“Oh, Herr von Werben! how intensely amusing you are this evening!”
“I feel intensely amusing, I assure you.”
“I don’t wonder, under the circumstances.”
“Of course not!”
“Then do us a favour.”
“A thousand.”
“Do bring us your brother officer from the reserve; what is his name?”
“Schmidt!”
“Really?”
“Really!”
“How funny!”
“Why?”
“How cross you look! It is not our fault. Emilie Fischbach says he is quite delightful! We want to know the delightful Herr Schmidt. Do please bring Herr Schmidt here!”
“Oh, do!” exclaimed the other young ladies, “bring Herr Schmidt here!”
“I fly.”
The titter of the girls, which was not ill-meant, sounded after him like an intentional scoff. His cheeks burnt with anger and shame; that name—it was hers also.
“One word, Werben.”
Clemda touched him on the shoulder.
“What do you want?”
“I have had a letter from Brussels, from the Duke, and also one from Antonia. The Duke is now free. Our wedding is to be in four weeks. Antonia is very anxious that your betrothed should be one of her bridesmaids. You must of course take me under your wing; I dare not write and tell her that you are not yet betrothed. You are not angry with me for the hint?”
“Why should I be?”
“Because you look so serious over it. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“The ladies want me to take Lieutenant Schmidt to them.”
“Ah! not a bad fellow—in his way!”
Clemda had let the last words slip out carelessly after the others—as one might open a chink of a door one had just shut, in order to let the dog in, thought Ottomar.
“And what I wanted to say besides, Ottomar—of course, as host, one has certain duties, but then certain duties are owed to the host also; and entre nous, I consider Golm’s flirtation as rather a want of consideration towards you, as he must know your situation with regard to Fräulein Wallbach as well as anybody.”
“He is quite a stranger in our circle.”
“Then you should explain matters to him; and Golm—”
“My dear Werben! can you spare me a moment?”
“At your orders, Colonel!”
“Ah!” said Clemda, retiring with a bow before his commanding officer.
“Only a moment,” repeated Colonel von Bohl, drawing Ottomar a little on one side; “I have just been speaking to Wallbach; he was very pressing, but, with the best will in the world, I cannot give you leave before the spring. Clemda will want a long leave; Rossow must be away at least three months, as his wound threatens to break out again. I cannot spare all my best officers at once. His Excellency must understand that.”
“But there is no hurry, Colonel.”
“You want to marry, and I am not devoted to newly-married young officers; I grant you willingly, therefore, a year’s leave for diplomatic service in St. Petersburg. And then, my dear Werben—”
The Colonel cast a glance behind him and said in a lower voice:
“I should not be sorry if you could find some excuse for a short absence,”—the Colonel made a significant gesture; “those matters might be better and easier arranged from St. Petersburg than here—believe me, my dear Werben!”
“But everything is arranged, Colonel; since this morning.”
“Everything?”
The Colonel looked Ottomar full in the face.
“All but a trifling matter—”
“I should like even that trifling matter to be got over. His Majesty is very particularly sensitive on those matters just now, and with reason. Now, my dear Werben, we have all been young once, and you know my feelings towards you. I speak for your own sake, and may tell you in confidence that Wallbach, if not exactly prepared for any sacrifice—that would be saying too much—is ready to help you as far as he can in making any arrangement. You understand!”
The Colonel held out his hand, and turned quickly away to put an end to the interview. He had in the kindest and friendliest manner said his last word, his ultimatum. Ottomar had quite understood. The blood ran hot and cold through his veins; his temples throbbed violently.
He stopped a servant who was passing with a tray, tossed down several glasses of wine and then laughed, as one of his brother officers called out to him: “Leave a little for me!”
“Do you find it so hot too?”
“Tolerably! But I believe we are going to dance.”
“After supper; I don’t know why it is so late. I will ask my sister.”
“She is in that room.”
Ottomar plunged into the room, into the midst of a circle which had grouped itself round Carla. An extraordinary feeling of perversity came over him. In this little room almost all his most decisive meetings with Carla had taken place; here it was the custom, when the company was smaller, to withdraw in order to talk
