Coming from his lips, the whole history naturally took a dramatic colour, and Arthur, in his suddenly awakened energy, rose to such a pitch of heroism, it was really incomprehensible how such a story could have entirely failed in its effect.
Eugénie had listened, it is true, with evident and eager attention, but she was pale and unusually still while listening; and, when he came to the end, the narrator waited in vain for a word of remark from her lips. She thanked and then dismissed him with cool politeness, and the young man left her, feeling rather surprised and a good deal hurt at such a want of sympathy on her part.
So she too had no perception of the poetical, or perhaps the situation had appeared less imposing to her, from the fact that her husband had been the hero of the hour. Another would very likely have triumphed in this thought, but Wilberg's romantic fancies generally distinguished themselves by the complete reversal of all natural sentiments.
He felt injured that his recital had produced no greater effect. When in Eugénie's company, he was apt to feel something of that glacier-like atmosphere which, according to the chief-engineer, constantly surrounded her. She was so high, so distant, so unapproachable, and never more so than when she condescended to some act of kindness.
In presence of such condescension, no choice was left a man but either to bow down in absolute adoration, or for ever to bear about with him the sense of utter insignificance and nothingness. As the latter alternative could not possibly suit Herr Wilberg, he was fain to choose the former.
Buried in such thoughts as these, he had strolled on in the direction of the Manager's house; it being his habit to look neither to the right nor to the left, he came, as he stepped on to the bridge, into violent collision with a lady who was crossing from the other side. Startled at the sudden shock, she gave a little cry and sprang for safety to one side. Wilberg looked up now, and stammered an excuse.
"I beg your pardon, Fräulein Mélanie, I did not see you. I was so taken up with my thoughts, I paid no heed to where I was going."
Fräulein Mélanie was the daughter of the chief-engineer, at whose house the young clerk occasionally visited; but his ideas had confessedly taken so high a flight that he had bestowed but small notice on the girl of sixteen who, with the exception of a graceful figure, a sweet young face, and a pair of roguish eyes, had nothing in the least romantic to recommend her.
She was far from his poetical standard, and the young lady, for her part, had up to this time troubled herself very little about the fair-haired Herr Wilberg; she had even thought him rather tiresome. But now he evidently considered it his duty to make reparation for his involuntary rudeness by addressing to her some polite speeches.
"You are coming back from a walk, Fräulein Mélanie? Have you been far?"