Count Bunker Part 49

"Who is who? Well, my friend is the Baron von Blitzenberg; and the lady is, as she stated, his wife."

"Then all this time----" began Eva.

"He was married!" Eleanor finished for her. "Oh, the heartless scoundrel! To think that I rescued him!"

"I wouldn't have either!" said Eva; "I mean if--if I had known he treated you so badly."

"Treated ME! I was only thinking of YOU, Miss Gallosh!"

"Dear ladies!" interposed the Count with his ready tact, "remember his excuse."

"His excuse?"

"The beauty, the charm, the wit of the lady who took by storm a heart not easily captured! He himself, poor fellow, thought it love-proof; but he had not then met HER. Think mercifully of him!"

He was so careful to give no indication which of the rival belles was "her," that each was able to take to herself a certain mournful consolation.

"That wasn't MUCH excuse," said Eleanor, yet with a less vindictive air.

"Certainly not VERY much," murmured Eva.

"He ought to have thought of the pain he was giving HER," added Eleanor.

"Yes," said Eva. "Indeed he ought!"

"Yes, that is true," allowed the Count; "but remember his punishment! To be married already now proves to be less his fault than his misfortune."

By this time he had insidiously led them back to their car.

"And must you return at once?" he exclaimed.

"We had better," said Eleanor, with a suspicion of a sigh. "Miss Gallosh, I'll drive you home first."

"You're too kind, Miss Maddison."

"Oh, no!"

The Count a.s.sisted them in, greatly pleased to see this amicable spirit.

Then shaking hands heartily with each, he said--

"I can speak for my friend with conviction, because my own regard for the lady in question is as deep and as sincere as his. Believe me, I shall never forget her!"

He was rewarded with two of the kindest smiles ever bestowed upon him, and as they drove away each secretly wondered why she had previously preferred the Baron to the Count. It seemed a singular folly.

"Two deuced nice girls," mused he; "I do believe I told 'em the truth in every particular!"

He watched their car dwindle to a scurrying speck, and then strolled back thoughtfully to purchase his ticket.

He found the signals down, and the far-off clatter of the train distinctly audible through the early morning air. A few minutes more and he was stepping into a first-cla.s.s compartment, his remarkable costume earning (he could not but observe) the p.r.o.nounced attention of the guard. The Baron and Alicia, with an air of mutual affection, entered another; both the doors were closed, everything seemed ready, yet the train lingered.

"Start ze train! Start ze train! I vill give you a pound--two pound--tree pound, to start him!"

The Count leaped up and thrust his head through the window.

"What the d.i.c.kens----!" thought he.

Hanging out of the other window he beheld the clamant Baron urging the guard with frenzied entreaty.

"But they're wanting to go by the train, sir," said the guard.

"No, no. Zey do not! It is a mistake! Start him!"

Following their gaze he saw, racing toward them, the cause of their delay. It was a motor car, yet not the same that had so lately departed.

In this were seated a young man and an elderly lady, both waving to hold back the train; and to his vast amazement he recognized in the man Darius Maddison, junior, in the lady the Countess of Grillyer.

The car stopped, the occupants alighted, and the Countess, supported on the strong arm of Ri, scuttled down the platform.

"Bonker, take her in mit you!" groaned the Baron, and his head vanished from the Count's sight.

Even this ordeal was not too much for Bunker's fidelity.

"Madam, there is room here!" he announced politely, as they swept past; but with set faces they panted toward the doomed von Blitzenberg.

All of the tragedy that the Count, with strained neck, could see or overhear, was a vision of the Countess being pushed by the guard and her escort into that first-cla.s.s compartment whence so lately the Baron's crimson visage had protruded, and the voice of Ri stridently declaring--

"Guess you'll recognize your momma this time, Baron!"

A whistle from the guard, another from the engine, and they were off, clattering southward in the first of the morning sunshine.

Inadequately attired, damp, hungry, and divorced from tobacco as the Count was, he yet could say to himself with the sincerest honesty,

"I wouldn't change carriages with the Baron von Blitzenberg--not even for a pair of dry socks and a cigar! Alas, poor Rudolph! May this teach all young men a lesson in sobriety of conduct!"

For which moral reflection the historian feels it inc.u.mbent upon him, as a philosopher and serious psychologist, to express his conscientious admiration.

EPILOGUE

IT was an evening in early August, luminous and warm; the scene, a certain club now emptied of all but a sprinkling of its members; the festival, dinner; and the persons of the play, that gentleman lately known as Count Bunker and his friend the Baron von Blitzenberg. The Count was habited in tweeds; the Baron in evening dress.

"It vas good of you to come up to town jost to see me," said the Baron.

"I'd have crossed Europe, Baron!"

The Baron smiled faintly. Evidently he was scarcely in his most florid humor.

"I vish I could have asked you to my club, Bonker."