Senior-Lieutenant Reimers sought an interview with his colonel, and frankly confided his trouble to him. In a sad, hopeless voice he told the whole story, concealing nothing.
There was, in fact, nothing to hide. The thoughtless behaviour which had had such serious consequences was in itself one of those offences which society looks upon as venial. But he reproached himself chiefly with the breach of faith towards Marie Falkenhein, to whom he considered himself to have been virtually betrothed, in allowing himself to be carried away by the impulse of a moment's folly.
When Reimers had finished the colonel sat for a long time silent. He leant his cheek on his hand and looked gloomily before him. During this confidential interview his daughter had not been alluded to in a single syllable, but in every word that the young officer spoke sounded an echo of painful regret for a much-desired happiness now lost to him. Of a sudden those fair prospects that the colonel had thought based on such a solid foundation had fallen to the ground. It was a bitter grief to him to see the pleasant vision destroyed, and he knew that a heavy sorrow was in store for his child.
At last he broke the silence.
"My poor boy," he said, "I wish I knew what I could say to comfort you, for I do not want to reproach you. You have enough to bear already in payment for a moment of thoughtlessness. You have gambled away one of your best chances of earthly happiness. Nevertheless, be brave; set your teeth and do not let your feelings overcome you. You have a proud and honourable calling, and have a real vocation for it. Let that be your consolation." His voice broke off short, trembling with inward emotion.
Reimers murmured in some confusion: "I am very much obliged to you, sir." And the two men sat for awhile opposite each other in silence.
"After this," the colonel continued with some hesitation and difficulty, "you will probably wish to get away for a change. I therefore advise you to go up for the winter examination at the Staff College. There is no doubt about your getting through. The work will prevent you from brooding over your thoughts, and afterwards there will be Berlin and entire change of surroundings. All that will be helpful to you."
Falkenhein's voice became softer, and shielding his eyes with his hand, he continued in a scarcely audible whisper: "It would be advisable that you should withdraw a little from society; and of course to any unavoidable questions it will be necessary to invent an answer of some sort. It seems to me it will be best to say that your old lung-trouble obliges you to take certain precautions. Is that agreed?"
With a sob the senior-lieutenant stammered out, "You have always been like a father to me, sir."