“I disturb you!” exclaimed the lady, startled at the scene before her. “By no means!” cried Clotilde, and the Colonel rising hastily, said, “Pray, Madam, since you have seen so much, do me the favour to decide between us.”
Madame Selter being made acquainted with the nature of his suit, replied that the thing was so novel that it required consideration.
“But I request nothing more than the acceptance of a voluntary gift.” “Very possibly: but constancy is a gift, that—according to rule at least—demands a return in kind.”
Wartenstein replied in offensive terms, that an extraordinary case could not be decided by a common rule, and it was fortunate that the entrance of the Baron put an end to the discussion, as Clotilde observed to her great regret, that both parties were on the point of launching out into bitter invective.
Von Eschenburg was at a loss what to make of it. His wife’s uneasiness, the Colonel’s confusion, and Madame Selter’s glowing cheeks, involved him in perplexity—could all this be the effect of chance? Add to this that he found it impossible to introduce a topic of conversation—no string that he could touch upon seemed attuned to the humour of the company. The Colonel, unable longer to master his feelings, took a hasty leave and withdrew.
“What is the matter with him?” enquired the Baron.
Fortunately for Clotilde, Madame Selter relieved her from the disagreeable question, by replying, “I got into a dispute with him, and that too about a trifle, as it generally happens.”
“For example?”
“Really, I scarcely know how to tell you; and it is not worth repeating.”
The Baron was far from being satisfied with this answer, for his wife’s confused and restrained behaviour could not escape his notice. However he deemed it more prudent to leave the room, than to dive further into the cause of dispute, which it seemed they had reason for concealing from him.
“Heaven be thanked!” exclaimed Clotilde, “His eyes struck me like the sword of Justice. But what is to be done, now, my dear?”
“Avoid every thing that may lead you into a similar dilemma.”
“And the Colonel?”
“Is, after the pretensions he has advanced to-day, the first to be avoided?”
“But, my dear Selter, is a voluntary sacrifice, then, of itself a pretention?”
“Sacrifices of that kind are somewhat suspicious.”
“How little do you know the man!”
“Perhaps better, my dear Clotilde, than your gentle heart knows his flattering mirror. I do not mean to say that Wartenstein is dishonourable, but he gives way to passion, and follows wherever it leads. The charms of every lady become magic snares to him.”
“I am now better informed upon that subject, and know how much report calumniates him. However, I will not contradict you, although I might; but pray tell me, what am I to do?”
“Compel him, by a decided coldness on your part, to seek a new amour.”
“My dear Selter,—he loves nobody but me, and can love no other.”
“You dont know him in the least—the loss of me will be his destruction.”
“The loss! then he has already gained your affections?”
“No, not so—I love Von Eschenburg sincerely, but—”
“No but, my dear! I will leave you to your own reflections on your duty, which demands unconditional obedience, and will admit of no wavering.”
The deep impression which this remonstrance made upon Clotilde, was shewn when the Colonel returned soon after Madame Selter’s departure. He pressed more warmly than before, for her decision—Clotilde disengaged her hand and retreated a few steps backwards—“You are acquainted with the relations in which I stand, and you, as the friend of the family, ought to be the last to think of destroying them.”
“Destroy them, did you say? My wish is, on the contrary, to lighten them.”
“Who told you that they were oppressive to me?”
“How often, Clotilde, have I
