"Everything," repeated Ottilie, as she saw that the look of deep sorrow on Gotthold's expressive face remained unchanged.
"You do not really think so yourself," he replied, gratefully pressing Ottilie's hand; "if the child dies, Cecilia, I fear, will never get over it, no matter how much, how entirely, that scoundrel is to blame; at any rate it will be another of those sad, torturing memories, which, according to her own confession to you, separate her from me forever."
Herr Wollnow came out of an adjoining room, ready for walking. Ottilie accompanied the two friends to the door. "I wish I could go with you," said she.
"And it would not be a bad thing," said Wollnow as the two friends walked through the dusky streets, in which to-day there was an unusual stir and bustle; "women have what in such cases removes mountains--the sovereign passion which we men, luckily for ourselves, have reasoned away, though without obtaining in exchange the sovereign calmness with which that strange old man met Brandow this morning. I would not speak of it in the ladies' presence. Brandow, with the acuteness for which even his enemies must give him credit, had made up his mind from the first moment that Cecilia must sooner or later come here, even if she did not do so at once. He therefore instantly turned round and drove here as fast as the horses could go; he must have met you just outside of Prora. Since that time he has lurked around my house and your lodgings; I admire the firmness with which he has maintained his usual calm manner, and his boldness in telling everybody that his wife had gone away to make a little visit, and the farce Cousin Borlaf had played with the farm-hands--searching the bog and forest--was a piece of roguery for which he would call the spiteful old man, with whom he had long been on bad terms, to a strict account. He must have had a hell of anxiety and dread in his heart, for his enemies--and he has not a few, foremost among whom are Redebas and the Plüggens--took an eager interest in circulating the worst reports, and the members of the committee on the races were on the point of formally demanding an explanation from Brandow, when yesterday evening he said at the club that his wife had arrived here half an hour before, and was staying with us: the Selliens had also requested the pleasure of her company, but the Assessor's health was not yet entirely restored, so he had given us the preference. In order to give his statement the proper weight, or--urged on by I know not what devil of impudence--as soon as he heard of Cecilia's arrival yesterday evening--I suppose through Alma Sellien, who unluckily was with my wife at the time--he rang the door-bell, and sent in his card to Ottilie. She would undoubtedly have been glad to receive him and give full vent to her feelings; but the old gentleman entered the room, and with the stately politeness which we of the last two generations have forgotten, begged her to leave him alone with Brandow a moment. It was, in fact, not more than a minute before the old gentleman rejoined the ladies with a mien as calm as ever; while the other rushed down the staircase, and Cecilia, who had no suspicion of his presence, was startled by the violence with which somebody banged the door. Here we are at the 'Golden Lion.' Let me go in alone. If we should not find him this evening, he ought not to know that you have returned."
Wollnow entered the wide hall, through whose open door a bright light streamed into the somewhat dusky street. There were a great many guests in the large hotel on account of the races, which had commenced to-day, and were to be continued to-morrow, so that Wollnow was obliged to ask several times before he could get a positive answer; and Gotthold was kept waiting longer than he expected. As, in walking up and down, he had for the second time proceeded some little distance from the house, a female figure suddenly emerged from a dark side-street, passed him, and instantly turned back with a murmured "Carl," raising her black veil at the same moment. In spite of the dim light, Gotthold recognized Alma Sellien.
"You are mistaken," said he.
Alma had also recognized him; she had felt so sure of her ground that terror almost robbed her of all presence of mind; but it was only for a moment. "It is fortunate it was no one else," she said, drawing a long breath, and then, as Gotthold made no reply, added: "I have begged him again and again to tell you; you must learn it sooner or later, and to you the news can give only pleasure; but he never would."
"And for good reasons."
"What reasons? Pray, pray tell me all."
"In another place and at another time; neither hour nor scene is suitable."