"Put it to the vote!" exclaimed Justus eagerly. "Would you, Herr von Werben?" Ottomar did not answer. The work was begun in the spring; in the spring he had exchanged the first tender love-tokens with Ferdinanda; then had ensued a long, weary interval, during which she had altogether avoided him; and though four weeks ago she had given way to his imploring glances and resumed again their secret understanding, it had acquired in the interval a totally different character; a gloomy, passionate character, from which even he sometimes shrank. Was this the image of her love? Was it he who was here waited for? All this passed through his brain with the speed of lightning, but his fixed glance had betrayed something of what was in his mind.
"Why say so much about it?" exclaimed Ferdinanda; "a work that must be put to the vote is not worthy to exist." She had seized the heavy mallet which lay on the table amongst her other tools and swung it towards the statue. Justus caught hold of her arm.
"Are you mad, Fräulein Ferdinanda? Cannot you understand a joke? I swear to you that it was only a joke! That I admire it even more than the former one! That you have surpassed yourself and me." Justus was quite pale with excitement; the others hastened to assure her that they were quite of the master's opinion, that they thought the statue surpassingly beautiful, that they did not wish to see one feature altered. Ottomar was foremost with his praises, and his beautiful eyes entreated for forgiveness; but Ferdinanda was not to be appeased.
"It is too late," she said, "the sentence has gone forth, and I am too proud, I confess, to accept praise which comes as an afterthought. Calm yourself, Anders; I will not destroy the statue, but I will never finish it, that I swear!"
"And I am to be calm?" exclaimed Justus; "may I break stones in the road if I do, if I--what is it, Antonio?" Antonio had entered, whispered a few words to Anders and then retired; as he went out he cast a gloomy look at the statue of the "Reaper."
"A gentleman from the committee," said Anders, "there is always somebody coming; they will drive me wild. I will be back directly." He hurried into his studio; Ottomar suggested that they had already troubled the young lady too long: he expected that Ferdinanda would press them to stay, but she did not; he bowed. "I hope, Ferdinanda," said Reinhold, "that you will not distress us, I mean all of us, by carrying out your threat and leaving the statue unfinished."
"If you knew me better," said Ferdinanda, "you would know that I always keep my word to myself and to others." These last words she had, as if accidentally, addressed to Ottomar, and accompanied it with a glance which Ottomar understood and returned. Whatever became of the "Reaper," she would come that evening. The door had closed behind the gentlemen; Ferdinanda bolted it and then turned slowly round. Her fixed glance rested first on the spot where she had kissed Ottomar for the first time, and then passed on to the "Reaper." Was it an effect of light, or was it that others' words had first made it plain to her what she had produced? A shudder passed through her.
"I keep my word when I have given it--but I wish I had not given it!"
CHAPTER IV.
Ferdinanda had long ago emancipated herself from all control on the part of her aunt. She was accustomed to go and come as she pleased; the only point on which it was necessary to be attentive was punctuality at meals. Her father was very particular about this, only Aunt Rikchen declared, in order that he might worry her out of her five senses if she ever happened to be delayed by her household duties or other matters, as could hardly be avoided by such a poor creature. Ferdinanda was aware also that her father avoided every opportunity of being alone with his sister, and that it was therefore an especial annoyance to him if she herself stayed away from meals on any pretence. Under such circumstances her father always took his meals by himself in his own room. But this had very rarely happened, even in former days, and scarcely ever happened now. Ferdinanda had almost entirely withdrawn herself from all her friends; she said often that she had no friends, only acquaintances, and that she did not care much about them. To-day she must pretend to visit some friend, and leave word at home that she should not probably be back to supper, which was always served at nine o'clock punctually. Her pride revolted at the necessity of the lie, and such an improbable one, but she had given her word; whether good or evil came of it, her fate was decided--the deed must be done. She went therefore at half-past seven, with her bonnet and cloak on, down to her aunt, who was invariably to be found at that hour in the sitting-room behind the dining-room, where, in her seat near the window, she could count her stitches by the fading light, watch the passers-by without trouble, and, as Uncle Ernst said, indulge her fancies quite undisturbed. The latter employment was the most successful to-day; the stitches were very difficult to count, in consequence of the gloomy weather, and the same cause had diminished the number of passers-by, "as if they were all on strike, like those abominable work-people;" besides the butcher had brought for the next day a miserable leg of veal, which, that silly Trine, the cook, ought never to have taken in, and for her punishment must take back again, although Heaven only knew how she was to get the supper ready all alone, for as for Trine being back in less than an hour, she knew the idle thing better than that. And now Ferdinanda was going out--was going to spend the evening out! Aunt Rikchen in despair snatched her spectacles from her nose, and let her stocking, with the stitches she had only just picked up, fall into her lap.