“The undersigned feels he need say no more in assertion of the great veneration with which he is of his honour and his honour’s whole family
The General did not interrupt his son for some minutes, but as Ottomar still remained motionless, staring in front of him, his teeth pressing hard on his white lip, he stopped in his walk at the far end of the room, and asked:
“Have you any idea who wrote that letter?”
“No.”
“Have you the slightest suspicion that the lady whom it concerns—”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Ottomar impetuously.
“I beg your pardon, but I am under the painful necessity of asking questions, as you do not appear disposed to give me the explanations which I expected.”
“What am I to explain!” asked Ottomar half defiantly; “the thing is true.”
“Short and conclusive,” answered the General, “but not quite clear. At least, some points still require clearing up. Have you anything to reproach this lady with—I may call her so?”
“I must beg you to do so.”
“Well, then, have you anything in the least to reproach this lady with, which, setting aside outward circumstances of which we will speak later, could prevent you from bringing her into Elsa’s company? On your honour!”
“On my honour, nothing!”
“Do you know anything of her family, again setting aside outward circumstances, even the smallest fact, which would and ought to hinder any other officer who was not in your peculiar position from forming a connection with her family! On your honour!”
Ottomar hesitated a moment; he knew absolutely nothing dishonourable of Philip; he only had the inborn instinct of a gentleman against a man who, in his eyes, is not a gentleman; but he would have considered it cowardly to shelter himself behind this vague feeling.
“No!” said he moodily.
“You have acquainted the lady with your circumstances?”
“In a general way, yes.”
“Amongst other things, that you are disinherited if you marry a woman who is not of noble birth?”
“No.”
“That was somewhat imprudent; however, I can understand it. But in a general way you say that she is aware of the difficulties which, under the most favourable circumstances, must stand in the way of a union between you and her?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever let her perceive that you have neither the will nor the power to remove these difficulties?”
“No.”
“Rather have allowed her to believe, have probably assured her that you can and will set aside these obstacles?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will marry her.”
Ottomar started like a horse touched by the spur. He had felt that this must and would be the end; and yet, as the words were spoken, his pride chafed against the pressure put upon his heart even by his own father. And in the background lurked again ghostlike the horrid sensation that he had had in the park; that he was weaker than she who so confidingly nestled in his arms. Was he to be always the weaker, always to follow, whether he would or no, always to have his path traced out for him by others?
“Never!” burst from him.
“How! never!” said the General. “Surely I am not speaking to a headstrong boy who breaks the toy that he no longer cares about, but to an officer and a gentleman who is accustomed to keep his word strictly.”
Ottomar felt that he must give a reason, or at least the shadow of a reason.
“I mean,” he said, “that I cannot make up my mind to take a step in one direction that would compel me to do wrong in another.”
“I think I understand your position,” said the General; “it is not an agreeable one, but a man who pays attention in so many quarters should be prepared for the consequences. I must, however, do you the justice of admitting that I begin now to understand your behaviour to Fräulein von Wallbach, and that I only find wanting in it that consistency to which you have unfortunately never accustomed me on any point. In my opinion it was your duty to draw back once for all, the instant that your heart became seriously engaged in another direction. No doubt, considering our intimate acquaintance with the Wallbachs, this would have been extremely difficult and disagreeable, still a man may be deceived in his feelings, and society accepts such changes of mind and their practical consequences, provided everything is done at the right time and in a proper manner. How you are now to draw back, without bringing upon yourself and us the most serious embarrassment, I do not know; I only know that it must be done. Or have you carried your misconduct to its highest point and bound yourself here as you are bound there?”
“I am bound to Fräulein von Wallbach by nothing that the whole world has not seen; by no word that the whole world has not heard, or might not have heard, and my feelings for her have been from the first as undecided—”
“As your behaviour. Let us say no more about it, then; let us rather face the situation into which you have brought yourself, and deduce the consequences. The first is, that you have destroyed your diplomatic career—you cannot appear at the Court of St. Petersburg or any other court with a wife of low birth; the second, that you must exchange into another regiment, as you would never see the last of the collisions and rubs that must happen to you in your present regiment if you had a Fräulein Schmidt for your wife; the third, that if the lady does not
