“In order to pay your debts?”
“Simply in order to live; for this—this everlasting dependence, this everlasting concealment about nothing at all—because everything is known, after all—this—this—”
The words would not come; he trembled all over. Elsa had never seen him so. Her limbs trembled also; but she was determined to do what she thought her duty—what she had never so clearly recognised as her duty till that moment.
“Dear Ottomar,” said she, “I do not ask if you really require such a frightful amount of money. Papa has often told us—”
“That when he was a lieutenant, he managed upon eighteen thalers a month. For heaven’s sake, no more of that! Times were different then. My father was in the Line; I am in the Guards; and he and I—are like the Antipodes.”
“Very well. I take it for granted that you require as much as you say. In three years I shall also be of age, and shall then have five thousand thalers; I will gladly give them to you, if—”
“ ‘I am not married by that time.’ Is that what you meant to say?”
“I will not marry then. I—I will never marry.”
She could not any longer keep back her tears, which now streamed from her eyes. Ottomar put his arm round her.
“You dear, good Elsa,” said he. “I really do believe that you are capable of it; but do you not see that it would be a thousand times more hateful to save oneself at the cost of a sister whom one dearly loves, than at the cost of a woman whom one does not love certainly, but who very probably does not wish to be loved?”
“But, Ottomar, that—that is just it,” exclaimed Elsa, drying her tears. “Why marry Carla, of whom I cannot say that she is incapable of loving; who, indeed, I am persuaded, does love you at this moment, in her way? But her way is not your way; and that you would soon find out, even if you yourself loved her, which you avowedly do not. You are not suited to one another. With the one exception that, in spite of her short sight, she rides well and is passionately fond of it, I do not know a single interest that you have in common. Her music—that is to say, her Wagner music—about which she is so enthusiastic, is hateful to you; her books, which I am convinced she very often does not understand herself, you will never look at; and it is the same on every subject. And the worst of all is, that what she understands by love is not what you understand by it. You have—say what you will, and brilliant man of society as you are, and I hope always will be—a tender, kind heart, which longs to beat against a heart of the same nature. Carla’s love is, I fear, too much mixed with vanity, lies too much on the glittering, sparkling surface of life; and if you longed some day to hear a deeper note, and struck that note yourself, you would find no echo in her heart.”
“Why, Elsa, you are wonderfully learned in matters of the heart!” said Ottomar. “Whom did you learn it all from—from Count Golm?”
Elsa blushed up to the roots of her hair; she drew her arm out of her brother’s. “I have not deserved that,” she said.
Ottomar seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Forgive me,” he said. “I feel myself that my jokes are always unlucky now. I don’t know why. But Golm himself is the cause of this one. He is mad about you, as you probably know already, and he talked of nothing but you when we met in the park just now as we were riding home. He was riding one of his own horses, which he has had sent after him; so it looks as if he meant to stay here. However, I may tell you for your comfort that I am not so very fond of Golm. I do not think we should ever be very great friends, unless he happened to present himself in the capacity of—but I will not make my little Elsa angry again. How many have accepted for tonight? Does Clemda come? He was not on parade today.”
It was evident that Ottomar wished to change the subject, and Elsa knew that she had spoken in vain. Her heart was heavy; misfortune was approaching her, invisible but unavoidable, just as it did when he had told her that the vessel would run aground in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. And then he had been at her side, had remained by her; she had looked in the brave blue eyes and felt no fear, for she had known that this man was inured to dangers. And as she walked silently at her brother’s side—who, silent and gloomy also, had evidently fallen back into his melancholy musings—her faithful sister’s heart told her that the amiable, careless, lighthearted young man would and must succumb to a serious danger, unless some stronger hand than hers interfered to save him. Perhaps—no, certainly—his hand could do it; only that there was scarcely a possibility of bringing the two young men into such close relations. But, after all, what was not possible if one only had true courage?
“Before I forget it, Ottomar, papa wishes you to go over and invite Captain Schmidt for this evening. Aunt—”
And she told him what had passed.
“August or my servant can do that quite as well,” said Ottomar.
“Not quite so well,” said Elsa. “The Captain paid us a visit—or, at least, left his card, as nobody was at home, which comes to the same
