Artist and Model Part 11

Notwithstanding this interested advice that she gave to the prince, and the hope she had that it would be followed, Lise was not quite easy until she had received a reply from her husband in full conformity with her wishes.

Pierre congratulated his wife on her happy delivery, told her to take every precaution, sent his fond love to her and the little stranger, and agreed to her proposal. He would not come to Paris, but would await her in Courland, where all would be ready for her return at the end of a month.

"Oh, at the end of a month, we shall see," she said to Paul, after reading the letter to him. "Tekla's health will hinder the journey and our return to Pampeln will be put off until summer. I say 'our' return, for you will come to me there very soon, will you not? If not, I will not go."

And winding her arms about her lover's neck the newly made mother drew him toward her almost fiercely, as if the pa.s.sion, laid to rest for some months by her motherhood, had again suddenly possessed her.

Freed from all fear in regard to the prince, Paul returned the embrace warmly, and from this time forward he was so full of care for her, he seemed to love the child so much, that the princess had never been so thoroughly happy.

The Meyrins, of course, had been among the first to congratulate the young mother. The day when Lise Olsdorf gathered them all at her table to celebrate her churching, each member of the family found under his or her plate a princely present. After dinner the baby was brought in in a cradle trimmed with lace and roses. Before dessert was over Paul's paternity could no longer be a matter of doubt for any one present, the princess had been so demonstrative with the man she loved.

However, the Meyrin ladies kept their countenances. They would not see anything amiss; and Frantz's wife, by way of a sort of hypocritical protestation intended to safeguard her middle-cla.s.s virtue, was very nearly proposing the health of Prince Olsdorf. Her husband, ashamed of this comedy, had only just time to stop her.

These merrymakers would not have been so joyous nor so much at their ease, if they could have foreseen what was to happen a few days later at the chateau of Pampeln.

Although he had reckoned on the return of his wife at the end of April, Prince Olsdorf was not very much surprised when she wrote to him that the baby's health forced her to put off the journey for at least a fortnight. He replied that she was right to be prudent and must think first of all of the infant, adding that he would await her in Courland, which would shorten the journey for her by almost one half. He asked her to warn him by telegraph of her departure from Paris, so that he could go to meet her with carriages at Mittau.

All these letters were in a tone so unusual with her husband, that is, so full of tenderness, that the princess was in a sense alarmed at it; and she was always careful not to show them to Paul Meyrin, whose jealousy would certainly have been roused. She wrote to the prince that she would be starting soon, at the same time promising herself that she would put off the journey to the very last moment under any pretense whatever.

Meanwhile Pierre Olsdorf had returned to Pampeln, and was overlooking the equipping of the house for the season, when he received from St.

Petersburg, with other letters, a big envelope which had been addressed to him at his town house.

Having carelessly opened the envelope he was rather surprised to see its contents. They were a series of articles, for the most part reviews of theatrical performances, cut from newspapers and pasted on good sized sheets of paper, in which the names of Princess Lise and Paul Meyrin's appeared in each paragraph.

The prince was puzzled for a moment, then a flush overspread his face, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a note which accompanied the inclosures, he read these infamous words:

"The articles do not tell everything to the husband of the Princess Olsdorf. Otherwise they would inform him that his wife lives publicly with Paul Meyrin, as is known to all Paris, and that the baby she has just had is her lover's."

"Oh, the wretches!" exclaimed the unhappy man, "I will kill them."

And, wishing to know all, he ran his eye through each of the paragraphs that repeated his dishonor.

Then, his eyes filling with tears, he buried his face in big hands and reflected.

In a few minutes he grew calmer. Determined not to take counsel either of his anger or of his just indignation, he made for the shady woods of the park, where he paced up and down for a part of the night.

Next morning, when he tenderly kissed his son Alexander at his waking, nothing could have been read on his face. His resolution was irrevocably taken.

He ordered his horse to be saddled, and he rode over to Elva.

Soublaieff, who was in the farm-yard when his master rode into it, ran forward to hold his horse, and Pierre Olsdorf dismounted.

"I am glad to find you here," said he to the farmer, "I was afraid you might be away somewhere in the fields. I have something serious to say to you. How is your daughter?"

"Well, prince," replied Soublaieff. "She and I are at your orders. What is the matter? Forgive my presumption, but you seem troubled and preoccupied."

"I am. You shall know the cause afterward. Meanwhile I am come to ask a favor of you."

"A favor from me! A master so good as you are asks it of a servant who would give the last drop of his blood to him? Speak, prince, speak!"

"Will you trust Vera to me?"

"Trust Vera to you?"

"To take her to Paris."

The farmer grew pale. The tenderness of a father struggled within him against blind devotion for his master. In the past he had besought the prince not to take from him his daughter to place her at the chateau.

And now it was a question not of a separation of a few leagues but of a journey to France. He hesitated.

"Come, make up your mind to it," Pierre Olsdorf went on. "I want Vera; she alone, with your good will, can do me a great service."

"A great service? Are you going to join the princess?"

"Yes, I am going to her in Paris, and I must come to her with a pure, intelligent, and beautiful young girl such as your daughter is. Ah!

Soublaieff, I am very unhappy."

The sad smile with which the prince spoke the words troubled the old servitor still more, but at the sight of the pained look in the face of the generous master to whom he owed everything, his hesitation vanished, and he replied:

"Take Vera, prince; but suffer me to remind you that she is my idolized child, and that the former serf trusts his honor to the honor of the Olsdorfs."

"I will remember. Send for your daughter."

Vera came quickly at her father's first call, and as was her custom, bent to kiss the prince's hand, but he drew her toward him and pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

In a few words Soublaieff told his daughter of the agreement with the prince. Vera, blushing with pleasure, bowed low and said, in a subdued voice:

"I am ready to obey you, father."

Mingled with her surprise--perhaps without she herself knowing it--was the curiosity natural in a daughter of Eve. She was grieved to leave her father; but to travel, to see Paris! It had been one of her dreams.

"I thank you both," said Pierre Olsdorf after a moment of silence.

"Soublaieff, you are no longer a devoted servant, but a friend to me. As for you, sweet Vera, I shall never forget the sacrifice she makes in leaving her family to go with me for awhile."

Then offering his hand to the farmer, who pressed it respectfully in his, he added:

"Bring Vera to-morrow morning to Pampeln; we will start at once for Mittau, and take the night train thence to Paris. Again I thank you.

Adieu till to-morrow."

The prince, who had spoken the last words as he stood on the threshold of the door, sprung upon his horse and rode off in the direction of the chateau.

Next day, before ten o'clock, Soublaieff was at Pampeln with his daughter. At noon the young Russian girl and Pierre Olsdorf got into a post-chaise, on the box-seat being Yvan, his old and faithful body-servant; and Soublaieff, with tearful eyes, saw them drive off, as he murmured:

"Perhaps I was wrong to yield, but he seemed so unhappy. What is the mystery? G.o.d preserve my child."

CHAPTER VII.