Countess Erika's Apprenticeship Part 14

"Like Mr. Van Tromp," Countess Lenzdorff interposed.

"Oh, I am too easily imposed upon," Countess Brock sighed. "The worst of it is that I have nothing now in prospect for my Thursdays."

"I saw in the newspaper that a couple of almehs on their way from Paris to Petersburg are to appear at Kroll's," Countess Lenzdorff observed, maliciously: "you might hire them for an evening."

"That would be against the law," remarked Frau von Geroldstein, who knew about everything and had no sense of humour. Countess Brock, who had declared that nothing should ever induce her to receive 'the Archd.u.c.h.ess,' as she called Frau von Geroldstein, pretended not to hear; Frau von Norbin begged to be told what an _almeh_ was. Countess Lenzdorff laughed, and was just enlightening her in a low tone, out of regard for her grand-daughter, as to this Oriental specialty, when Herr von Sydow was announced.

"Goswyn!" exclaimed Countess Anna, evidently delighted. "It is good of you to come at last, but not good to have let us wait so long for you."

"I came as soon as I heard of your return," Sydow replied.

"And, as usual, you come as late as possible," his old friend remarked, in an access of absence of mind, "in hopes of finding me alone."

"I call that a skilful method of turning people out of doors,"

exclaimed Frau von Norbin, laughing, and in spite of her hostess's protestations she arose and took her leave, accompanied by the young maid of honour.

Whilst Erika, with the modest grace which she had learned so quickly, conducted the two ladies to the vestibule, where only two or three remained of the crowd of footmen that had occupied it early in the afternoon, Goswyn's eyes rested on the wall, where, to his great surprise, hung the same Bocklin that had been removed upon his former visit in view of the expected arrival of the Countess's grand-daughter.

"So you sent the young Countess to boarding-school?" he remarked.

"What?" exclaimed the Countess, indignant at such an idea. "You must see that I am far too old to forego the pleasure of having the child with me." Then, observing that the young man's eyes were directed towards her favourite picture, she suddenly remembered the conversation she had had with him in the spring. "Oh, yes; you are thinking of how hard it seemed to me to receive the child. It makes me laugh to recall it. As for the picture, there was no need to hide it from her: she knew the entire Vatican by heart when she came to me, from photographs. She looks at everything, and sees beyond it! I am longing to have you know her: did you not notice her? though this February twilight, to be sure, is very dim. She has just escorted Hedwig Norton from the room."

"Was that your grand-daughter?" Sydow asked, in surprise. "I thought it was your niece Odette."

"Where were your eyes?" Countess Lenzdorff asked, in an aggrieved tone.

"Odette is pretty enough, but a grisette,--a mere grisette,--in comparison with Erika. Erika is a head taller; and then, my dear, _un port de reine_,--_absolument, un port de reine_. Ah, here she comes.--Erika, Herr von Sydow wishes to be presented to you: you know who he is,--a great favourite of mine, and the nicest young fellow in all Berlin."

Erika inclined her head graciously, and, whilst the young man blushed at the old lady's exaggerated praise, said, with perfect self-possession, "Of course my grandmother has enlightened you as to my perfections. I think we may both be quite content, Herr von Sydow."

He bowed low and took the offered chair beside his hostess. He knew that Countess Lenzdorff expected him to say something to her grand-daughter, but he could not; he was mute with astonishment. It was true that the Countess had written him shortly after the young girl's arrival that she was charming, but he had regarded this a.s.severation as a piece of remorse on her part, knowing that remorse will incline people to exaggerate, especially kind-hearted, selfish people, for whom the memory of injustice done by them is among the greatest annoyances of life.

He could not reconcile his memory of the distressed, pale, shy girl whom he had seen for an instant with this extremely beautiful and self-possessed young lady who seemed expressly devised to act as a cordial for her grandmother's Epicurean selfishness. He did not know why, but he was half vexed that Erika was so beautiful: the previous tender compa.s.sion with which she had inspired him seemed ridiculous.

The words for which he sought in vain with which to begin a conversation she soon found. "It is strange that you should not have recognized me here in my grandmother's drawing-room, where you might have expected me to be," she said, gaily. "I should have known you in Africa."

"Where have you seen each other before?" the Countess asked, curiously.

"On the stairs, on the evening of my arrival," Erika explained.

"Evidently you do not recall it, Herr von Sydow: I ought not to have confessed how perfectly I remember."

"Oh, I remember it very well," said Sydow, and then he paused suddenly with a faint smile, a smile peculiarly his own, and behind which some sensitive souls suspected a degree of malice, but which actually concealed only a certain agitation and embarra.s.sment, a momentary non-comprehension of the situation. He was not very clever, except in moments of great danger, when he developed unusual presence of mind.

"After all, 'tis no wonder that you made more impression upon me than I did upon you," Erika went on, easily and simply. "In the first place, you were the first Prussian officer I had ever met; I had never seen anything in Austria so tall and broad: your epaulettes inspired me with a degree of awe. And then you bowed so respectfully. You can't imagine how much good it did me. I was half dead with terror: you looked as if you pitied me."

"I did pity you, Countess," he confessed, frankly. The tone of her voice, which had first won over her grandmother, was sweet in his ears.

Moreover, she seemed very much of a child, now that she was talking.

The impression of self-possession which she had at first given him was quite obliterated.

"You knew that my grandmother was not glad to have me?" she asked.

"Yes, I told him so, and he scolded me for it," Countess Lenzdorff declared, with a nod.

"But, my dear Countess!" Sydow remonstrated.

"Oh, I always speak the truth," the Countess exclaimed,--"always, that is, if possible, and sometimes even oftener: it is the only virtue upon which I pride myself. And you were right, Goswyn. But do you know how you look now? As if you were ashamed of your pity. Aha! I have hit the nail upon the head, and a very sensitive nail, too. It is human nature.

There is one extravagance which even the most magnanimous never forgive themselves,--wasted compa.s.sion. In fact, you must perceive that the child has no need of the article."

Goswyn was silent. If at first the Countess had hit the nail upon the head, he was by no means convinced of the truth of her last remark.

Something in the old Countess's manner to her grand-daughter went against the grain with him: once while she was talking to him, and Erika, sitting beside her, nestled close to her with the innocent grace of a young creature to whom a little tenderness is as necessary as is sunshine to the opening flower, the grandmother suddenly, with a significant glance at Sydow, put her finger beneath the girl's chin and turned her face so that he might observe the particularly lovely outline of her cheek.

Meanwhile, Countess Brock was defending herself with much ill humour and many grimaces from the exaggerated amiability of the 'Archd.u.c.h.ess,'

which found vent especially in the offer of a specific for the cure of neuralgia, from which the 'wicked fairy' suffered constantly, and which partly explained the peculiar twitching of her features. Extricating herself at last with much bluntness from the snare thus spread to entrap her favour, Countess Brock turned to the young officer, who, strange to relate, was her nephew. Strange to relate; for there certainly could be no greater contrast than that of his characteristic grave simplicity with her restless affectation.

"My dear Goswyn!" she said, in a honeyed tone, taking a chair beside him.

"Well, aunt?"

"You scarcely spoke to me when you came in," she continued, reproachfully, in the same sweet tone.

"You seemed very much occupied."

"Occupied? yes, occupied indeed. For the last quarter of an hour I have been struggling like a fly in a trap. You come just at the right moment, dear boy." And she tapped his epaulette with a caressing forefinger.

"Ah? Do you wish me to audit your accounts?" he asked, dryly: he had but slight sympathy with her.

"G.o.d forbid!" exclaimed the 'wicked fairy,' raising her black-gloved hands with her characteristic gesture. "Nothing so prosaic as that this time. It was about----"

"About your Thursdays," her nephew interrupted her.

"Rightly guessed, dear boy. I want a new star; and you can help me a little. Do you know G----?"

"The pianist?"

"Yes."

"I have practised with him once or twice." Goswyn played the violin in moments of leisure, a weakness to which he did not like to hear allusions made.

"There! I thought so. You must bring him to me."

"Pray excuse me," the young man said, decidedly. "I will have nothing to do with introducing any artist to you. I know too well what will ensue. You will squeeze him like a lemon, and then show him the door on the pretence that he outrages your aesthetic sense,--that his manners are not to your taste. You should inform yourself on that point before making use of him. We all know that artists are not always well bred."

"Too true!" sighed Frau von Geroldstein, edging her chair nearer to the speaker.

"All artists are ill-mannered," Countess Lenzdorff maintained, with her good-humoured insolence.

"Even the greatest?" asked Erika, shyly. She was thinking of the young painter whom she had met by the monster of a bridge, and she could not decide whether to resent her grandmother's arrogance or to be ashamed of the childish admiration in which she had indulged all these years for the handsome vagabond of whom she had never heard since.

As Frau von Geroldstein was gently sighing, "Ah, yes, even the greatest," Countess Anna interposed with a laugh, "They are the worst of all. Artistic mediocrities acquire a certain drawing-room polish far sooner than do the great geniuses who live in a world of their own.