'I have been kissing Minna,' Fritz answered with perfect gravity, until we are both of us out of breath. 'I look upon you as a sort of safety-valve.'
At this, Minna's charming face became eloquent in another way. I only waited to ask for news of my aunt before I withdrew. Mrs. Wagner was already on the road to Frankfort, following Fritz by easy stages.
'And where is Jack Straw?' I inquired.
'Traveling with her,' said Fritz.
Having received this last extraordinary piece of intelligence, I put off all explanations until a fitter opportunity, and left the lovers together until dinner-time.
It was one of the last fine days of the autumn. The sunshine tempted me to take a turn in Mr. Engelman's garden.
A shrubbery of evergreens divided the lawn near the house from the flower-beds which occupied the further extremity of the plot of ground. While I was on one side of the shrubbery, I heard the voices of Mr. Keller and Madame Fontaine on the other side. Then, and then only, I remembered that the doctor had suggested a little walking exercise for the invalid, while the sun was at its warmest in the first hours of the afternoon. Madame Fontaine was in attendance, in the absence of Mr. Engelman, engaged in the duties of the office.
I had just turned back again towards the house, thinking it better not to disturb them, when I heard my name on the widow's lips. Better men than I, under stress of temptation, have been known to commit actions unworthy of them. I was mean enough to listen; and I paid the proverbial penalty for gratifying my curiosity—I heard no good of myself.
'You have honored me by asking my advice, sir,' I heard Madame Fontaine say. 'With regard to young David Glenney, I can speak quite impartially. In a few days more, if I can be of no further use to you, I shall have left the house.'
Mr. Keller interrupted her there.
'Pardon me, Madame Fontaine; I can't let you talk of leaving us. We are without a housekeeper, as you know. You will confer a favor on me and on Mr. Engelman, if you will kindly undertake the direction of our domestic affairs—for the present, at least. Besides, your charming daughter is the light of our household. What will Fritz say, if you take her away just when he has come home? No! no! you and Minna must stay with us.'
'You are only too good to me, sir! Perhaps I had better ascertain what Mr. Engelman's wishes are, before we decide?'
Mr. Keller laughed—and, more extraordinary still, Mr. Keller made a little joke.
'My dear madam, if you don't know what Mr. Engelman's wishes are likely to be, without asking him, you are the most unobservant lady that ever lived! Speak to him, by all means, if you think it formally necessary—and let us return to the question of taking David Glenney into our office here. A letter which he has lately received from Mrs. Wagner expresses no intention of recalling him to London—and he has managed so cleverly in a business matter which I confided to him, that he would really be an acquisition to us. Besides (until the marriage takes place), he would be a companion for Fritz.'
'That is exactly where I feel a difficulty,' Madame Fontaine replied. 'To my mind, sir, Mr. David is not at all a desirable companion for your son. The admirable candor and simplicity of Fritz's disposition might suffer by association with a person of Mr. David's very peculiar character.'
'May I ask, Madame Fontaine, in what you think his character peculiar?'
'I will endeavor to express what I feel, sir. You have spoken of his cleverness. I venture to say that he is
'Perfectly. Pray go on.'
'I find, Mr. Keller, that there is something of the Jesuit about our young friend. He has a way of refining on trifles, and seeing under the surface, where nothing is to be seen. Don't attach too much importance to what I say! It is quite likely that I am influenced by the popular prejudice against 'old heads on young shoulders.' At the same time, I confess I wouldn't keep him here, if I were in your place. Shall we move a little further on?'
Madame Fontaine was, I daresay, perfectly right in her estimate of me. Looking back at the pages of this narrative, I discover some places in which I certainly appear to justify her opinion. I even justified it at the time. Before she and Mr. Keller were out of my hearing, I began to see 'under the surface,' and 'to refine' on what she had said.
Was it Jesuitical to doubt the disinterestedness of her advice? I did doubt it. Was it Jesuitical to suspect that she privately distrusted me, and had reasons of her own for keeping me out of her way, at the safe distance of London? I did suspect it.
And yet she was such a good Christian! And yet she had so nobly and so undeniably saved Mr. Keller's life! What right had I to impute self-seeking motives to such a woman as this? Mean! mean! there was no excuse for me.
I turned back to the house, with my head feeling very old on my young shoulders.
Madame Fontaine's manner to me was so charming, when we all met at the dinner-table, that I fell into a condition of remorseful silence. Fortunately, Fritz took most of the talking on himself, and the general attention was diverted from me. His high spirits, his boisterous nonsense, his contempt for all lawful forms and ceremonies which placed impediments in the way of his speedy marriage, were amusingly contrasted by Mr. Engelman's courteous simplicity in trying to argue the question seriously with his reckless young friend.
'Don't talk to me about the customary delays and the parson's duty!' cried Fritz. 'Tell me this: does he do his duty without being paid for it?'
'We must all live,' pleaded good Mr. Engelman; 'the parson must pay the butcher and the baker, like the rest of us.'
'That's shirking the question, my dear sir! Will the parson marry Minna and me, without being paid for it?'
'In all civilized countries, Fritz, there are fees for the performance of the marriage ceremony.'
