“What do you mean by that?”
“You go and dance with Adela Bruhl, and you shall see what I mean.”
Fritz had some idea in his own mind, more or less clearly developed, that his fate, as regarded Lotta Schmidt, now lay in his own hands. He undoubtedly desired to have Lotta for his own. He would have married her there and then—at that moment, had it been possible. He had quite made up his mind that he preferred her much to Adela Bruhl, though Adela Bruhl had fifteen hundred florins. But he did not like to endure tyranny, even from Lotta, and he did not know how to escape the tyranny otherwise than by dancing with Adela. He paused a moment, swinging his cane, endeavouring to think how he might best assert his manhood and yet not offend the girl he loved. But he found that to assert his manhood was now his first duty.
“Well, Lotta,” he said, “since you are so cross with me, I will ask Adela to dance.” And in two minutes he was spinning round the room with Adela Bruhl in his arms.
“Certainly she dances very well,” said Lotta, smiling, to Marie, who had now come back to her seat.
“Very well,” said Marie, who was out of breath.
“And so does he.”
“Beautifully,” said Marie.
“Is it not a pity that I should have lost such a partner forever?”
“Lotta!”
“It is true. Look here, Marie, there is my hand upon it. I will never dance with him again—never—never—never. Why was he so hard upon Herr Crippel last night?”
“Was he hard upon Herr Crippel?”
“He said that Herr Crippel was too old to play the zither; too old! Some people are too young to understand. I shall go home, I shall not stay to sup with you tonight.”
“Lotta, you must stay for supper.”
“I will not sup at his table. I have quarrelled with him. It is all over. Fritz Planken is as free as the air for me.”
“Lotta, do not say anything in a hurry. At any rate do not do anything in a hurry.”
“I do not mean to do anything at all. It is simply this—I do not care very much for Fritz, after all. I don’t think I ever did. It is all very well to wear your clothes nicely, but if that is all, what does it come to? If he could play the zither, now!”
“There are other things except playing the zither. They say he is a good bookkeeper.”
“I don’t like bookkeeping. He has to be at his hotel from eight in the morning till eleven at night.”
“You know best.”
“I am not so sure of that. I wish I did know best. But I never saw such a girl as you are. How you change! It was only yesterday you scolded me because I did not wish to be the wife of your dear friend Crippel.”
“Herr Crippel is a very good man.”
“You go away with your good man! You have got a good man of your own. He is standing there waiting for you, like a gander on one leg. He wants you to dance; go away.”
Then Marie did go away, and Lotta was left alone by herself. She certainly had behaved badly to Fritz, and she was aware of it. She excused herself to herself by remembering that she had never yet given Fritz a promise. She was her own mistress, and had, as yet, a right to do what she pleased with herself. He had asked her for her love, and she had not told him that he should not have it. That was all. Herr Crippel had asked her a dozen times, and she had at last told him definitely, positively, that there was no hope for him. Herr Crippel, of course, would not ask her again;—so she told herself. But if there was no such person as Herr Crippel in all the world, she would have nothing more to do with Fritz Planken—nothing more to do with him as a lover. He had given her fair ground for a quarrel, and she would take advantage of it. Then as she sat still while they were dancing, she closed her eyes and thought of the zither and of the zitherist. She remained alone for a long time. The musicians in Vienna will play a waltz for twenty minutes, and the same dancers will continue to dance almost without a pause; and then, almost immediately afterwards, there was a quadrille. Fritz, who was resolved to put down tyranny, stood up with Adela for the quadrille also. “I am so glad,” said Lotta to herself. “I will wait till this is over, and then I will say good night to Marie, and will go home.” Three or four men had asked her to dance, but she had refused. She would not dance tonight at all. She was inclined, she thought, to be a little serious, and would go home. At last Fritz returned to her, and bade her come to supper. He was resolved to see how far his mode of casting off tyranny might be successful, so he approached her with a smile, and offered to take her to his table as though nothing had happened.
“My friend,” she said, “your table is laid for four, and the places will all be filled.”
“The table is laid for five,” said Fritz.
“It is one too many. I shall sup with my friend, Herr Crippel.”
“Herr Crippel is not here.”
“Is he not? Ah me! then I shall be alone, and I must go to bed supperless. Thank you, no, Herr Planken.”
“And what will Marie say?”
“I hope she will enjoy the nice dainties you will give her. Marie is all right. Marie’s fortune is made. Woe is me! my fortune is to seek. There is one thing certain, it is not to be found here in this room.”
Then Fritz turned on his heel and went away; and as he went Lotta saw the figure of a man,
