He wanted to bid me a short "good-night," but I detained him. He sat down and told me that the Baron and Annette had met Rautenkron down by the lake, and that he had ridiculed their undertaking. He had said, and rightly too: "Where there are no frogs, there is no stork; where there are no flies and worms, there are no birds or fishes. In what was called 'all-bountiful nature' one beast used the other for its blessed meal; and, besides that, the lake was entirely frozen over every winter, and had no outlet that was open through the whole year. If fishes were in it, they would become suffocated for want of air." Rautenkron had displayed much knowledge in the matter, but he would not consent to assist them. He was delighted, moreover, that nature contained much that was egotistic and was of no use to mankind. Thus spoke Richard. I was indignant. I could hardly conceive how Richard could talk about such subjects, and not make the slightest allusion to what had happened between him and Martella. I thought of Ernst's letter that I had received on the day of my wife's death. No one had seen it but I; for why should I have cared to spread the knowledge of Ernst's wickedness in offering his betrothed to another? Could it be that an open rupture with Annette had urged Richard to this unheard-of deed? I endeavored to stifle my indignation, and said, "You talk of the Wild Lake--Wild Lake, indeed; you have an unfathomable one in yourself." He looked at me with surprise. "What do you mean, father?" "How can you ask? You dare to touch that which should be holy in your eyes--the betrothed of your brother!" "Father, did she tell you herself?" he said hesitatingly. And I replied: "What matters that? Until now, I had always thought that you were even a better man than I was at your age; do not undeceive me." I said nothing more, and that was enough. On the following morning, Richard announced that he was about to depart, and it cost me a great effort to induce Martella to permit him to take leave of her. At last she came, on condition that I would remain present while Richard bade her farewell. Richard said: "Martella, you have a right to be angry with me, but I am angrier at myself than you can possibly be. I make no protestations, no oaths; but I pledge my honor as a man, that you will nevermore hear a wrong word or receive a wrong glance from me. Farewell." Thus, this trouble was arranged; but it seemed as if there could be nothing perfect in this world. I do not know whether Johanna had been eavesdropping, or how she happened to find it out; but, at dinner, she spitefully hinted at what had happened, for when we were talking of the imprisoned fish poacher, she said, "People who are without religion are capable of anything, and the irreligious ones who catch a thief are no better than the thief himself. They stretch forth their hands to grasp things that ought to be sacred in their eyes."