"Who is the lady?" Bergmann asked, with some little embarrassment.
"Doctor," replied Frau von Jagerfeld, this time smiling, "take care.
Many wings have already been scorched by her."
"Don't fear, madame. I can endure flames somewhat better than a moth."
"Come, come, a suspicious reflection of fire is already visible on your cheeks."
A shadow of annoyance flitted across Bergmann's face. His hostess laid her hand quickly on his arm, saying:
"Don't be vexed by a little jest, my dear friend. I will tell you who the beautiful woman is. She is a German-American, and her name is Mrs. Ada Burgess. Young and charming, as you see, the poor woman is unhappy. Her father is the owner of a gold mine somewhere in Nebraska, and was reputed a very wealthy man; at least he lived in extremely handsome style in St. Louis, and his daughter, who was considered the handsomest girl in the west, from the time of her entrance into society was the reigning belle of every ball and entertainment. Mr. Burgess, who seems to have been a handsome and elegant man, was her most devoted suitor and appeared to be madly in love with her. Ada did not remain insensible to the persistent homage, and Burgess bore away the victory over numerous rivals. But it now appears that he has a base soul and his main object was the dowry. There, however, he was disappointed. Gold mines, evidently, are not always productive, at least Ada's father was ruined by his, and Ada did not receive a penny. Then the comedy of love played by Burgess ended. At first he treated her indifferently, then harshly, and soon matters became so bad that she was obliged to seek refuge from her husband's abuse in her parents' house. Her nerves had been so shaken by the horrible scenes which she experienced, that your American colleagues recommended a long residence in Europe for the restoration of her health. She came here, and for several months has lived in Frankfort, where the best society struggles for her. Yon can imagine that a young and beautiful woman entirely alone, whose husband is invisible, does not remain unassailed. Besides, there is the American independence and confidence of manner which is often mistaken for emancipation, and by which a man easily feels encouraged—in short, serious attention has been paid to her, and she has seemed to accept it. Then suddenly there came a repulse and a rupture, which has already resulted in injury to several somewhat delicately strung masculine hearts. Moreover she is very uneven in her manner. Often gay, even reckless, devising pranks like a spoiled boy, then suddenly reserved, distant, and stern. True, she is always intellectual, so that I know many a man who is uncomfortable in her society, to say nothing of women."
Frau von Jagerfeld had spoken eagerly in a low tone, with frequent interruptions when courtesy compelled her to listen to the numerous toasts which were chiefly proposed to her and to the master of the house. Mrs. Burgess could not long fail to notice that the two persons opposite were talking about her, and she smilingly shook her finger across the table at her friend.
"Poor woman," murmured Bergmann, "so bitter in experience at the threshold of life—But why does she endure her fate? It is so easy to be set free in America."
"I don't know. Perhaps on account of her children."
"Ah—she has children?"