Nothing was in order in the room, which had never seemed to me so shabby and unhomelike; the fly-specks had not been washed from the glass over the engravings, and the coffee-service was not on the table. Diana was lying in the middle of the unmade bed, and only lifted her head from her fore-paws to yawn at me. Her master, who usually dressed himself very carefully for this coffee-hour, was pacing up and down with folded arms, in his shirtsleeves, and slippers down at the heel, smoking his short pipe as fiercely as if he meant, in defiance of the sunshine streaming through the little window, to intrench himself behind an impenetrable cloud.
"Pardon me if I disturb you," I said, as he stopped and glared angrily at me as though I were a total stranger; "but I can not bear to stay alone with my own thoughts among people who either make scornful comments on the misfortune in private or openly exult over it. And altogether--I can't yet believe it. Tell me honestly, Herr Baron; do you believe it? Do you understand it?"
"Nonsense!" he growled. "Believe what? 'Long hair and short wits'--that's all we need know to marvel at nothing one of that sex does, even if she were the best of them all. Have you come, too, to fill my ears with lamentations? I have enough to do to swallow my own bile."
He began to puff out the smoke again, and resumed his walk as if he had said enough to induce me to beat a discreet retreat.
But I did not stir.
"Oh, Herr Baron, don't send me away without any comfort, any explanation. You know more about the matter than any other person; you said you had known this--this Herr Spielberg. Do you really believe that she has followed him, that--that she has not merely suggested the horrible idea of becoming his wife as a threat, an alarm-shot, but will seriously persist in it?"
Again he stopped, then with grim earnestness said: "Do you not yet know her well enough to be aware that she never jests about serious matters, and that, when she has once made up her mind, a legion of angels or fiends could not divert her from her purpose. I've seen it coming a long time, not exactly this, for no sensible person could imagine such a folly, but some dangerous escapade, merely to escape from this oppressive, poisonous atmosphere into the free air, and, had it not been for her aunt, the martyr, who must now endure to the end, she would have gone away as soon as she became of age, at least to her chapter, where, it is true, she would have found all sorts of hypocrisy that did not suit her, but at any rate she could have planned her life according to her own inclination. She only remained for the sake of her aunt, and to be able to occasionally lay a bunch of flowers beside the old baroness's plate. Now that scoundrel Kasimir has severed with his riding-whip the tie that bound her here, as if it were a cobweb, she has dropped everything as if she were called upon to answer for the honor of the whole family, and questioned only the bewildered heart and obstinate conscience which persuaded her that this folly was a noble sacrifice. I could tear my hair out by the roots because I was not present, and heard nothing about the matter until early this morning, when Liborius told me that so and so had occurred yesterday, and that he saw the young lady set off gayly on her walk at dawn this morning but thought nothing of it. She appeared just the same as she usually did when walking, and he would never have dreamed of her committing so extraordinary an act. But I should have noticed something and opposed it with might and main. Nom d'un nom!"--this was the French oath he used when excessively angry--"I believe, if I could not have conquered her obstinacy, I would have gone with her and twisted the neck of the man into whose arms she wanted to throw herself, ere I would have allowed him to rob me of my darling and drag her into misery."
He again smoked furiously. Diana sprang howling from the bed and ran up to him, but was banished into a corner by a kick.
"But how can you explain her taking refuge with this stranger, confiding to him her person, her honor, her whole life, merely because he was treated here in her presence as a vagabond? So proud as she always was, so pure, and so well aware of what she ought and must do in order not to blush for herself?"
Uncle Joachim gave me a side-glance from his half-shut eyes. "Herr Weissbrod," he said, "you are an honest fellow, and you revered my niece as if she were a saint. I can tell you how all this agrees. As a future pastor, you must know what is to be expected of women, the best of whom are often the most perplexing. You see, three years ago, this Spiegelberg, or Spielberg, as he now calls himself, had the insolence to write her a letter, which she did not answer. But a girl like her does not willingly remain in debt for anything. What she has done now is the reply to that old letter."