Dry Fish and Wet Part 11

"One evening, when I'd just finished dressing for the 'Carnival of Venice' thing, a card was brought in, bearing the name of Count--well, never mind his name. It was the Count that did it, I'm afraid.

"I invariably used to return cards brought in that way, and take no notice. But this time I suppose my vanity got the better of me for once, and I let him come in.

"He made me a most respectful bow, and handed me a magnificent bouquet tied with ribbon in the Italian colours. I was supposed to be from Milan, you know. He spoke excellent French, and seemed altogether a gentleman of the first water--or blood, I suppose one would say.

"He told me about his home, his estates and his family affairs in the most simple and natural manner. I could not help liking him a little from the first. He was in Hamburg on business--some lawsuit or other--and dropping into the place one evening to pa.s.s the time, he could not help noticing me particularly.

"He was not sparing of his compliments, I must say; he praised me up to the skies, as an artist, of course. My voice had astonished, delighted, enchanted him, he told me so at once. And ended up by advising me to try the opera stage--offered to help me himself in every way possible, which, he said, might mean something, as he had many influential friends in that quarter. I told him, however, quite frankly, that I was perfectly aware myself as to the qualifications needed for operatic work, and had sense enough to realise that I could never succeed in that way. He was evidently surprised at my att.i.tude, but I simply thanked him for his kindness, and got rid of him then for the time being. But he came again regularly every evening, bringing me flowers, and at last he made a formal proposal in the most charming manner, laying his t.i.tle, estates and all the rest of it at my feet.

"It was tempting, of course, but thank goodness I had always had a pretty fair share of common sense, especially as I got older. I told him I regretted I did not know him sufficiently well to take so serious a step, but promised to think it over."

"That was a plucky thing to do. There are not many who would have taken it like that."

"It was just plain common sense. The Count was a little huffy, though, and hinted that he had expected me to say yes on the spot.

"This happened about a week before my engagement was up, and I had already, as I told you, decided to go to Copenhagen for a bit.

"I must confess that there were moments when I was weak enough to think seriously of accepting the Count, but, fortunately, chance came to my help. There was an old Catholic priest at the house where I was staying, and I told him all about it. He undertook to make inquiries about the Count, and a few days after he had found out everything there was to know. He _was_ a Count right enough----"

"No, really? I hadn't expected that."

"Well, he was--but as poor as a church mouse! He had been an officer in the army, and inherited an ancient t.i.tle and a castle with heavily enc.u.mbered estates from his father, but squandered all there was left in his youth; now he was a sort of travelling inspector for an insurance company, and lived for the rest by his wits."

"And that was the end of the Count?"

"Yes, of course; but, you see, I was very near becoming a Countess."

"And then you went to Copenhagen?"

"Yes, and after that my story's simple enough. I stayed there some years, teaching music and painting, managed to get along comfortably enough. Betty started going to school, and we were as happy as could be."

"But how did you manage to escape further offers all that time in Copenhagen?

"Oh, you seem to imagine I had nothing else to think of but getting married. No, indeed, when one's gone through as much as I have, one thinks twice before venturing a second time. Well, as the years went on, and being in Denmark and more in touch with my own country, I began to long for home again. I thought surely all would be forgotten by now, and I should be able to make a living there. But it was not so easy after all. I got a step nearer when I was offered a post as teacher at a school in Gothenburg; I stayed there five long years. I had already sent Betty to board with a decent family in Norway, that she might not grow up altogether a foreigner, and now I was only waiting for the chance of coming home myself.

"My parents were dead. I had no relatives or friends to come back to, and yet for all that I was longing to be there again.

"At last the day came; I shall never forget the moment when we sighted the first glimpse of land. It seemed as if all my years of exile had been a dream. I felt myself full of life and strength and happiness, and I vowed to make a new career for myself in my own country.

"I got a place as housekeeper to an old lawyer in a little town on the coast, and lived there very comfortably for a year; but it was too narrow, too confined, so I moved to here--and here I am, doing what I can to make life tolerable. I've my health and strength, plenty of energy, and I'm very happy. And there you have it all, Mr.

Holm--the life story of Emilie Rantzau. You can't say it's been an easy one altogether."

"No indeed, and I admire you for the way you have fought through so many handicaps and trials."

"Thank Heaven, I've never lost my strength of will, and now at last things seem to be getting brighter. Betty's so happy here, and delighted with her place at the office."

"Not more than I am to have her, I a.s.sure you. It's been like constant sunshine about the place since she came."

"Well, then, Mr. Holm, I hope you will keep my secret as if it were your own. I have nothing to be ashamed of in my past, but all the same I should not like it to be known here as things are now."

"You need have no fear of that, my dear lady, I a.s.sure you. I only hope you may be happy here, and feel yourself in every sense at home now you have come back--and I'm sure you deserve it after the long struggle you have had. But I must say it has not left its mark on you, for you're charming enough to turn the head of more than one respectable citizen in this little town."

"It's very kind of you to say so, but I think there's no fear of that. By the way, I'm your daughter's music-mistress, too. She seems very intelligent."

"H'm, as to that ... to tell the truth, I wanted to speak to you about her. I really don't know what to do with the child lately, the way she goes on."

"Really--oh, but surely----"

"I'll tell you all about it, if I may?"

"Yes, do."

"Well, it's like this. My excellent son and heir, you must know, was a decent enough lad to begin with. But then he somehow got in with a whole crowd of muddle-headed youths that call themselves artists, poets and acrobats of that sort. H'm ... you see, I'm a plain man myself, and to my mind the whole thing's nothing better than sheer downright laziness. They simply won't trouble to go in for any steady solid work in life, but go on living on this artistic humbug, as long as they can find anyone to provide for them."

"Like yourself, you mean?"

"Exactly. I've done a good deal in that line--up to now. Well, these young beauties have given the lad the idea that he's the making of a great artist, a budding Rubens at the least, whereas I'm convinced he couldn't even turn out a presentable signboard. And as for the girl, she's the coming Patti of her day, nothing less.

"I've raged about it, been as cross and discouraging as could be, but precious little difference it makes. No, they must be off to Paris, if you please, the pair of them, on their own. And that's where I want you, if you will, to help me stop their little game. Marie, I know, looks up to you like a sort of Providence."

"But really, Mr. Holm, she _has_ talent, you know."

"Talent be hanged. I don't care if she has. What you've got to do is to tell her she's got a voice like a sore-throated sheep--that's what I want. And as for the boy, you can help me to cure him too, if you only will. You've had some experience, you know, in getting round the men; an old hand like you could easily manage him, I'm sure."

"Really, Mr. Holm, that was a pretty compliment, I must say."

"It was honestly meant, anyhow; you needn't be angry. Let's be frank with one another. We're old friends, you know, after all, Bianca."

"Holm, for Heaven's sake, _never_, never let that name pa.s.s your lips again. Promise me!" she said, with a glance of earnest entreaty.

"Forgive me, forgive me. May the devil cut out my sinful tongue if ever I utter it again. It's the most infernal nuisance, that tongue of mine, always getting me into trouble one way or another, like an alarm clock, you know, that goes off the moment you come near it."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Holm, to make your daughter give up her idea of making a career in that way. As a matter of fact, I should have said the same thing even if you had not asked me."

"Thanks, thanks. And the boy--how are we to manage about him?"

"We must think it over, each in our own way, and see what can be done. There must be some way of putting a stop to their running wild like that, especially with two hardened old diplomatists like you and myself working together."

"I'm sure we can; and now I'll say good-bye. For the present, at any rate, all we can do is to wait the course of events, as the grocer said when his wife ran off with the apprentice!"

VI

"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"