"Yes, true love, that feareth nothing and believeth all things."
"Then my love is not true love. To be sure, we, who are not noble, cannot lay claim to anything that is true, I suppose; our mothers and sisters wear glass instead of diamonds; we ourselves have no true honor, no true love, that is clear." ... If Oswald could have looked into Melitta's heart as he was uttering these mad words, if he had but cast a glance at her face, he would have died for shame. Melitta did not answer; she did not cry; she only looked fixedly before her, as if she could not comprehend the fearful thing, that the hand which she had stooped to kiss had slapped her face, that the foot which she had knelt to wash with ointment had repelled her cruelly ... How she had looked forward to this evening; how happy she had fancied she would be in the midst of the crowd, alone with the beloved one, listening to his words, stealthily pressing his hand, and while beautiful women are slyly coquetting with him on all sides, to read in his eyes: I love only you, Melitta! And beyond this evening she had looked into a rosy future--a land of hope--not in clear outlines, but full of peace and love and sunshine ... And then her past had come up like a gray venomous mist, and had covered the promised land with its thick veil ... and now the face of the beloved one looked to her, through the foul mist, as if it were disfigured by hatred, and his voice sounded strange to her ears. Was that his face? Was that his voice which now said: "Baroness, they are rising from table: may I offer you my arm?"
As they passed down the stairs Melitta said nothing; Oswald also was silent. When they had reached the reception-room he bowed deep; and when he raised his head, he looked for an instant into her face. He saw that pain made her lips tremble; he saw a touching complaint dim her eyes, but his heart was locked, and he turned to a group of young girls and men who seemed to be disposed to continue the reckless table-talk yet for a while. Melitta followed him with her looks for a moment, saw how pretty Emily von Breesen turned to him eagerly, and how he met her with a merry jest, how she replied as merrily and tapped his arm with her fan. That was all she saw; when she came to herself again she found herself seated in a corner of her carriage. The bright light of the lamps fell upon the trees and hedges as they danced by the windows, but Melitta saw it all through a dim veil of mist, for her heart and her eyes were full of tears.
Part Second.
CHAPTER I.
With Melitta the good genius seemed to have left the company, and given it up to the agency of demons. The violins sounded louder and louder, the glances of the men became bolder, their words freer, and the motions of the dancers more passionate and more energetic. And still champagne was flowing in streams. New candles had been put into chandeliers and candelabras throughout the house; It looked as if there was to be no end to the enjoyment. The elderly people had returned to their card-tables, and from a smaller room adjoining, to which five or six gentlemen had retired some time ago, the rolling of gold-pieces could be heard, and the hoarse cry: "Faites votre Jeu, messieurs!"
Oswald had at the beginning of the second ball, as they called it, looked all around for Baron and Baroness Grenwitz, for he had not noticed, and was told only now, that they had both left the house before the company went to table, and that the carriage would be sent back for him. He had thought to find Melitta, who had not reappeared in the ball-room, in one of the other apartments. A servant, who passed him with a waiter full of wine-glasses, answered his question if he had seen Frau von Berkow: "The lady has just left. Lemonade or champagne?" Oswald took a glass of wine and drained it at once. "Gone away without farewell! Excellent!" He went back to the ball-room and the darkness increased in his soul. Now he was no longer angry with himself for having insulted her whom he loved, and for having let her go with that feeling in her heart, but he was angry with her, that she had left without giving him an opportunity to ask her pardon. He felt as a soul may feel that has gone to hell for its sins, because it disdained to receive the priest's absolution, and which now rages against itself and against the priest. Mad thoughts floated in his excited brain--he would have been delighted if one of these young noblemen had taken offence at his haughtiness and insulted him mortally. He actually tried to provoke a collision; he scoffed and scorned in the most reckless manner; but either the half-drunk young men did not comprehend him, or they had sense enough left to remember that a duel with a man whose ball never misses was not an agreeable amusement. He tried to persuade himself that among the other young ladies more than one was as beautiful and lovely as Melitta--that it was folly to grieve for one, where there were so many ready to give him comfort. Why should he not fall in love with Emily von Breesen? Why not? She was a lady who in a day might unfold into a magnificent rose. Why should he not watch the transition and enjoy the first balmy fragrance as the full-blown flower opened to new-born love? And was she not tall and lithe like a deer? And were her rosy lips not half opened as if for a kiss? And did she not look up to him with her dark-gray, half-shy, half-bold eyes, full of curiosity, and yet so full also of intelligence, as he bent over the back of her chair and chatted with her?
"You must call on us, Mr. Stein! I shall invite Lisbeth, and then we can ride out together."
"You can leave Miss Lisbeth at home. I prefer duos to trios, decidedly."
"Is that really so? But my cousin is very pretty. Don't you think so?"