"Don't shake your head; what I say is true. You love me and are true to me; at least in my love I am childish and vain enough to believe so. But you will fly away, I see that clearly enough. You will have to. The saying is that love makes us blind, but it also makes us see far and clear."
"Ah, Lena, you do not know how dearly I love you."
"Oh yes, I do. And I know too that you think of your Lena as something set apart, and every day you think, 'if only she were a Countess.' But it is too late for that now, I can never bring it about. You love me, and you are weak. That cannot be altered. All handsome men are weak and the stronger spirit rules over them.... And the stronger spirit ... now, who is that? Either it is your mother, or people's talk, or your connections. Or perhaps all three ... But just look."
And she pointed towards the Zoological Garden, where through the darkness of the trees and foliage a rocket rushed hissing into the air and with a puff burst into a countless shower of sparks. A second followed the first and so it went on, as if they were chasing and trying to catch up with one another, until of a sudden the rockets ceased and the shrubbery began to glow in a green and red light. A couple of birds cried out harshly in their cages and then after a long pause the music began again.
"Do you know, Botho, what I would give, if I could lean on your arm and walk with you over there up and down that school for scandal, as safely as here among the box borders, and if I could say to everyone: 'Yes, you may wonder at us, he is he and I am I, and he loves me and I love him,'--do you know what I would give? But don't guess, for you never could. You only know yourself and your club and your life. Oh, the poor little life."
"Don't speak so, Lena."
"Why not? One must look everything squarely in the face and not whiten anything over, and above all one must not whiten one's self. But it is growing cold and they are through over there. That is the last piece that they are playing now. Come, we will go in and sit by the fireside, the fire will not be out yet and my mother has long since gone to bed."
So they walked back along the garden path, she leaning lightly on his shoulder. The lights were all out in the "castle" and only Sultan gazed after them, thrusting his head out of his kennel. But he did not move and only some dim, sullen thoughts passed through his brain.
[CHAPTER VI]
It was the next week after the events narrated, and the chestnut trees were already in bloom. They were blossoming also in Bellevue Street. Baron Botho lived here in a ground floor apartment that extended through from a front balcony to one that opened on a garden: there was a living-room, a dining-room, and a bedroom, which were distinguished by a tasteful furnishing decidedly beyond the means of their owner. In the dining-room there were two pictures of still life by Hertel and between these a bear hunt, an admirable copy from Rubens, while in the living-room the "show piece" was a storm at sea by Andreas Achenbach, surrounded by several smaller pictures by the same artist. The storm picture had come into Baron Botho's possession by chance at a lottery, and by means of this beautiful and valuable work he had gained the reputation of a connoisseur and especially of an admirer of Achenbach. He joked freely about this and used to declare "that his luck at the lottery cost him quite dear, because it continually led him to make new purchases, adding that it was perhaps the same with all good fortune."