The following morning at an early hour Willibald von Eschenhagen walked through the park, which he wanted to see--at least so he had told his uncle.
The large, forest-like park which was situated directly before the city, was indeed worth seeing, but Willibald paid no attention to the landscape, which did not look very inviting this bleak November day.
Without a glance to right or left he walked quickly forward, taking aimlessly now this and now that path, without noticing that he repeatedly returned to the same spot. It seemed as if he wished with this stormy walk to calm an inner unrest; he had really gone out to be alone in the free, open air.
The young lord tried to persuade himself that it was only the meeting again with the friend of his youth that had taken him so completely out of his composure. He had not heard anything of Hartmut for fully ten years--did not even dare to mention him at home, and now he suddenly saw the lost one again, with the halo of a growing poetical glory around his head. Deeply and wonderfully changed in appearance and manner, in spite of all he was still the Hartmut with whom he had played his boyish games so often. He should have recognized him at the first glance without having been prepared for the meeting.
Wallmoden, on the contrary, seemed to be disagreeably surprised at yesterday's success. He had hardly spoken during the drive home; his wife as little. She had stated in the carriage that the hot air of the theatre had given her an intolerable headache, and retired immediately upon their arrival home. The Ambassador followed her example, and when he gave his hand to his nephew, who wished him good-night, he said curtly: "Our understanding remains the same, Willibald. You are to keep silence toward everybody, whoever it be. Look out that you do not betray yourself, for the name Rojanow will be in everybody's mouth during the next few days. He has had luck again this time--like all adventurers."
Willibald had accepted the remark silently, but he still felt that it was something else which gave the author of Arivana this success.
Under other circumstances he would have considered this work as something unheard of--incomprehensible--without understanding it, but, strange to say, the understanding for it had dawned upon him yesterday.
One could fall in love without the solemn approval of the respected parents, guardians and relations; it happened not only in India, but it happened here sometimes, too. One could also incautiously and hastily burden oneself with a vow and break it--but what then?
Yes, then came the doom which Hartmut had pictured so horribly and yet so fascinatingly. Willy was transporting in earnest the highly romantic teachings of Arivana into Burgsdorf affairs, and the doom suddenly assumed the features of Frau von Eschenhagen, who, in her wrath, was surely worse than an angry caste of priests.
The young lord heaved a deep sigh. He thought of the second act of the play, when, from the circle of Hindoo girls who marched to the place of sacrifice, a delicate figure had stepped forth, inexpressibly charming in the white, flowing garments, and the wreath of flowers in her curls. His eyes had hung riveted upon her, who appeared but twice or thrice upon the stage, but after that her song had sounded from the banks of the moonlit river. It was the same clear, sweet voice which had enchanted the listener at Waldhofen, and now the old mischief, which he had struggled down and thought forgotten, was back again. It stood before him with giant size, and the worst of it was that he did not even consider it longer as a mischief.
The tireless walker now came for the third time to a small temple, open in front, and in which stood a statue, while a bench in the background invited one to rest.
Willibald entered this time and sat down, less from a desire to rest than to be able to follow his thoughts undisturbed.
It was, perhaps, ten o'clock in the morning, and the paths were at this hour almost deserted. Only a solitary pedestrian--a young man elegantly dressed--walked leisurely and with apparent aimlessness along the paths. He seemed to be expecting some one, for he glanced impatiently now toward town, and now toward the Parkstrasse which bordered the park for some distance.
Suddenly he came toward the temple and took his stand behind it, where he could keep the path in view without being seen.
In about five minutes a young lady came from the city--a delicate, graceful figure, in dark cloak and fur cape, with her fur cap pressed closely down upon her curly head, and a muff in her hand, from which peeped a roll of music. She was passing the temple quickly, when suddenly she uttered an ejaculation of displeased surprise:
"Ah--Count Westerburg!"
The young man had approached and bowed.
"What a happy coincidence! How could I hope that Fraulein Marietta Volkmar would take so early a walk in the park!"
Marietta stood still and measured the speaker from head to foot. Her voice had a half-angry, half-contemptuous sound as she answered:
"I do not believe in this coincidence, Herr Count. You cross my path too often and persistently for that, although I have shown you sufficiently how annoying your attentions are to me."
"Yes, you are endlessly cruel to me," said the Count, reproachfully, but with undeniable impertinence. "You do not accept my calls, refuse my flowers and offerings, and do not even return my greetings when I pass you by. What have I done to you? I have ventured to lay homage at your feet in the form of jewels, which you returned to me----"
"With the request that you discontinue such impertinences once for all," interrupted the young girl vehemently. "I protest, besides, against your continued advances. You have actually lain in wait for me here."
"Mon Dieu! I only wished to beg your pardon for that boldness," assured Count Westerburg, apparently submissive, but at the same time he stepped into the middle of the narrow path, so that it was impossible to pass. "I might have known that you are unapproachable, for everybody protests that none protects her name so jealously as you, beautiful Marietta."
"My name is Fraulein Volkmar!" cried Marietta, angrily. "Keep your flattering speeches for those who allow such things to be told them. I shall not do it, and if your advances do not cease I shall have to call in protection."
"Whose protection?" sneered the Count. "Perhaps that of the old lady with whom you live and who is always and everywhere at your side, except in your walk to Professor Marani. The singing studies at the old gentleman's are not dangerous, and that is the only walk you take alone."
"Then you knew that I went to the Parkstrasse at this hour! Then it is actually an attack! Please let me pass. I wish to go."
She tried to pass by him, but the young man stretched out his arms so that he filled the path.
"You will assuredly permit me to accompany you, mein Fraulein. Only look, the path is quite lonely and deserted; there is not a soul around. I really must offer you my escort."
The path seemed, indeed, quite deserted, and another girl might have been intimidated by this reference to her defencelessness, but the little Marietta only drew herself up undauntedly.
"Do not dare to attempt to follow me by even a step." she cried in deepest anger. "Your escort is just as unbearable to me as your presence. How often must I tell you that?"
"Ah, so angry!" cried the Count with a malicious smile. "Well, I shall not have ventured this attack for nothing. I shall at least repay myself with a kiss from those charming, angry lips."
He actually prepared to fulfil his threat, approaching the quickly retreating girl, but at that moment, propelled by an awful blow, he flew to one side and fell full length upon the damp ground, where he remained lying in a very pitiable plight.
Startled at this unexpected and stormy succor, Marietta turned around, and her face, flushed from insult and anger, bore expression of great amazement as she recognized her deliverer, who now stood at her side, looking wrathfully at the form upon the ground, as if it were his highest desire to quite finish him.
"Herr von Eschenhagen--you!"
In the meantime Count Westerburg had struggled painfully to his feet and now drew near his aggressor threateningly.
"How dare you! Who gives you the right----"
"I advise you to remain ten feet away from this young lady," interrupted Willibald, placing himself in front of Marietta, "or you will fly off again, and the second blow might not prove as soft as the first."
The Count, a slender, far from powerful man, measured the giant before him, whose fist he had already felt, but one look was enough to convince him that he would come out second best in an encounter.
"You will give me satisfaction--if you are worth it," he hissed in a half-choked voice. "Probably you do not know whom you have before you----"
"An impudent fellow whom one chastises with pleasure," said Willy stolidly. "Please remain standing where you are, or I will do it now. My name is Willibald von Eschenhagen. I am lord of Burgsdorf, and can be found at the mansion of the Prussian Ambassador if you should have more to tell me---- If you please, mein Fraulein, you may trust yourself unhesitatingly to my protection. I pledge myself that you will not be molested further."
And now something unprecedented, unheard of, happened. Herr von Eschenhagen, without stammering, without showing embarrassment of any kind, offered his arm with a genuinely chivalrous movement to the young lady, and carried her off without concerning himself further about the Count.
Marietta had accepted the proffered arm without speaking a word until, having reached a considerable distance, she commenced, with a timidity otherwise foreign to her manner: "Herr von Eschenhagen----"
"Mein Fraulein."
"I--I am very grateful for your protection, but the Count--you have insulted him--even with a blow. He will challenge you and you will have to accept it."
"Of course, with the greatest pleasure," said Willy, and his face was beaming as if the prospect gave him unmixed delight.
His awkward, embarrassed manner had suddenly disappeared; he felt himself a hero and deliverer, and enjoyed the new position immensely.
Marietta looked at him in speechless amazement.
"But it is awful that this should happen for my sake!" she commenced again, "and that it should be just you."
"Perhaps that is not agreeable to you," said the young lord, who in his present elated mood took offence at the last remark. "But Fraulein, in such a case one has no choice. Forced by necessity, you had to accept me as protector, even if I did not stand very high in your esteem."
A burning blush spread over Marietta's face at the remembrance of that hour when she had poured out her supreme contempt on the man who now took her part so gallantly.
"I thought only of Toni and her father," she returned in a low voice. "I am blameless in this matter, but if I should be the cause of your being torn from your fiancée----"
"Toni must accept it then as providential," said Willy, upon whom the mention of his betrothed made little impression. "One can lose his life anywhere, and one must not always expect the worst consequences----Where shall I carry you, Fraulein? To the Parkstrasse? I believe I heard that you wished to go there."
She shook her head quickly.
"No, no! I intended going to Professor Marani, who is teaching me a new rôle, but I cannot sing now--it is impossible. Let us look for a carriage; we may find one over there. I would like to go home."
Willibald turned his steps at once in the appointed direction, and they walked on silently to the edge of the park, where several cabs were standing.
The young girl stopped here and looked anxiously and entreatingly at her companion.
"Herr von Eschenhagen must it really be? Cannot the matter be smoothed over?"
"Hardly: I have given the Count a heavy blow and called him an impudent fellow, and shall stand to that, of course, if it should come to any explanation; but do not worry about that. The affair will probably be settled with a few scratches by tomorrow or the day after."
"And must I remain two or three days in this anxious uncertainty? Will you not at least send me word about it?"
Willibald looked into the dark, tearful eyes, and with that look there came into his eyes that strange sudden glow as on that day when he heard the voice of the "singvögelchen" for the first time.
"If everything passes off happily I shall come myself and bring you word," he replied. "May I?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly. But if an accident occurs--if you should fall?"
"Then keep me in better remembrance than heretofore, mein Fraulein," said Willibald, earnestly and cordially. "You must have considered me a great coward--oh, do not say anything! You were right. I felt it myself bitterly enough--but it was my mother whom I was accustomed to obey, and who loves me very much. But you shall see now that I know how a man must act when a defenceless girl is being insulted in his presence. I will now erase, if need be, with my blood, that bad hour."
Without giving her time to reply he called one of the waiting cabs, opened the door, and gave the driver the street and number which Marietta had given him. She entered the carriage and stretched out her little hand to him once more. He held it for a moment, then the young girl threw herself back upon the cushion with a stifled sob, and the carriage rolled away.
Willy followed it with his eyes until nothing more could be seen of it, then he drew himself up and said with a kind of grim satisfaction: "Now take care, Herr Count! It will be a real pleasure to me now to fire until sight and hearing leave me."
Twilight came on early this bleak November day, and the Adelsberg palace was already lighted when the Prince, returning from a short drive, reached the portal.
"Is Herr Rojanow in his rooms?" he inquired of the servant who hastened up.
"At your service, Your Highness," the man replied, bowing low.
"Order the carriage at nine o'clock. We drive to the ducal palace."
Egon mounted the stairs and entered the apartments of his friend, which adjoined his own on the first floor, and which, like all the rest of the princely house, were furnished with antique splendor.
A lamp burned upon the table of the sitting-room. Hartmut lay stretched upon a lounge in a position indicative of utter weariness and exhaustion.
"Are you resting upon your laurels?" asked the Prince, laughing and drawing near. "I cannot blame you, for you have not had a moment's peace to-day. It is really a rather trying business to be a new rising star in the poetical firmament; nerve is required for it. The people actually fight each other for the honor of being allowed to tell you flatteries. You have held a grand reception today."
"Yes, and now we have to go to the Court besides," said Hartmut in a weary voice. The prospect seemed to have no charm for him.
"We must, indeed. The illustrious ladies and gentlemen wish also to bring their homage to the poet--my most gracious aunt at their head. You know she is a kind ofbel-esprit, and believes to have found a kindred soul in you. Thank God, she does not order me to her side so continually, and perhaps through this she will forget those unfortunate schemes for my marriage. But you seem to be very unappreciative of the ducal favors which rained upon you yesterday. What is the matter? You hardly answer. Are you not well?"
"I am tired. I wish I could escape all this noise and flee to the quiet of Rodeck."
"Rodeck! Ah, it must be charming there at present, with the November fogs, and the wet, leafless forests! Brrr! a real spook's haunt!"
"Nevertheless, I have a real longing for that gloomy solitude, and I shall go there soon for a few days. I hope you have no objections?"
"I have very many objections to it," exclaimed Egon, indignantly. "What notion is this, I beg of you? Now, when the whole town lifts the poet of Arivana upon the shield, will you withdraw your honored presence and escape all the triumphs and attentions to bury yourself alive in a haunted little forest nook, which is only bearable in sunshine! Everybody will find it incomprehensible."
"I don't care. I need solitude now. I go to Rodeck."
Egon shook his head. Although he was accustomed to seeing his friend act in this domineering, inconsiderate manner whenever the notion seized him, and had himself spoiled him in this respect with all his might, the present idea seemed too preposterous.
"I believe my most gracious aunt is right," he said half reproachfully, half jestingly. "She remarked yesterday at the theatre, 'Our young poet has caprices like all of his class.' I think so, too. What is the matter now, really, Hartmut? Yesterday and to-day you beamed with triumph, and now I have left you hardly an hour, when I find you in a regular attack of melancholy. Have the papers annoyed you? Perhaps it is some malicious, envious critic?"
He pointed to the writing table, where the evening papers lay.
"No, no," returned Rojanow quickly. But he turned his head so that his face was in shadow. "The papers contain only general remarks so far, and they are all flattering. You know that I am subject to such moods, which often overcome me without cause."
"Yes, I know that, but now that good luck overwhelms you on all sides, those moods should absent themselves. But you really look haggard--that comes from the excitement through which both of us have passed during these last few weeks."
He bent over his friend with concern, and Hartmut, in rising regret for his brusque manner, stretched out his hand.
"Forgive me, Egon. You must have patience with me--it will pass off."
"I hope so, for I want to do proud with my poet to-night. But I will go now, so that you can rest. Do not let anybody disturb you. We have still three hours before we have to go."
The Prince left the room. He had not seen the bitter expression trembling around Hartmut's mouth when he spoke of his overwhelming good fortune, and yet he had spoken the truth. Fame was happiness--perhaps the highest in life--and to-day had confirmed the triumph of yesterday, until suddenly, an hour ago, a sharp discord had fallen into the flattering tune.
The young poet had scanned the papers which he found upon his table on his return. They did not contain explicit remarks about Arivana, but recognized unanimously the great success and powerful impression of the work, and promised detailed criticism the next day.
Suddenly, in turning to the last page, Hartmut came upon a name, at the sight of which intense, anxious surprise overwhelmed him.
The next moment, however, he recognized that he was not the one concerned in the article. It stated that the last journey of the Prussian Ambassador to Berlin seemed to have been of greater importance than was at first supposed. In an audience with the Duke immediately after his return, Herr von Wallmoden had apparently brought some very important things to light; and now, a high-standing Prussian officer, who was the bearer of important messages to His Highness, was expected. It doubtless concerned military matters, and Colonel Hartmut von Falkenried would arrive in a few days.
Hartmut dropped the paper as if it had suddenly become red-hot iron. His father would come to this place and would certainly hear everything from Wallmoden--musthear everything. The chance of meeting was then very probable.
"When you shall have gained a great, proud future, approach him again and ask if he still dares to despise you."
Zalika had whispered it to her son when he struggled against flight--against the breaking of his word of honor. Now the beginning of his future was made. The name Rojanow already bore the laurel of the poet, and with that the whole past was erased. It should be--it must be! This conviction flashed in the glance which Hartmut had thrown so triumphantly up to the Ambassador's box yesterday.
But now, when it meant the meeting of his father's eyes, the defiant one trembled. Those eyes were the only thing upon earth that he feared.
Hartmut was half decided to go to Rodeck and return only when he heard through the papers that "the high-standing officer" had left the Residenz.
Yet something kept him here--a secret but burning longing. Perhaps the hour of reconciliation had now come when the poet's fame rose so brilliantly; perhaps Falkenried would see now that such a power needed liberty and life to develop, and would pardon the unfortunate, boyish folly which, with his views, had hurt him so deeply.
Was he not his child? his only son, whom he had embraced with such passionate tenderness that night at Burgsdorf? At this remembrance a longing for those all-powerful arms, for the home which should no longer be lost to him, for the whole boyhood which, although constrained, had yet been so happy, pure and guiltless, flooded Hartmut's inmost heart.
At this moment the door opened and the butler entered, bearing upon a waiter a card. He presented it to Hartmut, who refused it with an impatient gesture.
"Did I not tell you that I did not wish to see any one else to-day? I wish to remain undisturbed."
"I told the gentleman so," replied the servant, "but he begged me to at least give you his name--Willibald von Eschenhagen."
Hartmut started suddenly from his reclining position. He could not believe that he had heard aright.
"What is the gentleman's name?"
"Von Eschenhagen--here is the card."
"Ah, let him enter, instantly!"
The servant departed, and Willibald entered the next moment, but remained standing at the door in uncertainty. Hartmut had sprung up and looked toward him. Yes, there were the same familiar features--the dear, well-known face, the honest blue eyes of his friend, and with the passionate cry, "Willy--my dear old Willy, is it you! You come to me?" he threw himself stormily upon his breast.
The young lord, who had no idea how strangely his appearance at this moment fitted into his friend's dreams of his youth, was most perplexed over this reception. He remembered how domineering Hartmut had always been to him, and how he had made him feel his mental inferiority at every opportunity. He had thought yesterday that the highly honored author of Arivana would be still more imperious and haughty, and now he found an overflowing tenderness.
"Are you glad, then, at my coming, Hartmut?" he asked, still somewhat doubtful. "I was almost afraid it would not be acceptable."
"Not acceptable, when I see you now after a lapse of ten long years!" cried Hartmut reproachfully, and he drew his friend down beside him, questioning him and covering him so with affection that Willy lost all embarrassment and also returned to the old familiarity. He said that he was in town for only three days and that he was on his way to Furstenstein.
"Oh, yes; you are betrothed," joined in Rojanow. "I heard at Rodeck who was to be the Chief Forester's son-in-law, and have also seen Fraulein von Schonan. Let me congratulate you with all my heart."
Willibald accepted the good wishes with a peculiar face, and looked to the floor as he replied, half audibly: "Yes, but to tell the truth, mamma made the engagement."
"I should have known that," said Hartmut, laughing, "but you have at least said 'Yes' without being forced?"
Willy did not answer. He studied the carpet intently and suddenly asked quite disconnectedly: "Hartmut, how do you do when you compose poetry?"
"How do I do?" Hartmut with an effort suppressed his laughter. "Really that is not easy to tell. I do not believe that I can explain it sufficiently."
"Yes, it is a funny condition to make poetry," assented the young man with a sad shake of the head. "I experienced it last night when I returned from the theatre."
"What! You compose poetry?"
"And such poetry!" cried Willy in high satisfaction, but added in somewhat subdued tones: "Only I cannot find rhymes, and it also sounds quite different from your verses. To tell the truth, it did not run right, and I want to ask you how you do the affair. You know it is not to be anything grand like your Arivana--only just a little poem."
"Of course to 'her,'" finished Hartmut.
"Yes, to her," assented the young lord with a deep breath, and now his listener laughed aloud.
"You are a model son, Willy, one must confess. It does happen sometimes that one is betrothed at paternal or maternal command, but you dutifully fall in love with your bride-elect besides, and even compose poetry to her."
"But it is not to the right one," exclaimed Willibald suddenly, with such a strained expression that Rojanow looked at him in perplexity. He really believed that his friend was not in his senses; and Willibald must also have felt that he was making a peculiar impression. He therefore began an explanation, but anticipated himself so much and was so vague, that the affair became only the more tangled.
"In fact, I have had an encounter with a fellow this morning who dared to insult a young lady--Fraulein Marietta Volkmar, from the Court Theatre. I knocked him to the ground and I would do it again to him or to anybody who gets too near Fraulein Volkmar."
He stretched out his arm so threateningly that Hartmut caught it quickly and restrained him.
"Well, I do not intend to get near her--you can spare me for the present. But what is Marietta Volkmar to you--the little mirror of virtue of our opera--who has so far been considered unapproachable?"
"Hartmut, I request that you speak of this lady with reverence. In short, this Count Westerburg has challenged me. I am going to exchange shots with him, and hope to give him a good reminder."
"Well, you really are making good progress in romance," said Hartmut, who listened with ever-increasing interest. "You have been here only three days and have commenced with a quarrel which ends in a challenge, and are the knight and protector of a young singer--have a duel for her sake. Willy, for heaven's sake, what will your mother say?"
"This concerns an affair of honor, and my mother cannot interfere here," declared Willy with a really heroic effect, "but now I must get a second here, where I am quite a stranger and do not know a soul. Uncle Herbert must not hear anything about it, of course, or he would interfere with the police. So I decided to come to you and ask you if you would render me this service."
"That was what brought you," said Rojanow, in a tone of painful disappointment. "I really believed old friendship had done it; but, nevertheless, of course, I am at your command. What weapons does the challenge demand?"
"Pistols!"
"Well, you know what to do with them. We practiced often enough with a target at Burgsdorf, and you were a good shot. I shall look up the second of your opponent to-morrow morning and send you word then. I have to do that in writing, as I do not enter the house of Herr von Wallmoden."
Willy only nodded. He thought Wallmoden's hostility was being reciprocated, but deemed it best not to make any inquiries upon this point.
"Very well, just write me," he replied. "Arrange things as seems best to you; I shall be satisfied with everything; I have no experience in such things. Here is the address of the second, and now I must go. I have several things to put in order yet, in case the worst happens."
He arose and extended his hand to his friend in farewell, but Hartmut took no notice of it. His eyes were fixed on the floor, as he said in low, hesitating tones: "One thing more, Willy. Burgsdorf is so near Berlin. Perhaps you often see----"
"Whom?" asked Willibald, as Hartmut paused.
"My--my father."
The young lord became visibly embarrassed at the question. He had avoided the mention of Falkenried during the conversation, but did not seem to be aware of his near arrival.
"No," he said, finally; "we hardly ever see the Colonel."
"But does he not come to Burgsdorf as of old?"
"No, he has become very unsocial. But I happened to see him in Berlin when I went to meet Uncle Herbert."
"And how does he look? Has he aged any during these last years?"
Willibald shrugged his shoulders.
"Of course he has aged; you would hardly recognize him with his white, hair."
"White hair!" Hartmut burst forth. "He is hardly fifty-two years old. Has he been ill?"
"Not that I know of. It came quite suddenly--in a few months--at the time when he asked for his discharge."
Hartmut blanched, and his eyes were strained fixedly upon the speaker.
"My father sought a discharge? He who is a soldier through, body and soul; to whom his vocation---- In what year was it?"
"It did not come to an issue," said Willy, pacifyingly; "they did not let him go, but removed him to a distant garrison, and he has been in the Ministry of War for three years."
"But he wanted to leave--in what year?" panted Rojanow, in a sinking voice.
"Well, at the time of your disappearance. He believed his honor demanded it, and, Hartmut, you ought not to have done that to your father--not that. He almost died from it."
Hartmut made no answer, no attempt to defend himself; but his breast heaved in deep, unsteady breaths.
"We will not speak of it," said Willibald, stopping short; "it cannot be changed now. I shall expect your letter to-morrow. Get everything in order. Good night."
Hartmut did not seem to hear the words--did not notice the departure of his friend. He stood there immovable, with eyes on the floor, and only after Willibald had long disappeared did he straighten himself slowly and draw his hand across his brow.
"He wished to leave!" he murmured; "to leave the army because he thought his honor demanded it. No--no, not yet. I must go to Rodeck."
The honored poet, upon whose brow Fate was pressing the first laurel wreath--who only yesterday had challenged the whole world in this victorious knowledge--dared not meet the eye of his father. He fled into solitude.
In one of the quieter streets, whose modest but pleasant houses were mostly surrounded by gardens, Marietta Volkmar lived with an old lady--a distant relative of her grandfather--who was alone, but willing and glad to be protection and company to the young singer.
The two ladies led a life about which the ever-busy tongue of gossip could find nothing to say, and were much beloved by other members of the house. Fraulein Marietta, with her pleasant, happy face, was an especial favorite, and when her clear voice rang through the house everybody stopped to listen. But thesingvögelchenhad grown mute in the past two days, and showed pale cheeks and eyes red from weeping. The people shook their heads and could not understand it until they heard from old Fraulein Berger that Dr. Volkmar was sick, and his granddaughter was worried about him, but could not obtain leave of absence without a more forcible reason.
This was, indeed, no falsehood, for the old doctor had really been suffering for several days from a severe cold, but it offered no occasion for serious concern. It was only a plausible explanation of Marietta's changed demeanor, which was noticed even by her colleagues at the theatre.
The singer was standing at the window, gazing steadily out, in her plain but cosily furnished sitting room, having just returned from a rehearsal, while Fraulein Berger sat at a little table with her needlework, casting anxious glances at her protegée.
"But, dear child, do not take this affair so sorely to heart," she admonished. "You will wear yourself out with this anxiety and excitement. Why anticipate the worst at once?"
Marietta did not turn. She was painfully pale, and a suppressed sob was in her voice as she replied:
"This is now the third day, and yet I cannot learn anything. Oh, it is awful to have to wait like this, hour after hour, for bad news."
"But why must it be bad news?" the old lady spoke consolingly. "Herr von Eschenhagen was still well and bright yesterday afternoon. I inquired about him at your special request. He went to drive with Herr and Frau von Wallmoden. The affair has probably been settled amicably."
"I should have heard of it," said the young girl, in a heartbroken way. "He promised me, and he would have kept his word, I know. If misfortune has really happened to him--if he has fallen--I believe I could not live!"
The last words were spoken so passionately that Fraulein Berger looked at the speaker in dismay.
"Do be reasonable, Marietta," she entreated. "How are you responsible for an impertinent man insulting you, or the betrothed of your friend stepping in to your rescue? You really could not act more despairingly if your own betrothed stood before the pistol."
The cheeks, just now so pale, flushed redly, and Marietta turned to the window with a quick gesture.
"You do not understand, auntie," she said, in a low voice; "you do not know how much love and kindness have been shown me in the house of the Chief Forester--how earnestly Toni begged my forgiveness when she learned how deeply her future mother-in-law had offended me. What will she think of me when she hears that her betrothed has been in a duel for my sake? What will Frau von Eschenhagen say?"
"Well, they will at least be open to the conviction that you are quite innocent in this affair, which, if it ends well, they will not hear of. I do not recognize or understand you in all this. You used to laugh away every care and anxiety, but this time you exaggerate it in a really incomprehensible manner. You have scarcely eaten or drunk in two days in your excitement; you must not sit at my table to-day as you did yesterday and the day before. I tell you that; and now I will look after the dinner."
The kind old lady arose and left the room to prepare some extra dainty with which to tempt her protegée's fleeting appetite.
She was right; the merry, bright Marietta would not now be recognized. Beyond a doubt it gave a painful, depressed feeling to be brought before the people of Furstenstein in so bad a light through that occurrence in the park, and even here in town her name, so carefully protected, might suffer if something of it should be heard; but, strange to say, these possibilities remained in the background because of a fear which grew with every hour and was hardly to be borne any longer.
"With my blood, if it must be."
Unconsciously she whispered Willibald's last words, and pressed her hot brow against the window pane. "Oh, my God, not that!"
Suddenly at the street corner a figure appeared, which attracted attention on account of its unusual size. He came nearer with rapid steps and looked searchingly at the house numbers.
With a suppressed cry of joy, Marietta sprang from the window. She had recognized Herr von Eschenhagen. She did not wait until he pulled the bell, but hastened to open the door. Tears shimmered yet in her eyes, but her voice was jubilant as she cried: "You come at last! God be praised!"
"Yes, here I am, well and whole," assured Willibald, whose face lighted up at his reception.
Neither knew how they reached the sitting room. To the young man it seemed as if a small, soft hand had been laid upon his arm and had drawn him along, all unresisting. But when they stood before each other, Marietta noticed that a broad, black bandage was around his right hand.
"Mon Dieu, you are injured!" she cried in fear.
"A slight scratch--not worth mentioning," Willibald said merrily, waving the hand. "I have given the Count a more severe reminder, but it is also only a glance shot in the shoulder, and not in the least dangerous to his precious life. That man could not even shoot right."
"Then you did have the duel? I knew it."
"This morning at 8 o'clock. But you need fear nothing more, mein Fraulein. You see everything has passed off well."
The young singer drew a deep breath, as if relieved of a mountain load.
"I thank you, Herr von Eschenhagen. No--no, do not refuse my thanks. You have endangered your life for my sake. I thank you a thousand times."
"There is no cause, Fraulein; I did it gladly," said Willibald, cordially. "But, since I have stood before the pistol now for your sake, you must permit me to bring you a little token of remembrance. You will not throw it at my feet again?"
He somewhat awkwardly--because of his left hand--drew out from his pocket a white tissue paper, and, opening it, disclosed a full-blown rose with two buds.
Marietta dropped her eyes in confusion. Mutely she accepted the flowers and fastened one of them at her throat. Then she stretched out her hand to the giver just as mutely.
He fully understood the apology.
"Of course you are accustomed to different floral offerings," he said, apologetically. "I hear a great deal of the homage people pay you."
The young girl smiled, but with a more pathetic than happy expression.
"You have been a witness to what this homage is at times, and it was not the first time it has happened. The gentlemen seem to think they are permitted to venture anything when one is on the stage. Believe me, Herr von Eschenhagen, it is often hard to bear this lot, for which I am envied by so many."
Willibald listened intently to these words.
"Hard to bear? I thought you loved your vocation above everything, and would not leave it at any price."
"Oh, surely I love it; but I had not thought that so much bitterness and hardship were connected with it. My teacher, Professor Marani, says: 'One must rise as on eagle's wings; then all the low and vulgar will remain far below.' He may be right, but one must be an eagle for that, and I am only a 'singvögelchen,' as my grandfather calls me, which has nothing but its voice and cannot rise so high. The critics often tell me that fire and strength are wanting in my rendering. I feel myself that I have no real dramatic talent. I can only sing, and would rather do that at home in our green forests than here in this golden cage."
The voice of the usually bright, cheery girl sounded full of deeply suppressed emotion. This last occurrence had shown her again very plainly her unprotected position, and now her heart opened to the man who had interfered so bravely for her.
He listened in rapt attention and seemed to read the words from her lips, but at this truly sad report his face beamed as if something very joyful was being related, and now he interrupted vehemently:
"You long to get away from here? You would like to leave the stage?"
Marietta laughed aloud, in spite of her sorrow.
"No, I really do not think of that, for what should I do then? My grandfather saved and economized for years to make my education as a singer possible, and it would be poor gratitude if I should be a burden to him in his old age. He does not know that at times his littlesingvogellongs for its nest, or that life is made hard for her here. I am not usually without courage. I persevere and stand strong whenever it must be so. Do not let these, my laments, be heard at Furstenstein. You are going there?"
A shadow passed over the beaming face of young Eschenhagen, and he was the one now to lower his eyes.
"I, indeed, go to Furstenstein this afternoon," he replied, in a strangely suppressed tone.
"Oh, I ask this one thing more. You must tell your betrothed everything--you hear?--everything. We owe it to her. I shall write her to-day about the occurrence, and you will confirm my letter with your words--yes?"
Willibald raised his eyes slowly and looked at the speaker. "You are right, Fraulein. Toni must hear everything the whole truth. I had already decided on that before I came here; but it will be a hard hour for me."
"Oh, surely not," said Marietta, encouragingly. "Toni is good and full of trust. She will believe your word and my word, that we are both innocent in this affair."
"But I am not without guilt--at least toward my bride-elect," declared Willibald, earnestly. "Do not look at me in such affright. You must hear it later, anyway, and it is perhaps better that I tell you myself. I am going to Furstenstein only to ask Toni"--he stopped short and drew a deep breath--"to give me back my troth."
"For heaven's sake, why?" cried the young girl, horrified at this explanation.
"Why? Because it would be wrong should I offer Toni my hand and stand with her at the altar, with my heart as it is now. Because only now do I see what the principal thing is for betrothal and marriage--because----" He did not finish, but his eyes spoke so plainly that Marietta fully understood the rest.
Her face suddenly colored crimson. She drew back and made a violently repellent gesture.
"Herr von Eschenhagen, be silent; do not speak another word."
"But it is not my fault," Willibald continued, in spite of the command. "I have struggled manfully and tried truly to keep my promise during the whole time I was at Burgsdorf. I believed it would be possible; but then I came here and saw you again in 'Arivana' on that evening, and knew that the struggle had been in vain. I had not forgotten you, Fraulein Marietta--not for an hour--as often as I had tried to make myself believe it, and I shall not forget you all my life long. I shall confess this to Toni openly, and shall also tell my mother when I return to her."
The confession was made. The young lord, who could not manage the first proposal at Furstenstein alone, but had to be helped by his mother, now spoke as warmly and heartily--as openly and as truly--as a man must speak in such an hour. He had learned it suddenly, and with the helplessness which he shook off with such decision, there seemed to fall off, too, all his awkwardness and ridiculous manner.
He quickly approached Marietta, who had fled to the window, and his firm voice grew unsteady as he continued: "And now one question. You looked so pale when you opened the door for me, and your eyes spoke of tears. The affair may have been painful and mortifying to you; I can understand that, but did you also fear a little for my welfare?"
No answer, but low sobs.
"Did you fear for me? Only a little 'yes,' Marietta. You have no idea how happy you would make me."
He bent low over the young girl, who now slowly raised the small, bowed head. In her dark eyes there glowed a spark as of secret happiness. The answer was almost inaudible.
"I? Ach, I have almostdiedof fear these last two days."
Willibald gave a joyful exclamation and drew her to his breast; but only for a moment, then she struggled from his embrace.
"No--not now. Go now, please."
He released her at once and stepped back.
"You are right, Marietta; not yet. But, after I have freed myself, I shall come again and ask for another 'yes.' Farewell."
He hastened away before Marietta had scarce recovered control of herself. She was aroused by the voice of Fraulein Berger, who, unnoticed by the two, had stood upon the threshold of the adjoining room for several moments, and who now approached in a state of horror.
"Child, for mercy's sake, what does it mean? Do you not consider----"
The young girl did not let her finish, but threw both arms around her neck and wept passionately.
"Ah, now I know why I was so enraged at the time he suffered his mother to insult me. It hurt me so inexpressibly to believe him a coward; I have loved him from the first."