She gave a sentimental glance at Bertram and started. "Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "you are ill. You wish the doctor sent for; but there is one here, nay, there are two,--pray let me...." "Pray remain here," said Bertram, seizing her by the hand as she was hastening away. "It is true that I feel rather worn out--a consequence of the unrest and noise to which I am not accustomed--but otherwise perfectly well. Let us sit down there!" He pointed, to a couch near, and sat down; Lydia followed him with trembling knees, shaking all over, feeling her heart rising to her throat. The whole unusual approach of Bertram who was generally so reserved, his pallor, his solemn manner--all this could have but one reason, one meaning--and what was she to reply? Act surprise and terror, of course! But not too long, just a few moments of half fainting, with her head leaning back against the wall and her eyes turned rapturously towards the chandelier. "My dear friend--for I must appeal to your friendship--to your love...." "Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia. "To the love which you doubtless cherish for Erna, and which has, I assume, misled you to this last extremely equivocal step of yours." "Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia again, but this time with accents of the greatest terror, as of some one who suddenly feels the ground beneath him giving way. "I will not reproach you," continued Bertram, "which indeed I have no right to do. I was wrong myself in not taking you into my confidence in reference to Erna, in wrapping myself in secrecy and silence, and thus all but compelling you to act alone and independently in order to help our dear child to what, let us trust, will prove her lasting happiness. But the remedy which you applied came too soon and was too strong; it has not had the desired effect, at least not in the meantime; indeed, at present things look desperately bad. Do not ask me how I have learned this, I may tell you later on, when perhaps you will tell me, too, how you discovered the secret which both guarded so carefully. All this does not matter just now; but one thing is of the greatest importance, and this I heartily beg you will grant me. We must henceforth act in common, take no one into our confidence of whom we cannot be sure that he aims at the same thing as we do--namely, at Erna's happiness. And I think you will do best if you leave me to judge when this is the case. Are you agreed?" Poor Lydia was sadly embarrassed. For her terrible disappointment it was some compensation that Bertram himself had evidently no matrimonial intentions with reference to Erna, and that he was offering Lydia his alliance and friendship. How gladly would she have agreed! How gladly said yes to everything, averring that she would blindly obey his behests. But alas, in addition to her first indiscretion which he had so kindly pardoned, she had meanwhile committed another which he would scarcely pardon.