“I am so tired and knocked up; I must go and have a nap.”
“Then go later; there will be plenty of time.”
“It seems to me, Elsa, that you have rather a weakness for the Captain,” said Ottomar, standing still and looking his sister in the face.
“Yes, I have; and he deserves it,” said Elsa, bravely meeting his glance. “He is a good, noble man; I know few like him, and should be very glad if you knew him better. I am sure you would like him; and perhaps—there are so few people, Ottomar, that one can trust, that one can count upon in every difficulty and danger.”
“As I can on you!” said Ottomar.
His eyes rested thoughtfully on his sister’s brave honest face, and then turned as if accidentally from her towards two windows of Herr Schmidt’s house, which could be seen from the place where they were standing. The blue silk curtains of one of the two windows were drawn; they had been for the last three days; it meant, “I do not expect you this evening.” Should he confide to the prudent, brave, faithful girl, the secret that weighed on his heart? Should he unburden his heavy heart by an open honest confession, here where he was sure to find, if not approval, at least comprehension, interest, and pity?
Pity? and if only scorn awaited him from behind those curtains, if he were finally dismissed, and must say tomorrow, “Do not trouble yourself further, Elsa; it is all over and at an end: she has dismissed me—me!” he should have humbled himself to no purpose, exposed himself uselessly. No, no! there would be time enough for that. He would hear first from her own lips.
“I will go over, Elsa,” he said, “and I will go at once; I can sleep later.”
“You dear, good Ottomar!” exclaimed Elsa, throwing her arms round her brother and kissing him; “I knew you would.”
“Elsa, come here a minute, please!” called Sidonie from the dining-room door.
“I am coming, aunt.”
Elsa hurried away; Ottomar looked gloomily after her, as the two ladies disappeared into the house.
He walked a few paces farther till he was quite shut in by the thick shrubs and concealed from all eyes. He still looked cautiously round him, tore open his coat, and pulled out the letter which he had found on his father’s table.
In the envelope were several papers, he took out a small sheet in his father’s handwriting. On the sheet was written:
“Received this morning the two enclosed bills, which I have settled and receipted for you—1,200 thalers; the last debts that I pay for you, for the reason that my own property, as you will see by the accompanying accounts, has been spent, with the exception of a small portion, in the same manner, and I cannot pay another penny without depriving my family of the means of living as our position demands, or running into debt myself, and must beg you to act accordingly.
A beautiful gay butterfly fluttered across the blue sky. A sparrow darted down from a tree, seized the butterfly, flew with it to the top of the garden wall, and there devoured his prize.
A bitter smile played on Ottomar’s lips.
“You have soon frittered your life away, poor butterfly! Everything must have an end, one way or another!”
II
Reinhold had vainly attempted the day before to persuade his uncle to agree, for this once at least, to the increase of pay demanded by the workpeople; he would so evidently be the greater sufferer if he were prevented, by the threatened strike of the workpeople, from completing his contracts within the stipulated time. Uncle Ernst was not to be moved. The workpeople, on the other hand, who were quite alive to their favourable position and perhaps overrated it, had adhered no less obstinately to their demands, so that after hours of discussion backwards and forwards, during which everybody got more and more excited, matters had come to extremities, and Reinhold, who had expected this result and had silently prepared for it, had been obliged, pistol in hand, to drive the furious and drunken mob back from his uncle’s threshold. At the same moment the police had appeared, had with some difficulty seized the ringleaders and put down the riot. But the agitation had spread like lightning through the other marble-works; everywhere there had been more or less disturbance; the men in the brick and stone yards joined the rising; since this morning all these works were at a standstill, and the yards were empty. The masters had speedily arranged a meeting, which was to take place in an hour. Uncle Ernst was just ready to start, Reinhold was with him in his room, attempting once more to persuade the obstinate man to greater mildness, or at least to take a calmer view of the state of affairs.
“It seems to me, uncle,” he said, “that this is just like a mutiny at sea. If a man is not strong enough to overpower the scoundrels and does not care to lose his ship and its cargo, to say nothing of his own life, he must try to come to terms with them. It is not easy for a proud man, as I know from experience, but in the end it is the wisest course. The men know that the masters have undertaken large contracts, that you will lose thousands upon thousands if you stop the works and are thereby prevented from fulfilling your engagements; they know all that, and they know also that you must give in at last. I should have done so yesterday in your place, before matters had gone so far that you were forced to uphold your authority by force on your own ground. Today matters have changed; today the question is not of one solitary case, but of
