Lotta Schmidt, and Other Stories. Anthony Trollope

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СКАЧАТЬ after this Carl and Fritz came in together, and Fritz, as he passed across the end of the first saloon, spoke a word or two to Adela. Lotta saw this, but determined that she would take no offence at so small a matter. Fritz need not have stopped to speak, but his doing so might be all very well. At any rate, if she did quarrel with him she would quarrel on a plain, intelligible ground. Within two minutes Carl and Marie were dancing, and Fritz had asked Lotta to stand up. “I will wait a little,” said she, “I never like to begin much before eleven.”

      “As you please,” said Fritz; and he sat down in the chair which Marie had occupied. Then he played with his cane, and as he did so his eyes followed the steps of Adela Bruhl.

      “She dances very well,” said Lotta.

      “H—m—m, yes.” Fritz did not choose to bestow any strong praise on Adela’s dancing.

      “Yes, Fritz, she does dance well—very well, indeed. And she is never tired. If you ask me whether I like her style, I cannot quite say that I do. It is not what we do here—not exactly.”

      “She has lived in Vienna since she was a child.”

      “It is in the blood then, I suppose. Look at her fair hair, all blowing about. She is not like one of us.”

      “Oh no, she is not.”

      “That she is very pretty, I quite admit,” said Lotta. “Those soft gray eyes are delicious. Is it not a pity she has no eyebrows?”

      “But she has eyebrows.”

      “Ah! you have been closer than I, and you have seen them. I have never danced with her, and I cannot see them. Of course they are there—more or less.”

      After a while the dancing ceased, and Adela Bruhl came up into the supper-room, passing the seats on which Fritz and Lotta were sitting.

      “Are you not going to dance, Fritz?” she said, with a smile, as she passed them.

      “Go, go,” said Lotta; “why do you not go? She has invited you.”

      “No; she has not invited me. She spoke to us both.”

      “She did not speak to me, for my name is not Fritz. I do not see how you can help going, when she asked you so prettily.”

      “I shall be in plenty of time presently. Will you dance now, Lotta? They are going to begin a waltz, and we will have a quadrille afterwards.”

      “No, Herr Planken, I will not dance just now.”

      “Herr Planken, is it? You want to quarrel with me then, Lotta.”

      “I do not want to be one of two. I will not be one of two. Adela Bruhl is very pretty, and I advise you to go to her. I was told only yesterday her father can give her fifteen hundred florins of fortune! For me—I have no father.”

      “But you may have a husband to-morrow.”

      “Yes, that is true, and a good one. Oh, such a good one!”

      “What do you mean by that?”

      “You go and dance with Adela Bruhl, and you shall see what I mean.”

      Fritz had some idea in his own mind, more or less clearly developed, that his fate, as regarded Lotta Schmidt, now lay in his own hands. He undoubtedly desired to have Lotta for his own. He would have married her there and then—at that moment, had it been possible. He had quite made up his mind that he preferred her much to Adela Bruhl, though Adela Bruhl had fifteen hundred florins. But he did not like to endure tyranny, even from Lotta, and he did not know how to escape the tyranny otherwise than by dancing with Adela. He paused a moment, swinging his cane, endeavouring to think how he might best assert his manhood and yet not offend the girl he loved. But he found that to assert his manhood was now his first duty.

      “Well, Lotta,” he said, “since you are so cross with me, I will ask Adela to dance.” And in two minutes he was spinning round the room with Adela Bruhl in his arms.

      “Certainly she dances very well,” said Lotta, smiling, to Marie, who had now come back to her seat.

      “Very well,” said Marie, who was out of breath.

      “And so does he.”

      “Beautifully,” said Marie

      “Is it not a pity that I should have lost such a partner for ever?”

      “Lotta!”

      “It is true. Look here, Marie, there is my hand upon it. I will never dance with him again—never—never—never. Why was he so hard upon Herr Crippel last night?”

      “Was he hard upon Herr Crippel?”

      “He said that Herr Crippel was too old to play the zither; too old! Some people are too young to understand. I shall go home, I shall not stay to sup with you to-night.”

      “Lotta, you must stay for supper.”

      “I will not sup at his table. I have quarrelled with him. It is all over. Fritz Planken is as free as the air for me.”

      “Lotta, do not say anything in a hurry. At any rate do not do anything in a hurry.”

      “I do not mean to do anything at all. It is simply this—I do not care very much for Fritz, after all. I don’t think I ever did. It is all very well to wear your clothes nicely, but if that is all, what does it come to? If he could play the zither, now!”

      “There are other things except playing the zither. They say he is a good book-keeper.”

      “I don’t like book-keeping. He has to be at his hotel from eight in the morning till eleven at night.”

      “You know best.”

      “I am not so sure of that. I wish I did know best. But I never saw such a girl as you are. How you change! It was only yesterday you scolded me because I did not wish to be the wife of your dear friend Crippel.”

      “Herr Crippel is a very good man.”

      “You go away with your good man! You have got a good man of your own. He is standing there waiting for you, like a gander on one leg. He wants you to dance; go away.”

      Then Marie did go away, and Lotta was left alone by herself. She certainly had behaved badly to Fritz, and she was aware of it. She excused herself to herself by remembering that she had never yet given Fritz a promise. She was her own mistress, and had, as yet, a right to do what she pleased with herself. He had asked her for her love, and she had not told him that he should not have it. That was all. Herr Crippel had asked her a dozen times, and she had at last told him definitely, positively, that there was no hope for him. Herr Crippel, of course, would not ask her again;—so she told herself. But if there was no such person as Herr Crippel in all the world, she would have nothing more to do with Fritz Planken—nothing more to do with him as a lover. He had given her fair ground for a quarrel, and she would take advantage of it. Then as she sat still while they were dancing, she closed her eyes and thought of the zither СКАЧАТЬ