"How dare you talk of things you know nothing about, you prosaic individual?" exclaimed Lydia, bringing her fan down upon the giant's arm. "There is no talk of old people here. A man of fifty is not old, he is in the prime of life, and is often ten times younger than your used-up so-called young gentlemen. But I must really say something for Göthe against our 'learned friend.' Yes, yes, my friend, I know the novelette well; I read it aloud to the Court barely a week ago. Who bids you take a comedy in that tragic way?--for the novelette in question is a comedy--a 'Comedy of Errors.' Hilarie fancies she is in love with the uncle, and really loves Flavio; Flavio fancies himself in love with the young widow, whilst really he loves Hilarie; and how the Major--well, I think the final scene at the inn proves emphatically that he had only turned his feelings to--to--to--the wrong address, if I may venture upon the expression; and that he and the clever widow subsequently became a happy pair is perfectly clear to me. Or, do you think not?"
A warning glance flashed from Hildegard's dark eyes. Lydia positively blushed through her layers of paint. She had shown her hand too plainly!
Bertram struggled successfully against a strong inclination to smile; nay, curiously enough, something like pity for her indiscretion stirred within him. He went on--
"To be sure, you are right, right, above all, in calling the novelette a comedy. How little Göthe cared to have a tragic conflict is evident from the fact that he chose circumstances as favourable as possible for a happy conclusion, and that he from the very beginning secured a line of retreat for every one concerned. The Major is the uncle of Hilarie, the only daughter of his widowed mother, and he has doubtless acted the part of father to her--has, up till now, loved her as his own child. His rival, in whose favour he resigns his claims, is his own only son, to whom he is also very much attached, and with whom he is on excellent terms, whom he in fact treats like a comrade. Again, behind Hilarie, as she vanishes from him, stands as it were the young widow; and in her arms the Major will speedily forget the small humiliation. And lastly, and this seems to me to be the chief point, Göethe has wisely avoided to introduce the one element whereby he would have been enabled, nay compelled, to turn the comedy into tragedy; he has ... but I beg pardon of our fair hostess for being so garrulous. To be sure, it is high time we rose from table!"
Truly enough, the turn which the conversation had taken had, for Erna's sake, been unwelcome to her mother. So she seized the opportunity and rose from table. Erna, who had sat without turning her gaze from Bertram, took a deep breath, like some one who is being recalled from deep dreams to the consciousness of present realities, and followed the example of the others. She and Bertram were the last couple that left the dining-room on their return to the garden-saloon, which had meanwhile been lighted up, and Bertram thought she was walking very slowly--on purpose.
"What was the one element, Uncle Bertram?" she asked.
"What one element?"
He knew what she meant; but he had broken off at table, because he himself dreaded the utterance of the word. So he delayed his reply, and just then his host appeared, bringing cigars: the gentlemen might smoke on the verandah, whilst Lydia would give them some music.
"You remember, Charles, do you not," he went on, "the sonata pathétique--that used to be your favourite piece? And Lydia has practised it often since, I think."
Lydia was ready. Bertram, however, begged to be excused from remaining. He felt, he said, after all, tired with the day's journey, and it was but the charm of their company which had made him forget that he was still a convalescent. He barely gave Hildegard time to draw him aside, and to say to him in a whisper--