"Yes, I loved him, Mina; and I would yet esteem him."
"Contemn him not, father; and, above all, seek not to be avenged on him!" cried the girl, in a fit of sudden terror. "Should a proud cavalier like him espouse a poor maiden like me—one who is not even a lady? Thou hast genius and glory, my father; but thou hast no escutcheon. I should have loved Johann; he had such respect for thee—such devotion for me; he would have given thee a happy old age, and me a peaceful life; he loved me and would have sacrificed himself for me—he, who could find heart to see me happy in another's arms. Oh! when Johann returns, tell him that I was not ungrateful, and that, if heaven is opened to me, I will there pray for him."
Again her words were interrupted by a stifled sob; she turned, and her eyes fell upon the great arm chair. She cried out, with fixed gaze and trembling lips:
"Johann is here—and weeping! Why speaks he not?"
Then old Sebald turned and saw the young man.
"Come hither!" he cried. "Thou hast been at Horsheim; what hast thou seen? See how pale—how burning—how pitifully sick she is. Speak, my son; say that old Hans erred when he named the husband of the Countess Gertrude!"
Johann, erect and pale, for a moment did not reply; he made a few timid steps toward the old sculptor, and whispered as softly as he could:
"O master! why ask me now? Why force me to tell my tidings in her presence?"
And seeing a gesture of Mina's, he ceased. As low as he had spoken, she had heard. She lifted her eyes, clasped her hands, and made an effort to speak.
"Thou seest, father, that I was right," she murmured. "Thanks, Johann; thou hast proved thy courage and thy goodness, of heart, and I rejoice that I am yet able to bid thee farewell. But one last question—answer, if thou lovest me. When will Otho's marriage take place?"