"It is too late, I see," said Bertram, who had not failed to notice the terribly anxious expression of her mobile countenance. "You have already told Hildegard."
"No, no--not Hildegard--worse! far worse!" murmured Lydia, wringing her hands and casting down her eyes. "In my anxiety, my--ye Heavens! I cannot excuse myself on any other ground--in my tender anxiety, for you ... the Baron ... you ..."
"Pray speak distinctly," said Bertram, repressing his anger. "I must know all. The Baron ..."
"He was so angry with you ever since that miserable letter--no, I cannot tell you that; I am too much ashamed of myself--but Erna has already pardoned me, and so will you. We had all lost our heads. He asserted that you alone were to blame for his failure with Erna. And that Otto had not given him the money--a great big sum--three thousand thalers--was your doing too, he said. This morning already, before he drove away, he vowed in my presence that he would inflict a terrible vengeance upon you; and at dinner, when he sat next to me, he talked dreadfully, and drank ever so much champagne--and I knew--I thought I knew--I saw that Erna and Ringberg--Erna had denied him altogether; and the girls--Augusta, you know, and Louise--told me that Ringberg used constantly to meet her at their house ...! Erna was so excited when the regiment came, and ..."
"Go on!" cried Bertram.
"And now the Baron wanted to make you suffer for it. And I really could not tolerate it, seeing that perhaps I had contributed to the Baron's wrath against you."
"And so you told the Baron all?"
Lydia was sitting with rigid, tearful eyes, and started in terror as Bertram quickly rose.
"What would you do?"
"Try if I can repair the mischief a little."