The outburst was so violent, and lasted so long, that Elsa became painfully embarrassed. How likely it was that the man of whom Aunt Sidonie had just said that he was sure to be present at their reception would come into the room--how soon Aunt Sidonie herself must follow her! She had only hastened up the staircase before her aunt, while the latter entered into conversation with the Councillor, who met them in the hall. While they were on their way to the hotel, she had been dreading all the time the solemn ceremoniousness of the good lady's behaviour on so important an occasion--the long-winded address, the offensive condescension with which she would meet her sister. She had silently regretted that she had persuaded her aunt to an immediate visit, and that she had not rather fulfilled her threat and gone alone. Now, thanks to her prompt decision, everything had happened so favourably; but now, too, poor Aunt Valerie must calm herself--must stop crying, and dry her tears, even if they were tears of joy--if she were really her good angel. So much the more indeed! Her good angel--she would try to be it, most certainly, and, oh, so willingly! She would never leave her again, at least in her thoughts and in her heart--would always be in thought and in heart near her, to comfort her, to help her, where she could, as much as she could; only now--now she must compose herself, and, quick, quick! let the black lace veil be arranged on her beautiful soft hair, and become again the great, dignified, proud lady that Aunt Sidonie had told her off, whom Aunt Sidonie must find there, or lose all belief in the penetration and knowledge of character on which she prided herself so highly. Thus Elsa comforted and coaxed and jested, till she had the pleasure of bringing a smile to the delicate pale lips and the mild brown eyes--the true Werben eyes, said Elsa; a melancholy smile, thought Elsa, but still a smile. And it came just in time, for the next moment the curly-headed young man in black coat, silk stockings, and knee-breeches, whose assiduity Elsa had with some difficulty escaped in the anteroom, opened the door and announced, in polite respect for the stately appearance of the lady whose card he held in his hand--"Madame Sidonie de Werben!" Sidonie rustled through the door, and found herself face to face with a slight, pale lady, who, supporting herself on Elsa's arm, held out her slender white hand, and who must be her sister Valerie, only that she did not in the least resemble the Valerie whom she had known, and whom she had last seen seven and twenty years ago. Not that the lady who stood before her was not still elegant and distinguished looking--she was even more so than formerly, Sidonie thought--she was still handsome too in her way, very handsome indeed; but the brilliant glance of the dark eyes, the rich carnation of the fair cheeks, the fascinating smile of the small red mouth, the luxuriant masses of her splendid chestnut-brown hair, which had formed a rich crown over her brow, and knotted loosely together at the back, had fallen in a few scented locks over her round, white shoulders, where were gone those magical charms over whose worldliness and sinfulness she had so often sighed and lamented? Sidonie was bewildered, almost dismayed. The little speech which she had prepared on the way was meant for the vain, pretentious, coquettish Valerie of former days, and was evidently quite unsuited to the Valerie of to-day. But her hurried efforts to think of something else to say were quite unsuccessful. Besides, the longer she gazed on the pale, noble countenance that was turned with a gentle smile towards her, and at every moment discovered an expression that brought back to her the former Valerie, the more she was overcome by a curious mingled sensation of the old love and of a new pity, so that, interrupting herself in the midst of the formal phrases through which she was labouring with a heartfelt "Dear Valerie, dearest sister!" she opened her arms, kissed Valerie on both cheeks, and then, as if terrified at this unjustifiable ebullition, sat down in stiff dignity in an arm-chair, and looked as severe and unapproachable as her short-sighted, good-humoured eyes would allow her. But the ice was broken, and Elsa took care that it should not form again, although there were some difficult points to be got over still. When Aunt Sidonie had mentioned casually that her brother had already left the house when Valerie's letter came, and consequently knew and could know nothing of their visit, "though he would doubtless have given his permission for it," Elsa blushed for Aunt Sidonie when she saw how painfully Aunt Valerie's lips quivered at the thoughtless words. She hastened to say that, after the letter received yesterday from her aunt, her father had only expected her on the evening of this day, when it occurred to her that her father's message would now seem very improbable, and, blushing again at the contradiction in which she had involved herself, she was silent.
"Never mind, dear Elsa," said Valerie, kindly pressing her hand, "I am grateful enough as it is. Everything cannot come right at once;" and she added, to herself, "Nothing will come right so long as I am in the power of my tyrant, who has once again seen, with one glance of his unerring eyes, what was hidden from my longing heart." In the meantime, Aunt Sidonie had entered on a subject which had occupied all her attention since the day before yesterday, and which she talked of now with the greater pleasure that she considered it a perfectly safe one:
"Though I hardly know, my dear Valerie, how far your long absence may have influenced your interest in the joys and sorrows of your family. Here it is only a question, of joys. You need not raise your eyebrows, Elsa--it does not improve your looks; besides that, it shows a want of confidence in my discretion, which, to put it mildly, is not very flattering to me, and is so much the more out of place that you ought by this time to be convinced of the groundlessness of your doubts and fancies. It is certainly not saying too much if I declare that I guessed the truth before any one, not even excepting Ottomar himself. The worldly advantages of the connection, its suitableness from all points of view--good heavens! no reasonable person could doubt it or ever has doubted it, as Baroness Kniebreche assured me yesterday, and she would certainly know if the contrary were the case, and if any one voice had been raised against it. The Baroness, dear Valerie, born a Countess Drachenstein, of the Drachenstein-Wolfszahn branch, the widow of the Lieutenant-General, a comrade and friend of our late father--eighty-two years old, but still astonishingly fresh, an extremely clever, delightful old lady, whose acquaintance you would be charmed to make--very intimate with the Wallbachs, and whose particular favourite our Carla always was. You have upset my ideas with your unnecessary grimaces, my dear Elsa, and it is your fault if I appear to your Aunt Valerie as absent as I am usually collected. You know me of old, Valerie, and Elsa herself knows best what strong concentration of thought is necessary for the conception and carrying out of my 'Court Etiquette.'" Elsa here tried to keep her aunt to her usually favourite topic, but in vain.
"There are moments," said Sidonie, "even in the lives of those who, like myself, most perfectly estimate the whole moral and political necessity of the growth and prosperity of the smaller courts, in which the firmly-rooted love and fidelity to the highest personages must not, indeed, be overpowered by family interests--that would be an improper expression--but allow the latter somewhat more liberty than usual; and in my mind that moment has now arrived." Sidonie now went on to describe the happiness that she felt at the aspect of the betrothed pair, who were themselves so happy, if they delicately refrained from giving to their happiness that expression which to less observant eyes might seem necessary or at least desirable, but for those who, during a long life at court, had learnt the requisite knowledge of humanity was neither necessary nor desirable. She, at least, must confess that Ottomar's modest gratitude and Carla's timid reticence moved her to the bottom of her heart, and all the more that she was constantly reminded by it of the bewitching idyl of the budding love of her Princess towards the then hereditary Prince, now the reigning sovereign; and if Elsa, as it seemed, intended to make the objection that the marriage in question had to be broken off later on account of higher interests, they were higher interests which had nothing to do with the present question, and never could have. Elsa had given up the attempt to stem her aunt's inexhaustible flow of words; she hardly dared, for fear of drawing upon herself fresh reproaches for her unkindness and frivolity, even to raise her eyes to Aunt Valerie, who, leaning back in her chair, listened with an attention which Sidonie pointed out to Elsa as "exemplary." Neither she nor Elsa suspected what feelings were tearing the heart of the poor woman, while her smiling lips from time to time put in a courteous, kindly word of interest. She must take notice of every turn of the conversation if she would go through the examination which her inexorable tyrant would impose upon her later. Woe to her if she had overlooked or failed to hear anything! Woe to her if she contradicted herself! Thrice woe to her if she had exclaimed what her heart cried within her: "I know it all already, better than you, foolish sister, or you, dear child! Poor things, do you not see that you are in the tiger's den, to which there are many tracks that lead, but none that come out again?" And then her anxious glance turned to the door. How did it happen that he left her alone for so long? What was his intention, he who never did anything without intention?
It had not been Giraldi's intention to remain away go long. He had expected the visit to be only one of civility, in return for that which he had paid his Excellency the day before; but the clever, loquacious gentleman had still so much to say, so much to add with regard to the business that they had apparently concluded the day before, even when he stood at the door with his hand on the lock, sometimes putting the hat which he held in the other hand before his half-blind eyes, hidden behind large grey spectacles, to protect them from the light that streamed too dazzlingly through the window opposite.
"It seems foolish to warn the most prudent of men," he said, with a sarcastic smile which looked like a tearful grimace on his odd face.
"Particularly when the warning comes from the bravest of men," answered Giraldi.
"And yet," continued his Excellency, "he is wise too; you undervalue his wisdom. He too is brave, even to rashness; he gives proof of it daily. I do not think men like him can be understood at a distance; at least half the magical power that they exercise over their contemporaries lies in their personality. One must know such people personally, quarrel with them in the Chambers, see them enter at a court reception, to understand why the beasts grovel in the dust before this lion, and even where they mean to oppose him, only get so far as to wag their tails. Believe me, my honoured friend, distance in space is as unfavourable to the estimation of such real historical greatness as distance in time. You in Rome think you can explain by the logic of facts all that depends solely on the overwhelming personality of the man, exactly as all-wise philosophers of history quite calmly construe the wonderful deeds of an Alexander or a Cæsar even to the minutest details by the necessity of the circumstances of the time, as if circumstances were a machine which completes its task all the same, whether set in motion by the master or by a workman." Giraldi smiled: "I thank your Excellency in the name of his Holiness, for whose ears this witty little lecture was doubtless meant. And it is no doubt as well that his Holiness should occasionally be shown the reverse side of the medal, in order that he may not forget the fear which is the beginning of all wisdom, and may be mindful of the necessity of our counsels and of our support. Only at this moment, when the shadows of the clouds which threaten our horizon on all sides lie dark on his soul, I would not willingly represent to him the situation as more difficult, or the man of the situation as more dangerous, than we ourselves see them to be who have learnt to see. Therefore I purposely took advantage of my farewell audience to raise his failing courage a little. May I give your Excellency a proof of the necessity of this? Well, then, his Holiness spoke in almost identically the same words of the demoniacal power of the arch-enemy of our Holy Church; he called him in turns a robber, a giant with a hundred arms, a murderer, a Colossus whose feet trod the two hemispheres, as that of Rhodes did the two sides of the harbour. Can your Excellency guess what I answered him? 'I see already the pebble falling from the skies, which will shatter the feet of the Colossus.' His eyes gleamed, his lips moved; he repeated to himself the words; before long he will proclaim them,urbi et orbi, as he does everything that we whisper to him. Our enemies will laugh, but it will comfort the feeble spirits amongst us, as it evidently sufficed to comfort the poor old man."
"I wish it were as true as it is comforting," said his Excellency.
"And is it not true?" exclaimed Giraldi. "Does not the Colossus in reality stand on feet of clay? Of what avail are all the boasting speeches about the power and splendour and civilising historic mission of the German Empire? The end of the song, which he purposely suppresses, or at least only allows to be heard quite faintly, is always and only the powerful kingdom of Prussia. What avails him that he restlessly throws himself from one character into another, and to-day proclaims universal suffrage, to-morrow thunders against Socialism, the day after again reprimands the puffed-up middle classes like so many ill-behaved school-boys? He is and will always remain the majordomo of the Hohenzollern, though he may strive against it in moments of impatience at the occasional prudent hesitation of his gracious master, of anger at the intrigues of the courtiers, or whatever else may chafe his proud spirit. Believe me, your Excellency, this man, in spite of his perpetual display of liberalism, is an aristocrat from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, and in spite of his vaunted enlightenment is full of the romantic fancier of the middle ages, and never can and never will from his heart wish for anything but a kingdom by the grace of God. But while he wishes for a kingdom by the grace of God, he works for one by the grace of the people. What else is it, when he uproots from the people all reverence for the priesthood, not the Catholic alone? the interests of all orders of the priesthood have always been identical, and the sympathy which the ill-used Catholic clergy obtain from the Protestant priesthood will soon be seen. Without priests, however, there can be no God, and no kingdom by the grace of God; in other words, he is sawing off the branch on which he sits. Or if he does not take the matter so seriously, if he is, what I do not believe, so narrow-minded and frivolous that he only sees the whole matter in the light of a dispute about etiquette, a quarrel for the precedence which he wishes to claim by the power he has arrogated to himself as head and chief over the priests, the affair will again lead himad absurdum, as there is no doubt that the priests will never accept this subordination, will at least only endure it if they cannot help themselves. We are what we always were and always shall be. And, your Excellency, his vulnerable point is that he does not grasp this, that he believes that he can frighten us by threatenings and terrors and make us the creatures of his will. As soon as he perceives that he cannot succeed by this means--and I hope he will not perceive it yet--he will try to temporise with us, and step by step will be drawn into the reaction; will be forced ever more and more openly to expose the contradiction between his aim--the kingdom by the grace of God--and his means which he has borrowed from the armoury of the revolution; and this contradiction into which he is being hopelessly driven, and from which must proceed the revolution--for no people will endure the long continuance of so contradicting a rule--is the pebble that is already rolling, and which will loosen the avalanche and shatter the Colossus."
"Serve him right! and good luck go with him," said his little Excellency, with his sarcastic laugh; and then, after a short pause, "I only sometimes fear that we shall make thesalto mortalewith him, and--"
"Shall stand firmer than ever on our feet," interrupted Giraldi quickly. "What have we to fear from the revolution or from the people?--nothing, absolutely nothing. If to-day they dance round the golden calf, to-morrow they will prostrate themselves the deeper in the dust before Jehovah; if to-day they place the Goddess of Reason on the throne, tomorrow like frightened children they will fly back again into the bosom of Mother Church. And if in reality, as you said yesterday, Darwinism is to be for Germany the religion of the future, so be it; we will be the Darwinianspar excellence, and with holy zeal will teach the new faith from the chairs of the universities. We know that nature draws her veil the closer, the more impatiently the too-forward scholar tries to lift it. And when he has gazed into the hollow eyes of Nothing, and lies shattered on the ground, we will come, will raise up the poor fool, and comfort him with the words--Go, and sin no more.' And he will go, and will sin no more in the foolish thirst for knowledge, for the burden of ignorance is lighter and her yoke is easier--quod erat demonstrandum." The corners of his Excellency's mouth were drawn as far apart as possible; even Giraldi smiled.
"I wish I had you always here," said his Excellency.
"To tell your Excellency things which you have long ago proclaimed from the tribune."
"I generally speak from my place."
"And always in the right place."
"It is often nothing but empty sound, and no one knows that better than myself; one counts upon the echo."
"And not in vain; for us beyond the mountains the little silver bell is the great bell of a cathedral, whose iron clang reminds loiterers of their duty and spurs the brave to fiercer struggles."
"And that reminds me that at this moment I am a loiterer myself, and that a fiercer struggle awaits me in the Chamber to-day." His Excellency, who had some time before seated himself on a chair near the door--Giraldi remained standing--rose again.
"Your Excellency will not forget my little request," said Giraldi.
"How could I?" answered his Excellency; "in fact, I hope soon to have an opportunity of setting the affair in motion. Of course, it cannot be done without a smalldouceur. Nobody does anything there for nothing. Happily we have the means always ready. The promise to give one turn less to the screw in Alsace-Lorraine, not to disturb the childish pleasure of the old Catholics in Cologne too rudely, not to sound the alarm too loud in the impending debate on the courageous Bishop of Ermeland, any one of these small favours is worth a General, particularly when the latter has such unpractical antediluvian ideas of State, society and family."
"And it can be done without scandal?"
"Quite without scandal. Ah! my worthy friend, you must not consider us any longer as the honest barbarians described by Tacitus; we have really learnt something since then. Good-bye!"
"Will your Excellency allow me to escort you to your carriage?"
"On no account. My servant waits in the anteroom. Will you let him come in?"
"Will your Excellency permit me to be for the moment, as ever, your devoted servant?" Giraldi was in the act of offering his arm to the half-blind man, when a fresh visitor was announced.
"Who is it?" asked his Excellency, with some anxiety; "you know I must not be seen here by everybody."
"It is Councillor Schieler, your Excellency."
"Oh! only him. However, do not trust the sneaking fellow more than you can help! He has got some very useful qualities, but must be handled with care. Above all, do not trust him in the matter in question; it would be quite useless. His great protector can do nothing in the matter."
"And therefore it was that I took the liberty of applying to your Excellency."
"Advice to you always comes too late. One thing more. For the little family war which you have to wage here with these North German barbarians you require three times as much of the needful as for the great war. Are you fully provided?"
"I have always considered that war should maintain itself. However, I can draw on Brussels to any extent if it should be necessary."
"Perhaps it may be necessary. At any rate, keep the game in your own hands. In spite of your sanguine hopes for the future, in which I fully concur, there are a series of lean years impending; we shall have to live like marmots, and the prudence of the marmot is more than ever necessary to us. You will keep meau courant?"
"It will be for my own interest, your Excellency." The Councillor had entered. His Excellency held out his hand: "You come just as I am going--that is unfair. You know there is nobody I like better to talk with than you. How blows the wind to-day in the Wilhelmstrasse? Have they slept well? Did they get out of bed on the right side? Nerves down, or steady? Country air asked for, or no demand? For heaven's sake do not let me die of unsatisfied curiosity." His Excellency did not wait for the answer of the smiling Councillor, but again pressed the hands of both gentlemen, and, leaning on the arm of the servant who had entered meanwhile, left the room.
"Is it not wonderful!" said the Councillor; "such incredible elasticity, such marvellous promptitude, such quickness of attack, such sureness in retreat! The Moltke of guerilla warfare! What an enviable treasure does your party possess in that man!"
"Our party, Councillor? Pardon me, I always have to remind myself that you do not belong to us. Will you not sit down?"
"Many thanks, but I have not a minute to spare. I can only hastily tell you what is most important. In the first place, they are furious at the Ministry of Commerce at a vote just passed by the General Staff on the harbour question, which, as I am told by a colleague--I have not yet seen it myself,--is as good as a veto. The report is by a certain Captain von Schönau, but the actual author--did you ever hear of such a thing?--is himself a member of the War Office, and is of course no other than our friend the General. This throws us back I do not know how far or for how long. I am furious, and the more so that I can see no way of getting over this difficulty. To be sure, a man has influence, and could, if necessary, bring this influence to bear even against an old friend; but one would not like to do it except in the direst necessity. What do you advise?"
"That we should not tarnish the purity of our cause by mixing in it such odious personalities," answered Giraldi. "If you think yourself bound to spare an old friend, you know that there exists between the General and me an enmity of long standing; and everything that I should do or allow to be done against him would appear justly in the eyes of all as an act of common revenge, which God forbid! If it is His will He will surely bring about an event which will make our opponent harmless, and that need not be an accident because men call it so."
"You mean if he were to die?" asked the Councillor, with a hesitating glance.
"I mean nothing positive, and certainly not his death. As far as I am concerned, may he live long!"
"That is a noble and Christian-like wish," answered the Councillor, rubbing his long nose, "and no doubt spoken from your heart; still his opposition is and remains a stumbling-block to us, and I wish that were our only hindrance. But now, Count Golm tells me--I have just come from him; he will have the honour almost immediately; I only hurried on before him because I have something to say about him presently--Count Golm tells me that his efforts--he went over there in his present semi-official capacity as future chairman of the board--that his efforts with the President in Sundin have been quite useless. He had made up his mind and could not alter it, however willingly he would give way to the Count, for a thousand reasons of neighbourly feeling and personal good-will, and so forth. Golm, who between ourselves is clever enough and certainly not bashful, naturally allowed the great sacrifice to be perceived that we have determined to make--all in vain. In fact Golm thinks that he has rather done harm than good in the matter."
"As is the case with all half measures," said Giraldi.
"With half measures, my dear sir. How do you mean?"
"What was he offered?"
"Fifty thousand thalers down and the first directorship of the new railway, with six thousand a year fixed salary, besides an official residence, travelling expenses, and so forth."
"Then about half what he demands?"
"He demands nothing."
"A man does not demand under those circumstances; he lets it be offered to him. Authorise the Count to double it, and I bet you anything the business is done."
"We cannot go so far as that," answered the Councillor, rubbing his closely-cropped head; "our means do not allow it. Besides the rest of us--and then Count Golm himself is satisfied with fifty thousand for the present, we cannot offer the President twice as much without offending Golm. He is not particularly pleased with us as it is, and that is the point I want to talk to you about before he comes. Is it really impossible for you--I mean for the Warnow trustees--to sell the property directly to us, the provisional board?"
"Over the Count's head!" exclaimed Giraldi. "Why I fancy, Councillor, that you are bound to the Count in that matter by the most positive promises."
"True, true, unfortunately! But Lübbener, our financial adviser and----"
"The Count's banker--I know."
"You know everything! Lübbener thinks we might find some pretext in the case of a gentleman who, like the Count, is always getting into fresh difficulties and is always inclined or forced to sell his birthright for a mess of pottage. At the same time we do not wish or intend to act contrary to your intentions, and if you insist----"
"I insist upon nothing, Councillor," answered Giraldi; "I simply obey the wishes of my client, which are on this point identical with those of Herr von Wallbach."
"Good heavens!" said the Councillor impatiently. "I can quite understand that for the sake of appearances you would prefer to sell to a man of position rather than to a provisional board, although the man of position in question is a member of that very board; but you must not forget that we should pay you as much, or nearly as much, directly as we must afterwards pay to the Count."
"The Count will not get off so cheaply either as you seem to think."
"Then he will sell so much the dearer to us," said the Councillor; "and it will be so much the worse for us."
"Nevertheless I must refuse my support in this matter, to my great regret," answered Giraldi decidedly. The Councillor looked very much disgusted. "The best of it is," he said sulkily, "that he cannot find the money--not even a hundred thousand, and still less the million or whatever sum we decide upon as the price of the land. He must come to us then; I know nobody else who would advance him so much at once, or even in instalments. I can tell him, however, beforehand, without being Merlin the Wise, that we shall not let him have the money cheap, so it will come to the same thing in the end. But now, my honoured patron, I must make room for the Count and take leave of you. Give my best regards to the lady, whom unfortunately I have not yet the honour of knowing, but for whom I have always had the deepest respect, and for whom I have broken many a lance in knightly fashion. And not in vain, for this family visit--I met Fräulein Sidonie in the hall, Fräulein Elsa had hastened on in front--is a concession which I may, without vanity, look upon as the result of my powers of persuasion. Apropos of my dear old friend Sidonie, you wished to know yesterday what it was that had actually decided the matter of the betrothal and put an end to Ottomar's obstinate resistance."
"Well!" asked Giraldi, with unfeigned curiosity.
"I do not know," said the Councillor, with his finger on his long nose; "that is to say, my dear friend does not know, or she was sure to have told me. According to the servant's evidence--that was all she could tell me--an interview took place the night before between the father and son; but I have every reason to suspect that the subject was no romantic one, but on the contrary, the equally prosaic and inexhaustible one of Ottomar's debts. Farewell, my dear and honoured patron!--You will keep me informed?"
"Be assured of it." The Councillor was gone. Giraldi's dark eyes were still fixed on the door; a smile of the deepest contempt played upon his lips. "Buffone!" he murmured.
He stood sunk in the deepest thought, his slender white fingers stroking his dark beard. "It is amusing to be the only well-informed man amongst the ignorant; amusing and sad. I feel it for the first time, now that I can no longer share my thoughts and plans with her. She has brought it on herself, and she is heaping wrong upon wrong. A little while ago and the measure was nearly full. If a spark of the old love remained in her she must have taken it differently. That pallor, that terror, that 'no!' at the mere vision of what formerly her soul thirsted for, as the thirsty traveller in the desert longs for the stream of water in the oasis. Only because it was a vision? Because it was not the truth? And if it were made truth?" Giraldi slowly paced the apartment. "His parents are dead, the monk may be disposed of, and the handsome youth can have no objection; he is vain and false, and in love; any one of the three would suffice to induce him to play the part. And then the likeness--it is not very striking, but she cannot convict me of falsehood when she sees him; and she must see him." In the anteroom was a stir as of several people moving; Giraldi, who was near the door, advanced a step nearer and listened; doubtless the visit announced in the niece's note. They were all pressing round her now; they who had formerly avoided Valerie as an outcast and castaway hastened to her now that she was their equal and doubly as powerful. They would try to make up by the flatteries and caresses of one hour for what they had for long years committed against her in their stupid shortsightedness. She had said once that she longed for this hour, in order that she might set her foot on the necks of her persecutors, and pay them back in their own coin for their treatment of her. He had just now repeated the words that had often been mentioned between them, but she had not taken them up. The old German love of family was moving in her towards her blood-relations, while her own flesh and blood--his own-- He struck his forehead with his clenched fist. "That was the only foolish action of my life. What would I give if I could undo it!" All was quiet again in the anteroom; Giraldi opened the door and beckoned in François, who handed him a number of visiting cards.
"I brought them out again, monsieur," said François; "I was not sure of being able to remember those German names."
"You must practise," said Giraldi, letting the cards run through his fingers; "Privy Councillor Wallbach, Frau Louisa von Wallbach (née Herrenburg Semlow), Ottomar von Werben, Carla von Wallbach--mon Dieu!it is not so very difficult--I can remember twenty names that I have heard mentioned."
"Oh yes, you, monsieur!" said François, bowing with a cringing smile.
"I expect the same of you. How did madame receive the lady who came first, the young Fräulein Elsa von Werben!"
"Mademoiselle shut the door when I wanted to follow her. I could not do it with the best will in the world. Mademoiselle seems to be very determined."
"You are a fool. And the second lady, the older one, Fräulein Sidonie von Werben, or were you out of the way again?"
"Oh! no, monsieur! She is a great lady who gives herself airs; there was no difficulty with her. She walked ten paces forward and then made her curtsey. Oh, monsieur! such a curtsey! I could not help thinking of Madame la Duchesse de Rosambert, from whose service I came into monsieur's."
"Good! and madame?"
"Madame could not help smiling--a melancholy smile, monsieur, that went to one's heart." And François laid his hand with a hypocritical look on his dazzlingly white closely-plaited shirt-front with its large gold studs.
"You may dispense with those grimaces in my presence! Go on."
"Madame, who had passed her left arm through mademoiselle's, and did not let it go now, held out her right hand and said: 'Ah, que nous----'"
"In French?"
"No, monsieur, in German."
"Then repeat it in German; the same words, if you please."
"Do we meet again thus after eighty-seven years?"
"Twenty-seven, idiot! But the actual meeting?"
"It was such a confusion, monsieur! I could not distinguish anything in particular; it was impossible, monsieur!" Giraldi shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"If Count Golm calls, tell him that I am at home to him, and add that monsieur can only spare him a few minutes because he is himself expected in madame's salon. Then mention, casually, who is in the salon. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, monsieur."
"One thing more; I do not pay two hundred francs a month to people to whom anything is impossible. You must perfect yourself if you wish to remain any longer in my service."
"I will do everything to satisfy monsieur, and to prove myself worthy of the confidence with which monsieur honours me." François bowed himself out of the door.
"That is to say," said Giraldi, "you have confided too much in me already to dare to send me away at a moment's notice. It is our misfortune that we cannot live without these creatures. In Machiavelli's time people took the precaution of not letting them live long. In these days one has to pay double without assuring one's safety. Ah! the Count." François had opened the door to Count Golm; the Count entered with hurried steps. He looked out of temper and absent; his attitude and the tone of his voice showed the carelessness of the man of rank, who does not think it worth his while to conceal his dissatisfaction.
"I am sorry to disturb you," he said; "but I will not take up your time for long; I have only come to tell you that in all probability nothing will now come of our bargain."
"I should be sorry for that for your sake, Count," answered Giraldi.
"Why for my sake?"
"We make nothing by the bargain, Count Golm."
"Which is as much as to say that I should gain by it! I should be much obliged, sir, if you would tell me what."
"If the Count, who proposed the bargain, does not know, we cannot pretend to do so."
"And who are 'we,' if I may venture to ask, in this case; the trustees of the Warnow property, or yourself?"
"In this case the Baroness von Warnow, whom I have the honour to represent." There was so much calm superiority in the Italian's coolly courteous manner, his black eyes shone with such a steady light, that the Count could not bear their glance and looked confusedly on the ground.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I--I did not mean to offend you."
"And I am not offended," answered Giraldi; "I never am when I see that people vent on me the vexation which I have not caused; it is like a letter that has been addressed to me by mistake. Shall we sit down?" The Count accepted the invitation unwillingly.
"I cannot, however, consider you exonerated from all blame; it was you who told me yesterday that it would not be difficult for me to raise the first instalment of the purchase-money. As I take it for granted that you are in a general way acquainted with my circumstances, and on the other hand, you have been so long intimate with the Councillor, I could not but believe that between him and you on the one side, and him and Herr Lübbener on the other, some conversation had taken place upon the matter in question, and that you were authorised by those gentlemen to make an advance to me in their names, which could not be made by the gentlemen themselves to whom I am to sell again, though only in their capacity as directors of the new railroad. Good! I went this morning to Lübbener; he professed great astonishment, said it was very strange, might create bad feeling if it were known that he had advanced the money, still--to please me, as I was determined to be the seller--in short, he made conditions--impossible, degrading conditions, I tell you--for which I could have horsewhipped the--the fellow! I went away furious, and went straight to Herr Philip Schmidt. Herr Schmidt, you must know--"
"I know--a merchant-captain, much thought of by the Werbens. The Councillor spoke to me about him." Giraldi played with his watch-chain while he said these words in a careless, conversational tone, and looked up in astonishment when the Count exclaimed eagerly:
"Heaven forbid! What could I have to do with him! Herr Philip Schmidt is, as I learnt unfortunately too late, a cousin of that otherwise utterly insignificant fellow, who has, with incredible audacity, forced himself into the best circles; a man of no birth----"
"I beg your pardon; Herr Philip Schmidt then, to whom you went----"
"Is the contractor for the Berlin-Sundin Railroad, and is to build our line also--a successful man, fairly presentable, and immensely rich. Polite reception, as I expected, assurance on assurance of meeting my wishes; but his money was tied up in every possible undertaking; his new house had cost him fearful sums; he must keep a balance in hand for the contract for our new railroad, and--in short, scarcely better conditions than those of Lübbener. Now you see how easily I can raise the half million which you demand as an instalment." The Count pulled at his fair moustache; his pale blue eyes looked angrily at Giraldi. He made a motion to rise, but on a sign made by the latter with his white hand, remained sitting, as if rooted to his chair.
"I must again ask your pardon," said Giraldi "I thought I had made myself clear enough yesterday. I had forgotten that German ears are--I will not say duller than Italian, but different to them. I could otherwise have spared you an unpleasant morning; for what could be more unpleasant for a nobleman than to be obliged to deal with crafty men of business, still more when these men, as is apparent, are in collusion! I hope that with us you will be relieved from this and any other unpleasantness."
"'With us?' With you?" asked the Count in the greatest astonishment.
"I must again say 'we' and 'us,'" answered Giraldi, smiling; "for if I am myself only the manager, still the savings of an income of ten thousand thalers could not have increased to so large a sum without--what shall I say--some speculation by a lucky hand. For the last few years the money has been really lying idle, and I herewith offer it to the Count in the name of the Baroness." The Count stared at Giraldi; but the man's dark eyes shone as calmly as before. It could not be a joke.
"In the name of the Baroness?"
"If it so pleases you."
"The entire half million?"
"As it appears to us--this time I mean the trustees--that the payment of half the purchase-money at once is necessary for the better regulation of the property."
"And the conditions?" asked the Count, after a short pause, with a somewhat hesitating voice. Giraldi stroked his dark beard.
"We make really none, with the exception of one special condition, for the registration of the debt as a first mortgage on the property--which, as the Count knows, is quite free from debt--and the low interest of four per cent, can hardly be called conditions, but rather natural securities, which the Count----"
"Certainly, certainly," said the Count; "quite natural. And the special condition?"
"That the Count pledges his word of honour not to tell any one, be they who they may, or even to hint from whom he has obtained the money." Giraldi held out his hand with a pleasant smile. "It is the hand of a friend, not of a usurer, that we hold out to you." The Count was ashamed of his momentary hesitation. "There you have my hand and my word!" he exclaimed, laying his hand in that of the Italian. "I will speak of it to no one."
"Not even to the Baroness," continued Giraldi "She wishes to be entirely unconcerned; that is to say, quite free. The Count will understand this womanly delicacy, not to say weakness."
"Perfectly," said the Count.
"Even her name--that is her particular wish--must not appear in any part of the transaction; so that the mortgage must be made out in my name. Do you agree!"
"Of course," said the Count. Giraldi dropped, with a friendly pressure, the hand which he had till then held in his, and leaned back in his chair.
"Then we are agreed," he said. "I on my side consider myself fortunate in having delivered a nobleman, whose intelligence and energy had won my entire sympathy even before I had the happiness of making his personal acquaintance, from the unclean hands of these roturiers, and in having placed him in a position which, as it appears to me, confers on him that leading position in this affair which in every way is his right. I at least see the road quite clear before him. To raise the second half of the purchase-money--let us for the present fix the 1st of March as the term--I say to raise the second half of the purchase-money cannot be the least difficult, as by that time you will have long ago sold the property to your associates for double the money; you must not on any account agree for less than two millions. And now, Count, if it is agreeable to you, allow me to conduct you to the Baroness, who is longing to make your acquaintance, as I am sure you will be happy to become acquainted with a lady whom no one can know without loving and honouring her." Giraldi had risen; the Count stood embarrassed and undecided.
"You will easily believe that I should prize the happiness proposed to me at its fullest value; but--your servant--there are a lot of people--nearly all the family--in the salon. I fear I should be looked upon as a stranger and an intruder at such a moment."
"But if," answered Giraldi, "it should just be in the presence of her family that the Baroness especially needs the friendship of men of position and weight? If she lays the greatest stress on showing that wherever she appears the friendship of those men is secured to her."
"Let us go!" exclaimed the Count.
"One word more," said Giraldi. In the hitherto calm eyes of the Italian a deeper fire burned. The Count stood breathless; he had an undefined feeling that now he was to hear the solution of the riddle which, in spite of all, was still a mystery to him.
"And if," continued Giraldi slowly, as if weighing every syllable, "the Count should imagine that the Baroness does not expect to buy his friendship by doing him a service in a matter of business, but rather by using all her influence in his favour, in case he should have the wish, once for all, to make the reproach of being a stranger and intruder in the family impossible. I need say no more, if the Count understands, and I dare say no more if he has not understood me." The blood mounted into the Count's face.
"If he dared to understand you!" he exclaimed, seizing the hand of the Italian and pressing it warmly--"if he dared!"
"That would be my smallest fear," answered Giraldi, with a crafty smile; "but I feel neither that nor any other. Only let prudence go hand in hand with courage, and let Count Golm kindly trust in this delicate business to the experience and knowledge of the world of an older man."
"I will not take a step without you--not a step!" They had already reached the door when François entered with a card, which Giraldi, after glancing at it, handed to the Count.
"You see. Count Golm! II n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte! The cost is not counted on that side! Ask Herr von Werben to come in." François opened the door for Ottomar.
"I come at the general wish of the ladies," said Ottomar. For the first time he saw the Count, The sarcastic smile left his delicate lips; his bright eyes took a gloomy shade.
"I beg pardon," said he; "I thought I should find you alone, or I would have chosen a better time----"
"To me any time is right at which I make the acquaintance of the nephew of my highly revered friend," answered Giraldi. "Besides, the Count and I were on the point of going to join the ladies in the drawing-room; now, indeed, I must ask the Count's permission to enjoy the honour of Herr von Werben's society here for a few minutes more."
"Au revoir, then!" said the Count, leaving the room, and considering as he crossed the anteroom, accompanied by François, whether he ought to be affronted or amused at Ottomar's distant manner. He came to the conclusion that he had more cause for the latter. Ottomar, indeed, had now reached the important goal; but it was extremely probable that he never would have reached it at all if a certain other person had arrived in Berlin a few days earlier. Everybody said so; and that it was only jealousy which had brought Ottomar's indecision and faint-heartedness to an end. Faint-heartedness, indeed! To satisfy a woman like Carla von Wallbach, a man must have very different qualifications to any that Ottomar von Werben could boast--must, in short, be a Count Golm. Well, he had kindly released the family from the anxiety which he had caused them--Fräulein Elsa, too, who had evidently trembled for her brother. They owed him some gratitude, and all of them, excepting Ottomar, would feel that--they would be eager to show him that gratitude. And if when he rose that morning he had not quite made up his mind about the other matter, he had done so now. Favoured by the lady here, whom the whole family had hastened to visit the very morning after her arrival, the remaining difficulties would vanish that opposed themselves to his entering that family as a highly desirable member--if he chose to do so! Of course, he should reserve his liberty of decision to the last moment! The Count lingered a little at the door to follow up his agreeable train of thought to the end, and to arrange his fair wavy hair and long moustache to the best advantage, before he desired François, who was waiting respectfully, to open the door for him; no special announcement was needed as he was expected. François obeyed with a low bow the order given him in French, and then behind the closed door, with a still lower bow, said: "Monsieur le Comte, vous parlez français--comme une vache espagnole---je vous rends cette justice, ah!" and drawing himself up the man shook his fist: "que je déteste ce genre là!"