offered his hand. And what difficulties heaped themselves up before him! What battles there would be! Had not this step been indiscreet? Aye, that it had; but is passion ever discreet?
When the prince, agreeably to his promise, reached Toker’s study the next morning, Toker had already gone through his mail. He had found various additional particulars which tended more than ever to arouse his fears regarding the threatened dangers. He went to meet the exalted visitor.