August could not suppress a smile in spite of the genuine concern which he felt for his young master. "I—he said—they looked differently—one will get over that in time—a highly important letter——"
"These damned Manichæans!" muttered Ottomar. He did not understand the connection; the next note was not due for eight days—but what else could it be? His father would make another beautiful scene for him! Oh, pshaw! He would get engaged a few days earlier, if he must get engaged, if it were only finally to put an end to the disgraceful worries from which he had no rest at night in his room, and couldn't smoke his cigar in peace!
He threw his cigar out of the window; August had taken his uniform and removed the cotillion favors. "What's that for?"
"Does the Lieutenant prefer to put on his uniform?" asked August.
"Nonsense!" said Ottomar. "That was just lacking to——"
He broke off; for he could not tell August—to make the tedious story still more tedious and more serious. "I shall simply explain to Papa that in the future I do not intend to molest him further with such things, and prefer to have my affairs finally arranged by Wallbach," he said to himself, while August went on ahead with the light—the gas lights in the hall were already extinguished—down the hall, and now stopped at his father's door.
"You may put the light on the table there, and as far as I am concerned, go to bed, and tell Friedrich to wake me at six o'clock in the morning."
He had spoken these words more loudly than was necessary, and he noticed that his voice had a strange sound—as if it were not his own voice. It was, of course, only because everything was so still in the house—so still that he now heard the blood coursing in his temples and his heart beating.
"The damned Manichæans!" he muttered again through his teeth, as he knocked at the door.
"Come in!"