The baroness put both hands to her ears.
"My child, I pray you, for Heaven's sake, do not speak so loud," she gasped; "your voice goes through and through me; and what nonsense you talk! you will have to walk out with Mademoiselle Jamin whenever I bid you."
This reproof, uttered with considerable emphasis, causing Bella to pout angrily while she secretly tore a piece of the fringe from one of her mother's cushions, was the result of what might have been called the period of martyrdom that had followed Miss Mertens' departure. The baroness had been forced to take upon herself the care of Bella, and it was, as she declared, death to her nerves. To Fräulein von Walde she always maintained that all her trouble was in consequence of the defects of Miss Mertens' educational system; but in the depths of her soul she acknowledged, that her daughter strikingly resembled in disposition the deceased Lessen,—among whose characteristics an indomitable obstinacy and a determined proclivity to a perpetual dolce far niente, were the most prominent. She was, however, far from admitting that any injustice had been done to Miss Mertens; that person had been paid to educate her daughter, and consequently should have known, without ever acting in opposition to the mother's views, or reproving the child, how to correct all her faults. Therefore, the glimpse that she had just had perforce of Bella's character, was of no advantage for the new governess; the unfortunate French woman, with the gay ribbons on her bonnet, had no presentiment of the joyless days that awaited her. Just now, her arrival removed a weight from the mind of the baroness, to whom nothing could have been less desirable than a dispute at present between teacher and pupil, and hence her rebuke of Bella's impertinent remarks.
The baroness arose and went to her apartments, accompanied by her sullen daughter, to receive the stranger. At the same time, Reinhard departed.
"Do you wish me to go on reading, Helene?" asked Hollfeld, after the three had left the room. As he took up the newspaper his manner was almost caressing.
"By and by," she replied with hesitation, looking at him searchingly, with a kind of timid anxiety in her eyes. "I should like to ask you, now that we are once more alone together, to tell me what has changed you so during these last few days. You know, Emil, that it pains me deeply when you refuse to let me share in what delights or troubles you. You know that it is not idle curiosity which leads me to pry into your affairs, but a sincere and heartfelt interest in your weal or woe. You see how I suffer from your reserve. Tell me frankly if I have done anything to make you think me unworthy of your confidence."
She stretched out her hands towards him as if in entreaty. The gentle melancholy in the tones of her voice would have melted a stone.
Hollfeld crushed and twisted the rustling newspaper uneasily in his hands. He held down his head, and avoided meeting the pure, frank gaze of the poor girl. Any one with any knowledge of the world could not have failed to perceive in his attitude, and in the restless eyes that sought the ground, the crafty plotter endeavouring to hit upon some device by which to deceive. To Helene's innocent, loving eyes, the lofty figure, slightly leaning forward, the face beneath the thick, light curls, rather suggested a thoughtful Apollo.
"You will always have my confidence, Helene," he broke silence at last. "You are indeed the only being in the world in whom I can confide,"—Helene's eyes sparkled at these words, the poor child was so proud of the distinction,—"but there are obligations in life whose existence we can hardly acknowledge to ourselves, far less have the courage to confess to others."
Fräulein von Walde sat upright, in eager expectation.