She comes to herself a little. "Ah, no!" says she. "It is about you, not about me. They told me that through my obstinacy I had put you in a painful position with Prince Orbanoff--that you are to fight a duel with him. Is that true?"
He is silent a moment, then he says calmly: "Yes, it is true."
"Oh, my God!" she cries out, and then is silent, as if petrified by pain.
His eyes rest on her in indescribable surprise.
"Did you come on that account?" murmurs he, warmly, and kisses her hands again and again. "Oh, you dear, lovely being; and you have forgotten the whole world from anxiety for me! I know no second girl who would be capable of such generosity!"
But she scarcely notices these words, which would once have filled her with pride. "So it is true," she murmurs to herself, "it is true! But it shall not happen. You must give up the duel!"
"That is impossible," replies he, and smiles as one smiles at a pretty child who desires the moon. "My life is at your disposal, but not my honor."
"Oh, heavens! And if you fall it is my fault!" cries she, violently. "But no; I must save your life. Now, how foolish it was of me to turn to you. I must go to Orbanoff. I will write to him, I will beg-- When is the duel?"
The affair begins to be unpleasant for Bärenburg. He had not considered of what such a warm-hearted little barbarian is capable when he told her that he should fight for her. Why had he told her? It was overhasty--it was more, was tactless, tasteless. He had not even tried to resist the temptation to excite her tender despair to the utmost. He had succeeded. She is beside herself; she does not know what she is about. At the same time her overstrained nerves give way, she trembles in her whole frame, and with a tottering movement she passes her hand over her temples. Her little fur cap falls from her head. How very beautiful she is!
She staggers.