A Divided Heart and Other Stories Part 4

"'You intend to go away, Countess?' I exclaimed; 'why this sudden decision?'

"'My brother telegraphed for me last evening,' she said hurriedly, without looking at me. 'He is worried about the affair with the Count, which I did not conceal from him. He wishes me to come at once to Paris--he is perfectly right--it is best in every respect--'

"She stopped and bent over a small satchel in her lap. I went to the piano and lingered some music lying on it, merely to make a noise. If it remained so still, I feared that she would hear my heart beat. I could not speak a word.

"'Remember me to your wife,' I heard her say. 'It is so early--she must be asleep--I will not disturb her to say good-by. I shall write to her from Paris--meanwhile, tell her--'

"She faltered again. Her voice sounded so timid and humble, she was so perfect a picture of contrition and helplessness as she sat there, afraid to look up, that I could not bear to let her suffer alone.

"I turned quickly toward her.

"'Shall we seek to deceive each other at this hour?' I said. 'It is generous of you, but it shames me too much. I know why you wish to leave us so suddenly; your brother has nothing to do with it; no, there shall be no falsehood between us. I alone drive you away. You know that I love you pa.s.sionately. Listen to me patiently; I shall say nothing unworthy of either of us. We three know it, therefore we can no longer remain together. No one has been to blame. You esteem my wife too highly, and me also--I know that you are my friend--to wish to bring any trouble into our lives. Nothing is changed between my wife and me, we live for each other as always before; but you are right, one should not presume on such good fortune, and in time, even with the purest intentions--'

"I do not know what more I said. I was looking down at her, and I can see her head before me even yet, the narrow white part in the curly, blue-black hair, and at the neck, the simple, heavy knot with a silver pin. I saw that her bosom heaved painfully, and that the small hands on the satchel trembled slightly. But I could not see her face.

"Suddenly she looked up, and her eyes as they met mine were full of grat.i.tude, but streaming with tears.

"'Lucile!' I cried, and falling on my knees before her, I drew her head down with my hands. 'Farewell!' I stammered. She did not speak. I pressed my lips to both her eyes, then tore myself away and fled from the room. I hastened out of the house, down the nearest street, and up the steep road toward Montreux. About half way there was a bench standing against a vineyard wall. Halting there, I remained seated for awhile with my eyes closed, in that stupefied state between pain and pleasure, which usually comes to one who has done his duty at the cost of a deep heart's need, or has renounced forbidden fruit.

"The morning remained sunless; a strong south wind wrapped the Savoyard mountains in mist, and at length a slight rain began to fall. Looking around, I saw the steamer which had landed at Vernex already well on its way toward Vevey. I vainly strained my eyes to discover, among the figures wrapped in rain-cloaks on the forward deck, her who was leaving me forever. Then I slowly retraced my steps to the house, intending to tell my wife of what had happened. But, first, I could not resist entering the small salon below, for the door was still open.

"The traces of a hasty departure were still visible--torn bills, flowers withered and scattered, and on the piano-stool a single sheet of music torn through the centre. I picked it up. It was the first music I had heard from the little piano, that prelude through which we had learned to know each other--_Galeotto fu il libro_! It was a sorrowful hour indeed when she vented her defiance and misery on the innocent music. I carefully pocketed it.

"Then I went upstairs. Still no sound from my wife's sleeping-room.

Finally I knocked softly at the door, and when no one answered, entered the room. Neither mother nor child were to be seen; the windows were open; hats and wraps had disappeared.

"I do not know why this seemed so strange to me. Nothing was more natural than that they should start on their morning walk when they failed to find me. I called the chambermaid; she had seen my wife and child going in the direction of Chillon; she had received no message for me. As it had begun to rain, I imagined they would soon return, and decided to wait for them. But I could not endure this half an hour.

"I strode down the street which, following the sh.o.r.e, between houses and vineyards, leads to Chillon. At every bend in the road I expected to see them. Each time I was disappointed. Finally reaching the isle of Chillon, I asked the guard on the bridge if a lady and child had gone into the castle. Excepting a few Englishmen, there had been no visitors during the whole morning. I shall not attempt to describe my feelings at this information. Immediately turning about, I returned in half the usual time. Drenched, exhausted, and feverishly excited, I once more reached the house.

"Dinner-time was past, and they had not arrived.

"For the time being I was incapable of going out and renewing my search for the fugitives. I searched her chamber and my own, her desk, each of her trunks and boxes, in the hope--or rather in the fear--of finding a note which might give some clue to this mysterious disappearance. I found nothing. That completely disheartened me. I stretched myself on a sofa, and for a full hour was tormented by the most incredibly horrible fancies, and suffered the bitterest distress in my poor soul, a purgatory wherein I richly expiated my sins.

"At length I arose.

"It was about two o'clock, and the rain was lighter. Although I felt lame and exhausted, I nevertheless resolved to go out again and search in the direction of Montreux, where she had often sketched. Perhaps the rain had surprised her there, and for the child's sake she had taken shelter under some hospitable roof until the rain should cease.

"Just as I was ready to go, the door opened, and a man in a coachman's blouse entered. He asked my name, and gave me a note. She wrote from Vevey, whence the man had just come in his wagon. She had suddenly decided that morning to carry out her plan, and visit the princ.i.p.al of the _pension_ where she had lived as a girl. She begged me to excuse her for not informing me before. She would tell me about it when she saw me. She meant to remain there for the night; the room which she had formerly occupied was empty, and she wished to sleep once more in the bed where she had dreamed her girlish dreams, and to show the child all the places which were dear to her in her youth. She would return next day.

"While I was reading, the messenger related in his _patois_ a rambling story about a Fraulein from the _pension_ whom he was obliged to take to Vevey, and about the strange lady who had given him the note just as he was harnessing; and now he must go. I listened with little attention, gave the man his fee, and was once more alone.

"I could not believe it had happened so accidentally. I recognized a little stratagem of my wife's, a ruse to make me feel what it meant when she failed me. 'Out of sight, in mind' was indeed her maxim. She proved it only too cruelly.

"I did not wish to prolong my penance unnecessarily. It was two hours before another steamer left. The railroad was then only a subject for conversation. Little time would be gained by taking a carriage, and I knew that the slow movement would madden me.

"To be brief, I arrived in Vevey about seven o'clock, and was at once driven to the _pension_. They sent me into the garden. It had become a perfectly clear and beautiful evening, and although the sun had long since set, the light was still so strong that one could read out-of-doors. I saw the fugitives in the distance. My dear child ran to meet me with a cry of joy, and threw herself as impetuously about my neck as if she suspected what suffering the separation had caused me.

My wife approached more slowly, for she was walking with the old directress; but her face wore a most loving expression, and she blushed slightly, as if ashamed of being caught in a trick. She presented me to her old friend, an excellent little spinster with snow-white hair, merry black eyes, and an obstinately black and visible mustache. I went the rounds of the house and garden, saw all the historical places, and, finally, my wife's narrow, neat little room, where a bed for the child had just been made on the sofa. It was then vacation, and most of the scholars were visiting their parents. I was invited to dine; but although we remained by ourselves and chatted about many things, what had taken place in the morning was not once mentioned. When I departed at nine o'clock, intending to spend the night in a hotel, my wife pressed my hand warmly, yet, at the same time, with a look which forbade any further tenderness--I remained in uncertainty whether out of respect for the half-cloister-like house-customs or from another reason.

"I brooded over it for a time. But I was so extremely tired by my hard day, that I fell asleep almost instantly in my cheerless hotel room, and was awakened by the morning sun.

"We took a carriage to return to Vernex. Since our little daughter sat opposite us, any expression of deep feeling was of course impossible.

On arriving at the house, the child at once ran out into the garden with a playfellow. We two ascended the stairs, pa.s.sing our friend's empty apartment.

"'I have regards for you,' I said; 'she went away early yesterday morning. She will write to you from Paris.'

"My wife looked at me with a charming smile, half shy and half roguish.

"'I too have a greeting for you,' she said; 'at any rate, the last hand-clasp, after we had embraced three times, was certainly intended for you. But the letter from Paris will be omitted. We made no arrangements for a correspondence. Yes,' she continued, as I looked wonderingly at her, 'I do not have fine ears in vain. I heard very plainly how my lord and master paid his morning call below, and knew from the unusual stir and movement that her departure was decided upon.

I wished to accompany her a little distance. Why should we part so silently and secretly? Did we think unkindly of each other? I, at least, was not vexed because she found you lovable; she shared that weakness with me. And how could she help it that I had met you first?

For a moment I even thought of begging her to remain. But that would have been a foolish challenge to fate. But I sat by her side as far as Vevey, and we explained ourselves as well as we could without calling things by name. Are you satisfied with me?'

"She held out her hand. I took it somewhat hesitatingly. 'If you were only satisfied with me!' I exclaimed. 'I found her miserably unhappy, as if she had done something for which she could never forgive herself.

It seemed unknightly to let her believe that I was cold to her feeling.

So I expressed myself, and truly, called things by their right names.

Indeed, at the last, I kissed her on both eyes, and she suffered it.

This is all I have on my conscience.'

"'It is little--and yet, quite enough,' she replied softly; 'let us speak of it no more.'

"And so it was. Indeed, I not only ceased to speak of her, but in an unexpectedly short time forgot to think of her. Many things aided me in this. I was hastily called home by a letter from my inspector, for my presence on the estate had become imperative. Then came an early winter which brought me many cares, since I was occupied with the purchase of a small neighboring estate. In these cares of house and field, my wife, with her prudent forethought and encouraging cheerfulness, was of the greatest a.s.sistance, and no one, seeing us together, would have suspected any change in our admirably sympathetic life. And yet there was a change.

"A sword lay between us, invisible, but not unfelt.

"At first I bore it calmly, when she quietly but firmly resisted any show of tenderness on my part. In other ways she was not cold or distant towards me; in fact, her loving care increased, and she constantly endeavored to fulfill even my unexpressed wishes. But a certain shy reserve never left her. When I finally asked if my presence was distasteful to her, or if she wished to punish me by denying these innocent caresses, she shook her head earnestly and blushed like a girl.

"'I am not sure that you will understand me,' she said. 'But it seems to me as if we were never alone, as if some one else were looking in on our privacy, and even you--it seems as if you saw me and another at the same time. Let us wait awhile. We shall somehow succeed in being alone again.'

"The winter and part of the summer pa.s.sed by. The letter from Paris did not come. Politics were added to my usual occupations, and my head was full of symbols and party programmes. When, now and then, I had time to observe my inner self, I found only one of the two heart-chambers occupied, and that one filled with the most ardent love. The other was as empty and musty as a room which has not been aired or opened to the sun for a long time. On the wall hung a picture whose frame was dusty and whose colors were faded.

"I was scarcely surprised that this had happened so quickly. In the strange second courtship in which I was living with my wife, my pa.s.sionate nature was completely engrossed by distress at our estrangement. But I knew that she was not to be won 'with prayers, and with whinings, and with self-exalting pains.' Perhaps another dream will come to your aid, thought I. The transformation occurred in the daytime, however.

"One morning we were sitting at breakfast alone, for the child had a study hour with the pastor. Among the papers which we were looking over was a French one, which a neighbor received and shared with us. I was glancing mechanically down the columns, when my eyes suddenly fastened on a name.

"'Look!' said I; 'at length we have the explanation of the missing Parisian letter. Have you read it?'

"She looked at me searchingly, but did not reply.

"'In court circles they are talking of the betrothal of the Duke of C.

to the beautiful Countess Lucile of ----, who, as is well known, enjoys the intimacy of the imperial court, and whose husband met such a sad end three months ago after a great loss in play at Monaco. They say the empress has given the bride a magnificent ornament, and so on. I own,'

I added, 'that no news has given me greater pleasure for a long time.

Poor Lucile! She certainly deserved imperial reparation for her sorrowful youth.'

"My wife still remained silent. Then, rising, she came and threw her arms around me, and kissed me on both cheeks. 'I have known it since yesterday,' she said. 'Will you believe that I was weak enough to fear how you might receive it?'

"'Oh, child,' I said, 'you have always seen ghosts. Will you now believe that we are alone?'

"From that day there was never a shadow between us. Our happiness, like every other real happiness, was never exhausted. Our motto might have been those beautiful words: