"How indeed? Of course the young brother-in-law is over head and ears in love. The housekeeper, who seems to be a very sensible person, has often watched him. He never takes his eyes off the Countess, and, naturally enough, she is not blind to the attractions of a handsome young officer. There they sit in the conservatory talking together, or they take long walks arm-in-arm, and the housekeeper----" Here the voice sank to a whisper.
Bernhard could no longer sit quietly in his corner. He stirred and altered his position, so that the conversation was carried on in still lower tones.
"Infernal old women's gossip!" he thought, flushing angrily. "Contemptible lies!--Lothar to----" Anger and pain possessed him. How dared any one assail his wife's reputation? How could the innocent relations between Thea and Lothar give rise to such calumnies? Was he not false to the memory of the dead even to listen to such talk? He arose and opened the window, only to close it again noisily; then dragged out his portmanteau, and so bestirred himself that the ladies involuntarily ceased to speak. But when he leaned back in his corner again, all the 'old women's gossip,' all the 'contemptible lies,' recurred to his mind word for word. Thea was young and beautiful, and Lothar was thoughtless and susceptible, therein lay the justification of the 'old women's gossip.' But Thea was his wife, and Lothar was his brother. Nonsense, nonsense! why dwell upon such thoughts for an instant? And yet they would intrude; they even came between Bernhard and his sorrow for the loss of his brother; they suggested wild images that showed some connection between what he had just heard and Lothar's sudden death; they sent the blood seething through his veins, and kept him awake, when weariness from sorrow and want of repose would have bidden him to sleep.
After a while the two ladies left the train, and Bernhard was alone with his torturing doubts and suggestions.
At the station he was met by Werner, who had meanwhile been informed of the result of Lothar's gambling on the previous evening. As gently as possible, but without withholding a single detail, he told Bernhard the truth: Lothar had contracted gambling-debts, and had, in consequence, shot himself. Fearful as the calamity was, it was by no means without parallel,--the same cause had often led to the same desperate resolve. Still, to Bernhard, it did not seem to explain Lothar's act. The amount of this last debt did most certainly exceed the amount of Lothar's usual deficits, but yet it did not seem to Bernhard large enough to have been paid by a life, unless there had been other motives in Lothar's mind to prompt him to self-destruction. Why had he not applied to his brother, as he had so often done before? Had he despaired of himself and of his capacity for improvement? That was so unlike Lothar that Bernhard could not believe it to be so. What, then, had prevented him this time from appealing to his brother for aid?
"He had been to Eichhof just before?" Bernhard, arousing himself from gloomy reflections, asked of Werner, who was driving from the station with him. Werner assented.
"And you never spoke with him afterward?"
"No; none of his comrades saw him. His servant was the only one who did so, and he says that Eichhof was very unwell. The calamity occurred almost immediately after his return."
"Immediately after his return----" Bernhard bit his lip; he would ask no more questions. Arrived in garrison, he made all the necessary arrangements, promised to return in a few hours, for Lothar's body was to be taken to Eichhof in the evening, and then drove on alone.
He had had some hope that Thea would come to meet him, but she did not do so; she did not even receive him as usual at the hall door.