"But, Miss Albertine Bosswinkel, what are you doing? What are you after? First of all, you go and waltz with this young gentleman (I haven't the honour of his acquaintance), in the Town-hall at twelve o'clock at night, in a way that made me, your husband that is to be, almost lose the faculties of seeing and hearing; and now--here--in broad daylight, behind those curtains--Oh! Good gracious!--is this a way for an engaged young lady to go on?"
"Who's an engaged young lady?" Albertine cried out, in immense indignation. "Whom are you talking about, Mr. Tussmann? Tell me, if you will be so kind."
"Oh, thou, my Creator," cried Tussmann, in the fulness of his heart. "You ask, dearest Miss Albertine, who is an engaged young lady, and of whom I am talking? To whom else can I be alluding but to yourself? Are you not my future bride, whom I have so long adored in secret? Did not your dear papa ever so long ago promise me your beautiful, white, so kissable little hand?"
"Mr. Tussmann," said Albertine; "either you have been to a wineshop, early as it is in the day--(my father says you go to them a great deal more than you ought),--or you've gone out of your mind in some extraordinary way. My father can never have had the slightest idea of your marrying me."
"Dearest Miss Albertine," cried Tussmann; "consider for a moment. You have known me for many long years. Have I not always been a man of the strictest moderation and temperance? Have I ever been given to dissipation? Can you suppose that I have taken to drinking and improper conduct all at once? Dearest Miss Albertine, I shall be only too happy to close my eyes to what I have seen going on here; not a syllable concerning it shall ever pass my lips--we'll forget and forgive. But remember, adored one, that you promised to marry me out of the tower window of the Town-hall at twelve o'clock at night; and, although you were waltzing in such a style with this young gentleman (whose acquaintance, as I said, I have not the honour of), still I----"
"Don't you see?" interrupted Albertine; "don't you know, that you're talking all sorts of incoherent nonsense, like some lunatic out of the asylum? Please go away. I feel quite unwell; do go away, for goodness' sake."
Tears started in Tussmann's eyes.
"Oh, heavens!" he cried. "Treatment like this from the beloved Miss Albertine! No; I shall not go. I shall remain here till you have arrived at a truer opinion concerning my unworthy person, dearest Miss Albertine."
"Go; go!" reiterated Albertine, running into a corner of the room, and covering her face with her handkerchief.
"No, dearest Miss Albertine," answered Tussmann; "I shall not go until, in compliance with the sapient advice of Thomasius, I endeavour to----" and he made as if he would follow her into the corner.