The Children of the World Part 51

He had understood the art of maintaining his position, even after the death of his patroness; he had sustained it princ.i.p.ally it appeared, by a marriage with the countess' by no means youthful waiting maid and _confidante_. He spoke of this union with a lofty and sarcastic smile, that like many other things in the clever man, greatly disgusted Edwin.

The gentleman seemed to perceive the impression his confidential communications were making on his hearer. "My dear Herr Doctor," said he, "you're still a young man, and have always been independent. You can scarcely imagine how the habit of accommodating one's self to others, and not being over rigorous, will in time degrade a man who originally is by no means a scoundrel. Ah me! when I think of the days when, with your dead father, I still worked toward our so-called ideals! Yet he died a bookkeeper, and I've written prescriptions in which I felt no faith. The longer one lives, the more plainly one perceives that there are very few mortals so happy as never to be placed in a false position, and that since it's a man's duty to preserve his life, there's but a single weakness that dishonors him: to believe what is false to be true. A pastor who a.s.sumes the duties of his parish a disbeliever in revealed religion, and gradually allows the voice of reason to grow weaker and ends by accepting the tenets of the faith he preaches, or a physician who begins the practice of his profession by disbelief in his own powers and ends by using his salves and plasters with a look of grave importance not wholly a.s.sumed--they falsify themselves and are utterly contemptible. But he, who in a world that is only too willing to be cheated, does not befool honest individuals, but swindles men in the gross, and meantime is ready at any moment, like the Roman augur, to laugh in unison with other clever men, seems to me to play his part as a weak mortal very tolerably.

There was a famous Berlin doctor here yesterday, Herr Marquard, who's perhaps known to you by reputation. He performs on a large scale, what I practice here on a small one, and the fact of his being more learned is rather troublesome to him than otherwise, since each individual case gives him scores of things to reflect upon. But he's a clever man, and after the first fifteen minutes we no longer tried to impose upon each other. The gentleman was no more successful with the young countess than I, but she didn't make him feel her contempt so keenly as she did my insignificant self. Well, as you see, my back is naturally more bent than my colleague's. I can take more on my high shoulders."

He laughed softly, but seemed surprised when Edwin's only reply to his extreme outspokeness was a curt: "Every one is ent.i.tled to his own opinions!" During the doctor's cautiously whispered speech, our friend had glanced from one member of the company to the other and said to himself: "These are the people with whose companionship she has been obliged to be satisfied for four long years!" The thought aroused within him an unspeakable sense of oppression, sorrow, and indignation.

He took advantage of a pause in the card playing, to approach the count, and pleading that he was fatigued by his pedestrian tour, to take leave of him for the night. The count looked at him absently a moment, as if he were some stranger whose face he could not instantly recall, then pressed his hand with marked cordiality and apologized for having enjoyed so little of his society that evening. He hoped to make up for the loss on the morrow. Then he motioned the butler to show the guest to his room, and returned to his game, in which fortune, to judge from the piles of gold before his companions, turned her back on him as usual.

CHAPTER V.

The room to which Edwin was conducted, was situated in a wing of some considerable length, a modern addition to the old castle, which had completely destroyed the symmetry of the rear of the edifice. The windows looked out upon the park, and on the other side a small staircase led down into the courtyard, which was surrounded by domestic offices, so that from thence the apartments in this one story wing could be reached without using the stairs and corridors of the castle.

The sun must have found free admittance to Edwin's room all day, for an oppressive atmosphere greeted him, which was not improved even after he had thrown both windows wide open. But under any circ.u.mstances, it would have been long ere he could have attempted to go to sleep. The events of the day and the antic.i.p.ation of the morrow quickened his pulses. He went to the window and gazed out into the garden, where the lofty jet of a fountain fell into a basin lined with sh.e.l.ls. The windows and balcony of the dining hall projected in softly rounded lines from the facade, now but dimly illuminated by a moon that was about to sink below the horizon. The remainder of the edifice lay in shadow, but in the other wing of the castle two lofty windows in the second story were brightly lighted. He did not doubt for a moment that _she_ occupied them. How many evenings he had gazed up at her windows in Jagerstra.s.se; now he found her here, once more in the count's rooms, this time of her own free will, and yet--

Voices in the corridor aroused him from the reverie into which this comparison had thrown him. The other guests were retiring to their rooms; Edwin distinctly recognized the different voices as they bade each other good night, and learned by the uniform double step, that the brothers Thaddaus and Matthaus occupied the room on his right, while that on his left was a.s.signed to the fat landed proprietor. His right hand neighbors were perfectly quiet, and if their thoughts were as much alike as their faces, they could not have profited by any exchange. The stout gentleman was more troublesome. After spending half an hour in undressing, during which he whistled, muttered to himself, and several times, as if recollecting some story he had heard in the evening, burst into a roar of laughter, he at last threw himself on his bed so heavily, that it creakingly threatened to break under the burden, and almost instantly began to snore so persistently, and in such a variety of tones, that Edwin, who had been about to undress, renounced all idea of doing so and determined to spend the night in an arm-chair at the open window.

But even this became at last unendurable, and moreover the moist breath of the fountain allured him out into the silent night. He left the room without his hat and soon descended the little staircase and opened the door, which he found fastened with only a light bolt.

The courtyard lay as silent and deserted in the faint glimmering moonlight, as the garden on the opposite side. In order to reach the latter, he was obliged to pa.s.s around the whole wing, the stables, and the servant's rooms. As he glided by the little windows, he saw a dim light twinkling in one and involuntarily paused before it. He could look into a narrow chamber, where a young girl was sleeping, not in her bed, but on a stool before a low table, with her head leaning against the wall. A lantern beside her revealed her round, pretty face and graceful figure. She did not seem to have fallen asleep over her work, but while waiting for something or some one. The step pausing before her window roused her. She started up, hastily pushed her hair back from her forehead, and exclaimed as if still half asleep: "Is it you, Your Excellency?" Suddenly seeming to distinguish the strange face, she uttered a low exclamation, and upset the lantern. Then all was still.

Edwin walked on, wondering which of his table companions was the happy man expected. But when he pa.s.sed through the courtyard gate into the park, all these thoughts vanished, and the magic of the silent night took complete possession of his senses.

He rested for some time on a bench near the fountain, cooling his hot brow in the spray that filled the air around him; then walked aimlessly down the princ.i.p.al avenue, and at last plunged into the more secluded portions of the park, where only a faint glimmer of moonlight pierced through the branches of the tall trees. Neatly kept paths ran in various directions, here and there stood a bench, a summer house, an umbrella-like tent, all tokens that the wanderer was not in the wild forest. Even the stream he now found, flowed between low, regularly formed banks, and was crossed at intervals by small bridges. Edwin turned into the narrow gravel walk beside the noiseless water, but the brook suddenly made a wide curve and ran under a high palisade, which surrounded a pond. At this spot the woods were less dense, and the stars were mirrored in the smooth surface of the little lake. Edwin walked around the enclosure, hoping to find an entrance. He thought of a bath here was tempting, and he saw at the end of the pond, under some tall shrubbery, a little building that was evidently used for this purpose. But a small entrance gate, which after some search he at last found, was securely locked, and he was about to give up his intention and return to the path, when he perceived a place in the palisade where the stakes stood so far apart that a deer, in case of necessity, could pa.s.s through. Urged on by his desire to bathe, he endeavored to widen the hole, and at last with some difficulty, succeeded in forcing his way through the opening.

He now went directly to the little building, but found it locked. The sh.o.r.e here, which was overgrown with bushes and marshy plants, was not suitable for bathing, but the opposite side, where a meadow sloped gently down to the water, seemed very well adapted to the purpose, and he bent his steps toward it. A feeling of strange delight stole over him, as he walked on through the soft night air, beside the still, dark water, from which no sound was heard save the melancholy croaking of a frog. A few tall trees stood at the end of the little lake, and some low bushes cl.u.s.tered around their roots. He determined to undress behind this natural screen.

But he had not even commenced, when he saw on the opposite sh.o.r.e dark figures approaching along the path by which he himself had come. As they neared the palisade, he also heard low voices, which grew more audible as they reached the little gate. Directly after a key rattled in the lock, and he saw two m.u.f.fled figures enter the enclosure, which was lighted by the moonbeams--female figures wrapped in long black cloaks with hoods--who, after securing the gate behind them, turned toward the little bathing house.

He fairly gasped for breath, and began to consider whether he should have time and opportunity to retreat un.o.bserved through the opening in the fence. But this seemed to be a dangerous venture. From the spot where he stood, to the low bushes that grew along the enclosure, there was not a tree or shrub to conceal him. And if he should be discovered--in what a light would his nocturnal entrance into this carefully guarded precinct appear!

But before he could think of any other expedient, all time for reflection was over. The door of the bathing house was opened and a slender white figure, whose unbound hair fell over her arms and shoulders, appeared on the upper step of the little flight of stairs that led into the lake. She raised her head and looked up for a moment toward the night sky, which had become slightly overcast, then let the bathing cloak wrapped around her fall, and stooped to the water to wet her forehead and breast, the next instant she sprang down the steps, disappeared a few seconds and then, shaking her dripping locks, rose to the surface.

Her companion appeared at the doorway and called out to her, Edwin could not distinguish her words but the bather replied in a smothered voice. Then both were silent. The swimmer divided the water with long, steady strokes, at intervals raising her head and shoulders above the surface to shake back the thick hair from her brow. Her face looked dazzling white in the dim light of the setting moon, but the middle of the pond, to which she had swum, was too far from the trees on the meadow, for any one standing there to obtain a distinct view of her features. Thus the mysterious nixie swam up and down the lake ten or twelve times, in the profoundest silence. Her companion had retired to the little house, and none but she seemed to be breathing in the forest solitude. Not a zephyr stirred the surface of the pond, not a leaf fell from the trees; the croaking of the frog had ceased; only at intervals, when the swimmer made a quick turn the water rippled audibly and the rushes along the sh.o.r.e swayed to and fro.

At last she seemed to grow weary, and lying on her back, floated for a time in a circle, so that only a little of the pale face appeared above the water. While so doing she came so near the sh.o.r.e, that the watcher behind the boughs could see the delicate white outline of the profile relieved against the dark water, and distinctly perceived how the eyes, raised quietly toward the night heavens, flashed with a peculiar light.

He had not doubted from the first moment the ident.i.ty of the swimmer, and his heart leaped into his throat, as he recognized again the never to be forgotten face.

Finally as if the lake wished to draw the motionless figure down into its depths, the head sank lower and lower in the noiseless waves, as if resting on the softest pillows. At last the water rushed and whirled around the sinking form; she hastily turned and with powerful strokes swam back toward the steps.

Her companion was waiting, holding in her hands a large white linen cloak, which she threw over the swimmer as she ascended the stairs. The next moment both disappeared within the little house. The door, it is true, remained half open, but in the darkness it was impossible to distinguish anything within.

Ten minutes more elapsed, then the two m.u.f.fled figures again appeared and proceeding to the gate of the enclosure, opened it, relocked it, and then retired along the foot path by which they had come.

A long time pa.s.sed ere the secret witness of this scene left the spot through the hole in the enclosure of the pond. As soon as he found himself alone, he had instantly plunged into the waves, but it scarcely calmed the strange tumult in his blood. As the rising night-wind now tossed his wet hair and blew against his breast, it seemed as if instead of cooling him, it was trying to fan the glimmering sparks in the ashes of his memory.

He started at the thought and involuntarily paused, as something warned him not to return to the castle. "No," he said to himself, "that would be too cowardly, too pitiful. Four years, four such happy years--could I again be the old defenceless fool? And all for a pair of white arms and two nixie eyes? What power would man have over his own soul if the forces of nature could never be successfully battled against? No, brave heart, we will not evade the struggle."

He returned to the courtyard gate, after a long stroll in the park, which had thoroughly exhausted him. It was about two o'clock in the morning; the light in the countess' rooms was extinguished. Just as he was about to enter, he saw a man step cautiously out of the door of the room where the young girl slept and linger on the threshold a moment, as if to bid some one farewell. The doorway was in the shadow and the moon had set, yet as the late visitor now hurried past the buildings with elastic steps and then cautiously groped his way to the wing, Edwin distinctly recognized young Count Gaston; so the "endless yearning" which enn.o.bled him, did not seem to prevent him from condescending to adventures which _had_ a beginning, a middle, and an end.

CHAPTER VI.

The noise Edwin's next neighbor, the fat landed proprietor, made in preparing for the hunt, roused our friend early the next morning from a sound sleep. He was obliged to reflect a moment to remember where he was, and that the events of the previous day had not been mere dreams; then he hastily threw on his clothes and followed the servant who came to ask if he could be of any a.s.sistance, into the great hall on the ground floor, where the breakfast table was laid.

It was about seven o'clock; the day was dull and cloudy, and a damp wind indicated rain. But the cheerful bustle in the courtyard, the noise of horses and dogs, the shouts and exclamations of huntsmen and servants prevented any feeling of depression from seizing the guests.

Besides the remainder of the company who gradually a.s.sembled in the hall, congratulated each other on the excellent hunting weather which had mitigated the heat of the preceding day. The chevalier alone begged to be excused from taking any share in the day's entertainment. "The only hunting he likes," whispered Count Gaston to Edwin, "is the pursuit of yellow gold."

The Polish colonel, on the contrary, was full of sportsmanlike enthusiasm, and related with the utmost seriousness, incredible stories, at which the fat landed proprietor burst into roars of laughter; but the brothers von der Wende did not seem any wider awake in the morning, than they had appeared the preceding evening.

Neither the little doctor, nor any of the other household officers appeared; but to make amends a plain old man with thin parchment-like features and calm grey eyes arrived, and joined the gentlemen but without sharing in the breakfast. Gaston introduced him to Edwin as the head ranger. A slight curl of the corners of the mouth under the heavy yellow moustache, told our friend what a correct estimation of himself as an amateur sportsman, had been formed by this old master of the n.o.ble game.

Their host appeared at last, greeted every one with monosyllabic cordiality, and then approached the stranger.

"I thank you, Herr Doctor," said he, "for giving me the pleasure of your company on our hunt, though you told me yesterday you were no sportsman. You've only to say whether you'll accompany us on horseback, or whether you prefer to drive in a light carriage over the beautiful road that leads through the forest to the ranger's house, which is the general _rendezvous_ and where, after the hunt is over, lunch will be served."

"Unless you happen to have in your stable a descendant of Gellert's grey, I must decide in favor of the carriage," replied Edwin smiling.

The count nodded carelessly, leaving it uncertain whether his knowledge of horses extended back so far, and gave an order to the groom. He seemed even more absent minded and gloomy than on the evening before, busied himself in adjusting his hunting suit, and from time to time glanced at his watch. "It's getting late," he said to the head ranger, who had risen and was quietly awaiting his master's orders. "The countess doesn't usually keep us waiting."

At this moment the butler appeared at the door, and said: "Her ladyship is descending."

"_Eh bien_, gentlemen, if you please, we'll set out, and good luck to our sport."

He hastily led the way into the ante-room, followed by the rest of the company. In spite of the cloudy morning, the staircase was light enough to make it easy to distinguish faces, even on the landing above. Edwin was the last who entered the hall; he trembled and was forced to pause on the threshold and close his eyes; everything was whirling around him. When he opened them again, he saw a slender female figure descending the broad marble steps, holding the train of her green velvet dress under her left arm, and resting her right hand lightly on the banister. Count Gaston was walking beside her, and a huntsman, holding his plumed hat in his hand, followed. She wore a little green velvet cap with a long grey veil, and her hair was simply dressed in wide braids. All this Edwin could observe at leisure, as she was talking to her companion and thus kept her head averted. She now reached the lower landing and with a graceful movement turned toward her husband, who welcomed her with knightly courtesy. She nodded a good morning to him and her face was quite devoid of expression as she raised her hand to her hunting cap to salute the rest of the party. At this moment her foot caught in the folds of her riding habit, she stumbled, turned pale, and with a gesture of alarm and a half suppressed cry fell back into the arms of Gaston and the huntsman, who had hastily sprung forward.

She could not have hurt herself seriously, yet it was at least five minutes, ere, with the a.s.sistance of the two men, she again stood erect, with a face whose ghostly pallor seemed scarcely warranted by the little fright she had had. The other guests had rushed up to offer their very unnecessary services, and Edwin and the head ranger alone remained in their former places.

"It's nothing," they now heard the countess say. "I slipped and grew dizzy for a moment. I thank you, gentlemen."

She bowed with a winning smile to the company and then, leaning on Gaston's arm, slowly descended the rest of the stairs. When they approached the main entrance to the castle, beside which Edwin was standing, she started as if she could not believe her eyes.

"I have the pleasure of presenting to you an old acquaintance, my dear wife," said the count--"the Herr Doctor Edwin, who has been our guest since yesterday; an accidental meeting at the railway station--he's taking a little pedestrian tour--I knew it would give you pleasure."

She did not answer immediately; her eyes were fixed upon Edwin but her expression was undefinable. "Is it really you?" she said at last, suddenly recalling her self-control. "It's delightful to see you again.

I thank you," she continued turning to her husband. "But why did you wait until today--"

"It was late in the evening when we arrived. You don't usually appear at that hour."

"True," she answered with an absent smile. "However, I might perhaps have made an exception for the sake of an old acquaintance. You're very welcome, Herr Doctor, I hope you'll remain our guest for some time."

She had removed her glove and now held out her hand to Edwin, who, stammering a few incoherent words, pressed his lips upon it in great embarra.s.sment. Then she turned to the other gentlemen, addressing a few courteous words to each. It was impossible to discover whether the sight of her old friend had made any deep impression upon her. But Edwin couldn't take his eyes from her face. When Count Gaston pa.s.sed him and whispered: "Well? Did I say too much?" his only answer was a forced smile. He was ashamed of himself when he thought how stiff and ill at ease he must appear, not to others but in her eyes. But there seemed to be a spell upon him.

She had walked out to the flight of steps which led down into the courtyard, where the head groom was holding the bridle of a beautiful English horse which wore a lady's saddle. When it saw its mistress approaching, it turned its head toward her with a joyful neigh and impatiently pawed the ground. The countess paused a moment, patted the animal's neck and let it take a piece of sugar out of her hand. Then she prepared to mount, but when her foot was already in the stirrup, she drew back again.