"No," his father assured him, "I have never given any of these, but I am indebted to all my friends; one for four thousand (£250), another three thousand (£150), a third a thousand (£50), and so on."
"Oh, well, you need not grow grey because of these; whoever lends money to a friend knows perfectly well in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand he will not get it back again. And I really see absolutely no reason why you should be the exception. Whoever lent you money knew perfectly well he would not see it again."
"Yes, yes, that is all very well," grumbled the old major, "but the people only lent me the money because I told them of Hildegarde's prospective engagement."
"Father, really----" cried Hildegarde. She blushed crimson and was beside herself with indignation. "It is not enough that you think and talk about nothing else but my possible engagement, but you must also tell strangers about it in order to get credit."
The mother laid her hand gently on her shoulder. "But, Hilda, you must not take it in that way; we only spoke about it to intimate friends."
The major also tried to calm her, but Hildegarde would not be pacified. "I cannot go out in the town any more, you have made it impossible for me here. Now I understand the veiled allusions of mamma's friends yesterday when they inquired so sympathetically after my health. I shall go away to-morrow; I will not stay here a day longer."
"This is certainly a delightful birthday celebration," snarled the major, and he struck the table a violent blow with his fist.
"Hildegarde will be all right again directly," said Fritz, "she's a sensible girl; naturally these money complications have upset her. This afternoon she will be her old self again. Now I must go and arrange matters with the bailiff or the champagne will not taste good."
But although by the afternoon the seals had been removed from the furniture the champagne somehow or other was not successful. A dark shadow lay over the house, and remained there, and when at last the major went to bed he had to confess that he had never spent so sad a birthday as the day when he reached the age of sixty.
There was sincere sorrow in the regiment at the loss of their comrade, who had been the universal favourite, yet, in spite of that, they could not forgive him for not having taken his discharge before taking his life. Twenty-four hours sooner or later could have made no difference to him; within that time he could have managed it. They could not understand why he had shown so little consideration for the regiment he had so dearly loved and of which he had always been so proud. The act of one officer affects the credit of all; Willberg understood that perfectly well, and he ought to have remembered that his suicide would cause all kinds of unpleasantness to the regiment.