He was pressing Otto's hand warmly. Their eyes met. His unhappy friend was smiling, and a most melancholy smile it was.
"To be sure, to be sure," he said; "I did not want it cried from the house-tops; I knew you would find the reason. I myself--dear, dear--I would not have cared to increase my gains. I should have been more than satisfied with the estates and the mines, or with the estates alone, if the mines ceased to yield a profit. You know how as a young man I used to be quite ashamed of having so much money, never a farthing of which I had earned, when I saw how my betters had to toil and moil. And I knew too that I was not good enough for her--that it was great condescension on her part to marry me at all--that I must needs ever be in her debt. From the very commencement I let her have her own way--she should never be able to say that I, the bourgeois proprietor's son, was ignorant of what befitted and became a beautiful young lady of high degree. I even--don't laugh at me, man--even tried to procure a patent of nobility, she wished it so very much; and I have made many a sacrifice with that object. This whole, ill-starred porcelain factory, for instance--I had been told that at Court they would like me to establish one, and indeed they buy here what they require, though, to be sure, only for kitchen and servants' hall--and there was many another thing besides. And then she wanted the terraces and the park and the mansion-house restored--in the true style, I think they call it--and she takes delight in all this, trumpery rubbish of dim old mirrors, and shaky old chairs, and worm-eaten old cabinets, and coffee-coloured, pictures, and abominable old pots and pans; and I, great God! would willingly buy the whole world for her--lay it at her feet--if only she would love me a little in return. But--you see, Charles, it has all been in vain--quite in vain!"
The big man had buried his face in his hands, and was sobbing like a child. Bertram's soul was filled with pity. The wretched weakness of his friend in reference to his beautiful and beloved, but cold, unloving wife, and its mournful consequences--he now understood it all too well not to be ready to pardon--to a certain extent. But that, husband and wife must settle, must bear, among them--only Erna should not be dragged to ruin, should not also be sacrificed to her mother's unbounded selfishness. And perhaps this was the one bright spot in the dark picture which his friend had drawn of his position.
"You have not endeavoured to give the Baron a clear view of your situation?" he asked.
"For goodness sake--no; certainly not," exclaimed Otto, rising in terror from his stooping position. "Anything but that!"
"And yet you will have to do so as soon as he formally asks Erna's hand from you."
"How can I tell him the truth? He would withdraw immediately."
"Otto, are you not ashamed of yourself? And you would really give Erna to such a cur?"
"What am I to do?"
"What you are simply obliged to do as a man of honour, not to say as a father!"