The sunny brightness of the day was suddenly interrupted by a thunderstorm, and the evening closed in dark and stormy. Up from the valley and down from the wooded hills thick grey mists came rolling along, and violent showers of rain ensued. It was chilly and disagreeable; and the "corner by the fireside," referred to in the letter of the Princess, seemed no longer to be a mere phrase, but to embody a very natural wish, and one which Hildegard took care to fulfil, by having fires kindled in all the drawing-rooms. There was quite a party at the mansion this evening. An hour after the arrival of the Princess, the sisters of Agatha had come; then the forest-ranger, the HerrOberförster, had turned up, without having brought his ladies, on account of the disagreeable weather, but there had come with him a young gentleman from the Forests and Woods' Department, Herr von Busche, who had been absent for a week, and who, as he laughingly assured them, must try very hard to make up for the many pleasant hours he had lost. He seemed determined to carry this into practice, for he was most indefatigable in suggesting new games and new jests, and kept the four young ladies in constant laughter.
"Qu'y a-t-il de plus beau," said the Princess, talking, as before, now French, now German with equal readiness, "thus to hear, from an adjoining room, the happy laughter of girls, while one is sitting snugly by the fire talking to a friend. The past and the present mingle and separate again, like the red and blue flames among those coals; and sometimes there flashes between them a green one, which we may take for a light giving a glimpse of the future--and indeed it vanishes again very swiftly. How comfortable, how beautiful everything's in your house,ma chère. And how can I thank you enough for admitting me to the full enjoyment of your charming home?"
She had seized both Hildegard's hands as she spoke, and seized them so eagerly that the bracelets on her round white arms jingled.
"I have to thank you, Princess ..."
"For goodness' sake, do not call me that any longer. Say Alexandra, will you not?"
"Will you say Hildegard?"
"Cela va sans dire--Hildegard--a beautiful name--beautiful like her whose it is! What were we talking about? The future, yes, to be sure. Well, there is a glorious future in store for you in your lovely daughter."
"Do you like Erna?"
"Like her?Mon Dieu!only a mother's modesty can ask this. She is simply divine. Not that I never saw more beautiful girls--you see I am quite frank--but there is something in her whole bearing, the way in which she walks or stands, every movement, every gesture, her expression, her smile, her gravity even, there is a grace and a charm about it all which completely bewitch me, woman though I am. How may men feel? Poor men! Poor broken hearts, I pity you!"
"She has scarcely had the chance yet of breaking hearts," replied Hildegard with a smile; "she has only just left school."
"But even very young ladies, I am told, manage sometimes to do it," said the Princess. "I am afraid I broke one or two myself whilst I was at a boarding-school, and it was a strict one, too! But to be serious, have you already chosen for your fair child?"
"Our girls in Germany are wont to claim the right of choice for themselves," replied Hildegard, casting a stolen glance at Bertram, who, walking up and down the saloon with Otto, happened just at that moment to be inconveniently near.
"A bad German peculiarity," said the Princess. "If a girl who does not know the world, does not know men--except her father, of whom she is afraid, and her brothers, whom she thinks ridiculous--is allowed to choose a husband according to the confused illusions of her silly little head--you may bet a hundred to one that the result will be either abêtiseor amalheur--which, according to the saying of the witty Frenchman, are, however, identical terms."
"That is quite my idea, dear--Alexandra," said Hildegard, bending her head with a courteous smile to her new-found friend; "quite my idea!"
"Clever women understand each otherà demi mot," replied Alexandra. "But there are exceptions, and your Erna is such an exception. She would never dream of losing her heart to a man simply because he stands six feet, and knows how to brush himself up and to cut a figure, however confused things may look beneath the smoothly-parted hair, however rotten a heart may beat behind the dainty cambric shirt-front."
Hildegard did not dare to stir; she had noticed that during the last few words of the Princess the Baron had been standing within a couple of steps from them, evidently with the intention of joining them. But as neither lady seemed to see him, or wish to see him, he examined a vase which stood upon a marble table near, and turned on his heel again. Hildegard breathed more freely.
"You may be quite assured," said Alexandra, "I spoke in French on purpose when I saw him coming. I had made sure that he speaks it very badly, and understands it even worse, which, by the by, is rather curious in a cavalier who is anxious to obtain a Court appointment."
Hildegard felt very uneasy, although it was of course out of the question that the Princess should have meant the Baron when she spoke of a "man standing six feet."
"You know," she said with some little hesitation, "that the Baron is very intimate at Court?"
"I was at Court last night," replied Alexandra, "to tea. We Russians are in very good odour at your Court, you know; and, moreover, I had made the acquaintance of their Highnesses during their last visit to St. Petersburg. Princess Amelia is specially gracious to me, and she is the one who interests herself in the Baron."
"To be sure," Hildegard assented eagerly. "Pray, tell me more, it has much interest for me."
"I have not much to tell. I mentioned in the course of general conversation that I intended to pay you a visit to-day. This led to Fräulein von Aschhof and the Baron being mentioned as your guests. For that curious lady every one seemed to have a smile, nothing more, which, by the by, I can quite understand. About the Baron--well,chère amie, since you are interested in the young man, I must be indiscreet enough to tell you of a very confidential conversation I had afterwards in a window recess about him with that dear old man, Count Dirnitz, the Court-Marshal. He told me that the opinions regarding the Baron were at least much divided at Court. The Grand Duke himself, he said, in particular, could not overcome a certain antipathy to him, and that was the reason why his appointment as one of the chamberlains, although duly made out, still awaited the Grand Duke's signature. The Count said that he himself, although he had been an intimate friend of the Baron's father, did not know what to advise. Just then the Grand Duke came up to us; he had heard the last words of Count Dirnitz, and said laughingly: 'That, my good Count, happens pretty often to you; but may I ask what it is about?' And when Dirnitz, who, I suppose, had no option, had told him, he said: 'Well, in this case, I must admit I am perplexed myself; I should so much like to oblige Princess Amelia, and yet ...' Then the Grand Duke suddenly turned to me and said: 'A propos, Princess Volinzov, as you are going to Rinstedt to-morrow, you might have a good look at our man. I will gladly confide the matter to your unprejudiced decision. If you think him suitable for us,eh bien, I'll risk it.' ... What a truly charming ceiling this is! Quite a work of art."
Princess Alexandra was leaning back in her arm-chair examining through her double eye-glass the painted ceiling.
"I see," she said, "a fine imitation of that Guercino in the Villa Ludovisi. It is superb, truly superb!"
Hildegard was in a state of painful excitement. The young Princess had, anyhow, impressed her greatly; now this unexpected, but of course perfectly natural, intimacy at Court, and specially such a mission, possibly the one solitary motive of the whole visit, and upon which the Baron's fate depended. She felt almost dizzy, and it cost her a considerable struggle to be able to say with some calmness--
"I beg your pardon, my dear Alexandra, but you have forgotten the main thing."
"The main thing! What main thing?
"What your unprejudiced opinion of the Baron now is."
"To be sure!"
She looked again at Hildegard. There was an odd smile on her lips now.
"If my opinion were only unprejudiced. But how can that be when the friends of our friends are our own, or ought to be?"
"You shall not escape thus," said Hildegard, whose sinking courage the fair visitor's smile had revived a little.
"I do not mean to escape," replied the Princess; "only I do not quite like to confess a silly trick to you which my memory, which is generally very fair as far as physiognomies are concerned, is playing me in this case. But it is simply impossible to free one's self altogether from the influence which a marked personal likeness exercises; and when I first saw the Baron, there came to me the most disagreeable reminiscence of an episode of the last journey I made with my lamented mother to Italy. However, as I ought at once to state, there is no harm in the matter, for the Baron, whom I asked, says he was not in Monaco that year."
"In Monaco?" cried Hildegard.
"Alas, my good mamma, the Countess Lassounska, you must know, was a great votary of the green cloth. Well, she could afford to indulge a passion which, among the ladies of the Russian aristocracy, not seldom survives or reappears, when they have had to bury all other passions. And in all others poor mamma had been so very unfortunate; but in this she was singularly lucky. Thus, one night--it was in autumn '72--she died next spring, four weeks after my marriage with the Prince, who had at that time followed us to Monaco, and to whom I had just, being then sixteen years of age, become engaged--good Lord, and he has been dead these two years! How time passes! But what was I going to say? Oh yes; mamma had won an immense sum one night, so much that at last she was barely paying any attention to what she was staking, and when she noticed a friend, she turned round to talk to him, without leaving her chair, until the gentleman himself called her attention to the accumulating gains, and asked if she would not withdraw them. But she said there was no hurry, and went on chattering, to the amazement of her neighbours and the terror of the bank, for they kept and kept losing on the red. At last mamma did turn round again to the table, her own curiosity roused by the divers exclamations of the bystanders; but just at that moment a gentleman, who had been sitting by her side all night, was pocketing the whole huge heap of banknotes and rouleaux of gold. Mamma claimed her property, of course; the gentleman assured her she was mistaken. Mamma knew that this was not the case, but a scene in a gambling-room, don't you know, dear,c'est une horreurfor a lady with aristocratic nerves like poor mamma, the friend she had been conversing with wanted to interfere, so did a number of the bystanders, and play had to be suspended. Mamma said that if the gentleman asserted that the money was his, she would waive her claim; rose, took her friend's arm, and left the room. Here the matter ended, and nothing further followed, for the 'gentleman' elected to leave that very night for Nice. There, they say, he speedily got rid of his illgotten gains. At least, when we arrived there four weeks later, they pointed out a gentleman in the play saloon to us who had recently lost fabulous sums. On that occasion I saw him for the first time--I was not generally allowed to enter the gambling-rooms--and for the last time, for he had no sooner caught sight of our party, than he rose from the table and vanished from the room, and I think from Nice; anyhow, he never, appeared again during the rest of our sojourn. Mamma had given strict orders not to take any notice; whatever of the adventurer."
"And this--adventurer, had a distant likeness to the Baron?"
"A distant likeness? No, dear, a most distinct one. That's the misfortune!"
Alexandra was leaning back again in the arm-chair and toying with her rings. Hildegard was staring gloomily in front of her. The execution of her long-cherished, plan, the fulfilment of her eager desire, was now threatened by an obstacle which seemed much worse than any previous one; and she was already almost reduced to despair by the others that she had to struggle against.
"A misfortune, indeed!" she said; "a great misfortune for our friend, who, will now have to suffer so bitterly for an accident he is guiltless of."
"How suffer, dear?"
"Were you not saying yourself a short while ago that this wretched likeness was making it impossible for you to arrive at an unprejudiced opinion about the Baron? Well, it matters everything to him, of course, that your opinion should not only not be prejudiced but favourable. And--to confess the truth--to me, to us, it matters much, very much."
Alexandra drew herself up, the old odd smile was hovering about her lips again.
"Does it really matter so much to you?" she said. "Do I understand you correctly?"
"Let us assume that you do," replied Hildegard, trying as she spoke to imitate Alexandra's smile.
"Then I can only answer:Je n'en vois pas la nécessité."
"Of what?"
"That this particular man should marry Erna. Where is the necessity? If she were in love with him, the matter would have to be discussed at least. Now it is not worth while. A girl like your Erna--proud, self-willed, large-hearted--will never be in love with this Baron, never! It is impossible, it is contrary to nature--I mean contrary to the nature of a gifted heart, for there are gifted hearts, just as there are gifted heads. One can, nay, one must, have absolute confidence in both, even supposing that, from very excess of feelings or thoughts, they seem not to have confidence in themselves. One must let them have their way, they cannot err long."
"But they can err for all that," replied Hildegard bitterly. "Would you not call it an error, would you think it to be in accord with the nature of that gifted heart you speak of, if the girl in question were to take a special interest in--out with it, were to love--a man who, according to years, might be her father, a man of fifty?"
The question seemed to come upon Princess Alexandra as a great surprise. She had almost risen from her chair, and was staring fixedly at Hildegard with a burning blush on her cheek. But the very next moment mien and colour had resumed their former state, and nestling even more snugly in the recesses of the deep arm-chair, she said slowly--
"This question it is impossible to answer with an unconditional Yes or No. So much would depend upon the individual. Let us speak of the girl first. You are of coarse referring to ..."
"To Erna."
The eyes of the Princess were all but closed now; something seemed to flash from beneath the long eyelids.
"Of course," she replied very slowly. "And ... he?"
Hildegard bent her eyes in the direction of the opposite side of the drawing-room, where Bertram was conversing with the forest-ranger.
"Ah!" was all the Princess said, putting up her double eyeglass and surveying Bertram curiously. Then, after a long pause--
"Are you sure?"
"Quite."
"It is so easy to make a mistake in these things."
"There is no chance of a mistake here."
"How so?"
Hildegard hesitated before she replied. But her heart was too full. The pain--repressed with difficulty--caused her by the merciless condemnation of the Baron, her displeasure in reference to Bertram, her anger against Erna--all these emotions were clamouring for expression, although her pride bade her desist. She bent over the Princess and whispered hurriedly--
"You will not condemn a mother even if, in her despair, she has recourse to desperate remedies, or, at least, allows things to be done on which she could never voluntarily determine. I was positively free from the faintest suspicion, but Lydia--Fräulein von Aschhof--who had reasons of her own for exercising minute control over the gentleman's demeanour, felt sure she had found it out. Indeed, she communicated to me observations she had made--words she had heard, looks she had intercepted--I thought the charge monstrous, incredible, abominable; but my confidence was shaken--I saw with new eyes, heard with new ears--saw and heard what caused me to shudder. And yet I would certainly have shrunk much longer from accepting a conviction which every day and every hour was urging upon me anew; but two days ago Fräulein von Aschhof brought me a letter which my daughter had written to her cousin Agatha, written but not sent--why, I know not. Nor do I know how Lydia--Fräulein Von Aschhof--got hold of the letter. I believe ..."
"Go on, go on!" said Alexandra, as Hildegard, embarrassed, was pausing. "That does not matter at all. The chief thing is that you have seen the letter. And what did the letter say? That she loved this man?"
"Not in these words, but in words which it were impossible to interpret differently."
"Have you the letter still?"
"No, I am sorry to say. Lydia has ..."
"Has replaced it where she found it; of course. It's a pity, though. It might be possible to imagine another interpretation. However, let us assume that it is so. What have you resolved?"
"To die rather than give my consent--a thousand times rather!"
Their eyes met, and they looked; steadily at each other for a few moments. Then the Princess nodded, and said--
"I see you are in earnest. I can quite understand it; nay, more, I will help you. You will not have to die. I promise my help. Will you reject it?"
She had seized Hildegard's hand.
"I shall be eternally grateful to you," said Hildegard; "but ..."
"No 'but!' I am one of these people who always do what they undertake. You shall be content with me."
"I fear, I fear it is too late."
"We shall see about that. Now, in the first instance, bring me the man, and leave me alone with him. One more condition: you are never to ask me what means I have employed. Will you promise?"
"Anything you wish, my kind, good friend!"
She would have pressed the little ringed hands, (which she still held clasped) to her lips, but the Princess prevented it by a swift movement, saying as she did so--
"For goodness sake, do not be demonstrative! People are not to see what intimate friends we have become!"
Hildegard had risen to fetch Bertram. Alexandra was again examining, with the help of her double eyeglass, the painted ceiling above; but her thoughts were not with Apollo and the nymphs.
"So now we are going to see Mr. Right! To be sure, the other one was scarcely worth the trouble. But this one it will not be so easy to subdue. Poor Kurt--I could take such sweet revenge here! But no, no! I have vowed to myself, by the love wherewith I loved you, wherewith I love you still--as a brother--that I would bring you back your loved one though I should have to fetch her out of Inferno. I will keep my vow. I will be able to look with a clear conscience into your beautiful eyes to-morrow.... Ah, Mr. Bertram! Now I call this very nice of you. I was already beginning to feel offended. I am not accustomed to be neglected by clever people. You must try to atone for it now. Pray, sit down!"
Bertram had no difficulty in replying merrily to the merry questions of the fair stranger. His head was full of merry thoughts, there was nothing but rapture in his heart. All the world seemed to him to be filled with the fragrance of that rose Erna had given him to-day, that rose which he had since worn near his heart, and from which the hostile looks of Hildegard and the others fell off harmless, as from a potent talisman. Human envy notwithstanding, things awarded him by the grace of the gods were coming to him, nay, had come. If he had still required any confirmation, what confirmation more delightful could he have had than the exuberant mirth to which the beloved child's melancholy gravity had suddenly turned? Like fairy music her rippling laugh seemed to him, coming from the adjoining room, where, surrounded by her cousins, she was as indefatigable in admiring Herr von Busche's feats, as that gentleman himself was in performing them. And he was willing to bear in patience that she was taken up by her friends all the evening, even as he was himself by the rest of the company, and that thus he had not found one single moment when he might have approached her, might have told her what she knew already, what no longer required to be said, what could be said only by a kiss on those pure, sweet lips.
In such rapturous dreams his soul was rejoicing whilst he was conversing gaily with the Russian beauty. And rapture, too, it was to compare this foreign beauty, from whom, in spite of her youth, the strong and not always pure breath of the great world had long ago brushed away the dainty down, with the chaste grace of the beloved maid. She needed no sparkling diamonds, no jingling of golden bracelets; she could dispense with all these over-refined arts of the toilet, this coquetterie which calculated every pose of the plump little frame, every movement of the round arms and the white hands, every rise and fall of the long lids, every glance, every smile from the black eyes! His Erna was the fairer and nobler of the two, a born Princess!
In their conversation, which was carried on, as far as Bertram was concerned, all the more eagerly the less his heart was touched by it, and to which Alexandra, passing as lightly as a bird from one subject to another, was constantly adding fresh topics of interest, they were interrupted by the loud laughter of the girls. Indeed, two of the sisters came rushing into the drawing-room to invite those who were there to come and admire a positively incredible trick which Herr von Busche had just performed, and which he was prepared to repeat--but by universal desire only. They drew the others away with them, uncle and aunt, the HerrOberförsterand the Baron.
"You would like to go," said Alexandra. "Do not stay on my account. I have already withdrawn you too long from the society of the others."
"You dismiss me?"
"One should never detain any one who wants to escape!"
"But what has brought such evil suspicion upon me?"
"Your eyes, which are constantly, though ever so discreetly, wandering to that door, in whose frame, it is true, the group of young ladies appears as full of charms as one of Winterhalter's tableaux. Four girls, one of whom, for the sake of contrast, I suppose, has had the superb inspiration to be ugly, while the other three vie with each other in beauty. Which of the girls do you think the most beautiful?"
"I thought the question could not be asked."
"Do you think so? But since I have asked it, I suppose you will have to be polite enough to answer it. You mean the young lady with the lovely neck and the glorious Titian-like hair? I could wager that you do."
"Don't; you would lose your wager."
"Then I declare that you are not an impartial judge, perhaps absolutely bribed; bribed by the rose, say, that you wear in your button-hole."
Alexandra had dropped the eye-glass which she had raised to look upon the group of girls in the doorway, and now, turning swiftly round to Bertram, she looked laughingly into his eyes, and said--
"That was indiscreet, was it not?"
"Not at all," Bertram replied. "This rose, it is true, is the gift of one of the young ladies, and indeed, of the one who seems to me to be by far the most beautiful--the daughter of our host, if you wish to know. But it was no secret gift. I have had it awarded to me before the whole party assembled, as a reward, by the way, for staying a few days longer than I had promised. You see in this case, as in so many others, the small merit is out of all proportion to the great reward."
"Then I was not altogether wrong," said Alexandra, "there was a certain amount of bribery connected with it, although there was no call for it. Openly speaking, I can but confirm your decision. Fräulein Erna is by far the most beautiful, most graceful, most interesting, not only of the few young ladies yonder, but of all those I have recently, perhaps whom I have ever seen. And my evidence is assuredly unprejudiced and unbribed, nay, more, it is generous, for, between you and me, Fräulein Erna is not treating me in a friendly way."
"That," Bertram asserted eagerly, "is assuredly a mistake; it may seem so, but her cousins are claiming so much of her attention, and, perhaps too, having been so little in society as yet, she may be a little shy before a lady of thegrand monde."
"Perhaps," said Alexandra, "although the latter alternative would not be very flattering for me, seeing that I fancy, besides being somewhat of a grand lady, I have remained a good deal of thebonne enfant. Nor have I at all given up the hope of proving to the dear child that I am indeed her friend. I believe I have found out that she needs one. Do you not think so?"
Bertram was puzzled. But she had spoken kindly, naturally, just like some one rather given to blurt out whatever thought came uppermost.
"Who does not need friends?" he answered with a smile.
"Very true," replied the Princess, "and very diplomatic. I quite understand your diplomacy. You are the friend of this fair creature; it is therefore your bounden duty, if other people clamour for admission to the ranks of her friends, to be very critical, particularly so if it strikes you as incomprehensible whence those others derive the sudden sympathy to which they lay claim. But,que voulez-vous?A young woman, whose heart is wholly unoccupied, and who is driven about in the world by this aforesaid unoccupied heart, like a balloon that has lost its ballast--what other and what better thing can she do, than be interested in anything interesting that chance puts in her way? This is my occupation. Any occupation seriously pursued makes you an expert, sooner or later, in that occupation. I have always pursued mine seriously, and have pursued it long enough to claim to be something like an expert in it. Now here everything is so simple and clear that the meanest understanding can make for itself a fairly correct picture in half a dozen hours. Given: a man who would be the very pattern of a loving father for his daughter, if he were not a rare specimen of the truly obedient husband; a wife who would swear by all she held sacred that she thinks of nothing but how to make her daughter happy, and who makes her as unhappy as only a narrow-hearted narrow-minded mother can make a singularly gifted, large-hearted daughter; an aged scandal-loving, intriguingconfidante, who likes to make mischief, the better to pursue her own mean objects in troubled waters; a young suitor, endowed by nature for the very part ofjeune premierat a second-rate theatre; an older friend of the family whose clear, clever eyes see all this, of course, and whose whole sympathy, equally a matter of course, is enlisted for the girl whose gradual growth and glorious development he has watched. Why, I should think the matter was as plain as the 'secret' in the most casual novel. And, should you care for a more complicated ... fable,--let the friend of the family conceive a serious, passionate attachment to the 'dear child,' and then you have abundant material for volume number two."
Bertram started. This could no longer--it was impossible--be the mere inspiration of the moment, and only a harmlesscauserie. There was treachery at work here, evidently inspired by Hildegard, with whom the Russian lady had, a short time ago, conversed so long and so eagerly. And if the Princess, as was quite possible, considering the great vivacity of her disposition, had already chosen a side: which side? Erna's? or that of her mother? Probably the latter, for she spoke so very bitterly of her. One does that kind of thing to draw one's opponent out. But in that case the great lady must use greater cunning yet.
"I admire your wonderful imagination," he said, "and if I were a poet, I would envy it. How charming to see poetical elements everywhere, and also to be at once clear as to the arranging and dove-tailing which torments the poet so much. You should really make a book of it. Even if the subject is not quite new--where, indeed, could, quite new ones be found nowadays?--a clever author will see something new even in the most hackneyed subject. For myself, of course, the second volume would be specially interesting, when the old friend of the family comes on the stage; for him, of course, the business cannot possibly end well."
"I beg," said the Princess, "that you, will not spoil my text. I have by no means said that my hero is old. On the contrary, he is in the prime of life; of that age when we women only begin to find you men amiable, and rightly so, for you only begin then to become amiable; somewhere about fifty, we'll say."
Bertram bowed.
"Accept my sincere thanks," he said, "in my own name, seeing I am of the amiable age, and in the name of my many contemporaries. You are taking a load off my heart, for now, equally of course, the issue need by no means be so bad. The chances for and against are anyhow equal."
"There, again, you go too far," replied the Princess. "The bad issue, to be sure, is no longer necessary; it must, however, always remain probable."
"Always?"
"I think so, even under the most favourable circumstances."
"What would you call favourable circumstances?"
"We will talk of that later on. Let us first take a specially unfavourable case, which, perhaps, is so all the more the less it would appear to be so. It seems, for example, that our fair young friend would feel less keenly the difference in years, and all the unpleasant and awkward things connected with it, and resulting from it. She is--at least so I judge her to be, and that is sufficient for our purpose--one of those deeply serious natures who are greatly given to confounding the wild phantasies of the head with the true enthusiasm of the heart, and who will conscientiously, and to its utmost consequences, adhere to what once they have seized upon and vowed. But I presume that she is as passionate as she is conscientious; and if her passion and her conscience once come in conflict, the struggle will be terrific. She may come forth victorious from the battle, but what avails a victory that ends in resignation? There we should have an issue, which may be convenient enough for the oldish husband, but then--his convenience and her happiness are surely very different things."
"If I under stand you correctly," Bertram made answer, "you plead for the same theory which I hold, too, and which, as it happens, I have had to defend repeatedly during the last few days in our little circle: namely, that a man who is no longer young, cannot become the object of a passionate attachment on the part of a young girl; or it is anyhow in some way an aberration, and therefore cannot last."
"That is exactly what I mean," the Princess assented eagerly. "We come, then, to a law of nature, which we must accept like other laws, although they are by no means flattering, nay, downright humiliating to our pride. Perhaps, however, on the other hand, the danger of an error and of the consequent conflict is not quite so great in the case in point, since the curiously-veiled radiance of the glorious eyes of that fair child seems to imply that she has already more than a mere vague foreboding of that passion--that she has already loved, perhaps loved unhappily, and would, consequently, not have to make these bitter experiences, which teach us to be wise, and quiet, and resigned, one after the other, in actual wedlock. But who is to give us the guarantee that the last supposition is correct? I could tell you a curious story, if you care to hear it."
"You simply owe me the story, my gracious Princess, as a proof of our joint theory."
"Well, it is fortunately not a long story, and the rest of the company have given us up, anyhow. Listen, then."
Alexandra's eyes had been examining the large chamber; they were quite alone in it now, for all the others were crowding with merry laughter round the magician's table. She leaned forward in her chair; Bertram courteously, approached his own, and she began with a lowered voice, keeping her black eyes under the half closed lids steadily fixed upon him:--
"The scene is Paris; the time some two years ago; the heroine is a friend of mine, a lady belonging to the highest society in France, whose fate had been similar to my own in one respect only: she too had married at sixteen, and been shortly after left a childless widow. Claudine--I give you her Christian name alone, for the other is unimportant to us--was not only, of course, much more beautiful than I, in fact, extraordinarily beautiful and much more gifted; she was also for good--and, as I may add without boasting, for evil--a much greater, more energetic creature. Not that I have anything very bad to say of dear Claudine, or, at least, nothing worse than has been said of many a woman who could not, perhaps, claim such weighty 'extenuating circumstances.' Her mother had, for reasons of her own, persuaded her into this marriage, which had turned out singularly unhappy. Her husband, although allowing for the difference of sex, he was scarcely older than she herself at the time of the marriage--he was then two-and-twenty--had, though so young, already managed to be acknowledged as one of the completestrouésof all Paris, in spite of the keen rivalry of his high-born compeers. He had seen in the innocent young girl only an additional mistress whom, after a brief period, one could neglect with the greater impunity, since one could feel sure of her, and since she, moreover, in spite of, or perhaps, rather because of, her pride, did not seem to belong to those troublesome women who make 'scenes.' And indeed, after she had realised what, from another side, was made clear to her, they had but one 'scene,' but a terrible one, a recurrence of which was both impossible and unnecessary. He thoroughly understood her then--and she had proved a hundred times the stronger of the two. He was allowed to continue his own way of living, on the one condition that he did not concern himself in the least about hers. And hers? Well, I told you hers was a passionate nature, and she was an unhappy wife; that combination can yield nothing but unhappiness. Fortunately for her, she was speedily set free from the worst impulse, the one which had poisoned and warped her passionate nature; for her husband died. She was free once more, and vowed to remain free. Not that she did not mean to marry again; in the circles where she lived, she could only by a second marriage escape from the bondage of those relationships into which one is forced as into a new fashion, abominable though you may think either. Her second marriage was but to guarantee her a clear position in the world; the other guarantees for peace and for freedom she thought she bore within herself. And so she made her choice.
"At this period of the story I became intimate with Claudine, whose acquaintance I had previously but hurriedly made when travelling. It was in Trouville. You know how swiftly people become intimate in a watering-place. She introduced to me the victor in the endless row of suitors for her hand. After careful examination I could not altogether agree with her choice. In most points, it is true, he answered the requirements of the programme. He was no longer young--fifty-one, or -two; held a high command in the army, and brought her as dower a not inglorious past. He had led a wild and wandering life, and been the hero of a thousand adventures, but there was not the slightest stain upon his name--at least not in the eyes of society. Moreover, though not an intellectual man,--which she would have disliked in the long run,--he was one of those who are able to captivate even the most fastidious company, by their quick perception, their lively temperament, and their varied and abundant experience, upon which they can, aided by an excellent memory and natural eloquence, draw at all times. All this was, as I said, excellent as far as it went; but one thing I thought very hazardous--it seemed by no means impossible to me that he should still be capable of a serious, passionate attachment, and--this comes, almost to the same thing--still capable of inspiring it. Now, either lay assuredly beyond the programme which my friend had sketched out for herself.
"I told Claudine of my fears. She endeavoured to argue me out of them thus: 'What you think to be real and direct light,' she would say, 'is nothing but the reflection of the sun that set long ago upon glacial Alpine summits. It looks beautiful, and people cry, Ah! and Oh! when they see it; and for their sake I would not willingly miss it. But one cannot be warmed by it, or set on fire by it! My dear child, with all that blaze you could not make your kettle boil, far less rekindle the bitter and bare embers of a heart like mine!'
"As far as the gentleman was concerned, Claudine might be right. At least the somewhat boastful and exaggerated gallantry with which he laid his homage at her feet corresponded, as far as I could judge, exactly with her prediction. But how greatly she had been mistaken about herself the immediate future was to show.
"There were delays before the marriage could be concluded. Both Claudine and her friend had to free themselves from certain tender bonds. That required tact, management, caution. Moreover, she had become entangled in a law-suit with the family of her first husband, which, for some reason or other, might end badly for her, if it became known that she was contemplating a second marriage. Enough, absolute secrecy regarding their relations and intentions was requisite for some considerable time, and they had both taken their measures accordingly. Claudine had retired from society, and lived in deepest seclusion near Paris, on the estate of a widowed sister of her friend's--she, of course, being in the secret. Her friend went to see her when he could--which was not often the case. The requirements of the service were just then peculiarly exacting, and it was not possible for him to indulge in frequent absences, which anyhow, in the case of a man whom society did not care to miss, and whose doings society carefully controlled, would have caused remarks. The situation became even more critical when, in spite of all precaution, Claudine's place of sojourn had after a little been discovered, and when she saw herself watched by her foes at every turn. At last they scarcely dared to write to each other, dreading lest by treason on the part of bribed domestics a letter should be intercepted or purloined. It became absolutely indispensible to employ a thoroughly trustworthy go-between, on whom, at the same time, it should be impossible that suspicion could fall, and her friend found one--found him in the person of a young officer in his regiment, the son of an old companion in arms who had fallen in the last campaign--a young officer whom he loved like his own son, and who was likewise devoted to his chief in most loyal love. The youth had soon an opportunity of indeed proving that love and loyalty."
Alexandra drew a long breath, as though she were fatigued by the rapid low-voiced utterance. In her deep black eyes which now, after a quick survey of the still untenanted chamber, she turned upon Bertram again, there was an uneasy light, and the soft voice quivered as she went on, now speaking even quicker and lower than before, so that Bertram could scarcely follow her--
"I must be more brief if I am ever to finish my story. And why, indeed, picture in detail to a man like you what you understand without comment, and what, understanding, you pardon! Poor Claudine! She thought she needed no forgiveness. She thought she was in the right when she abandoned herself without resistance to a passion, which indeed would seem to have brooked no resistance. I had never observed anything like this with any other woman--least of all, God be thanked, with myself. I should simply not have deemed it possible. It was like a hurricane--a cyclone; it was simply awful! I trembled for the reason, for the very life of the unhappy woman: for she could not conceal from herself that her passion was not returned, although she, being anyhow little accustomed to control herself, and being now solely engaged by her own overpowering feelings, neither would nor could hide her great love from the handsome young officer. Fortunately for her, the catastrophe was not long in coming. Nay, rather, she brought it about herself, resolute and energetic as she always was; and now feeling that so, and only so, she might yet save herself from herself, she forced from him the avowal that his heart was no longer free, that it was entirely filled by his love for a charming young girl whose acquaintance he had made in a distant garrison-town where a portion of his regiment had until recently been quartered, and to whom he had become engaged in secret. The youth was bitterly poor, the girl's parents were rich and proud; he wanted to have his captain's commission before he ventured to apply for her hand, and--dear, dear--they were both of them so young and so romantic, and so fond of each other, and in their love they were so sure of the future. Why then be niggardly with the moment? And secrecy is like a phantastic mask through the hollow apertures of which the light in the eyes of those we love shines with doubly seductive brilliancy.
"Claudine was at first utterly crushed by a blow which, in spite of everything, had found her unprepared--for where is the loving heart that would willingly let the last faint gleam of hope die out? Then there came a fierce burst of jealous resentment, raging like a fever; then she endeavoured to wrap herself in her pride and to see in the idol of her heart the last and least of men; and ultimately she grovelled at his feet and entreated him to look upon her as his slave, and the slave of her whom he loved, and to ask from her what he would, to bid her do what he chose, and do it she would by all that she held sacred!
"Nor was it long before he took her at her word.
"One day he came to her presence, haggard of look, in a state of desperation, scarcely worse than the one over which she herself had but so recently triumphed. The girl had sent him back the half-dozen letters which he had written to her in the twelvemonth since they were separated, and the tiny collection of ribbons and flowers and other tokens with which innocent love tries to prove to itself its own fabulous fairylike existence. I know not, nor does it matter, how she had heard the story of his connection with Claudine; not of course, the true story, but a caricature, such as the clumsy hands of one's own good friends and the subtle hands of one's foes are equally able to sketch and fill in with revolting effectiveness. Anyhow, the young lady had made up her mind, and as she belonged to those energetic characters that cling tenaciously to their errors, things really looked desperate for Claudine's youthful friend. Every attempt on his part to bring an understanding about was abruptly refused; the poor fellow at last was in downright despair; he told his sorrows to Claudine, who told him that she would bring him back the loved one whom, for her sake, he had lost; he looked at her with an incredulous smile. How was she--she particularly--to manage that?
"But she had never yet let herself be baulked by difficulties if she really cared to have her own way, even though, it might have been but a whim. And now the noblest impulse that can fill a woman's heart urged her to energetic action. Above all, she had to prove to herself, and to those to whom she had so greatly boasted, that, though she had become unfaithful to her programme, and had not guarded herself against a passionate attachment--which she called the only real one of all her life--she yet possessed the force to subdue this passion, and to re-conquer her own peace of heart. Only personal interference on her part could now bring them to the wished-for goal; but that alone would not suffice; the friend, too, for whose sake the youth had sacrificed himself, must needs come forward. That, of course, would completely put an end to the secrecy of their connection, and this just at the moment when the lawsuit was at last about to be settled, and when so much depended upon having the veil drawn as closely as possible. For herself no such consideration existed; but she was by no means sure that her friend, who, of course, did not know her real motives, and could never be allowed to know them, and who equally, of course, took things much more coolly, thought the same; nor did she know at all whether the young man would accept the sacrifice. So it became necessary to create a situation, which should not leave either of them a choice, whether they cared to join or not; and whilst she was cudgelling her brain how to bring such a situation about, an unprecedentedly lucky accident had already arranged everything according to her wishes, nay, far beyond her most daring wishes, in the very best manner possible. To explain the full details would take me too long, and is not really called for; enough, circumstances over which they could not possibly have control, would bring both gentlemen on a given day to the house of the parents of the young lady in question. Claudine, still keeping her own counsel, managed to get a day's start of them, introduced herself--by what means I cannot remember--into the family who, I may add, was absolutely unknown to her, and she was, having presumably got hold of some excellent letters of recommendation or something of that sort, most kindly received by every one, excepting, of course, the young lady herself, who, with feelings that can be readily imagined, saw the foe suddenly in the secure camp of her parental abode, and avoided her in every way. That, Claudine had expected; she looked forward with glee to the following day which was to remove all obstacles, solve all enigmas. But who can describe her terror when she, who has eyes and ears for everything, and who, in a few hours, was completely at home on the new and strange ground, discovered among the visitors, besides a suitorsans conséquence, a man whom an abundance of exquisite gifts and qualities and a whole sequence of special relations, every one of which spoke for him, might turn, nay, if everything did not belie assurances, had already turned into a terrible rival for her young friend. For ..."
Alexandra paused, glancing at the same time at the other room; then she said with a laugh which sounded quite natural--
"But I really do not think it right to keep you any longer from the rest of the company, and to go on with my experiment as to whether is greater, your patience or my garrulousness. Moreover, the rest does not properly belong to the story, at least not to the story I meant to tell you. Come away!"
She had risen swiftly; Bertram followed her example so hesitatingly that she could hardly leave at once. And then, having risen, he remained standing, leaning one arm on the mantelpiece, and said--
"What a pity! What a great pity! I should have so much liked hearing the rest. The more so, as I believe it contains a new illustration to the moral of the fable. Or am I mistaken in assuming that the unexpected rival is ... no longer a young man?"
His lips were smiling; still Alexandra thought that his large expressive eyes we're resting upon her with a very meaning, very searching look; yet she managed to put on an air of surprise, deeming it absolutely requisite now.
"Indeed!" she exclaimed. "How very curious! But then there is no hiding anything from you clever men!"
"Oh yes, yes. For example, which of the two suitors succeeded--the older and younger, or the newer and older?"
"Charming! Charming! An exquisite play on the words. What a suitable language yours is for that kind of thing, in the hands of a real master, I mean. Ah! which succeeds? Why, the former, of course!"
"I should scarcely have considered it such a matter of course. I should not be surprised if, for all that, the young lady's feelings for him had never again recovered the former degree of warmth. Your beautiful and clever friend, I admire her extremely, but--do not be angry with me for what I am going to say--but I had, during your description of her, always to think of Circe. There was only one man who left the palace of the sorceress with absolute impunity, and he only by the aid of a certain herb a god had given him. Now, young and ardent officers are not said to meet the god very frequently."
"But I really cannot make the story anything different from what it truly was like," cried the Princess, half pouting, half laughing.
"Certainly not; but what became of the man who was no longer young? How bore he the loss of hopes to which he had clung all the more tenaciously because he had not many more to lose?"
"That, as a punishment for your scepticism, you are to say yourself."
"How can I? Had he been a poet he might have written a novel, after the manner of the 'Elective Affinities,' and thus cleared his soul from the purgatory of jealousy and humiliation. But being no poet ..."
"How do you know that?"
"I assume it. I am driven to assume things, am I not?"
"Well then?"
"Therefore his ultimate fate is quite problematical to me. There are so many and such various possibilities. Perhaps he killed himself, or perhaps he married your fair friend."
"My friend--Claudine? Oh, this is exquisite!" The Princess laughed aloud, and Bertram laughed too.
"It is not," he said, "after all so very laughable, or at least so very improbable. Upon the basis of mutual imperturbability, I should think one could erect and overthrow and rebuild relationships, like houses of cards."
"Mow malicious!" cried Alexandra, "and yet how true! Claudine must hear of this; I must write this to Claudine!"
"For goodness sake not, most gracious lady; or, anyhow, do not mention me by name! I travel a good deal, the lady probably too; we might meet some day by some unlucky chance, even as the luckiest of chances has brought me into your presence. How hideously embarrassed I should be!"
"Very well, your name shall not be mentioned, then. Here is my hand in pledge of this."
And she held out to him her small hand with its many rings.
"But now I really must disturb your tête-à-tête," said Hildegard, entering from the adjoining drawing-room.
"It is just finished!" the Princess called out to her; then turning again to Bertram, she said, "And thank you very much for a most charmingcauserie!"
"It is for me to say thank you, my Lady. Your story was most interesting, and you told it capitally."
He touched those slim fingers with his lips as Alexandra left him. She hurried up to Hildegard, who had remained standing, gazing with great wondering eyes at the group by the fireside, and putting her arm through that of her hostess and drawing her away with her, the Russian lady whispered--
"You are absolutely mistaken, or else the man is the greatest actor I ever saw."
Bertram had bent over the fire; with his left hand he was half unconsciously stirring up the dying embers in the grate, his right hand was laid on the rose he wore, which he wore above a heart now quivering in spasmodic agony, and he painfully whispered to himself--
"Ashes to ashes!"
His hand, nerveless, glided down.
"No," he murmured, "no, not yet; I will hear it from herself."