"Oh, is it that newspaper story?" Magelone interposed. "These long faces for that? How can you be so stupid?"
"It's all very well for you to talk," said Otto. "Try having your friends turn up their noses at you."
"But you must not let them," Magelone exclaimed. "Of course, if you go about like chanticleer in a rain, they will do so. But hold up your head, and look every one full in the face, and no one will hint at the unlucky story; and even if any one should be so awkward as to allude to it, deny it on the spot."
"We cannot!" said Johanna. "It is true."
Magelone laughed. "That sounds precisely as if you had just been confirmed. True or false, you must deny it. You would not put Otto in the position of step-son-in-law to a circus-rider? And all the rest of us: our step-uncle or step-cousin Carlo Batti? It is too ridiculous!" With these words she departed, with the agreeable consciousness of having left Otto in no doubt as to the fresh annoyances entailed upon him by his betrothal.
The evil seed had fallen upon fruitful soil.
When Magelone had gone, Otto said, still more gloomily than before, "She takes it very easily, but I must confess to you that I am enraged. My position was hard enough before." And he went on venting his indignation against society in violent expressions, concluding with the angry words, "Of course you care nothing for all this. You feel yourself, as usual, exalted far above——"
Johanna arose, and interrupted him. "You are mistaken," she said, gently. "Everything that you say cuts me to the heart, and convinces me"—she hesitated a moment—"convinces me that I make you unhappy. This I cannot endure." She could not continue; her eyes filled with tears, and she turned hurriedly to leave him. But Otto sprang to her side and detained her.
"Forgive me! forgive me!" he cried again and again, while clasping her in his arms he kissed her hands, her lips, her eyes, and drew her down beside him, overwhelming her with protestations of affection and reproaching himself bitterly for his conduct. "Be magnanimous as ever!" he entreated; "do not condemn me. I know what a thorough egotist I am; when anything annoys me I think of no one but myself. I feel only my own discomfort. I am ungenerous, unloving,—a very petrifaction of anger and dissatisfaction. All the better part of me seems paralyzed. I think at such moments I am a perfect wretch. But do not you forsake me, I conjure you. If there is anything in this world that can save me from myself it is your love."
Otto was apparently sincere in these self-accusations, but there is no denying that he also found a certain piquant charm in thus setting forth his heartlessness, and perhaps, too, he knew that he was never more irresistible than when heaping himself with reproaches, and, with his fine eyes bent entreatingly upon his companion, begging her to forgive him. The oft-proved power again asserted its sway over Johanna. Overcoming her own pain, she thought only of his distress, and did all that she could to make him see himself in a more favourable light. Upon calm reflection, she even found it quite natural that Otto should at first apprehend only the superficial consequences of Helena's second marriage, and she accused herself of over-sensitiveness. Otto also was magnanimous,—he forgave the pain which he had caused,—and thus peace was restored.