Mr. Conrad had twice been informed of the wager; he had learned it first from Seraphin's own lips, then also he had read of it in his diary; still he asked again, and his son detailed the story a third time.
“I should sooner have expected to see the heavens fall than to lose that bet,” added Seraphin.
“When a notorious thief and usurer is elected to the chief magistracy and to the legislative assembly, the victory gained is hardly a creditable one to the spirit of progress, my dear Carl. Don't you think so, Louise?” said the landholder.
“You mustn't be too rigorous,” replied the lady, with composure. “Rumor whispers many a bit of scandal respecting Shund which does, indeed, offend one's sense of propriety; for all that, however, Shund will play his part brilliantly both in the assembly and in the town council. The greatest of statesmen have had their foibles, as everybody knows.”
“Very true,” said Gerlach dryly. “Viewed from the standpoint of very humane tolerance, Shund's disgusting habits may be considered justifiable.”
Seraphin left the parlor, and retired to his room. Here he wrestled with violent feelings. His father's conduct was a mystery to him. Opinions which conflicted with his own most sacred convictions, and principles which brought an indignant flush to his cheek, were listened to and apparently acquiesced in by his father. Shund's abominable diatribe had not [pg 549] roused the old gentleman's anger; Louise's avowed concurrence with the irreligious principles of the chieftain had not even provoked his disapprobation.
“My God, my God! can it be possible?” cried he in an agony of despair. “Has the love of gain so utterly blinded my father? Can he have sunk so low as to be willing to immolate me, his only child, to a base speculation? Can he be willing for the sake of a million florins to bind me for life to this erring creature, this infidel Louise? Can a paltry million tempt him to be so reckless and cruel? No! no! a thousand times no!” exclaimed he. “I never will be the husband of this woman, never—I swear it by the great God of heaven! Get angry with me, father, banish me from your sight—it would be more tolerable than the consciousness of being the husband of a woman who believes not in the Redeemer of the world. I have sworn—the matter is for ever settled.” He threw himself into an arm-chair, and moodily stared at the opposite wall. By degrees, his excitement subsided, and he became quiet.
In fancy, he beheld beside Louise's form another lovely one rise up—that of the girl with the golden hair, the bright eyes, and the winning smile. She had stood before him on this very floor, in her neat and simple country garb, radiant with innocence and purity, adorned with innate grace and uncommon beauty. And the lapse of days, far from weakening, had deepened the impression of her first apparition. The storm that had been raging in his interior was allayed by the recollection of Mechtild, as the fury of the great deep subsides upon the reappearance of the sun. Scarcely an hour had passed during which he had not thought of the girl, rehearsed every word she had uttered, and viewed the basket of grapes she had brought him. Again he pulled out the drawer, and looked upon the gift with a friendly smile; then, locking up the precious treasure, he returned to the parlor.
He found the company on the balcony. The sound of trumpets and drums came from a distance, and presently a motley procession was seen coming up the nearest street.
“You have just arrived in time to see the procession,” cried Louise to him. “It is going to defile past here, so we will be able to have a good look at it.”