I don't like having to own that General von Erlanger went a little too far in saying that nothing could frighten me. The terms in which he had spoken of the Patriotic movement and his reference to its compassionless sacrifice of victims disturbed me profoundly.
I passed a sleepless, tumbling, anxious night; and if it be fear to conjure up all kinds of possible horrors, to shrink at the thought that even my life might be in danger, and to lie wincing and cringing and shuddering at the prospect of cruelty and torture, then certainly I was horribly frightened.
I was a prey to bitter unavailing regret that I had so lightly and thoughtlessly set out on a path which had led me to such a pass and brought me face to face with such powerful, terrifying, and implacable adversaries.
The temptation to run away from it all seized upon me with such force that I sought in all directions for reasons which would justify cowardice and clothe it with the robe of prudence. But my fears were confronted by the conviction that I had gone too far to be able to retreat without deserting Gareth; and at that my alarm took the shape of hot but impotent indignation at my lack of foresight.
Then my sense of honour and my fear had a struggle over that sweet, innocent, trustful, child, in which all that was mean and ignoble and cowardly in my disposition fought to persuade me to desert her; and before the night was half over had all but conquered.
I was tired of playing a man's part; and in those hours of weakness, the sense of responsibility was so cruelly heavy and the desire to be only a girl and just rush away from it all so strong, that once I actually jumped from my bed and began to dress myself with feverish eagerness to leave the house and fly from the city.
But I had not even the courage of my cowardice. The recollection of that sneer of Count Gustav's—that while my name still bore the stain I was not even the equal of such a woman as Madame d'Artelle stayed me. I tore off my clothes again and crept back into bed, to lie shivering at the consciousness that if I was afraid to go through with my purpose, I was even more afraid to run away from it.
I grew calmer after a while. I put aside as mere hysterical nonsense the idea that my life could be in danger. They had not even taken my father's life. If they found me in their way, they might devise some excuse for imprisoning me. That was probably the worst that could happen. It had been in General von Erlanger's mind; and he had promised to secure my liberty. I knew I could trust myself to him.
By reflections of this kind I wrestled with my weakness and at length overcame it; and in the end fell asleep, no longer a coward, but fully resolved to carry my purpose through and fight all I knew to win.
In the morning I began at once to carry out my plan. I sent a servant to ask Madame d'Artelle if she could spare Ernestine to come and help me.
Instead of Ernestine, Madame herself came—as I had anticipated, indeed. She found me in all the middle of packing; my frocks and things spread all over the room, and my trunks open.
"What does this mean, Christabel?" she asked.
"You can see for yourself. I have had enough of plots and schemes to last my life time. I jumped up in the night and half-dressed to run away. I was so scared."
"You are going away?" Relief and pleasure were in her tone.
I laughed unpleasantly. "You need not be glad."
"I am not glad," she replied, untruthfully.
"I am putting the work into stronger hands. That's all."
"You said you could protect me."
"I have done that. Count Gustav promised as much to me yesterday. You are free to leave Pesth at once if you like. You need not marry his brother unless you wish. And after to-day, not even if you wish. Is Ernestine coming to help me?"
"I wish you would speak plainly. You always frighten me with your vague speeches. You seem to mean so much."
"I do mean very much—far more than I shall tell you. You have been no friend to me—why should I explain? Take your own course; and see what comes of it. Is Ernestine coming, I say?"
"Yes, of course she can come; but I am so frightened."
"That will do you no harm," I rapped out, bluntly. "I wash my hands of everything."
"What am I to do?" she cried, waving her hands helplessly.
"I arranged yesterday with Count Gustav that the scheme for this romantic elopement should be carried out. You can play your part for all I care. The chief thing you can do for me is to send Ernestine here."
"But I——"
"Will you send her here?" and I stamped my foot angrily, and so drove her out of the room in the condition of nervous doubt and anxiety I desired.
With the maid's help my trunks were soon packed, and the work was nearly finished when Madame d'Artelle came back.
"Count Gustav is here," she said.
"Very well. You can close that box, Ernestine, and try to pack this toque in the top of the black one. You got everything I said for the voyage in the cabin trunk."
"He insists on seeing you, Christabel."
"I'll come down when I've finished." I spoke irritably. Irritation is the natural result of a couple of hours' packing.
Everything was ready when I went downstairs.
"I hear you are going away, Miss——"
"Gilmore," I broke in, giving him a look.
"I congratulate you on your—prudence." He too, like Madame d'Artelle, was obviously both relieved and pleased at the news.
"You need not smile at it. I am not doing it to please you, Count Gustav."
"I wish to ask you a question if Madame d'Artelle——" and he paused and looked at her.
"I don't see the need of all this mystery," she answered, tossing her head as she left the room.
"Please be quick," I said, snappishly. "I am both in a hurry and a bad temper—a trying combination even for a woman of my disposition."
"You have not slept well, perhaps."
"No. I had to think. What is your question?"
"About Gareth?"
"I shall not answer it," I said shortly, and frowned as though the subject were particularly unwelcome and disturbing.
"I think I can understand;" he answered believing he could read my mood. "And about Karl and Madame?"
"I have not forgotten your sneer. I will not disgrace him." I spoke with as much bitterness and concentrated anger as I could simulate, and was pleased by the covert smile my words produced, although I appeared to be goaded to anger by it.
"I will tell you one thing. She shall not either. By to-morrow some one will be here from Paris who will see to that."
"That may be too late."
"No. You dare not do anything to-day. You dare not," I exclaimed, passionately.
"You have told that to Madame?"
"No. She is nothing to me."
"You are very bitter."
"Again, no. You have only made me indifferent;" and as if I could bear no more, I hurried out of the room. I knew as well as if he had told me that the effect of my words would be to drive him to use the time of grace I had left him.
I did not wait to see Madame d'Artelle, but had my trunks placed in a fly and, taking Ernestine with me, drove to the depôt. She took my ticket for Paris, saw to the labelling of my luggage, settled me in my compartment, and waited me with until the train started. I wished the proof of my departure to be quite clear.
But on the Hungarian railways the trains do not run long distances without stopping; and at the first station I got out and returned to Pesth. I was back in my house with Gareth before one o'clock, and had already seen James Perry, who had returned, and arranged one of my next moves.
A wire was sent to Paris to a friend of his requesting that a telegram be despatched as from M. Constans, saying that he would be in Pesth that evening at nine o'clock, and would come straight to Madame d'Artelle's house.
That telegram was the weapon with which I intended to frighten Madame away from Pesth in order that I might take her place.
I had one more preparation to make. I wrote out orders dismissing the men servants at the house, "Unter den Linden," and signed them "Karl von Ostelen," taking great care over the signatures. These I gave to Perry together with money for any wages they might claim, and instructed him to drive with his son to the house after dusk.
I told him I should arrive there later in the evening in a carriage; and that if the men in charge of it attempted to stable the horses there, he was to say that the Count's orders were that they should not remain. After that he and his son were to be in the house: to say nothing about me to any women servants, and to act just as I directed.
Poor little Gareth was more impatient than ever at the lack of news; but I pacified her by saying I expected to have some on the following day; and to escape her somewhat fretful questionings, I pleaded a bad headache and went to my room and lay down.
I needed rest after my broken night, and succeeded in getting to sleep for two hours. I awoke greatly refreshed; and although I was excited at the prospect of the evening's work, I felt very fit and ready to face any emergencies. I was quite able now to laugh at my cowardice of the previous night.
"What news is it you expect, Christabel?" was the question with which Gareth greeted me when I went down to her. "I have been thinking of it ever since you told me."
"To find Count von Ostelen, of course."
"How are you going to find him? Do tell me."
"I was governess to the daughters of General von Erlanger, his Excellency the Minister, you know, Gareth. I saw him last night: I was at his house; and I know he can find the Count if any one can. That reminds me. I was to write to him."
I had forgotten his Excellency's injunction to send him a daily message. I took a visiting card and scribbled on the back "Quite well" over my initials, and was giving it to James Perry to take when an extra precaution occurred to me.
"You will see the General yourself with this," I told him; "but you will not let his servants know from whom you come. I can't tell you everything; but something has occurred which makes it necessary for me to send a message every day to General von Erlanger. If I forget it, you must remind me; for you are always to carry it; and always to see the General yourself. Tell him to-day that I have arranged it so. And listen carefully to this—if anything should happen to me and you think I am in any great difficulty, or trouble, or danger—don't look scared: nothing may come of it all—but if I am, then you are to go at once to General von Erlanger and tell him all you know."
He was an excellent servant; but well trained as he was, he could not suppress his curiosity and surprise.
"We have always been faithful, miss; mayn't I ask whether——"
"No, not yet. If there is need, I shall tell you—because I trust you as fully as I trust your father and mother, and I have a very high opinion of your courage and ability. At present, you have only to remember what I have told you to do."
Gareth was very inquisitive about my movements when, as the dusk fell, I began to prepare for the work in hand. She plied me with prattling questions; why I was at such pains over my dressing; why I took a large cloak on a night comparatively warm; what the thick muffling veil was for; and she gave a little cry of terror when her sharp eyes caught sight of the revolver which I tried to slip into my pocket unnoticed.
"You are such a strange girl, Christabel," she said.
"Every one tells me that; but I generally get there."
"'Get there?' What is that?"
"An Americanism, dear, for gaining your own end."
"Are all American girls like you?" she laughed.
"Luckily for them, perhaps, no. I'm from the Middle West and we have more freedom there than in the Old World."
"Do you all go about in thick cloaks with heavy veils and carrying arms?"
"Gareth, no," I laughed. "We only do these things in fancy dress balls."
"Are you going to one to-night? Oh, I didn't know."
"It's only a masquerade to-night—and this is to be the cloak over my costume."
"Oh, Christabel dear, why didn't you tell me? But you've a walking dress underneath."
"I am going to start for the masquerade from the other house."
"Will there be dancing? Oh, I wish I could go."
"No, no dancing; but I guess the band will play."
"I love music," she cried, not understanding slang; and I didn't explain it.
"I wish you weren't going, Christabel," she said, kissing me when I was ready to start.
"It will be a long evening and I may wish that too before it's over," I replied, with a feeling that that might well be so.
"You will be here with the news at the earliest possible moment to-morrow, won't you, dear? I am so weary of waiting."
"I hope I shall be successful and have good news to bring you."
"I am sure you will. I have such faith in you, Christabel."
She kissed me and with my cloak on my arm and those words ringing in my ears, I set out upon the risky business before me.
It was only to be expected that as I approached Madame d'Artelle's house I should be nervously uneasy lest the main foundation of my new plan should have collapsed.
I had built everything on the assumption that Count Gustav would induce his brother to carry out the original scheme of marrying Madame d'Artelle by stealth. I had threatened to bring her husband to Pesth on the following day; and since he knew as well as she seemed to, that M. Constans' arrival would put an absolute end to Madame's usefulness as a tool, I calculated that he would lose no effort to make use of her forthwith.
It was obvious, however, that my absence put an end to the reason for secrecy; and it was therefore quite on the cards that Karl might have been brought to Madame d'Artelle's house and some kind of ceremony have been already performed there. I should look a good many sorts of a fool if I walked into the house to find them already married.
Peter opened the door and gave a great start of surprise at seeing me.
"Madame is in?" I asked, in as casual a tone as I could assume.
"Yes, miss. She is in, but she is going out. We thought you had left, miss."
"It's all right, Peter. I'll go up to Madame. She is probably in her room, dressing."
"Yes, miss; with Ernestine; but——"
"Don't trouble. You need not tell any one I have come back;" and I gave him a golden reason for silence. "Hide the fact of my presence and do what I wish, and there will be several more of these to follow."
"I am always anxious to please you, miss."
"I wish to see Madame quite alone; can you make an excuse to call Ernestine downstairs?"
He was a shrewd fellow enough in his way. We went upstairs and I waited in an adjoining room while he called Ernestine out and the two went down together.
As soon as they had gone I opened Madame's door and entered.
"Come, Ernestine, I want you. What do you mean by going away like that?" she said crossly, not seeing me.
"Perhaps I can help you, Henriette. Ernestine is busy downstairs;" and I locked the door behind me.
"Christabel! You?"
"I have had to come back to keep my word and save you. You are in great danger. M. Constans must have picked up the scent of the inquiries I made recently. I have this telegram;" and I put into her hands the telegram which I had received from Paris.
I thought she was going to faint. The man must have had some great hold over her; for she was certainly overwhelmed with deadly fear. She stared with horror-struck eyes at the paper as though it reeked with the threat of instant death. Then she turned to glare at me, with not a vestige of colour on her face.
"Nom de Dieu, he will kill me. He will kill me;" she said, in a low, strained, husky whisper, as she fell into a chair, and began to gasp and choke hysterically.
"I know nothing about that," I said, callously; "but if you make a fool of yourself in that way, you will have no time left to get out of his reach. If you want to die, you had better faint now. However, I've done with you;" and I turned toward the door.
"Don't go, Christabel, for the love of heaven don't leave me. I can't think for myself. Oh, don't leave me," she cried. "What shall I do?"
"As he's your husband I should think you ought to stay and meet him. This was sent off from the railway station, you see, and I find his train reaches here just before nine. He'll just be in time for the ceremony to-night."
"Oh, don't, don't, don't," she wailed. "Don't mock me like that. Don't be so hard. Help me. Do, do! I tell you, he'll kill me. I know he will. He tried to once before. You don't want to see me murdered. You can't. Oh Christabel, dear Christabel, say what I had better do."
"If you'll be sensible, I'll help you. You can get away without the least difficulty. Luckily your trunks are all packed, and as the mail for Breslau and Berlin leaves at half-past eight, you can be away before his train arrives. But you must be quick. You have only half an hour, and had better get your luggage away at once with Ernestine."
"How clever you are," she cried; and forthwith began to finish her dressing with feverish haste, her one thought now to fly.
I called up Ernestine, who started on seeing me as though I were a ghost. I explained that urgent reasons had caused her mistress to change her plans; and before Madame d'Artelle had finished dressing, the baggage was on its way to the station.
"What will you do about things here, Henriette?"
"I don't know. I don't care. In face of this I can do nothing."
"Count Karl will be disappointed and his brother angry."
"My life is in danger, would you have me think of anything else? Mother of Heaven, do you think I will be murdered to please a hundred counts?"
"Some one must see to things."
"Let me only get away and I care for nothing else." This was precisely the mood I desired her to be in. She was literally fear-possessed, and flight had become the one all-absorbing passionate desire.
I said no more until we were in the fly hurrying to the station. I meant to see the last of her.
"What of to-night's business—Count Karl?"
"I care nothing. The carriage will come for me and can go away again. I value my life. Holy Virgin, how slow the cab goes. We shall miss the train; I know we shall. And then?" her fear passed beyond words, and the sentence remained unfinished. "If he finds and kills me, my death will be at your door. You have brought him here."
"Why are you so afraid of him? He may be only coming to make peace with you and come to an understanding."
"Peace? The peace a tiger makes with a lamb. I know him."
She did not quite fit my idea of a lamb—except in her terror, perhaps; and about that there could be no mistake.
"Shall you come back to Pesth?" I asked.
"Am I insane, do you mean, when he knows the very name I have here?
"What about the servants, then? Paying them, I mean?"
"Let them go to Count Gustav. Thank heaven, here is the station," she cried, and the instant the vehicle stopped she got out and asked excitedly for the mail to Berlin.
There were some five minutes to spare, but she had bundled Ernestine into the carriage and was following when I stopped her.
"One question, Henriette? How is it that as I was out of the way the ceremony fixed for to-night did not take place earlier in the day?
"Don't stop me, the train may start. He could not be induced to get drunk enough; that's all." She said it almost viciously as she scrambled into the carriage.
I waited until the train started and then drove back to the house. I had to settle matters there with the servants. It would not suit my plans for them to go to Count Gustav with the story of this hurried flight.
I took Peter into the salon.
"You are a man of discretion, and your mistress and I both rely upon you, Peter. You know that Madame was contemplating a journey and at the last moment her plans have been hurried by news which I brought her."
"It is not for us servants to ask what our employers do, miss," he said, very respectfully. Part of the respect may have been due to the fact that I had laid some notes and gold on the table.
"The house will be shut up for a month, Peter; and all the servants except yourself, will leave. And they will leave to-night. You understand—to-night. I trust you to see to this. Go and find out what wages are due. This money is to pay them double that amount. I will settle with you afterwards. I do not wish them to know I am in the house."
He scented more reward, and went off with the important air of a major-domo; and on his return I gave him the necessary money.
"I shall pay you what is due to you, Peter, and give you three months' wages in addition. You will see the house locked up to-night and send the keys to me to this address, and let me know where I can write to you. But you can take another situation at once if you wish;" and I gave him the address of the first house I had taken.
That I was able to think of all these small details at such a time has often been a cause of some surprise—and I think of satisfaction. I have always rather prided myself upon my capacity to concentrate my thoughts upon the matter of the moment: to think in compartments, so to speak: and to throw myself thoroughly into the part which I was playing for the time. I was just as cool and collected in all this as though the settlement of the servants' wages was the only thing I had then to do or think of.
"I think that is all, Peter; I am leaving directly. I have a carriage coming for me; and when I go, you will see that none of the other servants are about."
"The servants are already upstairs packing their things, miss," he replied. "I will watch for the carriage and let you know."
When he left me, I walked up and down the room in busy thought. So far as I could see, my preparations were now complete. Count Gustav believed I had left the city; I had frightened Madame d'Artelle away; I had cut off the chance of his discovering her absence; and the only risk of such discovery would be at the moment when he brought Karl to the carriage.
There would not be much risk then, if I did not give myself away. I recalled Madame's words about Karl—"He could not be induced to get drunk enough," for the matter to go through earlier in the day. He was thus to be drugged now; and when he joined me, would be too stupefied to recognize me.
Then a question occurred. What would Count Gustav do as soon as he thought his brother had gone? Had he planned a marriage ceremony similar to the farce he had played with Gareth? If so, did he mean to be present at it to make sure his plan succeeded? Would he enter the carriage with Karl to drive to the house? Or would he be content to trust the work to the man he might hit upon to play the part of priest?
Wait—would it be a real priest; and so was it a real marriage he contemplated? And I was puzzling myself with little problems of the kind, when Peter came to say the carriage was waiting.
Leaving all these difficulties to be solved as they arose, I arranged my thick veil and throwing the cloak over my shoulders, hurried out. A footman stood by the carriage door, and I was glad I had thought to put the veil on before leaving the house.
He touched his hat, closed the door, climbed to the box, and we started at a smart pace. For good or ill I was now committed to the matter, and there was no drawing back.
Nor had I any thought or wish except to go through with it. My heart was beating more rapidly than usual, and I was excited; but not frightened. On the contrary, I was full of confidence, full of belief that I was doing the right thing, let the risk to myself be what it might; and convinced that I was taking not only the surest but the shortest road to the end I had in view.
On one thing I was resolved. Count Gustav must not recognize me. That was all in all to me at that moment. If he did, I saw clearly the use he could make of that knowledge.
Not only could he blacken my reputation by saying I had run away with Karl; but he could also use the fact with telling force against Karl himself—that he had married the daughter of Colonel von Dreschler, the murderer of Count Stephen.
Such a thing would suit his plans far better than the complication with Madame d'Artelle, a mere adventuress, with whom no marriage was legally possible. If he but knew it, I was thus playing right into his hands. But then he did not, and should not know it, until it was too late to be of use to him. He would spread about the story of Karl's marriage to Madame d'Artelle, only to find that she was on her way hot speed to Berlin at the very time.
And when the time came for the truth to be told—well, I had my plans already laid for his own exposure; and they would keep him busy defending himself.
The carriage rattled through the streets, covering quickly the short distance to the rendezvous in the Radialstrasse; and when it drew up I peered out eagerly through the closed window, and then saw that which gave me a profound surprise.
A tall man sauntered past the carriage, scrutinizing it with great earnestness; and as the light from one of the lamps shone on his face, I recognized Colonel Katona.
What could be the meaning of his presence at such a time? Was it more than coincidence? It could not be that. He was a recluse, and rarely if ever left his house to walk in the city. Why should he choose such a night, and such a time, and above all such a place?
I shrank back into the corner of my seat perplexed and anxious—seeking eagerly but vainly for some reason for this most unexpected development. As I sat thus waiting, I saw him presently pass again, retracing his steps, and scrutinizing the carriage as closely as before. This time he came nearer to the window and tried to peer inside.
A minute afterwards I heard a name called in a brief sharp tone of authority; the footman jumped from the box and opened the door, and I squeezed myself as far from it as possible, as Count Gustav came up, his arm through that of Karl, who was very unsteady and walked with staggering lurching steps.
It was easy to see that if Karl was helpless with liquor, his brother was both pale and agitated. His face was very set; and as he approached, I noticed him glance sharply about him twice—the second time with a start of what I read to be satisfaction.
He made no attempt to enter the carriage, much to my relief: and not a word was spoken by any of us beyond a few guttural incoherencies by Karl, as with his brother's help he stumbled into the carriage and sat lolling fatuously, his breathing stertorous and heavy with the drink.
The door was slammed, the footman sprang up, and as the carriage wheeled round I saw Colonel Katona again. This time he came out of the gloom and spoke to Count Gustav.
I had no time to see more; but the list of surprises was not completed yet.
We had not driven a hundred yards before Karl sat up, seemed to shake off his stupor, and laughed lazily.
"Well, Henriette, here we are—off at last. But I wonder what in the devil's name is going to happen next?"
He was neither drunk nor drugged, then; but merely acting. I almost cried out in my astonishment and relief.
But what did it all mean?
I was so astonished at this turn of matters that I squeezed myself up into as small a space as possible in the corner of the carriage, a prey to completely baffling perplexity.
The sense of shame with which I had followed his shambling, drunken movements, as he was helped into the vehicle, gave way to a feeling at first of relief, and then of pleasure—both feelings mingled with consummate dismay.
Now that he was in possession of his senses, how was I to act toward him? Under the influence of either opium or drink, he would have been easy enough to deal with; and I could have chosen my own moment to avow myself.
My crude idea had been to get him into the house, let him sleep away the effects, and leave him under the impression that while Madame d'Artelle had been with him in the carriage, I had contrived to get her away. I was not ready to show my hand yet; and a nervous embarrassing fear of what he would think of this act of mine began to possess me.
I was soon worried by another unpleasant thought. While he remained under the impression that I was Madame d'Artelle, I was just an impostor, spying upon the relationship between them, of all parts in the world the most repugnant for me to have to play with him.
"I suppose you're too surprised to speak?" he said presently. "Is anything the matter?"
I made no answer, except to draw even further into my corner. He noticed it and laughed.
"Bit afraid of me, are you? You needn't be. I'm not dangerous, even if I'm not drugged. But I have been any time during the last three-and-thirty hours. You see I haven't seen you, and I haven't touched it ever since yesterday morning."
There was a bitterness in his tone I had not heard in it before; but the words filled me with pleasure.
"Not since midday yesterday, Henriette. Three-and-thirty hours: nearly two thousand minutes: every minute like an hour of hell. You didn't think I'd got the strength, I know. Neither did Gustav. And I suppose I'm only a fool to have done it—an infernal fool, that's all. It's getting easier already; but I'd give ten thousand kronen for a taste now—one little wee taste."
He sat suddenly bolt upright, clenched his fist and flung it out in front of him, and groaned as if the fever of temptation had laid hold of him with irresistible force.
"You don't seem to care," he said, bitterly, turning to me: and then his voice became strained and tense. "But you'd better. You hear that, Henriette, you'd better. You keep it from me or as there's a sky above us I wouldn't trust myself not to kill you."
Impulsively I stretched out my hand and laid it on his arm, as if to calm him. But he shook it off impatiently.
"All that's passed," he cried. "Two thousand hours of hell can change a man. They've changed me. I can see things now, and mean to see more. That's why I've come on this business. That and——" his voice fell and his head drooped, and with his lazy laugh he murmured—"What a fool I am, just because a girl——" The sentence was left unfinished, and his fingers stole to the pocket as if in search of the drug.
"I must smoke or have it. Not 'her sake' nor a million 'her sakes' will keep me from it if I don't. I shall stop the carriage and get it."
He lit a cigar and held the match up, and peered closely at me until the little flame flickered out. Then he leaned back and puffed fiercely, filling the carriage with the smoke, and making me cough. At that, he let down the window on his side sharply and bent forward that the air might blow on his face.
By the light of the street lamps I saw that his face was drawn and lined as if with the pain and passion of the struggle through which he had passed.
"Have we far to go?" he asked, raising his voice in consequence of the noise from the open window. I did not answer, and he shrugged his shoulders. "You're a cheerful companion for a man in my mood," he cried, almost contemptuously, as he closed the window with a shiver of cold.
He leant back in his seat, drew his coat closely about him, and smoked in silence, but with less vehemence. Presently he found the silence oppressive.
"One of us must talk," he said then. "I wonder why I'm here and what the devil will come of it!" he exclaimed, laughing.
I wondered, too, what would come of it; but I held my tongue. I had resolved not to speak during the whole ride if I could avoid it, so as not to reveal myself. And if I could reach the house without his discovering my deception, I saw a way by which I could mislead him.
"What are you wrapped up like that for? Throw your cloak back," he said next, and put out his hand as if to do it. I drew it closer round me. "Then you're not deaf as well as dumb," he laughed. "What's the matter with you? I can find a way to make you speak, I think—or you've been just play-acting ever since I knew you."
He bent toward me until his face was close to my veil. "You're not generally afraid to show your face. And you needn't be, it's pretty enough. You can hear that I know. A pretty woman never had a deaf ear for a truth like that—and it is truth; no more, no less than the truth. It didn't need either opium or drink for me to know that, Henriette—though you plied me with plenty of both for that matter. Can you deny that?"
He paused for me to answer; but I did not; and he leant back in his seat again.
"Yes, you're a beautiful woman, Henriette, and Gustav's a very clever, long-headed fellow—but between you, you made a bad mistake. You should have known better than to conjure up that old past of mine. You shouldn't have had a friend about you with haunting eyes. Heavens, how they haunted me—aye, and haunt me now. Doesn't that make you speak? No? Then I'll tell you more. That girl's eyes killed at a stroke every thought in my mind about you. More than that—it's just for her sake, I've endured all these hours of hell. I can trust you not to tell her that—but it's true, Henriette, just as true as that you're a beautiful woman."
Evidently he looked for some sharp outburst from me, for he spoke in a deliberate, taunting way as if to provoke me. And when I made no sign, he was sorely perplexed.
"You are going to explain a lot of things to me presently—I've come for that and that only—but I'll tell you something first that you don't know. I met that friend of yours yesterday morning when I was riding in the Stadtwalchen. We had quite a long and almost intimate talk, and she took me right back across the years to the past; and by no more than a word, a touch and a glance, she put something between me and the devil I had loved, until I hated it and hated myself for having loved it. And for the sake of what she said, I've been in hell ever since. But she did it; she alone, and I've fought against the cursed thing because of her words and her eyes. God, what it has cost me!" He ended with a weary, heavy sigh.
That in my great gladness at hearing this, I did not betray myself was only due to the strong curb I had put on my feelings. But I had heard his secret by treachery, and now, more than ever, I was eager to keep my identity from him. I longed for the drive to come to an end, and I looked out anxiously to try and see even in the darkness that we were reaching our destination.
"Yes, Henriette, those haunting eyes of hers have saved me, so far," he began again. "Saved me, even when it seemed as if all the fiends in hell were just dragging and forcing me to take it. I didn't. More than once the thing was all but between my lips; but she saved me. But I must see her again, or I shan't hold out. I must hear her voice and feel the touch of her hand. Where is she, Henriette? Where is she? That's one of the questions you shall answer. Gustav says she has gone to Paris. They told me the same at your house to-day—I was there twice, though you didn't know it. And you'll have to tell me that among the other things. You can tell me that now," he said almost fiercely, as he bent toward me again and stretched out a hand as if to seize mine.
I gave up my secret for lost; but the carriage slackened suddenly and with a quick swerve drove into the gates of the house.
Karl let the windows down and peered out curiously; and when the carriage door was opened by the footman, he got out and stood offering me a hand to alight. But I gathered my cloak carefully about me and springing out ran past him and fled into the house and upstairs as fast as I could, whispering to James Perry who had opened the door to come after me presently.
I chose a room at random and locking the door behind me, I flung myself on the bed in the dark, face downwards, and burst into a tempest of hysterical tears.
They were tears of neither pleasure nor grief. They were violent but without passion; and came rather as the swift loosening of the pent strain of excitement during the drive from the city. At least so I thought.
I do not think I had shed a tear since my uncle's death until that moment; and although they gave me intense relief, I remember feeling almost ashamed of myself for my weakness. To cry like a hysterical woman was so out of character with my resolve to play a man's part in this struggle!
The tempest was soon over, and I sat on the side of the bed and took off the veil and threw aside the cloak which had been so valuable a disguise, and was drawing the pins out of my hat when I remembered that I must be careful not to disarrange my hair. I was going to pretend to Karl that I had been in the house all the time; and my appearance must bear out that story.
I groped my way to the dressing-table by the window and fumbled about for a match to get a light of some kind; and finding none, drew up the blind. The moon had risen, and this gave a faint light; but it was not enough for my purpose, so I pulled back the curtain, glancing out as I did so.
The window looked upon the garden in the front, and I stood a moment recalling the plan of the house as I had fixed it in my mind when I had gone over it.
I remembered then what for the instant I had stupidly forgotten; that the electric light was installed, and I was turning away to find the switch, when I caught sight of a man moving in the shrubbery.
I thought at first it might be Karl, smoking, or Perry or his son on watch; but it was not. The figure was much too tall for either of the Perrys; and the movements too stealthy and cautious for Karl.
The light was not sufficient for me to get anything like a clear view of the man; yet as he moved there was something about him that seemed familiar. I watched him with growing interest; and presently, having apparently made sure that he was unobserved, he crossed the moonlit grass quickly to the window of the room that was directly underneath mine.
I recognized him then. It was Colonel Katona.
I threw open my window noisily; and he darted away under the shadow of the trees and hurried out of the garden.
It was no mere chance then that he had been in the Radialstrasse at the moment when the carriage was to be there. Some one had brought him there to be a witness of Karl's escapade. Who had done so, and why? Not Karl; nor Madame d'Artelle; and no one else had known of it but Gustav and myself.
I had seen him speak to Gustav as the carriage wheeled round—wait, I recalled the two furtive glances which Gustav had cast about as he had come up to the carriage with Karl; and the expression of satisfaction after the second of them.
This was Gustav's work, then. And why had he done it? Why had he brought Colonel Katona, of all men in Pesth, to see Karl run away with Madame d'Artelle? Had any other man been picked out, I would have said it was merely that there might be an independent witness. But Colonel Katona—and then the reason seemed to flash into my thoughts, suggesting a scheme subtle and treacherous enough to be worthy of even the worst thoughts I had ever had of Count Gustav.
I thought rapidly how I could put this new idea of mine to the test, and how use it for my own purposes. But before I could decide, I heard hesitating steps in the corridor outside my room. Some one knocked gently at the doors of other rooms and then at mine.
"Are you there, miss?"
It was James Perry's voice. "Yes," I answered; and closing the window and drawing down the blind, I opened the door.
"The gentleman is asking for Madame d'Artelle, miss," he said. "What answer am I to give him?"
"I will take it myself," I replied. I switched on the light and made sure that my hair was all right. "What about the servants, James?" I asked.
"There are two woman servants only, miss; and my father and myself. We did as you said, and sent away a footman who was here."
"You have done very well. If you are asked any more questions about Madame d'Artelle, say that she left the house the moment after the carriage arrived, and that I have been here some hours."
"Yes, miss." He was very perplexed and, I think, troubled. We went downstairs, and he showed me the room where Karl was. It was directly under that in which I had been.
It was to the window of that room, then, I had seen Colonel Katona cross in the moonlight.