18. XVIII.
“Your wife does not like me, Rodolph,” said
Conrade to the former, one day, some time after
this interview. “I am too blunt; I speak out
my mind too freely, and so offend her. She has
been brought up by that old beldam, your mother-in-law
of Staremberg — forgive me, Rodolph, if
I cannot speak very affectionately of her — and
has imbibed many of those antiquated, stiff notions,
which would fetter all freedom of speech and intercourse.
I am a plain man, and can't bend myself
to conciliate people of his temper. You must
take me as you find me, or not at all. I know I
have my faults; I am neither very amiable nor
very handsome. I have seen the world, and,
thanks to Oberfeldt, I am quite too independent
to find it necessary to play the hypocrite, and give
men credit for qualities which they have not.
Your wife loves not ascetics, and I am too much
of one to please her. Better, therefore, that I
should cease to trouble you with my visits. Now
and then I may look in upon you, and I need not
say how ready I am, with the old feeling, to serve
you whenever you need me. In such case, all that
you need do, is to visit me. I shall always rejoice
to see one so dear to me.”
Rodolph tried to explain for, and to excuse his
wife; an error of judgment, which a wise husband
will never commit.
“You mistake Bertha entirely, my dear Conrade;
you do her injustice. Her reserve is natural
to her, and she meets every body as she
meets you.”
“No, no, Rodolph, I know better. The difference
is marked between her reception of me and
others.”
“By heaven, Conrade, but it shall not be so.
You are my friend, and my wife shall treat you as
such.”
Strangely contradictory were the thoughts and
feelings of Rodolph on this occasion. Conscious
himself of a changed temper toward his friend, he
sought to hide the alteration from scrutiny by a
show of proper indignation toward his innocent
wife; and he fumed and foamed for ten minutes
in violent speech accordingly.
“Nay, be not angry, Rodolph,” said his companion,
in a style of soothing which was exceedingly
annoying.
“I will be angry, Conrade. I have reason to
be angry. My wife do injustice to my friend! I
will be angry!”
A sarcastic smile played over the lips of Conrade
at this insincere ebullition. Well he knew
that Rodolph's aversion was not less strong than
that of Bertha's; but he took especial care to
conceal his conviction on this subject. Rodolph,
in the mean while, hurried to Bertha's chamber,
leaving Conrade in the hall. He had worked
himself into a petty sort of fury, by repeating
Conrade's language to himself as he went through
the passages, and he was in no small tempest when
he came into her presence. The fury of his first
assault astounded her, and she could not reply,
till, all on a sudden, she beheld the glaring eyes
of Conrade peeping through the opened door of
the apartment. A new emotion — a sudden
strength, which seemed supernatural — possessed
her on the instant. She darted from her seat,
threw herself before the little family altar that
stood by the bedside, and prayed aloud to heaven.
The practical rebuke was felt by her husband.
He sank down before the altar beside her, and
their mutual hands were clasped in prayer. When
she looked round to the door of the apartment,
the face of Conrade Weickhoff was no longer to
be seen.
