Chapter 46
"Thank you, my dear Schmidt."
It was the first time that he had spoken to Reinhold in the unceremonious manner usual from superior officers to their younger comrades. He had risen, and his usually stern glance rested with almost fatherly kindness on the young man who stood before him, colouring with pleasure and pride.
"And now go and amuse yourself for a little while with the young people; you are still young enough yourself, thank G.o.d. There comes my son, probably to fetch you."
"Just so," said Ottomar, who appeared hurriedly and excitedly in the doorway. "I apologise; but Elsa----"
"Off with you!" said the General.
Ottomar drew Reinhold away.
The General looked thoughtfully after the two young men.
"It is a pity," he said, "but one cannot have everything at once, and if Ottomar--what do you want!"
"This letter has just been left."
"A letter, now? How can that be?"
"The hall door is open, sir. The man who brought it said it was lucky, as otherwise he would have had to ring. It was very important."
"Very odd!" said the General, contemplating the letter which he had taken from the servant.
It was a large, business-like looking letter, and the direction was in a clerk's hand.
"Very odd!" said the General again.
He had opened the letter mechanically and began to read it. What was this? He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes and looked again; but there it stood quite plain, in clear, bold words. His face became purple.
"Have you any orders, sir?" asked August, who was anxiously waiting.
"No, no! nothing, nothing! You can go," murmured the General, as he put the letter down and pretended to fold it. But the servant had hardly left the room before he took it up again to read to the end. And then the strong man trembled from head to foot, while with a cautious glance around he quickly folded the letter, and tearing open his uniform, put it in his pocket.
"Unhappy boy!" he murmured.
CHAPTER X.
The last carriage had driven away; the servants were arranging the rooms under Sidonie's directions. Elsa, who generally spared her aunt all household cares, had withdrawn under pretext of feeling a little tired, that, in her quiet room, she might let the soft echoes of this happy evening die out of her heart, undisturbed by the clatter of chairs and tables. It had not needed that he should dance the Rheinlander so admirably; she would still have brought him in the cotillon the large blazing order which she had placed at the bottom of the basket, and which, when her turn came, she boldly and successfully drew out, and then with trembling hands fastened it beside the iron cross on his breast. Yes; her hands had trembled and her heart had fluttered as she had done the great deed, and then looked up in his sparkling eyes; but it was from happiness, from pure happiness and joy.
And it was happiness and joy which now kept her awake, after she had laid her greatest treasures--the alb.u.m with his portrait and the little compa.s.s--on the table by her bedside, and had extinguished the candle, which she lighted again in order to cast a glance at the box containing the compa.s.s, and to a.s.sure herself
Ottomar had also, as soon as the last guests were gone, retired, with a "Good-night; I am tired to death; what has become of my father?" and had gone downstairs without waiting for the answer. In the pa.s.sage leading to his room, he must pa.s.s his father's door. He stood still for a moment. His father, who had gone downstairs a few minutes before, was doubtless still up, and Ottomar was accustomed under similar circ.u.mstances to knock and, at least, wish him good-night through the open door. This evening he did not do so. "I am tired to death," he repeated, as if he wished to apologise to himself for this breach of his usual habit.
But arrived in his room, he did not think of going to bed. It would have been useless so long as the blood coursed through his temples, "like mad," said Ottomar, while he tore off and threw down his uniform with the cotillon orders, and tore open his waistcoat and cravat, and put on the first garment that he laid his hand upon--his shooting-coat--and stationed himself at the open window with a cigar.
The night was very fresh, but the cold did him good; a drizzling rain was falling from the black clouds, but he did not heed it; he stood there looking out into the dark autumn night, and smoking his cigar, confused thoughts whirling through his troubled brain, and the beating of the veins of his temples and the sighing of the wind in the trees prevented his hearing a twice-repeated knock at the door. He started like a criminal when he heard a voice at his ear. It was August.
"I beg pardon, sir. I knocked more than once."
"What do you want?"
"The General begs you will go to him at once."
"Is my father ill?"
August shook his head. "The General has not yet undressed, and does not look exactly ill, only a little----"
"Only a little what?"
The man scratched his head. "A little odd, sir. I think, sir, the General----"
"Confound you, will you speak out?"
August came a step nearer, and said in a whisper, "I think the General had a disagreeable letter a little while ago; it may have been about half-past eleven. I did not see the man who brought it, and Friedrich did not recognise him, and I believe he went away again immediately.
But I was obliged to take the letter to the General myself, and the General made a curious face when he read the letter."
"From a lady?"
August could not help smiling, in spite of his sincere anxiety for his young master.
"Oh no!" said he. "They look different, one finds that out by experience; an important looking letter."
"Those infernal Jews!" muttered Ottomar. He could not understand what it meant; the next bill was only due in a week's time; but what else in the world could it be? His father would be in an awful rage again.
Well, he would only have to propose a few days earlier, if he must propose, were it only to put an end to these everlasting worries, which left a man no peace even to smoke his cigar quietly in his own room at night.
He tossed the cigar out of window. August had picked up his uniform coat, and was taking off the cotillon orders.
"What is that for?"
"Won't you put on your uniform, sir?" asked August.
"Nonsense!" said Ottomar. "It would only--" He broke off; he could not say to August, "It would only make this tiresome business longer and more solemn." "I shall simply tell my father that I do not mean to trouble him with these matters in future, but prefer to allow Wallbach finally to settle my affairs," said he to himself, while August went before him along the pa.s.sage with the lamp, the gaslights having been extinguished, and stopped at his father's door.
"You may put the light down on the table and go to bed, and tell Friedrich to wake me at six o'clock."
He had spoken louder than was necessary, and it struck him that his voice sounded strange, as if it were not his own voice. Of course it was only because the house was quite quiet, so quiet that he again heard the blood coursing through his temples, and the beating of his heart.
"Those infernal Jews!" he muttered again through his teeth as he knocked at the door.
"Come in!"
His father stood at his writing-table, above which a hanging lamp was burning. On the console before the looking-gla.s.s also the lamps were still burning. The room seemed disagreeably light and formal-looking, although it was exactly as Ottomar had always seen it, as long as he could remember. He had better have put on his uniform after all.
"I must apologise for my dress, father; I was just going to bed, and August seemed to think you were in such a hurry."