La notte é madre di pensieri.Now tell me how you are as to religion?You are a clear good man--but I rather fearYou have not much of it.Faust.
It was all very well to talk about going away; but the matter looked very differently by daylight. It was Sunday; and I knew I could not go away for a day or two, and not even then without making a horrid sort of stir, for which I had not the courage in cold blood. Besides, I did not even know that I wanted to go if I could. Varick-street! Hateful, hateful thought. No, I could not go there. And though (by daylight) I still detested Mary Leighton, and felt ashamed about Richard, and remembered all Mr. Langenau's words (sweet as well as bitter), everything was let down a great many degrees; from the heights of passion into the plains of commonplace.
My great excitement had worked its own cure, and I was so dull and weary that I did not even want to think of what had passed the night before. If I had a sentiment that retained any strength, it was that of shame and self-contempt. I could not think of myself in any way that did not make me blush. When, however, it came to the moment of facing every one, and going down to breakfast, I began to know I still had some other feelings.
I was the last to go down. The bell had rung a very long while before I left my room. I took my seat at the table without looking at any one, though, of course, every one looked at me. My confused and rather general good-morning was returned with much precision by all. Somebody remarked that I did not look well. Somebody else remarked that was surely because I went to bed so early; that it never had been known to agree with any one. Some one else wanted to know why I had gone so early, and that I had been hunted for in all directions for a dance which had been a sudden inspiration.
"But as you had gone away, and the musician could not be found, we had to give it up," said Charlotte Benson, "and we owe you both a grudge."
"For my part, I am very sorry," said Mr. Langenau. "I had no thought that you meant to dance last night, or I should have stayed at the piano; I hope you will tell me the next time."
"The next time will be to-morrow evening," said Mary Leighton. "Now, Mr. Langenau, you will not forget--or--or get excited about anything and go away?"
I dared not look at Mr. Langenau's face, but I am sure I should not have seen anything pleasant if I had. I don't know what he answered, for I was so confused, I dropped a plate of berries which I was just taking from Kilian's hand, and made quite an uncomfortable commotion. The berries were very ripe, and they rolled in many directions on the table-cloth, and fell on my white dress.
"Your pretty dress is ruined, I'm afraid," said Kilian, stooping down to save it.
"I don't care about that, but I'm very sorry that I've stained the table-cloth," and I looked at Mrs. Hollenbeck as if I thought that she would scold me for it. But she quite reassured me. Indeed, I think she was so pleased with me, that she would not have minded seeing me ruin all the table-cloths that she had.
"But it will make you late for church, for you'll have to change your dress," said Charlotte Benson, practically, glancing at the clock. I was very thankful for the suggestion, for I thought it would save me from the misery of trying to eat breakfast, but Kilian made such an outcry that I found I could not go without more comments than I liked.
"You have no appetite either," said Mary Leighton. "I am ashamed to eat as much as I want, for here is Mr. Langenau beside me, who has only broken a roll in two and drank a cup of coffee."
"I am not perhaps quite used to your American way of breakfasting," he returned quickly.
"But you ate breakfasts when we first came," said the sweet girl gently.
"Was not the weather cooler then?" he answered, "and I have missed my walk this morning."
"Let me give you some more coffee, at any rate," said Sophie, with affectionate interest. Indeed, I think at that moment she absolutely loved him.
In a few minutes I escaped from the table; when I came down from my room ready for church, I found that they were all just starting. (Richard, I suppose, would have waited for me.) The church was in the village, and not ten minutes' walk from the house. Kilian was carrying Mary Leighton's prayer-book, and was evidently intending to walk with her.
Richard came up to me and said, "Sophie is waiting to know if you will let her drive you, or if you will walk."
I had not yet been obliged to speak to Richard since I had heard what people said about us, and I felt uncomfortable.
"Oh, let me drive if there is room," I said, without looking up. Sophie sat in her little carriage waiting for me. Richard put me in beside her, and then joined the others, while we drove away. Benny, in his white Sunday clothes, sat at our feet.
"I think it is so much better for you to drive," said Mrs. Hollenbeck, "for the day is warm, and I did not think you looked at all well this morning."
"No," I said faintly. And she was so kind, I longed to tell her everything. It is frightful at seventeen to have no one to tell your troubles to.
At the gate Benny was just grumbling about getting out to open it, when Mr. Langenau appeared, and held it open for us. He was dressed in a flannel suit which he wore for walking. After he closed the gate, he came up beside the carriage, as Mrs. Hollenbeck very kindly invited him to do, by driving slowly.
"Are you coming with us to church, Mr. Langenau?" asked Benny.
"To church? No, Benny. I am afraid they would not let me in."
"Why, yes, they would, if you had your good clothes on," said Benny.
Mr. Langenau laughed, a little bitterly, and said he doubted, even then. "I am afraid I haven't got my good conscience on either, Benny."
"But the minister would never know," said Benny.
"That's very true; the ministers here don't know much about peoples' consciences, I should think."
"Do ministers in any other places know any more?" asked Benny with interest.
"Why, yes, Benny, in a good many countries where I've been, they do."
"You are a Catholic, Mr. Langenau?" asked Mrs. Hollenbeck.
"I once was; I have no longer any right to say it is my faith," he answered slowly.
"What is it to be a Catholic?" inquired Benny, gazing at his tutor's face with wonder.
"To be a Catholic, is to be in a safe prison; to have been a Catholic, is to be alone on a sea big and black with billows, Benny."
"I think I'd like the prison best," said Benny, who was very much afraid of the water.
"Ah, but if you couldn't get back to it, my boy."
"Well, I think I'd try to get to land somewhere," Benny answered, stoutly.
Mr. Langenau laughed, but rather gloomily, and we went on for a few moments in silence. The road was bordered with trees, and there was a beautiful shade. The horse was very glad to be permitted to go slow, not being of an ambitious nature.
All this time I had been leaning back, holding my parasol very close over my face. Mr. Langenau happened to be on the side by me: once when the carriage had leaned suddenly, he had put his hand upon it, and had touched, without intending it, my arm.
"I beg your pardon," he had said, and that was all he had said to me; and I had felt very grateful that Benny had been so inclined to talk. I trusted that nobody would speak to me, for my voice would never be steady and even again, I was sure, when he was by to listen to it.
Now, however, he spoke to me: commonplace words, the same almost that every one in the house had addressed to me that morning, but how differently they sounded.
"I am sorry that you are not well to-day, Miss d'Estrée."
Mrs. Hollenbeck at this moment began to find some fault with Benny's gloves, and leaning down, talked very obligingly and earnestly with him, while she fastened the gloves upon his hands.
Mr. Langenau took the occasion, as it was intended he should take it, and said rather low, "You will not refuse to see me a few moments this evening, that I may explain something to you?"
I think he was disappointed that I did not answer him, only turned away my head. But I don't know in truth what other answer he had any right to ask. He did not attempt to speak again, but as we turned into the village, said, "Good-morning, I must leave you. Good-bye, Benny, since I have neither clothes nor conscience fit for church."
Sophie laughed, and said, at least she hoped he would be home for dinner. He did not promise, but raising his hat struck off into a little path by the roadside, that led up into the woods.
"What a pity," said Mrs. Hollenbeck musingly, "that a man of such fine intellect should have such vague religious faith."
Mr. Langenau was at home for dinner, but he did not see me at that meal, for my head ached so, and I felt so weary that when I came up-stairs after church, it seemed impossible to go down again. I should have been very glad to make the same excuse serve for the remainder of the day, but really the rest and a cup of tea had so restored me, that no excuse remained at six o'clock.
All families have their little Sunday habits, I have found; the Sunday rule in this house was, to have tea at half-past six, and to walk by the river till after the sun had set; then to come home and have sacred music in the parlor. After tea, accordingly, we took our shawls on our arms (it still being very warm) and walked down toward the river.
I kept beside Mrs. Hollenbeck and Benny, where only I felt safe.
The criticism I had heard had given me such a shock, I did not feel that I ever could be careful enough of what I said and did. And I vaguely felt my mother's honor would be vindicated, if I showed myself always a modest and prudent woman.
"It was so well that I heard them," I kept saying to myself, but I felt so much older and so much graver. My silence and constraint were no doubt differently interpreted. Richard did not come up to me, except to tell me I had better put my shawl on, as I sat on the steps of the boat-house, with Benny beside me. The others had walked further on and were sitting, some of them on the rocks, and some on the boat that had been drawn up, watching the sun go down.
"Tell me a story," said Benny, resting his arms on my lap, "a story about when you were a little girl."
"Oh, Benny, that wouldn't make a pretty story."
"Oh, yes, it would: all about your mamma and the house you used to live in, and the children you used to go to see."
"Dear Benny! I never lived in but one old, dismal house. I never went to play with any children. I could not make a story out of that."
"But your mamma. O yes, I'm sure you could if you tried very hard."
"Ah, Benny! that's the worst of all. For my mamma has been with God and the good angels in the sky, ever since I was a little baby, and I have had a dreary time without her here alone."
"Then I think you might tell me about God and the good angels," whispered Benny, getting closer to me.
I wrapped my arms around him, and leaning my face down upon his yellow curls, told him a story of God and the good angels in the sky.
Dear little Benny! I always loved him from that night. He cried over my story: that I suppose wins everybody's heart: and we went together, looking at the placid river and the pale blue firmament, very far into the paradise of faith. My tears dropped upon his upturned face; and when the stars came out, and we were told it was time to go back to the house, we went back hand in hand, firm friends for all life from that Sunday night.
"There is Mr. Langenau," said Benny; "waiting for you, I should think."
Mr. Langenau was waiting for me at the piazza steps. He fixed his eyes on mine as if waiting for my permission to speak again. But I fastened my eyes upon the ground, and holding Benny tightly by the hand, went on into the house.
Itis impossible to love and to be wise.Bacon.Niente piu tosto se secca che lagrime.
"This is what we must do about it," said Kilian, as we sat around the breakfast-table. "If you are still in a humor for the dance to-night, I will order Tom and Jerry to be brought up at once, and Miss Pauline and I will go out and deliver all the invitations."
"Of which there are about five," said Charlotte Benson. "You can spare Tom and Jerry and send a small boy."
"But what if I had rather go myself?" he said, "and Miss Pauline needs the air. Now there are--let me see," and he began to count up the dancing inhabitants of the neighborhood.
"Will you write notes or shall we leave a verbal message at each door?"
"Oh leave a verbal message by all means," said Charlotte Benson, a little sharply. "It won't be quiteen règle, as Miss d'Estrée doesn't know the people, but so unconventional and fresh."
"I do know them," I retorted, much annoyed, "conventionally at least: for they have all called upon me, though I didn't see them all. But I shall be very glad if you will take my place."
"Oh, thank you; I wasn't moving an amendment for that end. We have made our arrangements for the morning, irrespective of the delivery of cards."
"I shall have time to write the notes first, if Sophie would rather have notes sent," said Henrietta, who wrote a good hand and was very fond of writing people's notes for them.
"Oh, thank you, dear; yes, perhaps it would be best, and save Pauline and Kilian trouble."
So Henrietta went grandly away to write her little notes: a very large ship on a very small voyage.
"And how about your music, Sophie," said Kilian, who was anxious to have all business matters settled relating to the evening.
"Well, I suppose you had better go for the music-teacher from the village; he plays very well for dancing, and it is a mercy to me and to poor Henrietta, who would have to be pinned to the piano for the evening, if we didn't have him."
"As to that, I thought we had a music-teacher of our own: can't your German be made of any practical account? Or is he only to be looked at and revered for his great powers?"
"I didn't engage Mr. Langenau to play for us to dance," said Sophie.
"Nor to lounge about the parlor every evening either," muttered Kilian, pushing away his cup of coffee.
"Now, Mr. Kilian, pray don't let our admiration of the tutor drive you into any bitterness of feeling," cried Charlotte Benson, who had been treasuring up a store of little slights from Kilian. "You know he can't be blamed for it, poor man."
Kilian was so much annoyed that he did not trust himself to answer, but rose from the table, and asked me if I would drive with him in half an hour.
During the drive, he exclaimed angrily that Charlotte Benson had a tongue that would drive a man to suicide if he came in hearing of it daily. "Why, if she were as beautiful as a goddess, I could never love her. Depend upon it, she'll never get a husband, Miss Pauline."
"Some men like to be scolded, I have heard," I said.
"Well then, if you ever stumble upon one that does, just call me and I'll run and fetch him Charlotte Benson."
The morning was lovely, and I had much pleasure in the drive, though I had not gone with any idea of enjoying it. It was very exhilarating to drive so fast as Kilian always drove; and Kilian himself always amused me and made me feel at ease. We were very companionable; and though I could not understand how young ladies could make a hero of him, and fancy that they loved him, I could quite understand how they should find him delightful and amusing.
We delivered our notes, at more than one place, into the hands of those to whom they were addressed, and had many pleasant talks at the piazza steps with young ladies whom I had not known before. Then we went to the village and engaged the music-teacher, stopped at the "store" and left some orders, and drove to the Post-Office to see if there were letters.
"Haven't we had a nice morning!" I exclaimed simply, as we drove up to the gate.
"Capital," said Kilian. "I'm afraid it's been the best part of the day. I wish I had any assurance that the German would be half as pleasant. I beg your pardon, I don't mean your surly Teuton, but the dance that we propose to-night; I wish it had another name. Confound it! there he is ahead of us. (I don't mean the dance this time, you see.) I wish he'd turn back and open the gate for us. Holloa there!"
Kilian would not have dared call out, if the boys had not been with their tutor. It was one o'clock, and they were coming from the farm-house back to dinner. At the call they all turned; Mr. Langenau stood still, and told Charles to go back and open the gate.
Kilian frowned; he didn't like to see his nephew ordered to do anything by this unpleasant German. While we were waiting for the opening of the gate, the tutor walked on toward the house with Benny. As we passed them, Benny called out, "Stop, Uncle Kilian, stop, and take me in." Benny never was denied anything, so we stopped and Mr. Langenau lifted him up in front of us. He bowed without speaking, and Benny was the orator of the occasion.
"You looked as if you were having such a nice time, I thought I'd like to come."
"Well, we were," said Kilian, with a laugh, and then we drove on rapidly.
At the tea-table Mr. Langenau said to Sophie as he rose to go away: "Mrs. Hollenbeck, if there is any service I can render you this evening at the piano, I shall be very glad if you will let me know."
Mrs. Hollenbeck thanked him with cordiality, but told him of the provision that had been made.
"But you will dance, Mr. Langenau," cried Mary Leighton, "we need dancing-men terribly, you know. Promise me you'll dance."
"Oh," said Charlotte Benson, "he has promised me." Mr. Langenau bowed low; he got wonderfully through these awkward situations. As he left the room Kilian said in a tone loud enough for us, but not for him, to hear, "The Lowders have a nice young gardener; hadn't we better send to see if he can't come this evening?"
"Kilian, that's going a little too far," said Richard in a displeased manner; "as long as the boys' tutor conducts himself like a gentleman, he deserves to be treated like a gentleman."
"Ah, Paterfamilias, thank you. Yes, I'll think of it," and Kilian proposed that we should leave the table, as we all seemed to have appeased our appetites and nothing but civil war could come of staying any longer.
It was understood we had not much time to dress: but when I came down-stairs, none of the others had appeared. Richard met me in the hall: he had been rather stern to me all day, but his manner quite softened as he stood beside me under the hall-lamp. That was the result of my lovely white mull, with its mint of Valenciennes.
"You haven't any flowers," he said. Heavens! who'd have thought he'd ever have spoken in such a tone again, after the cup of tea I poured out for the tutor. "Let's go and see if we can't find some in these vases that are fit, for I suppose the garden's robbed."
"Yes," I said, following him, quite pleased. For I could not bear to have him angry with me. I was really fond of him, dear, old Richard; and I looked so happy that I have no doubt he thought more of it than he ought. He pulled all the pretty vases in the parlor to pieces: (Charlotte and Henrietta and his sister had arranged them with such care!) and made me a bouquet of ferns, and tea-roses, and lovely, lovely heliotrope. I begged him to stop, but he went on till the flowers were all arranged and tied together, and no one came down-stairs till the spoilage was complete.
All this time Mr. Langenau was in the library--restless, pretending to read a book. I saw him as we passed the door, but did not look again. Presently we heard the sound of wheels.
"There," said Richard, feeling the weight of hospitality upon him, "Sophie isn't down. How like her!"
But at the last moment, to save appearances, Sophie came down the stairs and went into the parlor: indolent, favored Sophie, who always came out right when things looked most against it.
In a little while the empty rooms were peopled. Dress improved the young ladies of the house very much, and the young ladies who came were some of them quite pretty: The gentlemen seemed to me very tiresome and not at all good-looking. Richard was quite a king among them, with his square shoulders, and his tawny moustache, and his blue eyes.
There were not quite gentlemen enough, and Mrs. Hollenbeck fluttered into the library to hunt up Mr. Langenau, and he presently came out with her. He was dressed with more care than usual, and suitably for evening: he had theviveattentive manner that is such a contrast to most young men in this country: everybody looked at him and wondered who he was. The music-teacher was playing vigorously, and so, before the German was arranged, several impetuous souls flew away in waltzes up and down the room. The parlor was a very large room. It had originally been two rooms, but had been thrown into one, as some pillars and a slight arch testified. The ceiling was rather low, but the many windows which opened on the piazza, and the unusual size of the room, made it very pretty for a dance. Mary Leighton and the tutor were dancing; somebody was talking to me, but I only saw that.
"How well he dances," I heard some one exclaim.
I'm afraid it must have been Richard whom I forgot to answer just before: for I saw him twist his yellow moustache into his mouth and bite it; a bad sign with him.
Kilian was to lead with Mary Leighton, and he came up to where we stood, and said to Richard, "I suppose you have Miss Pauline for your partner?"
Now I had been very unhappy for some time, dreading the moment, but there was nothing for it but to tell the truth. So I said, "I hope you are not counting upon me for dancing? You know I cannot dance!"
"Not dance!" cried Kilian, in amazement; "why, I never dreamed of that."
"You don't like it, Pauline?" said Richard, looking at me.
"Like it!" I said, impatiently. "Why, I don't know how; who did I ever have to dance with in Varick-street? Ann Coddle or old Peter? And Uncle Leonard never thought of such a thing as sending me to school."
"Why didn't you tell me before, and we wouldn't have bothered about this stupid dance," said Kilian; but I think he didn't mean it, for he enjoyed dancing very much.
Richard had to go away, for though he hated it, he was needed, as they had not gentlemen enough.
The one or two persons who had been introduced to me, on going to join the dance, also expressed regret. Even Mrs. Hollenbeck came up, and said how sorry she was: she had supposed I danced.
But they all went away, and I was left by one of the furthest windows with a tiresome old man, who didn't dance either, because his legs weren't strong enough, and who talked and talked till I asked him not to; which he didn't seem to like. But to have to talk, with the noise of the music, and the stir, of the dancing, and the whirl that is always going on in such a room, is penance. I told him it made my head ache, and besides I couldn't hear, and so at last he went away, and I was left alone.
Sometimes in pauses of the dance Richard came up to me, and sometimes Kilian; but it had the effect of making me more uncomfortable, for it made everybody turn and look at me. Bye and bye I stole away and went on the piazza, and looked in where no one could see me. I could not go away entirely, for I was fascinated by the dance. I longed so to be dancing, and had such bitter feelings because I never had been taught. After I left the room, I could see Richard was uncomfortable; he looked often at the door, and was not very attentive to his partner. No one else seemed to miss me. Mr. Langenau talked constantly to Miss Lowder, with whom he had been dancing, and never looked once toward where I had been sitting. A long time after, when they had been dancing--hours it seemed to me--Miss Lowder seemed to feel faint or tired, and Mr. Langenau came out with her, and took her up-stairs to the dressing-room.
Ashamed to be seen looking in at the window, I ran into the library and sat down. There was a student's lamp upon the table, but the room had no other light. I sat leaning back in a large chair by the table, with my bouquet in my lap, buttoning and unbuttoning absently my long white gloves. In a moment I heard Mr. Langenau come down-stairs alone: he had left Miss Lowder in the dressing-room to rest there: he came directly toward the library.
He came half-way in the door, then paused. "May I speak to you?" he said slowly, fixing his eyes on mine. "I seem to be the only one who is forbidden, of those who have offended you and of those who have not."
"No one has said what you have," I said very faintly.
In an instant he was standing beside me, with one hand resting on the table.
"Will you listen to me," he said, bending a little toward me and speaking in a quick, low voice, "I did say what you have a right to resent; but I said it in a moment when I was not master of my words. I had just heard something that made me doubt my senses: and my only thought was how to save myself, and not to show how I was staggered by it. I am a proud man, and it is hard to tell you this--but I cannot bear this coldness from you--andI ask you to forgive me"
His eyes, his voice, had all their unconquerable influence upon me. I bent over Richard's poor flowers, and pulled them to pieces while I tried to speak. There was a silence, during which he must have heard the loud beating of my heart, I think: at last he spoke again in a lower voice, "Will you not be kind, and say that we are friends once more?"
I said something that was inaudible to him, and he stooped a little nearer me to catch it. I made a great effort and commanded my voice and said, very low? but with an attempt to speak lightly, "You have not made it any better, but I will forget it."
He caught my hand for one instant, then let it go as suddenly. And neither of us could speak.
There is no position more false and trying than a woman's, when she is told in this way that a man loves her, and yet has not been told it; when she must seem not to see what she would be an idiot not to see; when he can say what he pleases and she must seem to hear only so much. I did no better and no worse than most women of my years would have done. At last the silence (which did not seem a silence to me, it was so full of new and conflicting thoughts,) was broken by the recommencement of the music in the other room. He had taken a book in his hands and was turning over its pages restlessly.
"Why have you not danced?" he said at last, in a voice that still showed agitation.
"I have not danced because I can't, because I never have been taught."
"You? not taught? it seems incredible. But let me teach you. Will you? Teach you! you would dance by intention. And would love it--madly--as I did years ago. Come with me, will you?"
"Oh, no," I said, half frightened, shrinking back, "I am not going to dance--ever."
"Perhaps that is as well," he said in a low tone, meeting my eye for an instant, and telling me by that sudden brilliant gleam from his, that then he would be spared the pain of ever seeing me dancing with another.
"But let me teach you something," he said after a moment. "Let me teach you German--will you?" He sank down in a chair by the table, and leaning forward, repeated his question eagerly.
"Oh, yes, I should like it so much--if--."
"If--if what? If it could be arranged without frightening and embarrassing you, you mean?"
"Yes."
"I wonder if you are not more afraid of being frightened and embarrassed than of any other earthly trial. There are worse things that come to us, Miss d'Estrée. But I will arrange about the German, and you need have no terror. How will I arrange? No matter--when Mrs. Hollenbeck asks you to join a class in German, you will join it, will you not?"
"Oh, yes."
"You promise?"
"Oh, anything."
"Anything? take care. I may fill up a check for thousands, if you give a blank."
"I didn't give a blank; anything about German's what I meant."
"Ah, that's safer, but not half so generous. And yet you're one who might be generous, I think."
"But tell me about the German class."
"I've nothing to tell you about it," he answered, "only that you've promised to learn."
"But where are we to say our lessons, and what books are we to Study?"
"Would you like to say a lesson now and get one step in advance of all the others?"
"O yes! I shall need at least as much grace as that."
"Then say this after me: 'Ich will Alles lernen, was Sie mich lehren.' Begin. 'Ich will Alles lernen'--"
"'Ich will Alles lernen'--but what does it mean?"
"Oh, that is not important. Learn it first. Can you not trust me? 'Ich will Alles lernen, was Sie mich lehren.'"
"'Ich will Alles lernen'--ah, you look as if my pronunciation were not good."
"I was not thinking of that; you pronounce very well. 'Ich will Alles lernen--'"
"Ich will Alles lernen, was Sie mich lehren:--therenow, tell me what it means."
"Not until you learn it;encore une fois."
I said it after him again and again, but when I attempted it alone, I made invariably some error.
"Let me write it for you," he said, and pulling a book from his pocket, tore out a leaf and wrote the sentence on it. "There--keep the paper and study it, and say it to me in the morning."
I have the paper still; long years have passed: it is only a crumpled little yellow fragment; but the world would be poorer and emptier to me if it were destroyed.
I had quite mastered the sentence, saying it after him word for word, and held the slip of paper in my hand, when I heard steps in the hall. I knew Richard's step very well, and gave a little start. Mr. Langenau frowned, and his manner changed, as I half rose from my seat, and as quickly sank back in it again.
"Is it that you lack courage?" he said, looking at me keenly.
"I don't know what I lack," I cried, bending down my head to hide my flushed face; "but I hate to be scolded and have scenes."
"But who has a right to scold you and to make a scene?"
"Nobody: only everybody does it all the same."
"Everybody, I suppose, means Mr. Richard Vandermarck, who is frowning at you this moment from the hall."
"And it means you--who are frowning at me this moment from your seat."
All this time Richard had been standing in the hall; but now he walked slowly away. I felt sure he had given me up. The people began to come out of the parlor, and I felt ready to cry with vexation, when I thought that they would again be talking about me. It was true, I am afraid, that I lacked courage.
"You want me to go away?" he said, fixing his eyes intently on me.
"O yes, if you only would," I said naïvely.
He looked so white and angry when he rose, that I sprang up and put out my hand to stop him, and said hurriedly, "I only meant--that is--I should think you would understand without my telling you. A woman cannot bear to have people talk about her, and know who she likes and who she doesn't. It kills me to have people talk about me. I'm not used to society--I don't know what is right--but I don't think--I am afraid--I ought not to have stayed in here and talked to you away from all the others. It's that that makes me so uncomfortable. That, and Richard too. For I know he doesn't like to have me pleased with any one. Do not go away angry with me. I don't see why you do not understand."
My incoherent little speech had brought him to his senses.
"I am not going away angry," he said in a low voice, "I will promise not to speak to you again to-night. Only remember that I have feelings as well as Mr. Richard Vandermarck."
In a moment more I was alone. Richard did not come near me, nor seem to notice me, as he passed through the hall. Presently Mr. Eugene Whitney came in, and I was very glad to see him.
"Won't you take me to walk on the piazza?" I asked, for everybody else was walking there. He was only too happy; and so the evening ended commonplace enough.
She wanted years to understandThe grief that he did feel.Surrey.Love is not loveThat alters where it alteration finds.
This was how the German class was formed.
The next day, as we were leaving the dinner-table, Mr. Langenau paused a few moments by Sophie, in the hall, and talked with her about the boys.
"Charley gets on very well with his German," he observed, "but Benny doesn't make much progress. He is too young to study much, and acquires chiefly by the ear. If you only had a German maid, or if you could speak with him yourself, he would make much better progress."
"Yes, I wish I had more knowledge of the language," she replied; "I read it very easily, but cannot speak with any fluency."
"Why will you never speak it with me?" he said. "And if you will permit me, I shall be very glad to read with you an hour a day. I have much leisure, and it would be no task to me."
"I should like it very much, and you are very kind. But it is so hard to find an hour unoccupied, particularly with so many people in the house, whom I ought to entertain."
"That is very true, unless you can make it a source of entertainment to them. Miss Benson--is she not a German scholar? She might like to join you."
Then, I think, the clever Sophie's mind was illuminated, and the tutor's little scheme was revealed to her clear eye; she embraced it with effusion. "An admirable idea," she said, "and the others, too, perhaps, would join us if you would not mind. It would be one hour a day at least secure fromennui:I shall have great cause to thank you, if we can arrange it. For these girls get so tired of doing nothing; my mind is always on the strain to think of an amusement. Charlotte! Come here, I want to ask you something."
Charlotte Benson came, and with her came Henrietta. I was sitting on the sofa between the parlor-doors, and could not help hearing the whole conversation, as they were standing immediately before me.
"Mr. Langenau proposes to us to read an hour a day with him in German. What do you think about it?"
"Charming," said Charlotte with enthusiasm. "I cannot think of anything that would give me greater pleasure. Henrietta and I have read in German together for two winters, and it will be enchanting to continue it with such a master as Mr. Langenau."
Henrietta murmured her satisfaction, and then Charlotte rushed into plans for the course, leaving me in despair, supposing I had been forgotten. What place I was to find in such advanced society I could not well imagine.
Mr. Langenau never turned his head in my direction, and talked with Miss Benson with so much earnestness about the books into which they were to plunge, that I could not convince myself that all this was undertaken solely that he might teach me German. In a little while they seemed to have settled it all to their satisfaction, and he had turned to go away. My heart was in my throat. Mrs. Hollenbeck had not forgotten me. She said something low to Mr. Langenau.
"Ah, true!" he said. "But does she know anything of German?" Then turning to me he said, with one of his dazzling sudden glances, "Miss d'Estrée, we are talking of making up a German class; do you understand the language?"
"No," I said, meeting his eye for a moment, "I have only taken one lesson in my life," and then blushed scarlet at my own audacity.
"Ah," said he, as if quite sorry for the disappointment, "I wish you were advanced enough to join us."
Then Charlotte Benson, quite ignoring the interruption, began to ask him about a book that she wanted very much to find. Mr. Langenau had it in his room--a most happy accident, and there was a great deal said about it. I again was left in doubt of my fate. Again Sophie interposed. "We have forgotten Mary Leighton," she said, gently.
"Does Miss Leighton know anything of German?"
"Not a thing," said Henrietta.
"What does she know anything of, but flirting?" said Charlotte with asperity, glancing out into the grounds where Kilian was murmuring softest folly to her under her pongee parasol.
"Perhaps she'd like to learn," suggested Sophie. "She and Pauline might begin together; that is, if Mr. Langenau would not think it too much trouble to give them an occasional suggestion. And you, Charlotte, I am sure, could help them a great deal."
Charlotte made no disguise of her disinclination to undertake to help them.
Mr. Langenau expressed his willingness so unenthusiastically, that I think Mrs. Hollenbeck was staggered. I saw her glance anxiously at him, as if to know what really he might mean. She concluded to interpret according to the context, however, and went on.
"But it will be so much better for all to undertake it, if one does. Suppose they try and see how it will work, either before or after our lesson."
"De tout mon coeur," said Mr. Langenau, as if, however, hiscoeurhad very little interest in the matter.
"Well, about the hour?" said Charlotte, the woman of business; "we haven't settled that after all our talking."
There was a great deal more, oh, a great deal more, and then it was settled that five in the afternoon should be considered the German hour--subject to alteration as circumstances should arise.
Mrs. Hollenbeck very discreetly ordered that a beginning should not be made till the next day but one. "The gentlemen will all be here to-morrow, and there may be something else going on." I knew very well she was afraid of Richard, and thought he would not approve her zeal for our improvement.
The first lesson was very dull work for me. It was agreed that Mary Leighton and I should take our lesson after the others, sitting beside them, however, for the benefit of such crumbs of information as might fall to us.
Mr. Langenau took no special notice of me then, and very little that was flattering when Mary Leighton and I began our lesson proper. Mrs. Hollenbeck, Charlotte, and Henrietta took up their books and left, when the infant class was called. I do not think Mr. Langenau took great pains to make the study of the German tongue of interest to Miss Leighton. She was unspeakably bored, and never even learned the alphabet. She was very much unused to mental application, undoubtedly, and was annoyed at appearing dull. There was but one door open to her; to vote German a bore, and give up the class. She made her exit by that door on the occasion of the second lesson, and Mr. Langenau and I were left to pursue our studies undisturbed. The rendezvous was the piazza in fine weather, and the library when it was damp or cloudy. The fidelity with which the senior Germans gathered up their books and left, when their hour was over, was mainly due to the kind thoughtfulness of Mrs. Hollenbeck, who was always prompt, and always found some excuse for carrying away Charlotte and Henrietta with her when she went.
It can be imagined what those hours were to me, those soft, golden afternoons. Sometimes we took our books and went out under the trees to some shaded seats, and sat there till the maid came out to call us in to tea. Happy, happy hours in dreamland! But what peril to me, and perhaps to him. It is vain to go over it all: it is enough that of all the happy days, that hour from six o'clock till tea-time was the happiest: and that with strange smoothness, day after day passed on without bringing interruption to it. At six the others went to ride or walk; I was never called, and did not even wonder at it.
All this time Richard had been going every day to town and coming back by the evening train. It was pretty tiresome work, and he looked rather pale and worn; but I believe he could not stay away. I sometimes felt a little sorry when I saw how much he was out of spirits, but I was in such a happy realm myself, it did not depress me long: in truth, I forgot it when he was not actually before me, and sometimes even then. "I do not think you are listening to what I say," he said to me one night as he sat by me in the parlor. I blushed desperately, and tried to listen better. Ah! how often it happened after that. I blush again to think how much I pained him, and how silently he bore it all.
The last days of July were very busy ones in the Wall-street office, and Richard did not give himself a holiday, till one Saturday, much to be remembered, the very last day of the month. I recall with penitence, the impatient feeling that I had when Richard told me he was going to take the day at home. I felt intuitively that it would spoil it all for me. After breakfast, we all played croquet, and then I shut myself into my room with my German books, and selfishly saw no one till dinner. At dinner I was excited and half frightened, as I always was when Mr. Langenau and Richard were both present, and both watching me; it was impossible to please either.
Something was said about the afternoon, and Richard (who all this time knew nothing of the German class) said to me, evidently afraid of some other engagement being entered on, "I hope you will drive with me, Pauline, at five. I ordered the horses when I was down at the stables; I think the afternoon is going to be fine." It was rather a public way of asking one out of so many to go and take a drive; but in truth, Richard was too honest and straightforward to care who knew what he was in pursuit of, and too sore at heart and too indifferent an actor to conceal it if he had desired. But the invitation struck me with such consternation. At five o'clock! The flower and consummation of the day! The hour that I had been looking forward to, since seven the day before. I could not lose it. I would not go to drive. I hated Richard. I hated going to drive. I grew very brave, and was on the point of saying that I could not go, when I caught Sophie's eye. She made me a quick sign, which I dared not disobey. I blushed crimson, and did not lift my eyes again, but said in a low voice that I would go. Then my heart seemed to turn to lead, and all the glory and pleasure of the day was gone. It seemed to me of such vast importance, of such endless duration, this penance that I was to undergo. O lovers! Foolish, foolish men and women! I was like a child balked of its holiday; I wanted to cry--I longed to get away by myself. I did not dare to look at any one.
Mr. Langenau excused himself, and left the table before the others went away. As we were leaving the table, Sophie, passing close by me, said quite low, "I would not say anything about the German class, Pauline. And it was a great deal better that you should go; you know Richard has not many holidays."
"Yes, but you don't give up all your pleasures for him," I thought, but did not say.
I went quickly to my room, and saw no one till I came down-stairs at five o'clock. I had on a veil, for my face was rather flushed, and my eyes somewhat the worse for crying. Richard was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and accompanied me silently to the wagon, which stood at the door. As we passed the parlor I could see, on the east piazza, Mr. Langenau and Charlotte already at their books. Both were so engrossed that they did not look up as we went through the hall. For that, Richard, poor fellow! had to suffer. I was too unreasonable to comprehend that Mr. Langenau's absorbed manner was a covering for his pique. It was enough torture to have to lose my lesson, without seeing him engrossed with some one else, whose fate was happier than mine. Perhaps, after all, he was fascinated by Charlotte Benson. She was bright, clever, and understood him so well. She admired him so much. She was, I was sure, half in love with him. (The day before I had concluded she liked Richard very much.) That was a very disagreeable drive. I complained of the heat. The sun hurt my eyes.
"We can go back, if you desire it," said Richard, with a shade of sternness in his voice, stopping the horses suddenly, after two miles of what would have been ill-temper if we had been married, but was now perhaps only petulance.
"I don't desire it," I said, quite frightened, "but I do wish we could go a little faster till we get into the shade."
After that, there was naturally very little pleasure in conversation. I felt angry with Richard and ashamed of myself. For him, I am afraid his feelings were very bitter, and his silence the cover of a sore heart. We had started to take a certain drive; we both wished it over, I suppose, but both lacked courage to shorten it, or go home before we were expected. There was a brilliant sunset, but I am sure we did not see it: then the clouds gathered and the twilight came on, and we were nearly home.
"Pauline," said Richard, hoarsely, not looking at me, and insensibly slackening the hold he had upon the reins; "will you let me say something to you? I want to give you some advice, if you will listen to me."
"I don't want anybody to advise me," I said in alarm, "and I don't know what right you have to expect me to listen to you, Richard, unless it is that I am your guest; and I shouldn't think that was any reason why I should be made to listen to what isn't pleasant to me."
The horses started forward, from the sudden emphasis of Richard's pull upon the reins; and that was all the answer that I had to my most unjustifiable words. Not a syllable was spoken after that; and in a few moments we were at the house. Richard silently handed me out; if I had been thinking about him I should have been frightened at the expression of his face, but I was not: I was only thinking--that we were at home, and that I was going to have the happiness of meeting Mr. Langenau.