The two then fell into one of those heated and fruitless debates which commonly ended in each retaining his own opinion. This was the case now when they parted shortly afterwards.
"Neutrality is a fine thing!" growled the chief-engineer after his colleague, as he turned into his house. "Just a little proper anxiety, a little proper caution, keep fair with both parties, because you never can tell which may get the upper hand at last I wish all the sneaks--Wilberg, what the deuce are you about there with my daughter?"
The two young people, at whom these words were levelled, sprang apart as though they had been detected in a crime. But in truth, Herr Wilberg had only ventured to kiss the young lady's hand in the most innocent manner possible. He was looking so tender, however, and Mélanie, for her part, was feeling so moved, that the advent of her father, already vexed and irritated by his talk with the Director, came upon them both like a thunderbolt.
"I must entreat your forgiveness," stammered the luckless clerk; while Fräulein Mélanie, conscious that, after all there was nothing so very wicked in allowing one's hand to be kissed, stood by unabashed.
"I beg you will give me an explanation of all this," said the chief-engineer angrily. "What are you doing down here in the hall? Why don't you go up into the drawing-room, which is the proper place for you?"
The explanation thus demanded could hardly be given in two words, though the young people had been guiltless enough in the matter of this meeting. Wilberg had gone up to his superior's house with a commission from Herr Berkow in his head, and deep melancholy at his heart. The latter was naturally called forth by the departure of his liege lady. He had heard that this departure was intended on the evening before it actually took place, and the knowledge of it had not roused him from his dreams on the fatal morning. The young clerk was no early riser, and would never have committed the imprudence of exposing himself at that hour to the cold foggy air, which might have brought on an attack of rheumatism.
It was not he who, at break of day, was standing under the pines there where the high road turned into the forest, patiently waiting for the one minute in which the carriage would roll by, for the one look at a face within, which, after all, was looked for in vain, for it lay, with closed eyes, buried in the cushions, and altogether hidden from view.
As he, who had so waited, passed under the young poet's windows on his way home to the Manager's house, Herr Wilberg was still in the enjoyment of undisturbed repose. That, however, did not prevent his feeling unutterably wretched on his awakening, and the whole week through he bore himself with an air of such profound melancholy, that Fräulein Mélanie, meeting him accidentally in the hall, could not help asking him compassionately what ailed him.
The unhappy lover was just in the humour to unburthen himself to this sympathising listener of his long-pent-up woe. He sighed several times; made a few vague allusions, and, of course, ended by pouring out his whole heart, to receive, equally, of course, a still warmer show of sympathy in return.
If the young lady had felt curious before, she was touched beyond all expression now. She thought the story beautifully romantic, and poor Wilberg worthy of her sincerest pity. It was, therefore, in no way disconcerting to her when, at the end of all these disclosures and comfortings, he seized her hand and imprinted on it a grateful kiss. There could not be the slightest danger that he would ever love another!