A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.
No, he could not sleep; he had something important to do. At last he must pluck up courage and establish his position. This wretched prevarication, this double dealing, could not go on any longer. It was ten times more disgraceful than the most brutal frankness. He seated himself at the very table where, scarcely more than a day before, he had listened to Lato's confessions, and began a rough sketch of his letter to Paula. But at the very first word he stopped. He was going to write, "Dear Paula," but that would never do. Could he address her thus familiarly when he wanted to sever all relations with her? Impossible! "Honoured Baroness" he could not write, either; it sounded ridiculous, applied to a girl with whom he had sat for hours in the last fortnight. He decided to begin, "Dear Baroness Paula." He dipped his pen in the ink, and wrote the words in a distinct hand: "Dear Baroness Paula, I cannot express to you the difficulty I find in telling you what must, however, be told. I had hoped until now that you would discover it yourself----"
Thus far he wrote hurriedly, and as if in scorn of mortal danger. He paused now, and read over the few words. His cheeks burned. No, he could not write that to a lady: as well might he strike her in the face. It was impossible. But what should he do? At last an idea occurred to him, how strange not to have thought of it before! He must appeal to her mother. It was as clear as daylight. He took a fresh sheet of paper, having torn the other up and tossed it under the table, then dipped his pen anew in the ink. But no; it would not do. Every hour that he had spent with Paula, every caress he had allowed her to bestow upon him, was brought up before him by his conscience, which did not spare him the smallest particular. Lato's words recurred to him: "You cannot disguise from yourself the fact that you--you and Paula--produce the impression of a devoted pair of lovers."
He set his teeth. He could not deny that his conduct had been shameful. He could not sever his engagement to her without a lack of honour.
"Oh, good God! how had it ever come to pass?" What had induced him to ride over to Dobrotschau day after day? He had always been sure that an opportunity for an explanation would occur. When with Paula he had endured her advances in sullen submission, without facing the consequences; he had simply been annoyed; and now---- He shuddered.
Once more he took up the pen, but in vain; never before had he felt so utterly hopeless. Every limb ached as if laden with fetters. He tossed the pen aside: under the circumstances he could not write the letter; Paula herself must sever the tie, if it could be severed.
If it could be severed! What did that mean? He seemed to hear the words spoken aloud. Nonsense! If it could be severed! As if there were a doubt that it could be severed! But how? how?
His distress was terrible. He could see no way to extricate himself. Paula must be compelled to release him of her own accord; but how was it to be done? He devised the wildest schemes. Could he be caught flirting with a gypsy girl? or could he feign to be deeply in debt? No, no more feigning; and, besides, what would it avail? She would forgive everything.
Suddenly Vips cried out in his sleep.
"Vips!" Harry called, to waken him, going to his brother's bedside.