And now the master of the house broke in on this touching scene with all the prose of his paternal authority, and demanded to be told why these outpourings of the heart took place in the hall, and not upstairs in the drawing-room, where her mamma's presence would naturally have acted as a restraint upon them. Herr Wilberg, feeling that a great wrong was being done to him, shook himself together and managed to explain.
"I have a commission from Herr Berkow."
"Oh, that is different. Mélanie, go upstairs; you hear it is a business matter."
Mélanie obeyed, while her father remained standing at the foot of the stairs, not inviting his visitor up as usual. The latter was therefore obliged to discharge his errand on the spot.
"All right," said the chief-engineer calmly. "The plans in question are at Herr Berkow's disposal; I will take them up to him. And now, Herr Wilberg, a word with you. In spite of our mutual antipathy, I have always done you full justice." Herr Wilberg bowed. "I look upon you as a capable official." Herr Wilberg bowed again. "But I consider that you are a little crazy."
The young man, just in the act of bowing for the third time, started up suddenly erect and stared at his interlocutor in speechless amazement; the other went on imperturbably:
"With regard to your mania for scribbling, I mean. That is no business of mine, you would say? I should hope it is not. You have alternately sung the praises of Hartmann, of her ladyship, and of Herr Berkow. You are quite at liberty to do that, if it pleases you; but don't take it into your head to sing about my Mélanie. That I forbid. I won't have such nonsense put into the child's head. If your poetical feelings are in want of a fresh object, take me or the Director; we are quite at your service."
"I think I shall decline that," said Wilberg, highly affronted.
"As you like; but remember, my daughter is not to be trifled with. If ever a poem 'To Mélanie,' falls into my hands, I shall be down upon your iambics and your alexandrines, or whatever the nonsense is called. That was what I had to say to you. Good-bye."
With that this ruthless personage turned his back on the poet, whose finest susceptibilities he had so cruelly wounded, and walked upstairs. In the sitting-room his daughter met him.