XXIX.
Mascha's confession had more deeply shocked Nita than she thought. So much touching, childish simplicity spoke from every sad word. Another would have excused herself, would have ascribed her sin to circumstances, to her seducer. This poor little sinner took all upon herself. It had happened, she did not know how; she had lost her head from anxiety and remorse on his account.
Especially the conclusion of the confession had gone to Nita's heart. "Do you see," Maschenka had whispered still more softly than before, "formerly I knew nothing of all this; I had no suspicion; I was quite--quite stupid. But since then I have listened when the 'big people'"--she is still so childish that she speaks of adults as big people---"spoke, and I have read the newspapers and all sorts of books in the endless nights in which I could not sleep. And now I know that I am what people call--an abandoned woman." And as Nita, with consoling caresses, assured her:
"He will do his duty to you--he will--he must!" Mascha had only sobbed more violently, and murmured:
"What duty has one to a girl who runs after one, who throws herself at his head? He was so kind to me--I thought it was love, and I thought love was something so grand, beautiful. It was no love with him; it was only pity at first, and then it was scorn. Why was I so foolish? It is past. Let me put my life out of the world, and everything go on in its usual course. It was fearfully hard for me to jump into the water that time; how long ago is it? Yesterday--really yesterday! I was so afraid of death, and life seemed so beautiful to me in spite of everything. Now that is over too; I no longer understand life."
Nita must promise her not to betray Bärenburg's name to her father. "Of what use? He saved Colia's life. Colia is weaponless against him; but father--he--he would kill him. I do not wish him to be harmed; why should I? Ah, Nita, you dear, good angel! if I had only found you at home that time!"
Thus closed the little confession.
Nita has long forgotten that at first Mascha's case had caused her disgust. She no longer thinks of Lensky's horrible behavior; her whole heart is filled with pity and the strong, urgent desire to help.
She must go to London, speak with Karl, that is certain. But how to do it? It needs some pondering, but before she retires that evening her plan is ready. She knows that if Mascha's good name is to be restored at all as she plans, the work must proceed as quietly as possible, and no one must suspect the levers which set it in motion. She must travel alone, without her maid. The thought disturbs her not a little. Strange!
She is ready to go through fire for Mascha, to enter into the most painful explanation with her cousin; but to pass a night in a London hotel without sufficient protection, she is not ready.