Part 48 (1/2)

”Can you make such a declaration to your own conscience? Would you, in your unjust excitement and with wanton cruelty, cast such a stain upon sixty years of honorable life?”

This touched Axel, and cooled him off a little, and he said peevishly, for his unnatural excitement was wearing off, ”I have not said that he has done it; I only said he might have done it.”

”The suspicion,” said Franz coldly, ”is as bad as the other, as bad for _yourself_ as for the old man. Remember, Axel,” said he, impressively, laying his hand on his cousin's shoulder, ”how long the old man has been, to your father and yourself, a faithful, upright steward! To me,”

he added, in a lower tone, ”he was more, he has been my friend and teacher.”

Axel walked up and down, he felt that he was wrong,--at least, for the moment,--but to confess, freely and fully, that he had endeavoured to shove off the blame of his own foolishness and untruthfulness upon another was too much, he had not the clear courage to do it. He began to chaffer and bargain with himself, and availed himself of the expedient which the weak and dishonest are always ready to employ,--he carried the war into the enemy's camp. In every age, up to the present time, truth is yet sold, in a weak human soul, for thirty pieces of silver.

”Oh, to _you_!” said he, ”he would like to be still more to you.”

”What do you mean?” asked Franz, turning round on him sharply.

”Oh,” said Axel, ”nothing more! I only mean you may call him 'Papa,' by and by.”

There was an unworthiness in this speech, in the intention to offend the man who had been firm enough to tell him the truth. Franz flushed a deep red. His deepest, holiest secret was brought to light, and in this insulting manner! The blood rushed to his face; but he restrained himself, and said, shortly:

”That has nothing to do with the matter.”

”Why not?” said Axel. ”It at least explains the warmth with which you defend your Herr Habermann.”

”The man needs no defence of mine, his whole life defends him.”

”And his lovely daughter,” said Axel, striding up and down, in great triumph.

A great pa.s.sion rose in Franz's soul, but he restrained himself, and asked, quietly, ”Do you know her?”

”Yes--no--that is to say, I have seen her; I have seen her at the parsonage, and she has often been here, with my wife, and my wife also has visited her. I know her merely by sight; a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, 'pon honor! I was pleased with her, as a child, at my father's funeral.”

”And when you learned, that she was dear to me, did you not seek a nearer acquaintance?”

”No, Franz, no! Why should I? I knew, of course, that nothing serious could come of such an attachment.”

”Then you knew more than I.”

”Oh, I know more still, I know how they set traps and snares for you, and were always contriving ways to catch you.”

”And from whom did you learn all this? But why do I ask? Such childish gossip could have been hatched in but one house, in the whole region.

But since we have mentioned the matter, I will tell you frankly, that I certainly do intend to marry the girl, that is, if she does not refuse me.”

”She would better beware! She would better beware!” exclaimed Axel, springing about the room, in his anger. ”Will you really commit this folly? And will you give me this affront?”

”Axel, look to your words!” cried Franz, whose temper was getting the upper hand. ”What business is it of yours?”

”What? Does it not not concern _me_, as the oldest representative of our old family, if one of the younger members disgraces himself by a _mesalliance_.”

Yet once more Franz restrained himself, and said:

”You yourself married from pure inclination, and without regard for subordinate matters.