The Lost Manuscript Part 56

Laura did not move, but her dark eyebrows were knit so threateningly that Mr. Hummel could not help perceiving it.

"I am quite of your opinion," he said, pleasantly, to his daughter. "It is a great pity that he is spoilt by belonging to these straw-hat people, but now there is no hope for him."

He then took a bit of cake and offered it to a little poodle that was sitting on its hind legs, begging and moving its paws.

"Billy!" cried a lady's voice through the garden.

The dog Billy, however, did not attend, but continued to show his devotion to Mr. Hummel, who, having a greater tenderness for dogs than for men, was feeding him.

The actress came up hastily.

"I beg of you not to give the naughty animal any cake,--there are almonds in it," said the actress, pushing the dog away.

"A pretty dog," replied Mr. Hummel, sitting down.

"If you only knew how clever he was," said the lady; "he knows all kinds of tricks. Show the gentleman what you have learnt, Billy."

She held her parasol out: Billy sprang lightly over it, and bounded into the lap of Mr. Hummel, where he wagged his tail and attempted to lick the friendly gentleman's face.

"He wants to kiss you," said the actress. "You should be proud of that, for he does not do it to everyone."

"It is not every one who would like it," replied Mr. Hummel, stroking the little fellow.

"Do not be troublesome to the gentleman, Billy," said the lady, reprovingly.

Mr. Hummel arose and presented the dog to her, which would not desist from his attempts to kiss and lick the face of the worthy citizen.

"He is a simple-hearted creature," said Mr. Hummel, "and is the same color as my dog Spitehahn."

The actress fondled the dog in her arms.

"The rogue is very much spoilt; he creeps into my m.u.f.f when I go to the theatre, and I am obliged to take him with me. I was lately frightened to death on his account; for once, while I was lamenting as Clara among the citizens, Billy had run out of the green-room and, standing between the curtains, began to wag his tail and caper about on his hind legs."

"That must have been very pathetic," said Mrs. Hummel.

"I moved about more than usual," replied the actress, "and at every turn in the scene I had to call out, 'Lie down, Billy.'"

"Excellent," nodded Mr. Hummel; "always presence of mind."

"To-day I am thankful to the naughty little creature, though,"

continued the actress, "for he has afforded me the opportunity of making the acquaintance of my neighbors. Mr. Hummel, I believe?"

Mr. Hummel bowed awkwardly. The actress turned to the ladies with a bow, and the latter answered her greeting silently.

There was much in the lady that pleased Mr. Hummel. She was pretty, had a gay and cheerful countenance, and wore something on her bonnet with which he was personally acquainted. He therefore moved a chair towards her and said, with another bow:

"Will you not have the kindness to take a seat?"

The actress bowed in accepting it, and, turning to Laura, said:

"I rejoice to be able to approach you at last. You are no stranger to me, and you have often given me great pleasure, and I am glad to be able to-day to thank you for it."

"Where was it?" asked Laura, embarra.s.sed.

"Where you would certainly never have thought of it," replied the other. "I have keen eyes, and over the footlights I observe the face of every spectator. You cannot imagine how painful that is to me sometimes. As you are always in the same seat, it has often been a great pleasure to me to rest my eyes on your features and observe their interested expression; and more than once, without your knowing it, I have acted for you alone."

"Ha!" thought Laura, "it is Venus." But she felt a chord had been struck which gave out a pure tone. She told the actress how unwillingly she missed any of the plays in which she acted, and that in their house the first question, when they received the new bill of the play, was whether the lady was going to act.

This gave the mother an opportunity of entering into the conversation.

The actress spoke warmly of the kindness with which she had everywhere been received. "For the greatest charm of our art is the secret friends that we gain by our acting--people whom otherwise one perhaps never sees, whose names one does not know, yet who take an interest in our life. Then, if by accident one becomes acquainted with these kindly strangers, it is a rich compensation for all the sufferings of our vocation, among which the intrusive homage of common persons is perhaps the greatest."

It was clear she could not reckon the homage of the Doctor among these sufferings.

While the ladies were thus talking together, and Mr. Hummel listened with approbation, some gentlemen approached the table. Mrs. Hummel politely greeted the second tenor, who had once sung for her at the G.o.dmother's house, and the worthy father of the stage, who knew Mr.

Hummel at the club, began a conversation with him concerning the building of a new theatre. On this subject Mr. Hummel had, as a citizen, a very decided opinion, in which the worthy father quite agreed.

In this way the two parties mingled together, and the table of Mr.

Hummel became a centre round which the children of Thalia thronged.

While the actress was talking with Mrs. Hummel in a very creditable and domestic manner of the inconveniences of her dwelling, Laura glanced at the Doctor. He was standing some steps from the party, leaning against a tree, looking thoughtfully before him. Laura suddenly moved towards him, and began speaking rapidly: "My father has offended you. I beg your forgiveness."

The Doctor looked up. "It does not pain me," said he, kindly; "I know his way."

"I have talked to her," continued Laura, with trembling voice; "she is clever and amiable, and has an irresistible charm of manner."

"Who?" asked the Doctor; "the actress?"

"Do not attempt concealment with me," continued Laura; "that is unnecessary between us; there is no one on earth who wishes for your happiness more than I do. You need not trouble yourself about others shaking their heads; if you are sure of the love of the lady, all the rest is a secondary consideration."

The Doctor became more and more astonished. "But I do not wish to marry the lady."

"Do not deny it, Fritz Hahn; that ill becomes your truthful nature,"

rejoined Laura pa.s.sionately; "I see how well the lady suits you. Since I have seen her, I feel convinced that she is capable of appreciating all that is good and great. Do not hesitate, but venture courageously to seek her heart. Yet I am so troubled about you, Fritz. Your feelings are warm and your judgment sound, but you cling too firmly to that which surrounds you. I tremble, therefore, lest you should make yourself unhappy by not deciding at the right moment upon a course which will appear strange to your family. I know you from my early childhood, and I am sure that your danger always has been to forget yourself for others. You might pa.s.s a self-sacrificing existence, which I cannot bear to think of. For I desire that all happiness should be your portion, as your upright heart deserves." Tears coursed down her cheeks, as she looked lovingly upon him.

Every word that she spoke sounded to the Doctor like the trilling of a lark and the chirrup of the cricket. He spoke softly to her: "I do not love the lady; I have never thought of uniting her future with mine."

Laura drew back, and a bright color suffused her face.

"It is a pa.s.sing acquaintance, nothing more either for her or me; her life belongs to art, and can hardly adapt itself to quiet domestic habits. If I could venture to seek a heart for myself, it would not be hers, but that of another." He looked towards the table, from whence at that moment there came a loud laugh, evidently of Mr. Hummel, and spoke the last words so low that they scarcely reached Laura's ear, and he looked sorrowfully down on the buds of the elderbush in which the young blossoms still lay hidden.

Laura stood motionless, as if touched by the wand of a magician, but the tears still continued to flow down her cheeks. She came very near touching to her lips the cherry of her philopena legend.

Then the merry c.o.c.kchafers hummed round her, the actress nodded smilingly to her, and her father called her:--the fairy tale was at an end. Laura heard the actress say triumphantly to the Doctor, "He offered me a chair, he is no growling bear after all. And he was so kind to Billy."

When Fritz returned home, he threw off his hat and overcoat, rushed to his writing-table, and took up the little letters in the unknown hand.

"It is she," he cried, aloud, "fool that I was to doubt it for one moment." He read all the letters again, and nodded at each. It was his own high-minded, n.o.ble maiden who had before disguised herself, now she had shown herself to him as she really was. He waited impatiently for the hour when he should meet her at their friend's. She entered late, greeted him quietly, and was more silent and gentle than usual. When she turned to him she spoke seriously, as to a trusted friend. Her quiet composure became her well. Now she showed herself to him as she was, a refined mind full of true enthusiasm. Prudery and sportive moods had only been the sh.e.l.l that, had concealed the sweet kernel. The una.s.sumed caution, too, with which she concealed her feelings among her friends, delighted him. When the next ballad should come, then she would speak to him as she felt, or she would give him permission to write openly to her. The next morning the Doctor counted the minutes till the arrival of the postman. He tore open the door and hastened to meet the man. Fritz received a letter, he broke the cover impatiently, there was not a line from his correspondent; he unfolded the old printed sheet, and read the words of a coa.r.s.e baccha.n.a.lian ditty:

"On the spit with ox and pig, Clear the green for reel and jig, Wine and rhyme and wa.s.sail-shout, Pa.s.s the flowing bowl about!"

So the honest, simple-minded Doctor asked again: Is it she? or is it possible that it is not?