Part 60 (1/2)
”She is so kind-hearted! And I have done so little for her; been able to do so little for her! I have, properly speaking, done nothing but tease her. Even that last evening--you recollect Bemperlein, when you appeared as author--when you kissed each other in the bay-window, when we drank the old hock, and pa afterwards gave his grand speech, the last I ever heard from his lips. Now only I know what it was that moved him so deeply. He took leave of us, not only for the moment, but forever.”
Sophie tried to master the emotion which threatened to overcome her, and then she continued:
”I have done so little for Marguerite, and she has done so much for me!
Do you know, Bemperlein, that I was weak enough to become quite jealous of the little one when I saw, in papa's letters, how very fond he was of her, and how he disliked the idea of your getting married even more than our own marriage?”
”And yet it was only by his a.s.sistance that we were able to marry; at least Marguerite is indebted to him alone for her trousseau and the furnis.h.i.+ng of our house, both of which would otherwise have been almost out of the question. You know, I am sure, what I mean!”
”The Timm affair! Marguerite wrote me about it. What amazed me most was, that Timm should have returned the money so promptly.”
”We were all astonished; no one more so than I, who knew best how overwhelmed he was with debts--a fact which led me to dissuade your father earnestly from making a useless effort. The whole affair has caused me, _entre nous_, a good deal of heart-ache; and little reason as I have to like Mr. Timm, I have still been quite sorry when I heard soon afterwards of his being sent to jail. He was unable, it seems, to pay a note long since due, and perhaps only because he had paid us. For all I know, he is a prisoner still.”
”What!” said Sophie, ”has my old admirer really come to that at last?”
”Your old admirer?”
”Yes; don't you know it? I went to the same dancing master as Timm; and I can well say that I liked him best of all with whom I talked or danced. He is an extremely clever man, and can be most agreeable when he chooses to be so. I am sincerely sorry that he should manage his great talents so very badly. He resembles in that respect----”
”Oswald Stein, you mean. Well, say on. I have fortunately mastered the feeling of bitterness which used to overcome me in Grunwald every time I heard the name mentioned. He does not exist any longer, as far as I am concerned, especially after his last adventures.”
”That is hardly right, Bemperly. You know I never liked Stein particularly; but since you all rise in arms against him, and since even Franz, who used to excuse him so long, begins to chime in, I have a great inclination to take his part.”
”Of course,” said Bemperlein, with a slight touch of bitterness; ”that is the old story. Women like a man the better, the worse he is. Even my Marguerite, who generally cannot bear him, breathed the other day a _pauvre homme_ in her softest notes! _Pauvre homme!_ I should like to know what sensible man would think so of him. If a man rushes madly through life, acting not upon principle but upon impulse; if he must needs gratify all his caprices, and if he meets with difficulties breaks out in furious anger; if, instead of loving his neighbor like himself, he runs away by night with his neighbor's wife--they say of him, with tears of sympathy in their fair eyes: _Pauvre homme!_”
”Bravo, Bemperly,” cried Sophie, almost with her old cheerfulness; ”bravo! You could not preach better if you were yourself the happy neighbor! But tell me, has no one heard anything yet of the reckless couple?”
”As far as I know, no one? The earth seems to have swallowed them up.”
”But how does the unlucky husband bear his misfortune?”
”Ah,” said Bemperlein, almost angrily, ”it is not worth while to sympathize with that cla.s.s of people. They deserve nothing better, and reap what they sow. Just think, Miss Sophie--I meant to say _Mrs._ Sophie--this man, this Cloten, who, when Stein had run away with his wife, behaved himself as if he never cared to see the sun s.h.i.+ne any more, not only found comfort in a very short time, but has inflicted the same injury on his neighbor's house that he himself suffered. Baron Barnewitz, Frau von Berkow's cousin--the one with the red beard, you know, and the broad shoulders. Oh, you must have seen him. No? Well, it does not matter--_Eh bien!_ Baron Barnewitz comes home the other day at an unseasonable hour and finds--so gossip has it--the door to his wife's room locked, suspects mischief, breaks a window, pulls out the whole sash, rushes into the room and catches Baron Cloten, whom his wife is just pus.h.i.+ng out at another door! Then follows an explanation; and the result is that Hortense has gone to Italy, and Baron Cloten, after keeping his bed for a week, has retired to his estates without taking leave of anybody.”
”What a treasure trove that must have been for the good gossips of Grunwald!”
”You may believe it; almost as great as when Helen Grenwitz became engaged to Prince Waldenberg.”
”How is that?”
”As far as I know, the solemn betrothal--I mean the official ceremony--is to be celebrated here in the city in a few days. Anna Maria told me recently that Helen would be here at the beginning of March.”
”Then you are still keeping up your relations with the family?”
”I could not well find an excuse for giving up the lessons. Anna Maria honored me all the time with her special favor; and, besides, I have recently become better reconciled with her ways. I believe we have wronged her in many points. She has her very objectionable sides, no doubt; but, if we wish to be just, we must acknowledge also that her position is a very peculiar one. If she procures Helen a rich husband, she does after all only what every mother in her position would do likewise. And her circ.u.mstances are by no means as brilliant as they think. Since her husband's death she has nothing but a comparatively small annuity and the income from what she may have saved, but the whole amounts to very little in comparison with her former revenue. And if Malte should follow his cousin Felix's example, and die of consumption, she would lose even that--and the poor fellow looks shocking; he is nothing but skin and bones.”
”Ah,” said Sophie; ”why, then Helen's marriage is almost a kind of necessity in the meaning of these people, although I am convinced it must be a very sad necessity for Helen.”
”Why?”