"The best thing would be," she went on, "if we wrote to Lothar and asked him to pick out the best piece he can find in the Berlin shops." "Do whatever you want, but let me alone," I said angrily. As she was leaving the room looking hurt, I called after her: "Be sure to impress upon the decorator to make the Cupids look like me." That, gentlemen, will give you an idea of my bridal mood. And the nearer the wedding day came, the uncannier I felt. Not that I was afraid--or, rather, I was frightfully afraid--but apart from that, I felt as if I were to blame, as if some wrong were being done, as if--how shall I say? If I had only known who was being wronged. Not Iolanthe, because it was her wish. Not myself--I was what they call the happiest mortal in the world. Lothar? Perhaps. The poor fellow had looked on me as his second father, and I was removing the ground from beneath his feet by going over bag and baggage to the enemy's camp. So that was the way I kept the promise I had made my old friend Puetz on his deathbed. Gentlemen, any of you who, under the pressure of circumstances, have found yourselves in the council of the wicked--that thing happens once in his life to every good man--will understand me. I thought and thought day and night and chewed my nails bloody. As I saw no other way out of the situation, I decided to heal the breach at my own expense. It wasn't so easy for me, because you know, gentlemen, we country squires cling to our few dollars. But what doesn't one do when one is officially a "good fellow"? So one afternoon I went to see my father-in-law-elect, and found him in his so-called study lolling on the lounge. I put the proposition of a reconciliation to him somewhat hesitatingly--to sound him, of course. As I expected, he instantly flew into a rage, stormed, choked, turned blue, and declared he'd show me the door. "How if Lothar sees he's wrong and gives up the case as lost?" I asked. Gentlemen, have you ever tickled a badger? I mean a tame or a half-tame one? When he blinks at you with his sleepy little eyes, half suspicious, half pleased, and keeps on snarling softly? That's just the way the old fellow behaved. "He won't," he said after a while. "But if he does?" I asked. "Then you'll be the one to fork up for the whole business," he answered--the fox--quick as a flash. "Should I lie?" I thought. "Ah--bah, the devil!" And I confessed. "Nope," he said point-blank. "Won't do, my boy. I won't accept it." "Why not?" "On account of the children, of course. I must think of my grandchildren, in case you are magnanimous enough to present me with some. I can't bequeath anything to them, so should I rob them besides? I'll win the suit in all events, even if it lasts a few years longer. I can wait." I set to work to try to persuade him. "The money remains in the family," I said. "I pay it and you get it. After your death it will revert to me, of course."