"Prettily expressed," said Albert, putting the letter on top of the others, "but very stupid! Poverty and love are as compatible as fire and water. I should like to know the burning love that would not be extinguished if a bucket of poverty were poured on it! Pshaw! I ought to know better. I think I would be capable of marrying poor little Marguerite if I were a dignitary with an ample income guaranteed by the State; but as I am nothing but a poor devil, with a famous appetite and a real patent stomach, it would be a clear case of suicide if I were to share the scanty ration with another person. Love! Nonsense! Love is a most acceptable dessert after the dinner of life. A good dinner without a dessert--bon! a dinner with a dessert--still better; but a dessert without a dinner--well, women may be able to do even with that, but it does not suit my constitution. I wonder whether sweet Marie, if she is alive, as I fervently hope, does not sometimes regret having rejected the 'costly rubies and the red gold' for the benefit of other young ladies, who deserved them less well? In the next letter the virtuous little damsel becomes quite rampant."
No. 8.--"Aha! my dear, we can be jealous, can we? Who would have suspected Baron Harald Grenwitz of such plebeian foibles? I must change my lodgings--why? That I may not perish with cold in winter and with heat in summer; that I do not risk every day breaking my neck on the steep narrow staircase? Oh no! Simply because my good lord does not like Mrs. Black, with whom I live, and because my good lord has found out that a young Frenchman, a Monsieur d'Estein, lives on the same story with me; that I am quite well acquainted with said monsieur, and have actually been seen with him arm in arm late at night in the street! Horrible! But in good earnest, dearest Harald, you have no cause to complain. Mrs. Black is a very respectable, excellent woman, to whom I am deeply indebted, and who has been like a mother to me as far back as I can think; and as for Monsieur d'Estein, your jealousy will be lulled to sleep, I hope, when I tell you that he is the same little old gentleman on whose arm you saw me the first time in the Park. Monsieur d'Estein could very well be my father, and really was my father's friend. He is, like ourselves, descended from a family of French refugees, and would long since have gone back to the land of his fathers, since he has no relatives nor even friends here, if he was not justly afraid that he would starve there, since everybody there speaks the language which he here teaches to earn his daily bread. He is very eccentric, but the kindest heart in the world. He would go for me through fire and water, and be au désespoir if he had the slightest suspicion of our friendship. All this I would have told you last night, but I wished to see if you could bear contradiction. Are you satisfied now? Au revoir, Monsieur le baron.
"Votre très méchante
"Marie M."
"This is the only notice about this Monsieur d'Estein," said Albert, letting the letter fall back in his lap, and puffing out clouds of reflection from his cigar; "no doubt the same man who afterwards reappears as the Jew pedler in the old woman's story, when he first reconnoitred the locality and then eloped with the oppressed Innocence. I fear several letters must have been lost here, because the next following note shows matters very much advanced."
No. 9.--"I have just received the--why should I not tell you?--the long-expected letter of your aunt. She writes me in a trembling but legible hand, that she values the happiness of her nephew more highly than the peace of her few remaining days; that she was even pleased to have such a motive for returning to her ancestral home, the place of her birth, where she now also expects to die. She says she will start on her journey, the last before the great journey home, on the 13th, so as to reach Grenwitz before me, 'as you fear a tête-à-tête with my wild nephew' so much. I cannot tell how deeply I am touched by so much goodness and love! How grateful I am to the dear old lady, and how I long to kiss her withered old hands! Yes, Harald, if she, the matron, the oldest of your knightly race, has thought me worthy of you, if she blesses our union, I am willing to become yours. What pains me is only this, that I am to steal away like a thief at night from the woman whom I love as a mother, and from the man who has been both father and brother to me. But then--it cannot be helped. You are right. They would only make the parting harder; they would blame the whole as a romantic adventure. They do not know you; they do not know how good and noble you are! But I may at least bid them good-by in writing! Thank them in a few words for all their love and kindness, and hold out a bright future to them as a compensation for the grief I must needs cause them now. Ah, that that future were the present! Your new valet, whom I, by the way, like much less than the old one with the good face, told me last night that all was prepared for day after to-morrow. I am glad I am to travel in your carriage, and accompanied by your servants; the thought of so long a journey rather frightens me. I hope soon to see you, my dearly beloved.
"M. M."
"Well, now the little bird is in the net," said Albert, adding this letter to the others, and tying them all up again with the red-silk ribbon. "I could imagine the rest, even if I did not know it from the old woman's story. I believe the old witch, the dear friend of my excellent neighbor Stein; could tell a good deal more if she chose. I must try to win her favor and to obtain admittance to her salons. I wonder if she has not some things that belonged to Miss Innocence in her possession, that might lead to further discoveries? The little one can assuredly not have cleared all her chests and drawers so completely, before her hurried flight at night, that the old woman should not have gleaned a nice store of ribbons, shoes and stockings, and perhaps also letters. She may keep all that in perfect security at the bottom of that big wooden chest on which I lay myself sore that afternoon, where it is now awaiting a joyful resurrection. There is an idea for you!"
Albert had risen and gone before the mirror, probably in order to see how such a clever head looked. "There is an idea," he repeated, and kissed his hand to his double in the glass, who returned the compliment promptly, "a very famous idea, which must be carried out at any hazard. Perhaps the Jew pedler may have been a real Israelite, and agent of Monsieur d'Estein; perhaps he only brought the girl a letter which contained the plan for the elopement, and perhaps this letter might, if found, put us on the track of the fugitives."
Mr. Timm suddenly paused in his monologue, and his face grew dark: "Confound it," he murmured, "there is no money, that nervus verum, that divining-rod by which alone treasures can be raised! Of course I shall have to make several trips in order to find it all out. I must go to Berlin, Ann Street, No. 21, third story, to look for information. But travelling costs money, and my assets amount to about five groschen, one of which I believe is counterfeit. I must make a forced loan. Marguerite must help. I was near enough doing it the other day, when the agreeable family suddenly returned and abruptly terminated our idyllic life. To be sure, these miserable plats must first be finished; otherwise Anna Maria won't let me go. I must submit to it."