" "Mrs.
Behrens, you may trust me not to do that," here he went nearer the
clergyman's wife with both arms outstretched, and she once more
retreated behind the table. "Indeed, you've nothing to fear. I'm not a
Jesuit." "No, Braesig, you're an old heathen, but you arn't a Jesuit. But
if you say anything about it * * * Oh me! Hawermann must be told, my
pastor says so. But if he asks about it, don't mention my name, please.
Oh, dear! If the Pomuchelskopps were ever to hear of it, I should be the
most miserable of women. God knows, Braesig, that what I did, I did for
the best, and for the sake of that innocent child. I've sacrificed
myself for her." "That's quite true," answered Braesig with conviction,
"and so don't let fretting over it give you any gray hairs. Look here.
If Charles Hawermann asks me how you came to be there, I'll say--I'll
say--h'm!--I'll say that you had arranged a _randyvoo_ with me." "_You!_
Fie, for shame!" "Nay, Mrs. Behrens, I don't see that. Am I not as good
as the young gray-hound any day? And don't our ages suit better?" And as
he spoke he looked as innocently surprised at her displeasure as if he
had proposed the best possible way out of the difficulty. Mrs. Behrens
looked at him dubiously, and then said, folding her hands on her lap:
"Braesig, I'll trust to you to say nothing you ought not to say. But
Braesig--dear Braesig, do nothing absurd.
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