Long years had passed, and Gustavus the third sat firmly upon Sweden's
throne, as at Lubec a noble dame, upon whose pure beauty time had left
no traces, sat upon a sofa in her cabinet. She had leaned her
thoughtful head upon her full white arm, while the strong heaving of
her bosom and the mild fire of her large brown eyes betrayed the sad
and absorbing nature of the reminiscences which occupied her mind. The
door was softly opened, and a blooming maiden cautiously protruded her
head into the room and was about to withdraw it again.
'Come in, Georgina!' cried the dame. 'I am not yet asleep. Have you any
thing to say to me!'
'A young officer wishes to speak with you, mamma,' answered the
beautiful maiden, entering.
'An officer?--of the city militia?' asked the mother with some
surprise.
'No mamma,' answered the maiden, laughing. 'He appears altogether
different from them. He wears a short blue jacket with straw-colored
facings turned up, a white band upon his arm, the sword belt over the
shoulder, and a round hat looped up, with a black plume.'
'It is a Swede?' cried the mother with great vehemence. 'His name?'
'He will only tell it to yourself,' answered Georgina; 'which I
consider particularly ill-bred.'
'It is very wonderful,' said the mother:--'ask him to come in.'
Georgina went, and soon returned, ushering in a well formed youth with
the head of an Apollo, who reverently bowed to the dame, and
immediately resumed his erect military position.
He would have spoken; but his eyes had wandered from the elder form to
the younger, and the lovely maiden's face and figure embarrassed him so
much that it cost him time and effort to collect himself.
'My father begs to assure your grace of his high respect,' he finally
faltered out, 'and requests permission to place in your own hands an
autograph from his majesty the king of Sweden.'
'Who is your father?' asked the lady with a trembling voice, whilst her
eyes seemed to be seeking for remembered features in the unknown face.
'A noble Swede,' answered the youth.
'And his name?' asked the lady, with a movement as if she would fly to
him.
'He has the honor to be an old acquaintance of your grace,' continued
the officer.
'And his name?' cried she, with a fire which seemed inconsistent with
her years.
'The governor of West Bothnia, count Gyllenstierna,' was the answer.
The lady turned pale and sank back upon the sofa. Her bosom labored
powerfully, and the anxious daughter hastened to her with Cologne
water.
'Leave me,' said she, averting her head. 'My nerves are yet strong. I
faint not so easily.'
With tottering steps she advanced towards the youth and examined his
features yet more intently than before.
'A certain family likeness,' said she, 'is undoubtedly to be found in
his face; yet I wonder that it does not appear more distinctly.'
'I am only the adopted son of the count Gyllenstierna, whose name I
bear,' answered the youth. 'The count has always remained unmarried.'
The lady sighed and motioned him to retire.
'When may my father wait upon your grace?' courteously asked the youth.
'In an hour I hope to have sufficiently recovered,' answered she--and,
with a glance at the charming daughter which called a blush into her
cheek, he took his leave.
'Mamma,' said she at length, in a tone of timid remonstrance, 'if the
Swedish count is your old acquaintance, you ought to have invited the
young count to come with him. He is at any rate his foster son, and
such a modest young man.'
'You appear to be pleased with him, Georgina?' said the mother, looking
earnestly at her daughter. The latter dropped her eyes to the floor,
blushed deeply, and remained silent.
'It is our duty to suffer ourselves to be sought,' said the matron to
the maiden. 'It is proper for the other sex to seek. If the young man's
heart speak as prematurely as yours, he will come, even without an
invitation.'
'You are wholly right, mamma!' cried the daughter, as if now first
struck by an important truth, passionately kissing her hand.
'Leave me alone, my child,' said the mother. 'I have need of solitude
to prepare myself for a sweet, sad hour. Seat yourself meantime, at
your piano, and practise the bass of that beautiful sonata for four
hands.
'Now?' cried Georgina, clasping her hands in despair. 'Ah, mamma! I
positively cannot practise now.'
'It may perhaps cost you some effort,' said the mother, smiling, 'but
it will do you good. Go to your practice, my daughter.'
Georgina departed, shrugging her shoulders, and the storm of emotion,
so long restrained, once again floated over the face of the mother, who
had hitherto struggled with all her power, to conceal her feelings from
the eyes of observers. 'God give me strength for the sorrow and the joy
of this interview!' cried she, sinking upon the sofa.