"All very good and fine, my dear friend, all admitted in theory. But _in praxi_--since the world has not yet become entirely sensible--won't it be necessary to respect the prejudices of a stupid majority for a while longer? Can our young lady--now that this old chatterer knows about it--go, without any further consideration, to your paradisaical festival, where she is sure to meet dubious daughters of Eve? where it is possible that the girl who was running after our Felix, the little, red-haired waiter-girl, may, God knows in what costume, stir up another scene of murder and manslaughter?"
Schnetz had remained standing with his hand on the door. As the baron said these words he let it go again, and stared at the excited speaker for a while; then he laughed bitterly, and stepped back into the room once more.
"This waiter-girl?" said he, laying his hand on the baron's shoulder. "Well, of all the games the devil ever played! Old friend, do you know who this waiter-girl is, who nursed this youngster Felix so faithfully, while others looked on from a distance? This waiter-girl, this child of the people, who would not be fitting company for a young baroness? Well, then, she is your own daughter, baron, and first cousin of your high-born niece!"--
The baron stepped back a step or two. "_Trève de plaisanteries, mon cher!_" he stammered, trying to laugh. "What sort of a romance is this you are trying to palm off on me! I--I am--ha, ha, ha! A delightful farce!"
"I congratulate you and your good child upon the cheerful mood in which this unhoped-for discovery finds you," remarked Schnetz, dryly. "To be sure, the affair is by no means so tragic as it would have been, were the mother still living. This poor deserted"--here he stepped close up to the baron, who stood as if petrified, and pronounced her name--"this sacrifice to our double code of morals has been dead for a year; nor has the child any suspicion that her dear papa is leading a jolly bachelor's life in the same city with her."
The baron sank upon the sofa; his arms hung at his sides; the only sign of life that he gave was in his little, restless eyes, that wandered about anxiously and unsteadily, without seeming to rest on anything. In the mean while Schnetz strode up and down with noiseless tread, apparently waiting to see whether his friend, who had received so severe a shock, stood in any need of his help or his advice. Ten minutes passed, and neither of them had uttered a word more.