"Yes, you are a genuine Othello! And I, in my stupid good-nature, must try to wash this brutal Moor into a civilized European! Quelle bêtise!"
When Oswald heard the voices of the two men no longer, and the music sounding across from the ball-room indicated that dancing had begun again, he came forth from his concealment. He expected that this suite of rooms ended in a long passage, which he had noticed in going up to the dining-room. He was not mistaken. There was a door into the passage in the next room; from there he slipped into the hall, and thence, unobserved, into the reception-room. Here and there they were still at whist, but most of the players had gone to the ball-room, where the German was to be danced. Oswald followed the crowd. His eyes sought and soon found Emily von Breesen. He hardly trusted his eyes, she looked so changed; the wild hoyden of just now had grown up into a young lady. She appeared taller and more dignified; her face, rosy before, was pale now, but her eyes shone with an unusual fire, and the jests of her partners elicited not even a smile. As soon as she saw Oswald, a smile flashed over her face. She turned towards him as he approached and said:
"One word, doctor,"--and then in a low voice, "I shall dance the German with you; I know you are not engaged. I have driven Count Grieben to such despair, he is gone off with the old people. He thought, no doubt, he would stun me--the fool! Pardon me, Baron Sylow, I am too tired yet. Dance with my cousin, she will be glad--Heaven be thanked! He is gone.--Oswald, you love me? love me really? I can hardly believe it. My head swims; I could scream for joy. Oh, please don't look at me so, or I must--I must fall on your neck and kiss you as just now. Are you angry, Oswald? It was bad in me, very bad, I know. But you see I could not help it. Why don't you talk, Oswald?"
"Because it is sweeter to listen to you."
"I am such a child, am I not? But why do you talk so formally?"
"Do you think we only love those we treat unceremoniously?"
"No, but we drop ceremony with those we love. Oh, I like that so much! Heaven be thanked, the polka is over. Come, let us try and find a good place; there by the window."
The gentlemen were busy obeying the ladies' orders and arranging the chairs; the circle was almost formed, when all of a sudden, high above the tuning of the obstinate instruments of the musicians and the clinking of glasses on waiters and of cups in the hands of thirsty people, voices were heard in an adjoining room which did not sound very festive. There were loud voices, hoarse with wine and rage--threats fell here and there--only a few words, but just enough to startle all who were in the ball-room, for a moment, out of their forgetfulness of the world. It was only for a moment, for a quarrel in coarse words was by no means a rarity in this refined society, and often lasted much longer than this time. Nor would this interruption have made any more impression than many others on similar occasions, if a second occurrence in the ball-room itself had not lent to the former a peculiar significance, which was quite clear to the cleverer part of the company. For hardly had the hoarse, threatening voices in the next room been silenced by a third voice, which seemed to exercise an undisputed authority over them, than Hortense, who was just about to dance the German, seized the arm of her partner and fell fainting on a chair, which the latter had just had time enough to draw up. The consternation was, of course, very great. Although a dozen smelling-bottles were at once ready, and cologne was poured on brow, eyes, and temples of the fainting beauty, it still lasted several minutes before she recovered enough to smile her thanks, with pallid lips, and to beg them, more by looks than by words, to take her back to the other room. This was done promptly, and those who remained behind looked at each other as if they did not know what to make of the event.
"I suppose the ball is over now?" asked Adolph von Breesen, who was to dance the German with Lisbeth, whom he adored, of Oswald, in an under tone.
"I am afraid so," replied the latter.