“But I am not going to be presented to a Duke,” said Elsa.
“How you do mix things up, child! As if you could marry a reigning prince, except by the left hand! Besides, we shall only have a member of a former reigning house here. Prince Clemda, and he is already betrothed. So I could not be thinking of him.”
“And of no one else, I hope, aunt.”
“I must be very much mistaken, Elsa, or your blushes—yes, you are blushing, my dear child, and you blush more and more, though it is quite unnecessary before your aunt. I can assure you, on the contrary, that I consider the match in every respect a most proper and desirable one, and the chance—if it is not a crime against Providence to speak of chance in such important matters—”
“For heaven’s sake, aunt, if you love me, say no more,” exclaimed Elsa. The terror that seized her at the idea of hearing her aunt speak of Count Golm, after Ottomar had already alarmed her in the morning on the same subject, was too evident in the tone of her voice to escape even Sidonie.
“Good gracious!” she said, “can I really have been mistaken! I had been thinking over the extraordinary dispute which we had this morning, and could only account for it by the explanation that you wished to conceal the inclination you have for the Count by an affectation of indifference, and even of want of consideration towards him.”
“I did not intend anything of the kind,” said Elsa.
“I am really sorry for it,” said Sidonie, who now, under the pressure of her disappointment, seated herself—though with due regard to her brown silk gown—while Elsa walked up and down the room in some agitation; “really very sorry; I know nothing that would have given me greater pleasure, next to Ottomar’s betrothal to Carla, which, in my opinion, has been too long delayed. The Count is thirty—a very good age for a man of his position to marry—he must and will marry one of these days, and he might seek long before he would find a young lady who would so entirely satisfy all the pretensions he has a right to make, and no doubt does make. His circumstances are somewhat embarrassed, but that is almost always the case nowadays with large properties; men always settle down when they are married. Besides, he will gain enormously by the new railroad, so Schieler says, who told me all these particulars. The Councillor was with me yesterday, and I almost fancied he must have come on purpose to tell me, and to hear what I said about it, as he has always had a great regard for my opinion. He is a charming man, and discretion itself; so I did not hesitate to tell him exactly what I thought; in these cases openness is always the best diplomacy, and when advances are made there is no harm in meeting them halfway.”
“It is too bad, aunt!” exclaimed Elsa, turning round and standing with her lace handkerchief crushed between her hands, while burning tears of shame and anger started to her eyes.
Sidonie was so startled by this outburst, for which she was not in the least prepared, that she sat motionless and speechless with wide open eyes, while Elsa, instead of immediately begging her pardon, or calming herself, continued with flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes: “To talk me over like that with a stranger! and with Schieler, of all people, whom I detest as much as I do the other whom you have chosen for me, and whom I would never marry, not if he had a crown to lay at my feet, never—never!”
“What is the matter, Elsa?” asked the General, who entered the room at that moment and had heard the last words.
“A slight difference of opinion between me and my aunt,” answered Elsa, hastily wiping her eyes.
“Well, well,” said the General, “I thought you ladies left that sort of thing to us men. Is Ottomar not here?”
He left the room again to inquire after Ottomar.
“Forgive me, aunt,” said Elsa, holding out her hand; “it was very wrong of me. You do not know, but—I do not know myself, what is the matter with me this evening.”
It was with some hesitation that Sidonie took her hand; the General came in again.
“It is too bad,” he said; “Ottomar went out again quite an hour ago and has not yet returned.”
“He must be delayed by some important matter,” said Sidonie.
“No doubt!” said the General, frowning, and pulling his grey moustaches.
“Councillor Schieler!” announced August, opening the folding-doors.
The Councillor kissed Sidonie’s hand and bowed low to Elsa, then turned to the General:
“I have heaps of news for you, my dear friend.”
“Few things happen now to interest me, and still fewer that give me any pleasure,” answered the General, with a courteous yet melancholy smile.
“I fear I cannot promise that my news will give you any pleasure,” said the Councillor; “but at least it is interesting even to you, ladies, that the Baroness, instead of arriving on the as she originally intended, will arrive on the , and will therefore be here in three days.”
“I had a letter this morning which said nothing about it,” said the General.
“My letter arrived this afternoon, and is, therefore, doubtless the latest; it is not from herself, however, but—”
The Councillor was interrupted by a slight cough.
“You may say the name out, my dear friend,” said the General; “it cannot be avoided when once our meetings begin.”
“You are right!” exclaimed the Councillor; “and I am happy—” The widowed Countess von Fischbach arrived at this moment with her two daughters; the ladies were engaged with their guests, and the Councillor was able to draw the General aside. “I was about to say that I am
