"I'm not at home," was Irma's hurried reply. "Pray remain a moment longer," said she, addressing the intendant.
He remained for some time longer, and referred to the manuscript, mentioning that the passages to be omitted were marked with a red pencil. Irma promised to read the play, thanked him for the compliment paid her judgment, and conversed in a light and careless tone, until he had left the room. As soon as he had gone, she threw herself on a sofa, where she lay for a long while, weeping bitterly. At last, she looked up, as if bewildered, for she thought she had heard a voice saying: "You meant to--Is there no other course left? Must one who has swerved from the straight path, necessarily sink into the mire of self-abasement?"
Suddenly, she arose, shook her head defiantly and brushed the hair from her face. She ordered her carriage, intending to drive to the sculptor's atelier and resume her work. The servant announced Colonel von Bronnen. "Let him enter," said Irma. A moment later, Irma was apologizing for receiving him in her hat. She was just about to drive out.
"I can call again, dear Countess, and will only leave the messages I have for you."
"Messages?"
"Yes, from your father."
"From my father? Where did you meet him?"
"At Wildenort."
"Were you there?"
"Yes, I had some matters to attend to in the neighborhood, and, without further introduction, called on your father. I felt that I had a right to call myself an intimate friend of yours."