“You forget,” said Friedemann, gloomily, “you forget that Händel, in all his wild and agitated life, never lost himself; and that his belief was such as he might acknowledge even to my inflexible father.”
“That I well remember, friend; and also that if Händel had been born in 1710, instead of 1687, he must have had more liberal views of certain things than he now has, if he thought it worth while to spend time upon matters of belief at all. He is a mighty musician; he lives and lets live; and credit me, did as others do, before he was your age; Faustina Hasse could tell you many pretty stories thereof, if she placed not so much stress upon outward demeanor.”
“He never played the hypocrite to his father!”
“Because it was not worthwhile to lie to the old dupe. And now, mon ami, do not flatter yourself you can mislead a page forty years old! To speak fairly and honestly, your self-reproach and your—pour ainsi dire—profligacy, have a cause very different from that you have chosen to assign. I tell you, between ourselves, there is another secret, whose discovery you dread far more than the unmasking of your petty hypocrisy.”
Friedemann reddened as he asked, “What do you mean, von Scherbitz?”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the page, “you need not look so gloomy because I have guessed the truth. Non, non, cher ami. If you really wish to keep your secret, you must govern your eyes better, when the name, ‘Natalie’ is uttered. Your last night’s behavior opposite the minister’s palace was not necessary to convince me that you have looked too deeply into the dark eyes of the little countess.”
The flush on Friedemann’s cheeks gave place to a deadly paleness; but mastering his emotions by a violent effort, he said, in a husky voice—
“You have discovered all; but you will be silent—will you not?”
“O ma foi! said I not, mon enfant, that I only warned you to be cautious before others? I will be silent, as a matter of course, and so, no more of it. Farewell! I am going to the guard-house, to see the happy waking of our noble chamberlain! You go to church, to edify the faithful with your organ-playing; come afterwards to Seconda’s, where the groom shall give a splendid breakfast as his ransom. Courage! be not too philosophical! I hate the old Italian who made you so melancholy!”
The page departed, and Friedemann, having dressed himself, left his house to go to the church of Saint Sophia.