Part 41 (1/2)

Lotta seated herself bolt upright at a respectful distance from her master.

”Well?” began the Baron, pouring out the coffee for himself.

”I wrote all the news to the Herr Baron; nothing else has happened, except that the English sow which the Herr Baron bought at the fair littered last night,--twelve as nice fat little pigs as ever were seen.”

”Indeed! very interesting. But what was in the letter? Since I never received it, it must be lying at Franzburg.”

”Oh, all sorts of things,--about the short-horn calves, and the weight of the hay, and Baron Harry's betrothal; but of course the Herr Baron knew of that.”

The Baron set down his cup so hastily that it came near being broken.

”Not a word!” he exclaimed, doing his best to conceal the delight which would mirror itself in his face. Harry betrothed? To whom but to the golden-haired enchantress he had met in the forest, Fritz's daughter Zdena? To be sure, he had threatened to disinherit the boy if he married her, but the fellow had been quite right to set the threat at naught. The old man chuckled at the fright he would give them, and then---- Meanwhile, he tried to look indifferent.

”Indeed? And so the boy is betrothed?” he drawled. ”All very fine--without asking any one's advice, hey? Of course your old heart is dancing at the thought of it, Lotta. Oh, I know you through and through.”

”I don't see any reason for rejoicing at the young master's betrothal,”

Lotta replied, crossly, thrusting out her chin defiantly.

The old man scanned her keenly. Something in the expression of her face troubled him.

”Who is the girl?” he asked, bluntly.

”The younger of the two Harfink fruleins; the other married Count Treurenberg.”

”Harfink, do you say? Impossible!” The Baron could not believe his ears.

”So I thought too, but I was mistaken. It is officially announced.

Baron Karl has been to see the mother, and there is shortly to be a betrothal festival, to which all the great people in the country round are to be invited.”

”But what is the stupid boy thinking about? What do people say of him?”

thundered the Baron.

”Why, what should they say? They say our young Baron had interested motives, that he is in debt----”

The Baron started up in a fury. ”In debt? A fine reason!” he shouted.

”Am I not here?”

Whereupon Lotta looked at him very significantly. ”As if every one did not know what those get who come to the Herr Baron for money,” she murmured.

The old man's face flushed purple. ”Leave the room!” he cried, pointing to the door.

Lotta arose, pushed back her chair to the wall, and walked out of the room with much dignity. She was accustomed to such conduct on her master's part: it had to be borne with. And she knew, besides, that her words had produced an impression, that he would not be angry with her long.

When the door had closed after her, the old man seated himself at his writing-table, determined to write to Harry, putting his veto upon the marriage of his nephew with the ”Harfink girl;” but after the first few lines he dropped the pen.

”What affair is it of mine?” he murmured. ”If he had yielded to a foolish impulse like my Fritz,”--he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes,--”why, then I might have seen things differently, and not as I did twenty years ago. But if, with love for another girl in his heart, he chooses to sell himself for money, he simply does not exist for me.