Reinhold's blood surged through his veins, as again, and this time before strangers, the endless breach was shown him which separated him from his former wife. Now it was she who assigned him the place which he had to occupy towards her; and that she could do it with such calm and ease roused him to the uttermost.
"Italy's?" replied he, with sharp accentuation. "You forget, Signora, that by birth I am a German."
"Really," replied Ella, in the same tone as before. "Indeed I did not know that until now."
"One seems to be soon forgotten in one's home," said Reinhold, with savage bitterness.
"But surely only when people estrange themselves. In this case it is quite comprehensible. You, Signor, have found a second fatherland, and he to whom Italy has given so much can easily forego home and its recollections."
She turned to the other gentlemen, exchanged a few passing indifferent words with them, and then gave her hand quietly and openly to Hugo in farewell.
"You will excuse me, I must go to my uncle. Reinhold bid Captain Almbach adieu."
It was only too true. Ella possessed a terrible weapon in the child, and understood how to use it mercilessly. Reinhold experienced it at this moment. To him she relentlessly denied the sight and presence of his boy, although she knew with what passion he longed for him; and now she let him see how this boy stretched out his little arms to his uncle, and offered his mouth for a kiss; let him see it in the presence of the woman for whom he had forsaken them both, and whose presence forbade him to insist upon any of his rights as a father--the revenge penetrated to the innermost depths of his heart.
Beatrice, quite contrary to her usual custom, had not taken part, even by a single syllable, in the conversation; but her darkly burning glance did not move from either of the two, between whom she suspected some secret connection, although her thoughts were immeasurably far from the truth itself. For the present, however, Ella now put an end to any further conversation. She took little Reinhold by the hand, and after a slight, haughty bow, which included the whole party, she left the verandah with the child.
"You appear to have introduced some incognita to us, Signor Capitano," said Beatrice, with cutting scorn. "Perhaps you will be so good as to explain to us exactly who the princess is who has just now condescended to leave us."
"Yes, by heaven, very proud, but also very beautiful!" cried the Marchese, his admiration breaking forth, while Hugo replied coolly--
"You are mistaken, Signora. I told you the name of the German lady."
The young Italian went up to his friend and laid his hand on the latter's shoulder.
"Signora's mistake is easily understood. Do not you think so also, Rinaldo?--Good God, what is the matter--what ails you?"
"Nothing," said Reinhold, recovering himself with a great effort. "I am not well; the stormy voyage has upset me. It is nothing, Cesario."
"I believe the best we can do is to think of our return," interrupted Hugo, who deemed it necessary to distract attention from his brother, as he saw that the latter could no longer control his agitation. "A repetition of the storm need not be feared, and as the padrone has promised to procure us a carriage, we can reach S---- this evening if we start soon."
It was the first time that Beatrice cordially agreed to any proposition made by Captain Almbach. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, considered any great haste very unnecessary, and raised several objections. All at once the lonelylocandaseemed to have gained remarkable attractions for him. But as he could not succeed in his wishes--for Reinhold also insisted upon an immediate return--he joined Captain Almbach, who went to see about the carriage.
"I fear you made up some tale for your brother and me, when you declared that a certain villa was inaccessible," said he, teasingly. "It was suspicious at the time when you confessed your failure so openly, and let our jokes fall so quietly upon you. I could swear that I had seen this charming figure and those glorious fair plaits once before, when I rode past the villa. I understand, of course, that you would not make us the confidants of your adventure, still----"
"You are mistaken," interrupted Hugo, with a decision which made it impossible to doubt his words. "There is no talk of an adventure here, Signor Marchese. I give you my word upon it."
"Ah, then pardon me," said Cesario, seriously; "I believe your apparently intimate acquaintance with the lady----"
"Arises from a former acquaintance in Germany," completed Captain Almbach. "I certainly had no suspicion of this meeting, when I believed I was seeking a perfect stranger in the Villa Fiorina; but I repeat it, that the word 'adventure' must not be connected in the remotest degree with that lady, and that I claim the most perfect and unqualified respect for her from all."
The very positive tone of this explanation might, perhaps, have irritated another listener, but the young Marchese, on the contrary, seemed to find unmistakable satisfaction in it.
"I do not in the least doubt that you are quite justified in your demand," replied he, very warmly. "The whole bearing of the beautiful lady answers for it. What imposing dignity, and what a perfectly charming appearance! I never saw any woman unite the two so thoroughly."
"Really?" Hugo's voice betrayed by no means pleasant surprise, as he looked at his companion, whose cheeks were deeply suffused with colour, and whose eyes sparkled. Captain Almbach did not utter another word, but his countenance told plainly enough what he thought. "I believe this ideal-man also begins to care about other things besides airs and recitatives--however, it is quite unnecessary."
Beatrice stood alone up in the verandah. She had not followed Reinhold and Lord Elton, who also descended. Her hand buried itself unconsciously in the wet vine-leaves, while her dark eyes were fixed steadily on the sea. Lost in gloomy meditation, she only clung to the one thought, which her lips now uttered, as half threateningly, half frightened, she whispered----"What was it between them?"
Autumn had come, and brought strangers and inhabitants back from the seaside and mountains to the large ever stirring and bustling central point of Italy. It was indeed not such an autumn as leads nature to its grave in the North, with gloomy, rainy days, raw stormy nights, rolling mists, hoar and night frosts. Here it lay mildly in golden clearness and indescribable beauty over the wide plains, from which at last the summer's heat had subsided; over the mountains, which, at other times were day after day enveloped in hot vapour, encircled with white clouds, now again showed their blue outlines undisguised; and over the town, where the great wave of life which for several moons had rolled slowly, now flowed forth with renewed power.
Signora Biancona had also returned. Her stay in S---- had been as unexpectedly and quickly terminated as was Reinhold's in Mirando. He seemed as if, all at once, he could not endure his usually favourite place any longer. Almost immediately after their stormy sea excursion, he insisted positively that the original plan should be adhered to, and thevillegiaturain the mountains, long since decided upon, be carried out. The Marchese's objections, even his openly-displayed annoyance--having counted upon a lengthy visit from his guests--were in vain, as Beatrice also agreed somewhat eagerly to Reinhold's plan, and thus Cesario remained alone in Mirando, while the others went to the mountains, from which they had now just returned.
It was during the forenoon. Signora Biancona was sitting in her boudoir, her head resting on her arm, and her hand buried in her dark hair, in an attitude of eager attention. The conductor, Gianelli, had taken up his position opposite to her. Whatever his real feelings towards the envied Rinaldo might be, he was much too clever not to show outwardly all necessary respect and consideration to him, who, in the world of art, as in society, was all-powerful; and towards the beautifulprima donnahe was now all attention and devotion, which he showed in voice and manner, as, continuing the conversation already begun, he said--
"You had commanded, Signora, and that was sufficient for me at once to set all machinery in motion. I am fortunate in being able to fulfil your wish, and impart the fullest information upon a certain subject."
Beatrice lifted up her head with liveliest eagerness. "Well?"
"This Signor Erlau is, as you supposed, a merchant from H----. He must, indeed, belong to the richest of his class, as everywhere he appears like a millionaire. He has rented the entire Villa Fiorina, near S----, for himself and his family, and here, also, he inhabits one of the most expensive houses. His household is arranged in great style; part of the servants brought from Germany. He bears important introductions to his embassy, of which, however, he has not made any use as yet, because his state of health necessitates retirement. His move here, in fact, was only made in order to put himself under the treatment of one of our most celebrated doctors----"
"I know all that already," interrupted Beatrice, impatiently. "When I heard the name, I did not doubt that it was the same Consul at whose house I visited during my stay in H----. But the lady who accompanies them--the young Signora?"
"Is his niece," explained Gianelli, who made an intentional pause after the first words.
The singer appeared to consider. "She certainly was presented to me as Signora Erlau. A relation, therefore. I did not see her in those days. I surely should have remarked her; one does not so easily over look such a figure."
The maestro smiled with a malicious expression. "She issaidto bear the same name, certainly, as her adopted father; she issaidto be a widow--saidto have lost her husband many years since. At least, they wish such to be believed in Italy, and the servants have strict orders to answer all enquiries in this manner."
Beatrice listened attentively to this explanation with its double meaning, "'Saidto be;' but is it not so? I suspected that some secret lay hidden there. You have discovered it?"
"Servants are never silent, if one understands to apply in the right manner," remarked Gianelli, scornfully. "I only fear it is an extremely delicate point, and as it concerns Signor Rinaldo----"
"Rinaldo!" exclaimed Beatrice, "how so? What has Rinaldo to do with it? Did you not say that it concerns Rinaldo?"
The maestro bent his head, and said in his softest tone, "I was then, indeed mistaken, Signora, when I premised that the cause of your wish to learn more particulars about the Erlau family originated with Signor Rinaldo."
The singer bit her lips. She certainly might have foreseen that the motive which dictated the commission she had given him could not escape the observing eyes of a Gianelli.
"Let us leave Rinaldo out of the question!" said she, with an effort to appear calm. "You were about to speak of Signora Erlau."
"It would be somewhat difficult to separate one from the other," suggested Gianelli. "I only fear Signor Rinaldo is unfortunately not favourably disposed towards me already, certainly from no fault of mine. I fear I might arouse his extreme ill-will if he discovered it was I who made such a communication, and especially to you"--he paused, and drew figures on the floor with his walking stick, in well-feigned confusion.
"To me, especially!" repeated Beatrice, violently, "then this communication is not intended for me? You must speak, Signor Gianelli! You shall not withhold one word, not one syllable either! I require, I demand it of you."
"Well then----" he seemed really about to come to the explanation, but the game was too interesting to give it up so soon, and the maestro himself had too often suffered from the temper of the beautifulprima donnato be able to deny himself the satisfaction of keeping her still longer on the rack of eagerness.
"Well then, you surely are aware of Signor Rinaldo's former bonds; but in, Italy few or none know that he was already married. I myself was only informed of it on this occasion. You, of course, were acquainted with the fact."
"I know it," replied Beatrice, suppressedly, "but how does that concern this?"
"Indeed it does to some extent. You do not know Rinaldo's wife, Signora?"
"No. Though yes; I saw her once momentarily. A very insignificant person."
"They do not seem to think so, here," remarked Gianelli, again in the same soft tone. "Notwithstanding her seclusion, the beautiful fair German begins to create a sensation."
"Who?" Beatrice rose so suddenly and wildly, that the maestro thought it wiser to retire a few steps. "Of whom are you speaking?"
"Of Signora Eleonore Almbach, who certainly bears her adopted father's name here, probably to avoid inquisitive inquiries."
"That is impossible," exclaimed the singer, now with extreme violence. "That cannot be. You deceive me, or have been yourself deceived."
"Excuse me," said Gianelli, defending himself, "my source is the most authentic. I will answer for its correctness, and Signor Rinaldo will be obliged to confirm it."
"Impossible!" repeated Beatrice, still quite without her self-possession. "Thisapparition his wife! I saw her formerly, of course, although only for a few minutes. Was I then blind?"
"Or was he so?" completed Gianelli to himself; but he said aloud, "I am inconsolable to have excited you so, Signora; you will give me credit for not wishing to speak, but you regularly forced this information from me. I regret this exceedingly."
His words restored Beatrice somewhat to consciousness. She felt what she had to expect from the pity of the man who had played the spy on her behalf.
"Certainly not!" replied she in a hasty but vain attempt to recover her self-control. "I--I thank you, Signor. I am merely surprised, nothing more."
The maestro saw that he could not do better than retire, but as he prepared to leave, he laid his hand assuringly upon his heart--
"You know, Signora, that I am quite at your commands, and if you deem it necessary to insist upon my unconditional silence in this affair, no assurance is needed that this also is at your service. Quite at your commands."
He left the room with a low bow; he was in earnest with the last words. Gianelli was too good a reckoner not to consider as a valuable secret, something which sooner or later might be employed against the hated Rinaldo. If he were to make the piquant story public in society, nothing more could be done with it; in his sole possession, on the contrary, it might be very useful. At present it ensured him influence over Beatrice, and, indirectly, even over Rinaldo, to whom it could, at the very least, not be agreeable that his family affairs should become generally known.
In the best of humours the maestro passed through the saloon, and entered the antechamber, where at that moment the sailor Jonas was alone. Captain Almbach had sent him to his brother with some message; he supposed the latter to be with Signora Biancona. Reinhold, however, was at the manager's, but was expected every moment. Jonas learned this from some servant who had gone into Beatrice's service from that of the same manager who had taken the Italian Opera Company to Germany, and as a trophy of his northern journey was able to maltreat a few words of German. As the sailor had received orders to give his master's note to the latter's brother himself, nothing else remained for him than to wait; he therefore took up his position in the ante-room, through which Reinhold was sure to pass. He had certainly remarked that the door of one of the back rooms stood open, and that some one was in there, apparently one of the Signora's lady's maids, who was occupied with a dress of her mistress. However, as this somebody was a woman, she naturally did not exist for Jonas, who, dissatisfied and silent as usual, withdrew into one of the window recesses, and remained there above a quarter of an hour without taking the slightest notice of his neighbour.
Signor Gianelli, as regards women, seemed to entertain the most opposite views; he had barely discovered the open door and the young girl, before he immediately altered his course, and steered in that direction. Jonas naturally did not understand any of the conversation, conducted in Italian, which now took place between the two, but so much was clear to him, that the maestro endeavoured to play the agreeable, apparently without particular success, as he only received short, and rather defiant-sounding replies, and at the same time the heavy silken folds were so adroitly draped that he could not come nearer without crumpling the light satin. This lasted a few minutes, then Signor Gianelli appeared to try and make some serious attempt, as a cry of annoyance was heard, followed by the angry stamping of a little foot. The dress flew aside, and the young girl fled into the ante-room, where she stood still with arms folded defiantly and eyes sparkling with rage. But the maestro had followed her, and without being intimidated in the least by the opposition, gave signs of trying to enforce the kiss which evidently had been refused him before, when he stumbled upon a most unexpected obstacle. A powerful hand caught him suddenly by the collar, and a strange voice said impressively--
"That is to be left alone."
At the first moment the Italian appeared staggered at this interruption from a stranger whom he had not perceived at all; but on looking more closely at the latter, and discovering that he had only a common sailor to deal with, he drew himself up with great self-importance and evinced great annoyance. He immediately reversed the order of affairs, and pretended to be the one insulted. How could any one dare to attack a man in his position, especially in Signora Biancona's apartments; he should lay a complaint to the Signora; what sort of a person was it who took such a liberty? and thereupon a flood of not exactly flattering names swept over poor Jonas.
The latter endured the insults heaped upon him with immovable placidity, as he did not understand even one word of them; but when the Italian, deceived by this quiescence, took it into his head to make a threatening gesticulation with his stick, there was an end of the sailor's calm, as he understood this pantomime very well. With a sudden movement he had caught the stick from the maestro, the next moment had seized him and regularly thrust him out of the room, thrown his stick after him, and locked the door, all without speaking a single word, and returned quietly to his window recess as if nothing had happened. But here the young girl came at once towards him, stretching out both hands to him, with southern vivacity and overflowing with gratitude.
"It is not necessary! Was done willingly," said Jonas, dryly, but as he put out his arm as if to refuse her thanks, a little hand was placed upon it, and a clear voice said something in the softest tones, which was undoubtedly intended to express her acknowledgments.
Jonas looked most indignantly, first at his arm, then at the hand, which still lay upon it, and after having gazed at both for some time, he condescended at last to cast a glance also at the person to whom the hand belonged.
Before him stood a young girl of at most sixteen years, so lythe, so intensely slight and graceful a figure, that she presented the greatest contrast imaginable to the broad form of the sailor. A wreath of splendid blue-black plaits surrounded the little face, which, with its dark brown complexion and burning black eyes, certainly sprang from the South of Italy. The little one was pretty, without doubt very pretty, that could not be denied, and the liveliness with which she endeavoured to show her protector how very grateful she was rendered her still more charming.
"Yes, if I only understood the cursed language!" muttered Jonas, in whom, for the first time, something like regret arose that he had thrown away, with such obstinate determination, the rare opportunity offered him during the summer of learning Italian. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and in this way made pantomimic signs that he did not understand Italian, which the young girl seemed to think quite unheard of and also very disagreeable.
"I was to find Mr. Reinhold," growled Jonas, who, strange to say, seemed to long to impart some information, which was not usually his case with women. He made the discovery, however, that even this name was not understood, as now it became his companion's turn to shake her head and shrug her shoulders.
"Yes, indeed," said the sailor angrily, "he could not even retain his honest German name! Rinaldo he lets himself be called here--God have pity on him! Robbers and rogues are called by such names with us at home. Signor Rinaldo," exclaimed he, as he drew out his master's note, which bore the same name. This address was of course well enough known in Signora Biancona's house; any farther understanding was now, however, unnecessary, as just at the moment when the two were bending their heads eagerly over the letter, the door of the ante-room was opened and Reinhold himself entered.
The young girl remarked him first. In one moment she was away from the sailor's side and in the middle of the room, where she made a graceful curtsy and then disappeared in the direction of the saloon, probably to announce the long-expected one to her mistress; while Jonas, who could not conceive how any person could fly away thus lightly and rapidly, and disappear tracelessly in a few seconds, stared after her so steadily that Reinhold was obliged to go up to him and ask what brought him there. Ashamed, and somewhat confused, he delivered his errand and gave up the note, which Almbach opened and read rapidly. The contents seemed to be very indifferent to him--
"Tell my brother I am engaged already for to-day, and therefore beg him to accept the Marchese's invitation merely for himself. If possible at all, I shall appear towards evening."
He put the note in his pocket, dismissed the messenger by a gesture, and passed into the saloon. Jonas now had his orders and ought to have returned home; instead, however, he sought the servant who had given him the required information before, and the latter made the discovery that the inaccessible sailor, so chary of words, had all at once become very inquisitive, as he enquired very particularly about Signora Biancona's household and itspersonnel. and tolerated the Italian's horrible German--who was so proud of his knowledge of the language--with exemplary patience.
Reinhold, meanwhile, had entered the boudoir. He no longer required any announcement to its mistress, and she came towards him at once; but had he not been so entirely absorbed in other thoughts he must have seen at the first glance that something had happened to her. The Italian's dark warm colouring could appear pale at times; this was evident now, when the glowing blood which usually throbbed in her cheeks had disappeared to the very last drop; but it was an unnatural pallor, and her eyes burned all the more scorchingly. Beatrice was actress enough to be able, for a few moments at least, to control her temper when it was required to gain some object, and she wished to obtain one to-day. A trait of dark determination lay in her face; she wished to see clearly at any price.
"I met Gianelli below in the street," began Reinhold, after the first greeting. "He appeared to come from your house; was he with you?"
"Certainly! I know you are prejudiced against him, but I cannot possibly decline to see the conductor of the opera, when he comes on purpose to discuss something as to its performance with me."
Reinhold shrugged his shoulders. "That could be done at the rehearsals. Are you a young beginner, who requires protection, and must fear offending any one? I should have thought that you, in your position, could behave with as little consideration as I do. However, I will give you no directions about it. Receive whom you will, even Gianelli! I am far from wishing to place any control upon you."
The tone sounded icy, and Beatrice's voice trembled slightly as she replied, "That is new to me. You used to watch over my visitors most despotically; formerly no one could cross my threshold who was not agreeable to you."
Reinhold had thrown himself into a seat. "You see I have become more tolerant."
"More tolerant!--more indifferent."
"You have often enough complained of my despotism," remarked he, with a slight tinge of sarcasm.
"And yet I bore it because I knew it sprang from love. It is only natural that with the one the other should also cease."
Reinhold made an impatient movement. "Beatrice you demand what is impossible, when you require that a human heart should ever and for ever glow with those volcanic feelings which alone you call love."
She had approached his seat, and placed her hand on its back, while she looked down at him with a strange expression.
"I see certainly that it is impossible to require from the cold heart of a Northerner such love as I give and demand."
"You should have left him in his north," said Reinhold, gloomily; "perhaps the cold there would have been better for him than the everlasting glow of the south."
"Is that intended for a reproach? Was it I who tore you from your home?"
"No! I went voluntarily, but--be just, Beatrice!--you were the moving power. Who urged me constantly to the resolution? Who held my artist's course again and again before my eyes? Who dubbed me a coward as I started back at the responsibility, and at last placed the fatal choice before me of flight or our separation? Excuse me--you knew how the decision must fall."
The Italian's dark eyes flashed threateningly, but she forced herself to be calm.
"Our love depended on it," declared she, proudly; "our love depended on it, and your artist's career. I rescued a genius for the world when I rescued you for myself."
He was silent. The defence appeared to find no echo in his heart. She bent lower to him, and her voice sounded sweet and fascinating again, but the unnatural expression did not leave her features.
"You are dreaming, Rinaldo. This is one of your moods again, which I have so often had to fight against. Is it the first time then, that an unhappy, unsuitable marriage has been dissolved in order to form a happier union?"
Reinhold leaned his head on his hand. "No, certainly not; but that does not affect this case; my marriage has not been dissolved, and we--have never thought of marriage."
Beatrice started, and her hand slid from the back of the chair.
"You were not free?" she murmured.
"It would only have cost me one word to be so. I knew I should not be prevented, and means enough were open to you to obtain dispensation, which would have permitted a Catholic to make this marriage. But we both dreaded the indissoluble bond; we wished to be free and unfettered, without limits in our love as in our life--well, we are so still at this moment."
"What do you mean by this?" Beatrice pressed her hand upon her heart as if breathless. "Do you still consider your marriage to exist?"
"Oh, no, certainly not; and if I did, the daring of such an idea would soon be made plain to me. You do not know what an offended wife and mother is in the pride of her virtue. If the sinner were to devote his whole remaining life to penance and repentance, he would still not be restored to favour."
The words were intended to sound scoffingly; he did not suspect the boundless bitterness they betrayed as he hurled them forth; but Beatrice understood it only too well, and with this recognition, her self-control, so far preserved with such difficulty, broke down irretrievably.
"You have, perhaps, tried it already with the offended wife," cried she furiously. "She is in your neighbourhood; I myself was witness of your meeting. That is why your eyes encountered each other in so mysterious a manner; that is why you could not tear your gaze away from the child; that is why she drew back from me, as if from something unholy. Have you attempted the penitent scene already, Rinaldo?"
Reinhold had sprung up; anger and astonishment struggled in his countenance. "So you know already who Signora Erlau is? But why do I ask! The spy, this Gianelli, has just left you; he has traced it out and communicated it to you."
A dark look passed over the singer's features for a moment, as she remembered the distinct commission she had given to the spy, but in her inward excitement shame found no place.
"You knew it in Mirando," continued she violently, "and she occupies the Villa Fiorina close by. Will you try to make me believe you had not seen each other before, not spoken?"
"I do not wish to try and make you believe anything," said Reinhold coldly. "How I stand to Eleonore, our utterly estranged meeting must have shown you sufficiently. Calm yourself. You have nothing to dread from that side. What else has taken place between me and mywifeI shall not confess toyou."
A slight, but yet perceptible tone of contempt lay on the two words, and it seemed to be understood.
"It appears you place mebelowyour wife," said Beatrice weeping. "Below the woman whose only merit was and is that of being the mother of your child; who never----"
"Pray, leave that alone!" interrupted he, with decision. "You know I never permit you to touch upon that point, and now I shall endure it less than ever. If you must get up a scene for me, do it, but leave my wife and child out of the drama."
It was as if his words had let a storm loose, so raging, so unmeasured did the Italian's passion now break forth, dragging every trace of self-control along with it.
"Your wife and your child!" repeated she, beside herself. "Oh, I know what these words signify to me; I must experience it often enough. Have they not forced themselves between us from the first moment of our meeting until to-day? To them I owe every bitter hour, every strange emotion in your heart. They have lain upon you like a shadow, amidst the growth of your artist's renown, amidst all your conquests and triumphs; as if they had cursed you there in the north, with the recollection of them, you could not tear your self away from them; and yet there was a time when they were the oppressive fetters which separated you from life and future--which you must break at last!"
"To exchange them for others," completed Reinhold, whose violence now burst forth, "and the question is, are these others lighter? There, it was only the outward circumstances which confined me; my thoughts, feelings and actions were at all events free. You would fain see these, also like myself, without a will, at your feet, and that you could not attain this, or at least not always, I have had to atone for by hours of endless excitement and bitterness. Your love would have made any other man into your slave. Me it forced to stand in constant opposition to your love of ruling, which tried to take possession of every innermost thought and feeling. But I should have thought, Beatrice, that you had hitherto found in me your master, who knew how to preserve his own independence, and would not allow his whole being and nature to be clasped in chains."
The storm had now been called up. Henceforth there was no restraint, no more moderation; at least not for Beatrice, whose passion foamed out ever wilder.
"I must hear that, too, from the lips of the man who so often called me his muse? Have you forgotten who it was who first awoke you to the knowledge of your talents and of yourself; who alone led you up to the sun's height of fame? Without me, the admired Rinaldo would have succumbed under the fetters which he did not dare to break."
She did not realise how deeply her reproach must wound his pride as a man. Reinhold was roused, but not with that haughtiness which, until now, too often darkened his character; this time it was a proud, energetic self-consciousness with which he drew himself up.
"That heneverwould. Do you think so little of my talent, that you believe it could only force open its path with you, and through you? Do you think I should not have found my way alone, not alone have swung myself up to the present height? Ask my works about it! They will give you the reply. I should have gone sooner or later. That I went with you, became my doom, as that broke every bond between me and home, and also drew me upon paths which the man as well as the composer had better have avoided. For years you kept me in the intoxication of a life which never offered me even one hour's real contentment or true happiness, because you knew that when once I awoke your power would be all at an end. You might postpone it, hinder it never--the awaking came late, too late, perhaps; but still it came at last."
Beatrice leaned upon the marble chimney-piece by which she stood; her whole body trembled as with fever; this hour showed her indeed what she had long felt, without wishing to acknowledge to herself--that her power was in truth at an end.
"And who do you think shall be the sacrifice to this 'awaking?'" said she in a hollow voice. "Take care, Rinaldo! You forsook your wife, and she bore it patiently--Ishall not bear it. Beatrice Biancona does not allow herself to be sacrificed."
"No, she would rather sacrifice." Reinhold stepped before her and looked her firmly in the face. "You would plant the dagger--is it not true, Beatrice?--in yourself or me, all alike, if only your revenge were cooled? And if I seized the weapon from your hand, and returned repentant to you, you would open your arms to me again. You are right, Eleonore bore it more patiently; not a word, not a reproach restrained me, the cry of anguish was smothered in her heart. I did not hear even one sound of it; but at the moment in which I left her, I was the one rejected--my return was shut out for ever. And if I came to her now, in all the brilliancy of my fame and success--if I laid laurels, gold, honour, everything at her feet, and myself also--it would be in vain; she would not forgive me."
He broke off, as if he had said too much already. Beatrice did not reply one word; not a sound came from her lips; only her eyes spoke a gloomy, unnatural language; but Reinhold did not understand it this time, or would not understand it.
"You see this separation is irretrievable," said he, more quietly. "I repeat it, you have nothing to fear from that side. It was you, not I, who provoked this scene. It is not well to awaken the ghosts of the past--at least not between us. Let them rest."
He left her and went into the adjoining room, where he busied himself with the music lying on the piano, or seemed to busy himself with it, to escape further conversation.
"Let them rest!" that was said so gloomily, so quietly, and yet it sounded like scorn from his lips. Could he not even banish the ghosts of the past? And he demanded it of the woman who saw menaced by them what she deemed to be her highest good, her love for him, which, notwithstanding all that had passed between Rinaldo and herself in the course of years, still clung to him with all the strength of her inward being; whose glowing, passionate nature had in love as in hate never known any bounds. Whoever saw Beatrice now, as she raised herself slowly, and gazed after him, must have known that she would not let them rest, nor would she rest herself; and Reinhold should have considered, when he opposed her so defiantly, that he did not stand alone against her revenge any longer, and that in this hour he had betrayed, only too well, by which means she could strike a deadly blow. The glances of evil token which flashed there did not menace him, but something else which he was unable to protect, because the right to do so was denied him--his wife and child!
"I wish, Eleonore, we had stayed in the Villa Fiorina, and not undertaken our migration here," said Consul Erlau, as he stood still before his adopted daughter, whom he had surprised in tears on his unlooked-for entrance into her room. "I see I have made you suffer far too much by it."
Ella had soon effaced the traces of weeping, and now smiled with a calmness which might well have deceived a stranger.
"Pray, uncle, do not be anxious on my account! We are here for your sake, and we will thank God if your recovery, which has begun so promisingly in the south, is completed here."
"Still I wish that Dr. Conti were at any other place in the world," replied the Consul, annoyed, "only not just in the town which we would avoid at all cost, and where I am obliged to put myself under his treatment. Poor child, I knew you were making a sacrifice for me in this journey; how great it is I only now am learning to see."
"It is no sacrifice, at least no longer now," said Ella, firmly. "I only dreaded the possibility of a first meeting. Now this is overcome, and all the rest with it."
Erlau examined her features enquiringly, and somewhat suspiciously. "Indeed! then why have you wept?"
"Uncle, one cannot always control one's mood. I was cast down just now."
"Eleonore!" The Consul seated himself beside her, and took her hand in his. "You know I have never been able to overcome the thought that this unhappy connection commenced in my house, and my only satisfaction was that this house could afford you a home afterwards. I hoped that now, when years lie between, when everything in and around you has so completely changed, the injury you once received would pain you no longer; and instead I must see that it continues to burn undiminished and unforgotten--that the old wounds are torn open afresh, that you--"
"You are mistaken," interrupted Ella, hastily, "you are quite mistaken, I--have long made an end of the past."
Erlau shook his head incredulously. "As if you would ever show that you suffered! I know best what reticence and self-control are hidden under these fair plaits. You have often displayed more of it than you could answer for to your second father, but his sight is keener and goes deeper than that of others; and I tell you, Eleonore, you cannot be recognised since the day when that Rinaldo, regardless of all refusals, at last forced an interview upon you. What exactly passed between you I do not know to this day; it was trouble enough even to obtain the confession from you that he was with you. You are utterly inaccessible in such matters, but deny it as you may, you have become quite another person since that hour."
"Nothing took place at all," persisted Ella, "nothing of importance. He demanded to see the child, and I refused him."
"And who answers for it that he will not repeat the attempt?"
"Reinhold. You do not know him! I have dismissed him from my door; he will never pass it a second time. He understood everything, only not how to humble himself."
"At any rate he had tact enough to leave Mirando as soon as possible," said Erlau. "This vicinity would have been unbearable for any length of time. But his withdrawal was not of much use, as then Marchese Tortoni sprang up, who raved so uninterruptedly to you about his friend that I felt obliged at last to give him a hint that this subject did not receive the slightest sympathy from us."
"Perhaps you did it too plainly," suggested Ella, softly. "He had no conception of the wounds he touched, and your harsh repulse of it must have seemed remarkable to him."
"I do not care! Then he can obtain the commentary upon it from his much-admired friend. Were I to allow you to endure Signor Rinaldo's glorification for hours, certainly we were not much better off here. One cannot take up a newspaper, receive a visit, hold a conversation, without stumbling upon his name; every third word is Rinaldo. He seems to have infected the whole town with his tones and his new opera, which seems to be considered here as a sort of event of the world. Poor child! and you must be quiet under it all, must witness how this man regularly revels in victories and triumphs, how he has attained the zenith of success, and maintains it undisputed."
The young wife rested her head on her hand so that the latter shaded her face.
"Perhaps you deceive yourself after all. He may be celebrated and worshipped like no other--happy he is not."
"I am glad of it," said the Consul, violently, "I am extremely glad of it. There would be no more justice or right in the world if he were. And that he has seen you, as you allow yourself to be seen now, does not conduce much to his happiness, I hope."
He had risen at the last words, and walked up and down the room with his old vivacity. A short silence followed, which Ella at last interrupted--
"I want to beg something of you, dear uncle. Will you grant it me?"
Erlau stopped. "Gladly, my child. You know I cannot easily refuse you anything. What do you wish?"
Ella had fixed her eyes on the ground, and did not look up while she spoke.
"It is that Rein--that Reinhold's latest work is to be performed the day after to-morrow."
"Yes, to be sure, and then the adoration will become unendurable," growled Erlau. "You wish to escape from the first commotion about it--I understand that, perfectly; we will drive into the mountains for a week or a fortnight. Dr. Conti must give me leave of absence for so long."
"On the contrary. I wanted to beg you--to go to the opera with me."
The Consul looked at her with a countenance full of the most intense astonishment.
"What, Eleonore! I cannot have heard aright? You wish to go on that day to the theatre, which hitherto you have so decidedly avoided as soon as Rinaldo's name was connected with it?"
Notwithstanding the shielding hand, one could see plainly how the deep red which coloured her cheeks rose to her temples, as she replied almost inaudibly--
"I never ventured to enter the opera house at home, whenhismusic reigned there. I always felt as if every one's eyes would be directed to me and seek me, even in the darkest background of our box. In your drawing-rooms and in those of our acquaintances I seldom or never heard his compositions. People avoided them whenever I was present; people knew what had taken place, and tried to spare me in every way. I never attempted to break through this fence of shielding consideration which you all drew around me. Perhaps I was too great a coward to do so, perhaps also, too much embittered. Now," she raised herself suddenly, with a violent motion, and her voice gained perfect firmness, "now I have seen Reinhold again, now I will learn to know him in his works--him and her."
Erlau's astonishment continued; apparently this affair surprised him in the highest degree, but it was very evident that he was not accustomed to refuse his favourite anything, even if it seemed to him to be a point requiring consideration. For the present, however, he was relieved from an immediate consent, as the servant entered with the announcement that Dr. Conti had just driven up, and that Captain Almbach also was in the drawing-room.
"Certainly, Herr Captain Almbach is most enviable in his want of diffidence," said the Consul. "Notwithstanding all that has passed between you and his brother, he asserts his right as a relation just the same as if nothing had occurred. Hugo Almbach is the only person in the world who could do this."
"Do you not like his visits?" asked Ella.
"I!" Erlau smiled. "Child, you know that he has won me as completely as every one else whom he chooses to win, perhaps only excepting my Eleonore, for whom he seems to entertain quite incredible respect."
He then took his adopted daughter's arm, and led her to the drawing-room. The medical visit did not last long, and Hugo in about half-an-hour also quitted the Erlau's house, which he was wont to visit frequently. Whether Reinhold knew of it could not be decided, certainly he suspected it; but there appeared to be a tacit agreement between the brothers not to touch upon this subject. It was not Captain Almbach's way to force himself into a confidence which was determinedly and continuedly withheld from him, and therefore he followed Reinhold's example, who observed utter silence about the meeting in thelocanda. and never mentioned his wife's or child's names again, since he knew they were in his neighbourhood. What might be really hidden beneath the impenetrable reticence, Hugo could not discover, but he was convinced that it did not arise from indifference.
Captain Almbach had reached his brother's dwelling, and entered his own room, where he found Jonas, who seemed to be waiting for him. In the sailor's appearance to-day there was decidedly something unusual; his wonted phlegm had given way to a certain restlessness, with which he waited until his master had taken off hat and gloves and sat down. Hardly was this done, than he came forward and planted himself close beside the Captain's chair.
"What is it then, Jonas?" asked the latter, becoming attentive. "You look as if you meant to make a speech."
"That is what I wish to do," said Jonas, as he placed himself in an attitude half solemn, half confused.
"Indeed? That is something new. I was always under the impression hitherto that you would prove a most valuable acquisition to a Trappist monastery. If, however, by means of all the classical recollections here, the spirit of oratory has come to you also, I rejoice at it. Begin then, I will listen."
"Herr Captain Almbach"--the sailor's spirit of oratory did not seem to be sufficiently developed, as for the present he could not get beyond those three words, and instead of continuing, he gazed persistently and fixedly on the floor as if he wished to count the Mosaic stones.
"Listen, Jonas, I am suspicious about you," said Hugo, impressively. "I have been suspicious about you for more than a week, you do not growl any more; you cast no more furious looks at the padrona and her maids; you sometimes lay your face in folds, such as any one with power of imagination might consider the first feeble attempt at a smile. I repeat it, these are highly serious symptoms, and I am prepared for the worst."
Jonas seemed to discover that he must express himself somewhat more clearly. He made an energetic start, and actually completed half a sentence.
"Herr Captain Almbach, there are men--"
"A most indisputable fact, which I do not in the remotest degree intend to attack. So there are men--well, go on."
"Who may like women," continued Jonas.
"And others who may not like them," added the Captain, as a second pause ensued; "an equally undeniable fact, of which Herr Captain Hugo Almbach's seaman, William Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' is offered as an example."
"I did not wish to say that exactly," responded the sailor, whom this arbitrary continuation of his evidently studied speech quite disconcerted. "I only meant to say that there are men who appear to be, no one knows how unkind towards women, and yet at heart are not so at all, because they think nothing about them."
"I believe that is a very flattering illustration of my character," remarked Hugo. "But now tell me, for Heaven's sake, what do you purpose with all these prologues?"
Jonas drew several long breaths; the next words appeared to be too hard for him. At last he said, stammeringly--
"Herr Captain Almbach, I know, of course, best what you really are--and--and--I know a young woman."
A smile, which he suppressed with difficulty, quivered about Captain Almbach's lips, but he compelled himself to remain serious.
"Really!" said he, coolly, "that is, indeed, a remarkable event for you."
"And I will bring her to you," continued Jonas.
Now Captain Almbach began to laugh aloud. "Jonas, I believe you are not sane. What in the world am I to do with this young woman. Shall I marry her?"
"You shall do nothing with her," explained the sailor, with an injured countenance. "You are only to look at her."
"A very modest pleasure," scoffed Hugo. "Who then is the lady concerned, and what necessity requires me to look at her?"
"It is the little Annunziata, Signora Biancona's lady's maid," replied Jonas, who now became more fluent of speech. "A poor, quiet young thing, without father or mother. She has only been a couple of months with the Signora, and at first all went well with her; but there is a man," the sailor clenched his fist with intense rage, "called Gianelli, and he is the conductor; he follows the poor thing at every step, and never leaves her in peace. She has repulsed him once very roughly, and on that account he maligned her to the Signora, and since then the Signora is so unkind and violent to her, that she can stand it no longer. Inthathouse, indeed, she does not see much good, and therefore she shall leave, and must leave, and I shall not allow her to remain any longer."
"You appear to be very fully informed about that little Annunziata," remarked Hugo, dryly. "She is an Italian; have you learned all these details by pantomimic means?"
"The Signora's servant helped us now and then, when we could not get on," confessed Jonas, quite openly. "But he speaks horrible German, and I do not like him putting his finger into everything. Without reference to this, though, she shall get away from the whole crew; she must absolutely go into a German house."
"On account of the morals," added Hugo.
"Yes, and besides on account of learning German. She cannot speak a single word of it, and it is really sad when people cannot understand one another. So I thought--you often go to Herr Consul Erlau, Herr Captain Almbach--perhaps young Frau Erlau may want a maid, and in such a rich household it cannot matter one person more or less, if you were to put in a good word for Annunziata." He stopped and looked beseechingly at his master.
"I will speak to the lady," said Captain Almbach, "and at all events it will be better for you only to introduce yourprotegéeafter I have had a decided answer; I will also look at her then. But one thing more, Jonas"--he put on a grave expression--"I presume that nothing influences you in the whole matter, excepting pity for the poor persecuted child?"
"Only pure pity, Herr Captain," assured the sailor, with such honest frankness that Hugo was obliged to bite his lips, so as not to give way to renewed laughter.
"I really believe he is capable of imagining that," murmured he, and then added aloud, "I am glad to hear it. I was convinced of it from the first; as you know, Jonas,weshall never marry!"
"No, Herr Captain," answered the sailor; but the answer sounded somewhat wanting in heartiness.
"Because we think nothing of women," said Hugo, with immovable seriousness. "Beyond pity and gratitude, the story never goes; then we sail away, and regret remains with them."
This time the sailor made no reply, but he looked at his master as if much taken aback.
"And it is indeed most fortunate that it is so," ended Captain Almbach, with great emphasis. "Women on our 'Ellida!' Heaven preserve us from them!"
With which he left Jonas and went out of the room. The latter looked after him with an expression in which it was difficult to decide whether it consisted more of annoyance or sadness; finally, however, the latter sentiment seemed to prevail, as he let his head droop, and uttered a sigh, saying, in an undertone--
"Yes, certainly, she is a woman also--more's the pity!"
Hugo had gone across into his brother's study, where he found him alone. The piano stood open, but Reinhold himself lay extended on the couch, his head thrown back on the cushions. The face, with its half-closed eyes and high forehead, with its dark hair falling over it, looked alarmingly pale. It was an attitude, not of repose, but of the most supreme fatigue and exhaustion, and he barely changed it at his brother's entrance.
"Reinhold, really this is too bad of you," said the latter, coming up to him. "Half the town is in commotion with your opera; in the theatre everything is in a whirl; people openly fight for tickets. His Excellency the Director does not know where his head is, and Donna Beatrice is in a regular state of nervous excitement. And you, the real promoter of all this disturbance, dream away here indolce far niente. as if there were no public nor operas in the world."
Reinhold turned his head towards the new comer with a feeble, indifferent movement; his face showed that his dreams had been anything but sweet.
"You were at the rehearsal?" asked he. "Did you see Cesario?"
"The Marchese? Certainly, although he was no more at the rehearsal than I was. This time he preferred to give a performance himself in the higher equestrian art; I have just paid a high tribute of admiration to his bravery."
"Cesario? How so?"
"Well, he rode no less than three times up and down the same street, and regularly under a certain balcony; let his horse curvet so senselessly that one dreaded an accident every moment. He will break his own and his beautiful animal's neck too, if he should try that often. Unfortunately this time mine was the only, probably not much wished for, physiognomy which he saw at the window."
The evidently irritable tone of these words caught Reinhold's attention--he half raised himself up.
"At which window?"
Hugo bit his lips; in his anger he had quite forgotten to whom he spoke. His brother remarked his hesitation.
"Do you mean the Erlau's house?" asked he, quickly. "It seems to me you often visit it."
"Sometimes, at least," was Captain Almbach's quick response. "You know I have always enjoyed the privilege of neutrality there; even when the battle was raging most fiercely in my uncle's house, I have asserted this old privilege there, and it is tacitly recognised by both parties."
Reinhold had raised himself entirely, but the eagerness had quite disappeared from his features; in its place was a dark expression of enquiry, as he said--
"Then Cesario has also theentréeof the Erlau's house? Of course you introduced him there."
"Yes, I was so--stupid," said Captain Almbach, speaking angrily, "and I seem to have caused something very charming by it. We had hardly left Mirando when Don Cesario--who cannot resolve to sacrifice his freedom---who rides past the only lady in the neighbourhood without looking at her even--loses no time on the strength of that introduction in making himself agreeable at the Villa Fiorina; and this was done, the Herr Consul tells me, in so pleasant and modest a manner that it was impossible to repulse him; the more so, as our departure from Mirando removed the only cause of their seclusion. Then he was fortunate enough to discover Herr Doctor Conti, who was making hisvillegiaturasomewhere in the vicinity, and bring him to the Herr Consul. The doctor's treatment produced results beyond all expectation, and Don Cesario is almost looked upon in the family as the saviour of life, which he knows how to make use of. Trust one of those women-haters! They are the worst of all; Jonas has just given me a speaking example of it. He has started a wonderful theory of pity, in which he believes firmly as in the Gospel; but all the same, it has caught him hopelessly, and the aristocratic Marchese Tortoni is on the same path."
It could not have escaped any calm observer, that under the Captain's mocking speech, which was usually only dictated by mischief, a bitterness lay concealed which, with all his scoffing, he could not quite control; but Reinhold was far from calm. He had listened as if he would read every word from off his brother's lips, and at the last remark he started up wildly.
"On what path? What do you mean by it?"
Hugo stepped back as if struck, "My God, Reinhold, how can you fly out like that? I only meant--"
"It concerns Ella, does it not?" interrupted Reinhold, with the same violence. "To whom else can these attentions be paid?"
"Certainly, to Ella," said Captain Almbach. It was the first time for months that this name had been mentioned between them. "And just for this reason, it can and must be indifferent to you."
Simple as the remark was, it seemed to hit Reinhold unexpectedly hard. He strode up and down the room once or twice, and at last stopped before his brother.
"Cesario has no idea of the truth," said he, in a suppressed voice; "he made some enthusiastic remarks to me at the beginning. I may have betrayed to him, involuntarily, how much they pained me, as since then he has not touched the topic again."
"Erlau appears to have given him a similar hint," added Hugo. "He tried to find out something about it from me--if any and what connection existed between you and that family. I naturally avoided it, but he seems to suspect some former enmity between you and Erlau."
Reinhold looked down gloomily. "This connection will indeed not long remain a secret. Beatrice knows it already, and, as I fear, from a very unsafe source, whence no silence can be expected. Cesario must learn it sooner or later, after what you have just disclosed to me. He is romantic enough to take anything of the sort seriously, and give himself up, with his whole soul, to a hopeless passion."
Captain Almbach leaned with folded arms against the piano, a slight pallor lay upon his face, and his voice trembled faintly, as he answered--
"Who tells you that it is hopeless?"
"Hugo, that is an insult," stormed Reinhold. "Do you forget that Eleonore is my wife?"
"She was," said Captain Almbach, emphasising the word strongly. "You surely think now as little of asserting such rights as she would be inclined to admit them."
Reinhold was silent. He knew best with what determination even the slightest appearance of any right was denied him.
"You have both been satisfied with mere separation," continued Hugo, "without requiring judicial divorce. You did not need it, and what restrains Ella from it I understand only too well. In such a case final decisions as to the possession of the boy must be made. She knew that you would never quite sacrifice your paternal rights, and trembled at the thought of giving you the boy even for a time. Your tacit resignation of him was sufficient for her; she preferred to give up all satisfaction, in order to remain in undisturbed possession of her child."
Reinhold stood there as if struck by lightning. The glow of agitation which had so lately coloured his brow disappeared; he had become deadly pale again, as he asked, in a suppressed voice--
"And this--this you think was the sole reason?"
"So far as I know Ella, the sole one which could prevent her completing the step which you had commenced."
"And you think that Cesario has hopes?"
"I do not know it," said Hugo, seriously, "but we both know that nothing stands in the way of Ella's freedom, if she were really disposed to assert it still. You forsook her, gave her up entirely for years, and all the world knows why it was done, and what kept you continuously away from her. She has not only law, but also public opinion on her side, and I fear the latter would compel you to leave the boy with her. Beatrice stands terribly in the way of your paternal rights."
"You think that Cesario has hopes?" repeated Reinhold, but this time the words sounded moody and full of menace.
"I believe that he loves her, loves her passionately, and that sooner or later he will try to woo her. He will then certainly learn that the imaginary widow was the wife of his friend, and still bears that friend's name, but I doubt if this will exercise any influence upon him, as not the slightest shadow falls upon Ella. Only your friendship may receive an irrecoverable blow; but even without this, it would be at an end, so soon as passion speaks; consider this, Reinhold, and do not let yourself be carried away to any rash act. You broke your bonds in order to set yourself free. Thereby you also made Eleonore free--perhaps for another."
Captain Almbach's voice fell at the last words, and, as if to suppress or conceal some violent emotion, he turned quickly to depart. Although his brother's agitation, whom he left alone, did not escape him, he had not the remotest suspicion of the firebrand which his words threw into the other's breast.
If Reinhold had shown almost nothing but fatigue and indifference lately to those around him, if a sensation often overcame him that for him there was an end of life and love, this moment proved that the same wild passion could still rage in his heart which had once drawn the young artist away from his bonds at home; and the manner in which the storm had been loosed, betrayed, if not to others yet to himself, that which hitherto hewouldnot know, and which now disclosed itself to him with merciless distinctness. The defiance and bitterness with which he had armed himself against the wife who dared to let him feel that he had once deeply offended her, and that she would now and never more pardon this offence, succumbed before the burning pain which suddenly blazed forth in his breast. But although his pride taught him to meet the coldness, indifference and irreconciliation with harshness, he still could not prevent it that so soon as the picture of his child rose before him its mother's form also stood by its side. Certainly it was no longer the same Ella, who a few months previously barely held a place in his recollection, but the woman, who on that evening, when for the first time he recognised what he had so frivolously given up, and what he had irretrievably lost, had shown him such an energetic will, and such a never dreamed of depth of feeling. Near the child's fair curly head there hovered, ever and ever, the face with those large, deep blue eyes, whose glance had struck him so annihilatingly. He did not confess to himself with what passion he clung to this picture, with what longing he dreamed away hours in these recollections; he did not even confess the thought which lay unexpressed in his soul, that the woman who still bore his name, who was the mother of his child, notwithstanding all that had happened, still belonged to him, and although he had forfeited the right of possession, at any rate no other dared approach her.
And now he must hear that another already stretched forth his hand to the prize, and offered everything to gain it. His brother's words unsparingly disclosed the motive, to which alone he owed it, that Ella had not answered his flight with letters of divorce. Only for the child's sake was she still called his wife; not because one trace of liking for him lingered in her heart. And if she were now to take the step once avoided; if on her side she removed the chain, now when a Cesario offered her his hand, who could prevent her; who could blame the woman, who after the lapse of years sought at last in a purer, better love, recompense for the treachery her husband had exercised towards her? The danger did not lie in the fact that Marchese Tortoni, who was handsome, rich, and who, belonging to one of the noblest families, was the aim of so many aspirations, could raise his wife to a brilliant position; that could only come under Erlau's consideration; but Reinhold knew that Cesario, with his noble and thoroughly pure character, with his glowing enthusiasm for everything beautiful and ideal, might indeed win the heart of an Eleonore--yes, must win it--if this heart were still free; and this conviction robbed him of all self-possession. There was once an hour in which the young wife had lain full of despair on her knees by her child's cradle, with the annihilating consciousness that at that moment her husband was forsaking her, his child, and his home for another's sake--that hour now revenged itself on him, who was guilty of it, revenged itself in the words, which stood as if written in letters of flame before his soul--"Therefore you made her free also--perhaps for another."