With that Mieting drove off.
In the evening August, not without some formality, handed Else a letter which Miss Mieting had given him at the last moment before her departure with the express direction that he should deliver it promptly at the stroke of nine in the evening, twelve hours later. It was a letter in Mieting's most confused hand, from which Else deciphered the following with some difficulty:
Six o'clock in the afternoon.
Dear Else!
Don't believe a word of all that I told you when I came home.—Oh, that won't help you any! You first read this letter—I am writing it right here at Madame von Randow's in order to lose no time—August is to give it to you when I am gone—thus, not a bit of it is true; my mother hadn't written at all; I lied; I have been lying to you and deceiving you most monstrously for a week, for I have not been going there during that time on your account, and that would have been the most injudicious procedure, as I am convinced that your Reinhold has long since noticed how matters stand with us and has kept out of the way even before we had an idea of it, and you may believe, Else, that two such men, when they are such good friends, stand by each other in such matters in a way that we girls couldn't improve upon. And for dear, blind Cilli we thought we needed to have no further concern, because she always smiled so cheerfully when we teased each other, and then, too, she couldn't see, and the eyes play such an important part in a matter of that kind, you know! Indeed, it began with the eyes, for up to that time all went well. But when he came to them he said: "At this point I shall have to determine what the color of your eyes really is; and I was puzzling my brain about that all those days." I declared they were yellow; Aunt Rikchen thought they were green; he himself thought they were brown—and Cilli, who was to decide the matter, said she was convinced that they were blue; she was so cheerful, and cheerful people must have blue eyes. So we jested to and fro and each day he began again with my eyes and, because one can't speak of eyes very well without looking into them, I looked into his eyes while he looked into mine, and I don't know whether you have ever had the same experience, Else—when one has done that a few days, one begins to see more clearly what is going on back of the eyes—very curious things. I tell you that a shudder goes over one; one doesn't know sometimes whether to laugh at the one who is looking, and give him a snip on the nose, or to take to crying and fall on his neck.
So I had felt a few times, and this noon again—only a little worse than before. The assistants were off at dinner, and Aunt Rikchen had gone to look after the house; only he and I and Cilli were there, and Justus wanted to work on, if we were willing, to finish the work. But he didn't work industriously, as was his custom, and I noticed that, and didn't sit as quietly as usual, and we—that is, he and I—played all sorts of pranks with Lesto, who had to pretend that he was dead, and bark at me as if he were mad, and I pretended to want to hit his master, and other nonsense, till suddenly we heard the door which leads into the garden close and—Heavens! Else! how shall I describe it to you—Cilli had gone away without our noticing it; we must thus have been a bit boisterous, and for that reason became quiet now, still as mice, so that one could have heard a pin drop, if one had dropped, and I was so embarrassed, Else, so embarrassed, you know! And still more embarrassed when all of a sudden he kneeled close before me—I had seated myself, because my knees were shaking—and then looked me again in the eyes, and I looked at him, you know I had to, Else!—and asked, but very gently, what that meant. That means, he said—but also very gently—that you must once for all declare yourself. I'll give you a snip on the nose if you don't get up, said I, but still more softly—I'll get up—but so close to my ear that I could not strike his nose, but had to fall in all seriousness upon his neck, whereat Lesto, who thought the life of his master was at stake, began to bark dreadfully, and I, to pacify Lesto and to get Justus up from his knees, said yes to everything he wished, that I loved him, that I'd be his wife, and whatever else one says at such a dreadful moment.
And now, just think, Else!—When we had spent five minutes in pacifying Lesto, and were about to leave—for I said I had sworn to be sensible, and to be a credit to you, and not to remain a second with such a dangerous man in such a lonesome spot, with all the horrible marble figures—and we went to the rear arm in arm—suddenly, Cilli came toward us from among the marble figures, as white as marble herself, but with a heavenly smile on her face, and said that we must not be angry, that the door had shut and she could not get it open, and she had heard everything—she heard so easily—and it sounded so loud in the studio. Oh, Else! I was so ashamed that I could have sunk into the floor, for I'm sure we didn't stop with words, but the heavenly creature blushed as if she had been able to see, took me by the hand, and said I should not be ashamed—one need not be ashamed—of an honorable, true love, and I didn't know at all how happy I was, and how proud I should be, but I would gradually find it out, and should be thankful for my proud joy, and love Justus very much, for an artist needs love very much more than other people. Then she took Justus' hand and said, "And you, Justus, you will love her as much as the sunshine without which you cannot live!" And, as she said that, the sunbeam fell from the high window of the studio directly upon the sweet girl, and she looked transfigured—so supernaturally beautiful, with her poor blind eyes turned upward, that at last I couldn't keep from weeping, and had great difficulty in composing myself. And she said, "You mustn't stay here in this disturbed condition; you must go home at once and tell your mother about it, and no one else before her; for the fact that I know it is an accident, for which you are not to blame." And I promised her everything that she asked of me, and I now realize that the angel was perfectly right, for I am entirely out of my senses with joy, and can't talk anything but nonsense for very joy, and that I don't dare to do, because I have sworn to be sensible, and to do credit to you. Tomorrow morning I leave—tomorrow evening at eight o'clock I shall be home, at half-past eight I shall have told my mama, and at nine o'clock August will give you this letter, for after Mama you come next, of course. That I told Cilli outright, and she agreed to it, and her last word was: Ask God that your friend may be as happy as you are now. That I will do, Else, depend upon it, and depend in every other respect, too, upon your friend, who loves you above all else.
Your sensible Miete.
P. S. In "all," "he" is of course excepted! I'm dreadfully sorry, but it can't be helped, you know!