The Progressionists, and Angela. Part 19

The young lady cast a quick glance at Seraphin, and the brim of her teacup concealed a proud, triumphant smile.

"Our city is about taking a bold step," said Carl, breaking the silence. "We are to have common schools, in order to take education from the control of the clergy." And he went on to relate what Schwefel had reported.

"When is the barbecue to come off?" inquired Mr. Conrad.

"On the 10th of August."

"Perhaps I shall have time to attend this demonstration," said Gerlach.

"Hearts reveal themselves at such festivities. One gets a clear insight into the mind of the mult.i.tude. You, Louise, have put progress under obligations by so cheerfully advancing to meet it."

After these words the landholder rose and went to his room. The next morning he proceeded on his journey, taking with him Seraphin's diary.

The author himself he left at the Palais Greifmann in anxious uncertainty about future events.

CHAPTER IX.

FAITH AND SCIENCE OF PROGRESS.

Seraphin usually look an early ride with Carl. The banker was overjoyed at the wager, about the winning of which he now felt absolute certainty. He expressed himself confident that before long he would have the pleasure of going over the road on the back of the best racer in the country. "The n.o.ble animals," said he, "shall not be brought by the railway; it might injure them. I shall send my groom for them to Chateau Hallberg. He can ride the distance in two days."

Seraphin could not help smiling at his friend's solicitude for the horses.

"Do not sell the bear's skin before killing the bear," answered he. "I may not lose the horses, but may, on the contrary, acquire a pleasant claim to twenty thousand florins."

"That is beyond all possibility," returned the banker. "Hans Shund is now chief-magistrate, has been nominated to the legislature, and in a few days will be elected. Mr. Hans will appear as a shining light to-morrow, when he is to state his political creed in a speech to his const.i.tuents. Of course, you and I shall go to hear him. Next will follow his election, then my groom will hasten to Chateau Hallberg to fetch the horses. Are you sorry you made the bet?"

"Not at all! I should regret very much to lose my span of bays. Still, the bet will be of incalculable benefit to me. I will have learned concerning men and manners what otherwise I could never have dreamed of. In any event, the experience gained will be of vast service to me during life.

"I am exceedingly glad to know it, my dear fellow," a.s.sured Greifmann.

"Your acquaintance with the present has been very superficial. You have learned a great deal in a few days, and it is gratifying to hear you acknowledge the fact."

The banker had not, however, caught Gerlach's meaning.

But for the wager, Seraphin would not have become acquainted with Louise's intellectual standpoint. He would probably have married her for the sake of her beauty, would have discovered his mistake when it could not be corrected, and would have found himself condemned to spend his life with a woman whose principles and character could only annoy and give him pain. As it was, he was tormented by the fear that his father might not coincide in his opinion of the young lady. What if the old gentleman considered her hostility to religion as a mere fashionable mania unsupported by inner conviction, a girlish whim changeable like the wind, which with little effort might be made to veer round to the point or the most unimpeachable orthodoxy? He had not uttered a word condemning Louise's infatuation about Renan. On taking leave he had parted with her in a friendly, almost hearty, manner, proof sufficient that the young lady's doubtful utterances at tea had not deceived him.

Upon reaching home, Gerlach sat in his room with his eyes thoughtfully fixed upon a luminous square cast by the sun upon the floor. Quite naturally his thoughts ran upon the marriage, and to the prospect of having to maintain his liberty by hard contest with his inflexible parent. He was unshaken in his resolution not to accede to the projected alliance, and, when a will morally severe conceives resolutions of this sort, they usually stand the hardest tests. So absorbing were his reflections that he did not hear John announcing a visitor. He nodded mechanically in reply to the words that seemed to come out of the distance, and the servant disappeared.

Soon after a country girl appeared entrance of the room. In both hands she was carrying a small basket made of peeled willows, quite new. A snow-white napkin was spread over the basket. The girl's dress was neat, her figure was slender and graceful. Her hair, which was wound about the head in heavy plaits, was golden and encircled her forehead as with a _nimbus_. Her features were delicate and beautiful, and she looked upon the young gentleman with a pair of deep-blue eyes. Thus stood she for an instant in the door of the apartment. There was a smile about her mouth and a faint flush upon her cheeks.

"Good-morning, Mr. Seraphin!" said a sweet voice.

The youth started at this salutation and looked at the stranger with surprise. She was just then standing on the sunlit square, her hair gleamed like the purest gold, and a flood of light streamed upon her youthful form. He did not return the greeting. He looked at her as if frightened, rose slowly, and bowed in silence.

"My father sends some early grapes which he begs you to have the goodness to accept."

She drew nearer, and he received the basket from her hand.

"I am very thankful!" said he. And, raising the napkin, the delicious fruit smiled in his face. "These are a rarity this season. To whom am I indebted for this friendly attention?"

"The obligation is all on our side, Mr. Seraphin," she replied trustfully to the generous benefactor of her family. "Father is sorry that he cannot offer you something better."

"Ah! you are Holt's daughter?"

"Yes, Mr. Seraphin."

"Your name is Johanna, is it not?"

"Mechtild, Mr. Seraphin."

"Will you be so good as to sit down?" And he pointed her to a sofa.

Mechtild, however, drew a chair and seated herself.

He had noted her deportment, and could not but marvel at the graceful action, the confiding simplicity, and well-bred self-possession of the extraordinary country girl. As she sat opposite to him, she looked so pure, so trusting and sincere, that his astonishment went on increasing. He acknowledged to himself never to have beheld eyes whose expression came so directly from the heart--a heart whose interior must be equally as sunny and pure.

"How are your good parents?"

"They are very well, Mr. Seraphin. Father has gone to work with renewed confidence. The sad--ah! the terrible period is past. You cannot imagine, Mr. Seraphin, how many tears you have dried, how much misery you have relieved!"

The recollection of the ruin that had been hanging over her home affected her painfully; her eyes glistened, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. But she instantly repressed the emotion, and exhibited a beautiful smile on her face. Seraphin's quick eye had observed both the momentary feeling, and that she had resolutely checked it in order not to annoy him by touching sorrowful chords. This trait of delicacy also excited the admiration of the gentleman.

"Your father is not in want of employment?" he inquired with interest.

"No, sir! Father is much sought on account of his knowledge of farming.

Persons who have ground, but no team of their own, employ him to put in crops for them."

"No doubt the good man has to toil hard?"

"That is true, sir; but father seems to like working, and we children strive to help him as much as we can."

"And do you like working?"

"I do, indeed, Mr. Seraphin. Life would be worthless if one did not labor. Man's life on earth is so ordered as to show him that he must labor. Doing nothing is abominable, and idleness is the parent of many vices."

Another cause of astonishment for the millionaire. She did not converse like an uneducated girl from the country. Her accurate, almost choice use of words indicated some culture, and her concise observations revealed both mind and reflection. He felt a strong desire to fathom the mystery--to cast a glance into Mechtild's past history.

"Have you always lived at home, or have you ever been away at school?"

She must have detected something ludicrous in the question, for suddenly a degree of archness might be observed in her amiable smile.

"You mean, whether I have received a city education? No, sir! Father used to speak highly of the clearness of my mind, and thought I might even be made a teacher. But he had not the means to give me the necessary amount of schooling. Until I was fourteen years old, I went to school to the nuns here in town. I used to come in of mornings and go back in the evening. I studied hard, and father and mother always had the satisfaction of seeing me rewarded with a prize at the examinations. I am very fond of books, and make good use of the convent library. On Sundays, after vespers, I wait till the door of the book-room is opened. I still spend my leisure time in reading, and on Sundays and holidays I know no greater pleasure than to read nice instructive books. At my work I think over what I have read, and I continue practising composition according to the directions of the good ladies of the convent."

"And were you always head at school?"

"Yes," she admitted, with a blush.