“I did not laugh,” said Rosa, looking with terror at the disturbed countenance of her lover.
“Yes, you laughed, and you were right to laugh, when I spoke of my honor; I who have no honor; I who have shamed my name; I upon whose brow is the sign of murder: for I am guilty of the ruin of a man, and the chains on his hands are cursing my name.”
“My God! He is mad,” murmured Rosa.
“No, I am not mad,” said he, with a heart-breaking smile. “I know all, all! Were I mad, I would not be so unhappy. Were I unconscious, I would suffer less. But, no, I remember all. I know how this evil commenced, how it grew and poisoned my heart. The evil was my poverty, my covetousness, and perhaps also my ambition. I was not content to bear forever the chains of bondage; I wished to be free from want. I determined it should no more be said that the sisters of Count Weingarten had to earn their bread by their needlework, while he feasted sumptuously at the royal table. This it was that caused my ruin. These frightful words buzzed in my ears so long, that in my despair I determined to stop them at any price, and so I committed my first crime, and received a golden reward for my treason. My sisters did not work now; I bought a small house for them, and gave them all that I received. I shuddered at the sight of this money; I would keep none of it. I was again the poor secretary Weingarten, but my family was not helpless; they had nothing to fear.”
To whom was he telling all this? Certainly not to that young girl standing before him, pale and trembling. He had forgotten himself; he had forgotten her whom in other days he had called his heart’s darling.
As she sank at his feet and covered his hands with her tears, he rose hastily from his seat; he now remembered that he was not alone.
“What have I said?” cried he, wildly. “Why do you weep?”
“I weep because you have forgotten me,” said she, softly; “I weep because, in accusing yourself, you make no excuse for your crime; not even your love for your poor Rosa.”
“It is true,” said he, sadly, “I had forgotten our love. And still it is the only excuse that I have for my second crime. I had determined to be a good man, and to expiate my one crime throughout my whole life. But when I saw you, your beauty fascinated me, and you drew me on. I went with open eyes into the net which you prepared for me, Rosa. I allowed myself to be allured by your beauty, knowing well that it would draw me into a frightful abyss.”
“Ah,” said Rosa, groaning, “how cruelly you speak of our love!”