It was towards evening. Frank Linden mounted the steps, stood on the
terrace and whistled shrilly out into the garden. He waited awhile and
then shook his head. "The brute has gone with her," he said in a low
voice; "even an animal like that takes part against me." He went back
into the dining-room and stumbled over Johanna, who was busy at the
side-board.
"You will go over to 'Waldruhe' in an hour," he said, looking past her.
"Take what clothes are necessary for my wife with you. Whatever else
she may desire is at her disposal at any moment."
Johanna glanced at him shyly, the face that was usually so glowing
looked so ashy pale in the evening light.
"If I could have half an hour more, Mr. Linden--I want to show the
young lady something about the milk cellar."
"The young lady? ah--yes--"
"Yes, the young lady who came to visit Miss Rosa yesterday. She offered
her services, sir, when she heard that Mrs. Linden had gone away. I
don't know how I can manage without her either, Dora is so stupid and
she has so much to do besides."
Before he could reply, the door opened softly and behind Aunt Rosa's
wonderful figure appeared a dark girl with red cheeks and shining eyes,
who when she perceived him made a rather awkward curtsy, and was at
once introduced as Addie Strom.
Frank bowed to the ladies, stammered out a few civil words, and asked
to be excused for leaving them as he had letters to write.
"I am so sorry," said Aunt. Rosa, "that Mrs. Linden is not at home."
He nodded impatiently.
"She will soon be back," he replied as he went out.
"If Addie can help about the house a little--" sounded the shrill tones
of the old lady behind him.
"Don't give yourself any trouble," was his reply.
"I should be glad to do it," said Adelaide, timidly.
Another silent bow from him and then he went out with great strides.
That too!
He ran hastily down the steps into the garden. He took the letter out
of his pocket once more which he had found lying on his writing-table
that morning, and read it through. The writing was not as dainty as
usual--the letters were hard and firm and large and yet unsteady, as if
written, in great excitement.
The blood rushed in a hot wave to his heart. "It will come right." He
put away the letter and took another from his pocketbook which had
been brought half an hour before by an express messenger.
"I have just come from Wolff, with whom I intended to make an
arrangement of this fatal affair. The scoundrel, unfortunately, was
taken ill of typhus fever yesterday, and nothing is to be done with him
at present. I can only regret that you should have consulted this man
of all others, and I do not understand why you have not satisfied him.
As soon as the gentleman is _au fait_ again I shall take the liberty,
in the interest of my family and especially of my niece, to settle the
matter quietly, and beg you not to make the matter worse by any
imprudence on your part. You must have some consideration for the
family.
"May an old man give you a little advice? I am a very tolerant judge in
this matter, but a woman thinks differently about it. Acknowledge the
truth openly to your insulted little wife--with a person of her
character it is the only way to gain her pardon. I will gladly do all
in my power to set this foolish affair before her in the mildest
light--"
"Consideration!" he murmured, "consideration for the family!"
Then he laughed aloud and went on more quickly into the deepening
twilight. What should he do in the house, in the empty rooms, at the
inhospitable table with his heart full of bitterness? Childish, foolish
obstinacy it was in her--and no trust in him! How had he deserved that
she should give him up at once without even hearing him? Well, she
would get over it, she would come again, but--the spell was broken, the
bloom, the freshness was gone.
He must have his rights without regard to the Baumhagen family, or to
her on whom he would not have permitted the winds of heaven to blow too
roughly. She could not have hurt him more, than by giving more credence
to that scoundrel than to him--she who usually was so calm--calm?
He could see her eyes before him now, those eyes in which strong
passion glowed. He had seen them blaze with anger more than once, he
had heard her agitating sobs, her voice husky with emotion as she spoke
of her father. He saw her again as she had been the evening before
their marriage when she pressed his hands passionately to her lips, a
mute eloquent gesture, a thanksgiving for the refuge of his breast. And
now? It had already burned out this passionate love, had failed before
the first trial.
It was already dark when he returned from his walk. Johanna was gone.
The maid whom he met in the corridor told him she had taken her child
and a trunk full of clothing and the books which had been sent to Mrs.
Linden yesterday.
He went to her room; the sweet scent of violets of which she was so
fond pervaded the atmosphere, the afghan on the lounge lay just as it
had fallen when she threw it off as she rose. He could not stay---a
longing for her seized upon him so powerfully that it well-nigh
unmanned him, and he went back to the dining-room. He opened the door
half-unconsciously--there sat the judge at the table, dusty and
dishevelled from his Brocken tour, but contented to his inmost soul.
But--how came this stranger here doing the honors?
The rosy little brunette was just setting the table. She had put on a
white apron over her dark dress, the bib fastened smoothly across her
full bust. She was just depositing with her round arm half-uncovered by
the elbow-sleeve, a plate of cold meat by the judge's place, placing
the bottle of beer beside it. And as she did so she laughed at the
weary little man so that all her white teeth were displayed.
And this must he bear too, to make his comfort complete! Let them eat
who would! Soon he was sitting upstairs in the corner of the sofa in
his own room; outside the darkness of a spring night came down, and a
girl's voice was singing as if in emulation of the nightingales; that
must be the little brunette, Adelaide. At last he heard it sounding up
from the depths of the garden.
He did not stir until the judge stood before him.
"Now, I should really like to know, Frank--are you bewitched or
am I? What is the matter? Where is madame? The little black thing
downstairs, who seems to have fallen out of the clouds, says she is
'gone.'--Gone? What does it mean?"
"Gone!" repeated Frank Linden. It sounded so strange that his friend
started.
"Something has happened, Frank,--that old woman, the mother-in-law, has
done it. Oh, these women!"
"No, no, it is that affair with Wolff."
The judge gave vent to a long whistle, then he sat down beside Linden
and clapped him on the shoulder.
"We'll manage _him_, Frank," he said, comfortingly, "and _she_ will
come back, she _must_ come back; you will not even need to ask her. But
it was the most foolish thing she could do to run away."
And he began to describe a case that had come up in Frankfort a short
time before on the ground of wilful desertion.
Linden sprang up.
"Spare me your law cases," he said roughly. "Do you suppose I would
bring her back by force?"
"And what if she will not come of herself, Frank?"
"She will come," he replied, shortly.
"And that scoundrel Wolff?"
Frank Linden gave his friend a cigar and took one himself, though he
did not light it, and as he sat down again he said:
"You can ask that? Have I been in the habit of putting up with
imposition, Richard?"
"No, but on what does the man found his claim?"
Frank shrugged his shoulders. "I told you before, that he declared when
I turned him out, that he would know how to secure his rights. He is
ill now, however," he added.
"Oh, that is fatal!" lamented the judge. He was silent, for just then
the full, deep girl's voice came up from the garden:
"Du hast mir viel gegeben,
Du schenktest mir dein Herz,
Du nahmst mir Alles wieder,
Und liessest mir den Schmerz."
"It must be very hard, Frank," murmured his friend after a few moments
of deep silence. "Very hard--I mean, to go the right way to work with a
woman. How will you act? With sternness, or with gentleness? Will you
write her a harsh letter, or will you send her some verses? In such an
evening as this, I think I could almost write poetry myself. I say,
Frank, light the lamp and let us read the paper."
"Richard," said the young man as he rose, "if you will give me your
advice in regard to this affair of Wolff's, I shall be grateful to you,
but leave my wife out of the question altogether; that is my affair
alone."