Lucie had withdrawn after dinner to the library, to pore over the
newspapers, now so filled with exciting intelligence. She was alone,
for Celia was in the garden usually at this hour, and since her harsh
rejection of Arno he never sought the library when Fraeulein Mueller was
there. She sat for a while lost in thought. Arno had applied the day
before for re-admission into the army; he was to leave for Dresden on
the following day, and her heart told her that this would be a
separation forever. She was so absorbed in her revery that she did not
notice old Franz's entrance, and looked up startled when he held
towards her a note and announced, with a grim air of discontent, "For
Fraeulein Mueller."
"For me, Franz?" she asked, in great surprise. "Who could have brought
it?"
"The Fraeulein may well be surprised at the fellow's impudence. A
servant-man from Gruenhagen brought it, and refuses to return without an
answer!" was the reply. After which Franz left the room with the air of
having made his protest, although vainly, against some crying sin.
Lucie paid him but little heed; she opened her note and read:
"Dear Fraeulein Mueller,--I am to leave Gruenhagen to-night for I cannot
say how long, perhaps forever. I am going to Berlin to obtain
permission to enter the Prussian army as a volunteer. Must I go without
seeing my dearest Celia once more? May I not bid her good-bye and tell
her how dear she is to me? I promised you not to see Celia again until
you consented to our meeting, and I will keep my promise if you refuse
to release me from it upon this one occasion; but I pray you to allow
us to see each other once more, perhaps for the last time in this
world.
"I do not ask to see my darling alone. Pray come with her to the old
place of meeting in the forest, where I will await you. Let me hope
that you will grant my request. I need not tell you with what
impatience I look for your answer, a simple 'yes' or 'no,' by the
bearer of this.
"With the greatest regard, yours,
"Kurt von Poseneck."
Lucie was profoundly touched by Kurt's note. Celia too, then, was to
suffer the pain of seeing her lover depart for the war. Poor, and yet
happy Celia! She might hope that if he whom she loved returned alive
the old Freiherr would relent, and her love be crowned with happiness;
while if Arno returned, if he should ever seek her again, what then?
For her hope did not exist.
She took up a pen and wrote hurriedly:
"I will be at the appointed spot at the usual time; whether Celia will
accompany me or not depends upon the decision of the Freiherr von
Hohenwald. Anna Mueller."
She sealed her note, addressed it to Herr von Poseneck, and hurried
down to the court-yard to deliver it herself to the Gruenhagen
messenger, upon whom she enjoined the utmost despatch. She did not
observe that as she spoke with the man Franz was watching her from the
hall, while Arno, who was crossing the court-yard, paused in
astonishment as he heard her words. Was she really so intimate with
young Poseneck that she corresponded with him? Perhaps the letter after
all might not have been for Kurt von Poseneck; but all doubts on this
head were set at rest by Franz, who, exercising his prerogative as a
privileged servant, said grumblingly, as his young master passed him in
the hall, "Fine doings in Hohenwald, when the Fraeulein receives letters
from Herr von Poseneck, and even condescends to answer them!" This was
enough to arouse once more within Arno's heart the demon of jealousy,
which Lucie's words to him should have killed forever.
Meanwhile, entirely unconscious of the suffering she had caused, Lucie
walked slowly towards the garden-room, to carry into effect the plan
she had hastily formed. The Freiherr greeted her with a smile of
welcome. "Why, here we have Fraeulein Anna!" he said, in great
satisfaction. "Have you come to bestow your charming society upon an
old fellow at this unwonted hour? But what is that?" he added, pointing
to Kurt's letter, which she held in her hand. "I owe the pleasure of
your visit to business, I see, not to my own attractions. Never mind, I
am always delighted to see you, whatever brings you."
"Indeed, Herr Baron? May I rely upon that?" Lucie asked, meaningly, as
she drew a chair to his side and sat down. "Are you sure that you will
not drive me away indignantly if I come to prefer a request that does
not please you?"
"A request? 'Tis granted before 'tis asked; I know of nothing that I
could refuse you."
"I might take you at your word, Herr Baron, but that I will not do. You
shall not be bound by a promise to grant my request, you must do it of
your own free choice."
"Why, this sounds quite solemn. I am curious; out with your request,
whatever it is. What do you ask?"
"Nothing for myself, Herr Baron. My request concerns Herr von
Poseneck."
The Freiherr was not made in the least angry, as would formerly have
been the case, by this mention of the name of Poseneck; on the
contrary, he laughed, saying, as if in badinage, "Always Poseneck!
Really, child, I believe you are in love with this infernal Poseneck,
who must be a tremendously fine fellow to excite such an interest in
you."
"That he certainly is, Herr Baron, although I just as certainly am not
in love with him. He is a noble-hearted fellow, who now, after having
served with honour in America, is going off to Berlin to enter the army
there as a volunteer. His life in America never lessened his honest
love for his German fatherland."
"He is a fine fellow then, and I honour him. I never would have
believed it of a Poseneck," the Freiherr said, with a kindly nod at
Lucie.
"You may believe anything that is good and true of him," Lucie
continued; "his self-devotion costs him more than it does most men. He
not only has to conquer his ambition as a former major in thus entering
the army as a common soldier, but he sacrifices his whole future
happiness. He passionately loves a young girl, whose father is a bitter
enemy to Prussia, and who never will give his daughter to a man who
fights for Prussia in this war."
"Who is the scoundrel?" the Freiherr exclaimed, indignantly.
"You do an excellent old man great injustice, Herr Baron," Lucie
replied, with a smile. "He is a man of honour, but the victim of a
prejudice which so possesses him that he cannot conquer it sufficiently
to call a Prussian his son-in-law."
"Then he does not love his child!" the Freiherr eagerly asserted, and
then suddenly paused and eyed Lucie suspiciously. "Stop! stop, child!"
he said. "I begin to suspect that you have been playing your own little
game with me. Honestly, what has all this to do with your request?"
"Will you really not be angry with me, Herr Baron, if I speak perfectly
frankly to you?" Lucie asked, laying her little hand on the old man's
brown, wrinkled fist, and bestowing upon him one of her charming
smiles.
"Little flatterer, how can any one be angry with you? Oh, you have the
old bear fast in your toils, and now come, tell me all about it."
"You shall hear, Herr Baron. First read this note which I received not
an hour ago from Herr von Poseneck; it will tell you all, and when you
have finished I will tell you how it came to be written."
The Baron read Kurt's note, while Lucie noted with keen anxiety every
change in his features as he read. She saw his face darken, and then a
smile dawned about his mouth; he was not very angry. She could have
shouted for joy at her victory.
"A most interesting production!" the Freiherr said, he handed the note
back to her. "Really, this Herr von Poseneck----"
"Wait until you hear all, Herr Baron, and then judge," Lucie
interrupted him.
And she went on to tell the old Freiherr how Celia had accidentally
made the young man's acquaintance; how, in her childlike innocence and
trust, she had grown to love him, and how, at last, chance had betrayed
her secret. She told how Kurt had given his promise never to see Celia
without her governess's consent, and how faithfully he had kept his
word. "And now for my request, Herr Baron," she said, in conclusion. "I
know it will be hard for you to grant it, but I hope everything from
your magnanimity. Let me take Celia with me; she knows nothing of this
note, and if you refuse me she shall know nothing; but you will not be
so cruel. There must be a farewell,--a last farewell. May not Celia go
with me?"
"You are a white witch, and know how to wind the old ogre round your
finger," the Freiherr said, shaking his finger at Lucie. "In fact, I
ought to be excessively angry with you, but as this is impossible I may
as well take my pill without a wry face. The will-o'-the-wisp had
certainly better see the young man under your auspices than run off,
perhaps through the night and storm, to take leave of him; the child
might do it if she should hear that Poseneck was going away. But one
very serious word I must speak. Your Poseneck certainly is an honest,
honourable young fellow, his note and his whole conduct show that.
Celia in her unsuspicious innocence might have fallen into bad hands.
You cannot expect me to be quite content, but time will bring counsel.
Only there must be no more of it all for the present; no talk of a
betrothal as yet, no tender exchange of letters and such stuff. Celia
is as yet little more than a child. If the young man ever comes back
from the war he may come and see me here and we will talk it over
together. But before then I'll not listen to another word about it. Do
you agree, you white witch?"
"Your will shall be my law in the matter, Herr Baron, and I thank you
from my very heart for conquering for your child's sake your dislike of
a Poseneck."
"You may spare your thanks, child, or rather keep them for yourself,
who honestly deserve them for taking care that my dislike should
gradually subside. Have you not hammered away at my heart with your
Poseneck every evening, for weeks, until at last the tough old muscle
has grown quite tender?"
The Freiherr had caused his rolling-chair to be pushed near the open
glass doors of the garden-room, that he might inhale the fragrance
which now towards evening was borne in upon the delicious breeze from
the garden, already lying in shadow from the lofty forest. The papers
lay upon the table beside him. His thoughts were busy with the
occurrences of the day. "Where can Werner be?" he suddenly asked
himself. Several letters that had arrived at the castle for the
Finanzrath and had been forwarded to his address in Dresden had been
to-day returned, with the notice on the envelopes that he had left
Dresden. Hence the question that the father asked himself. He nearly
started from his chair when old Franz flung wide the folding-doors
leading into the hall and announced, "The Herr Finanzrath!"
His visit was not welcome, and when Werner entered, not alone, but
daring to introduce a stranger without permission, the old man's
patience was too sorely tried. The look with which he regarded his son
was by no means amiable, but that with which he greeted his companion
was darker still. He was very unfavourably impressed by this man from
the first instant of his appearance. In spite of his long seclusion
from society the Freiherr had always retained the greatest neatness,
and withal an old-fashioned elegance, in his dress. Nothing was more
distasteful to him than a want of cleanliness or an air of neglect, and
both of these characterized the former fastidious Herr von Sorr, whom
Werner now presented to his father. And Sorr's countenance did not
belie his dress. The pale flabby cheeks, the watery eyes, the whole
expression indeed of the man, bore witness to his degraded, debauched
character and made him odious to the old Baron. For such a guest no
consideration was necessary.
"What in thunder do you mean?" he said angrily to Werner. "How dare you
bring a stranger here? Don't you know that I receive no visitors?
Whoever you are, sir, learn that I permit no invasion of my seclusion!
There is the door!"
Sorr, trained though he had been by Repuin to submit to all sorts of
contemptuous treatment, was nevertheless abashed by this reception, and
might perhaps scarcely have ventured to persist in his intrusion had
not Werner come to his aid.
"Before you express yourself so angrily, sir," he said to his father,
"you should hear the reasons that exist for my transgression of your
commands and my introduction to you of Herr von Sorr. I appeal to your
sense of justice, sir, in informing you that Herr von Sorr has no
desire to intrude upon you, but has come hither because I have assured
him that no Freiherr von Hohenwald ever refused what another had a
right to claim, and that his just demand must be made directly to
yourself."
"What have I to do with this man?" the Freiherr asked, crossly.
"This you can only learn, sir, by granting a hearing to Herr von Sorr,
not by repulsing him in a manner that cannot but be offensive to a
gentleman who comes hither at the request of your eldest son."
Again, as often before, the Finanzrath's imperturbable composure
asserted its sway over his father's passion. The old man gave his son a
dark look, but yielded, and turning to Sorr, said, with forced
calmness, "Approach, sir; I regret it if my hastiness offended
you,--such was not my intention. I can make no exception to the rule
which I have observed for years of denying myself to visitors, and
therefore I beg you to tell me as briefly as possible what you desire."
Sorr complied with the invitation in spite of the ungracious manner in
which it was conveyed, and took a chair near the old man, but when he
met his dark, searching eye the words which he had committed to memory
that they might serve him in this need would not at first be uttered.
He cleared his throat in a vain endeavour to begin with some fitting
introductory phrase.
"Well, sir?"
The Baron's impatient tone admitted of no further delay, and Sorr
began, overcoming his first stammering hesitation as he proceeded.
"Herr Baron," he said, "you see in me a wretched man, who appeals to
you for aid in recovering his lost happiness. In the terrible
misfortunes that have overwhelmed me I have not been guiltless, but I
assure you on my honour that I repent the wrong I have done, and that I
am determined to begin a new life if through your aid I succeed in
attempting it."
"What is it that you want of me? What business have you to ask me for
your lost happiness?" the Freiherr interrupted Sorr's studied speech.
"Forgive me, Herr Baron, if, carried away by my emotion, I fail to use
the right words in which to convey my request. Bear with me for a
little while and you shall learn all. I will be as brief as possible, A
few years ago I was a happy man, my fortune was considerable, I enjoyed
the esteem of my friends, an exalted position in society, and I
possessed a charming wife, to whom I was ardently attached. I lacked
but one thing,--the strength to withstand temptation. One passion ruled
my life,--the love of gaming. Although I was usually fortunate, my
success in winning large sums destroyed in me all appreciation of the
value of money. I indulged in the wildest extravagances, and my income
was always exceeded by my expenses. Thus my property dwindled almost
without my knowledge. My wife, who loved me tenderly, warned me,
entreated me, but even her prayers, all-powerful in every other
direction, availed nothing to induce me to resist the fatal temptation
offered me by cards. It dragged me down into an abyss that engulfed my
fortune and that of my wife also. I found myself at last a beggar, my
fortune, friends, position in society, and, worse than all, the
affection of a wife whom I idolized, all gone. Meanwhile, one of my
friends had, with inconceivable cunning and treachery, abused my
confidence. The evenings that I spent at the gaming-table he passed
with my wife, representing himself as having been sent by me to beguile
her solitude. He was enormously wealthy, and no sacrifice being too
great in his eyes where the attainment of his vile ends was concerned,
he at times forced upon me large sums for the payment of my debts, and
I--with shame I confess it--was weak enough, when my wife complained to
me of the persistent attentions of this treacherous friend, to entreat
her not to offend him by any harsh rejection of them. I had utter
confidence in my wife, and never suspected to what depths of infamy my
false friend would descend."
"What the devil have I to do with all this?" the Freiherr burst out,
more and more disgusted with Sorr, who had hoped his theatrical pathos
was producing a very different impression. "For Heaven's sake, come to
the point!"
"I am about to do so. My treacherous friend, Count Repuin----"
"Stay! What name was that? Count Repuin, the Russian, Werner's friend
and confidant,--was he the man?"
"The same, Herr Baron. I lost the greater part of my fortune to him; he
systematically contrived my ruin, believing that when I found myself a
beggar, my wife, with destitution staring her in the face, would lend
an ear to his vile proposals. When I had lost all, so that I knew not
where to turn for the barest necessaries of existence, he carried to my
wife the false report that I was dishonoured, that I had been detected
in cheating at cards, and that it was in his power to send me to a
jail. It was a bold falsehood, but it found credence with my wife,
whose esteem for me my passion for play had destroyed; and when he
further informed her that, in consideration of a large sum of money, I
had resigned to him all claim upon her duty, in short, that I had sold
her to him, in her despair the wretched woman believed this lie also."
"Infamous! incredible!" the Freiherr indignantly exclaimed,
involuntarily interested at last in Sorr's recital.
"But the scoundrel failed in his schemes, although he has plunged me
into misery. Devilish though his cunning was, he failed to take into
account one thing,--in which, indeed, he had no faith,--that a woman
might be impregnably virtuous. He did not know my Lucie. What was his
wealth to her in comparison with her honour? She spurned his offers
with contempt, and yet she believed him, and driven by despair almost
to madness, she secretly left my house. When on the morning after
the fearful night in which I had sacrificed my last hope at the
gaming-table I sought my wife's apartment to pray for her forgiveness
and to make her the promise for which she had so often implored me,
that never again would I touch a card, I found upon her table this
terrible letter. Read it, Herr Baron; it will explain to you better
than any words of mine the depth of my misery." And Sorr handed to the
Freiherr the letter that Lucie had left behind her on the evening of
her flight. The old Baron read:
"You have given back to me my freedom; I accept it. It is your desire
that we should part; it shall be fulfilled: you will never see me
again. Should you dare to persecute me, you will force me to denounce
you publicly, and to give to the world the reasons that justify my
conduct. The detected thief, who would barter his wife's honour, has
forfeited the right to control her destiny.--LUCIE."
An odious smile hovered upon Sorr's lips as he watched the Freiherr
while he read this letter aloud, and as he marked the impression that
it produced upon him. He exchanged a significant glance with Werner,
and then, when the reading was finished, continued: "I was beside
myself with grief and fury when I found that my adored Lucie had left
me. She had fled, that was clear, although I could understand neither
her threat nor her strange intimations that I had desired to part from
her, that I had sold her. She had vanished; no trace of her could I
find, although I even summoned the police to my aid. Surely, as a
forsaken husband, I had a right to do so. All was in vain. Again and
again I read her mysterious letter, and at last, upon a sudden impulse,
I hastened to Repuin, showed him Lucie's note, and demanded and
received its explanation. The wretch had the effrontery to tell me with
a smile, of the manner in which he had destroyed the happiness of my
life. We fought. I arose from the sick-bed, where a wound received in
the duel prostrated me for weeks, an altered man. I have taken a vow
never again to touch a card. I have since that day earned my daily
bread by honest toil, correcting proofs for publishers, and giving
lessons in French and English. I have now an assured although moderate
income. In this period of struggle one hope alone has sustained me,
that of finding my Lucie again. She is my wife by the indissoluble bond
of marriage, a marriage blest by the Church. I know that she will
gladly return to me and share my toil and my poverty when she knows of
my change of heart and life. And chance has befriended me, Herr Baron,
leading me to a knowledge of your son, the Herr Finanzrath, from whom I
have learned that, in order to secure herself from fancied persecution,
my wife has taken refuge in a feigned name, and that she dwells beneath
your roof as Anna Mueller."
The Freiherr stared at Sorr in blank amazement. "Good God, sir! what do
you mean? Are you mad?" he exclaimed. "Fraeulein Mueller a wife, and your
wife!"
"Ask your son, Herr Baron," Sorr replied; "he will confirm my words."
"Herr von Sorr speaks but the truth, father; it is my duty to attest
this. Frau von Sorr has seen fit to undertake to fill the position of
Celia's governess under a feigned name. I had, of course, no idea of
this when I engaged her through Frau von Adelung. I learned her true
name only lately and by chance, and I felt it my duty to acquaint Herr
von Sorr with her place of abode."
When the first shock of his surprise had passed, the old Freiherr
looked from Werner to Sorr and from Sorr to Werner in a kind of fury.
He had no suspicion as to the truth of Sorr's story; he remembered
that, by Count Styrum's desire, no allusion was ever made to Fraeulein
Mueller's past; there could be no doubt that Anna was Sorr's unfortunate
wife, forced by a sad fate to fly from her husband. What the Freiherr
did doubt, what, indeed, utterly discredited, was the man's assertion
of an altered course of life. One glance at his bloated features, at
his watery, crimson-lidded eyes, proclaimed the fact that Sorr was
deeply plunged in debauchery and drunkenness. This man had never
aroused himself to a life of honest toil. It was no affection for his
wife that impelled him to seek her out.
The Freiherr's mind was filled with vague suspicion as to the man's
motives, suspicion that attached in a degree also to Werner, to whose
last words he sharply rejoined, saying,--
"So you have been playing the spy here that you might betray the poor
thing's confidence?"
"As Frau von Sorr never honoured me with her confidence I could not
possibly betray it," Werner replied coolly to his father's reproach.
"When I saw how great was her husband's misery, and how sincere his
resolution to amend, I judged it my duty to acquaint him with his
wife's retreat."
"I owe the Finanzrath an eternal debt of gratitude for bringing me
hither," Sorr interposed, "and for promising to set the crown upon his
kindness by doing all that lies in his power to induce my beloved Lucie
to fulfil the duty that she owes to an unfortunate husband."
The Finanzrath bit his lip. Sorr's words reminded him, as they were
meant to do, of the promise he had made the Russian to do all that lay
in his power to further his schemes. The part assigned him here was
odious enough, but the fear inspired by the Russian's threats conquered
his distaste for it. He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and he
therefore replied to Sorr, "I will certainly keep my word, although I
think there will be little need of any influence of mine. Frau von
Sorr, I feel assured, will willingly follow you; but should she refuse
to do so, my father will surely not sustain her in such a departure
from her duty. Castle Hohenwald cannot possibly be an asylum for a wife
who has deserted her husband in misfortune and refuses to return to
him."
As Werner spoke these words he did not look up; he did not dare to meet
his father's eyes, and therefore he did not see the contempt that shone
in them as the Freiherr turned from his son to Sorr and said, sharply,
"What you ask of me, then, Herr von Sorr, is that I shall force this
unhappy woman to return to you. Is this so? Speak out, sir; I want a
candid reply."
"Your words sound harsh, Herr Baron," was Sorr's humble reply. "I never
thought of force, but only that you would place no obstacle in the way
of an unfortunate man who only seeks to maintain his rights. I have
made an expensive journey hither from Munich in the confident hope that
it needed only an interview with my dear Lucie to induce her to take
her place once more beside me as my faithful wife whom I dearly love
and will never forsake. Surely the last sad months have atoned for my
wrong-doing. I have a right to demand that she should follow me when I
solemnly assure her that I have broken off all connection with Repuin.
She is my wife before God and man, and what God hath joined let not man
put asunder. You certainly, Herr Baron, would never protect a wife
against the claims of a husband."
The Freiherr did not immediately reply. This Herr von Sorr inspired him
with a disgust which his evident and nauseous hypocrisy only served to
increase, and yet he could not but admit to himself that the man's
claim, as he represented it, was a just one.
He rang the silver hand-bell upon his table and said to Franz, who
immediately made his appearance, "Beg Fraeulein Mueller kindly to come to
me as soon as she can."
Then, turning to Sorr, he said, "I will not listen to another word from
you until I hear the other side of the question. I reserve my decision
until then. Not until I have spoken to Fraeulein Anna,--I always call
her so, and I have grown very fond of her under this name,--and until
she has confirmed your statement, will I accord it full belief."
"I am convinced, Herr Baron----"
"Not another word, Herr von Sorr! I will keep my judgment unbiassed.
You shall be confronted with the accused after I have first spoken with
her alone."
"I have accused no one but myself, Herr Baron."
"I attach no importance to that; it shall be as I say. I will hear what
Fraeulein Anna has to say; I will talk with her alone,--she shall not be
influenced by the presence of any one. I am sure that she will tell me
the whole truth."
This arrangement was not at all satisfactory to Sorr. He feared that
Lucie might tell the Freiherr of his conversation with her on the
evening preceding her flight, and so destroy his web of specious
falsehood. He would at least make an attempt to prevent this. "I
entreat you, Herr Baron, to permit me to repeat in Lucie's presence
what I have told you. It wounds me that you should doubt my words.
Lucie's testimony shall prove to you that I----"
The Freiherr harshly interrupted him, "I will not hear another word. It
shall be as I say! Werner, take Herr von Sorr out upon the terrace; you
can walk up and down there until I call you; I wish to be alone."
"But, Herr Baron----"
"What the devil, sir,--will you do as I say or not? I am still master
in my own castle, I believe, and I will not be contradicted; I wish to
be alone. Your place for the present is out there on the terrace. If
you refuse to obey my orders, the servants will show you the shortest
way out of the castle."
When the old Baron fell into a downright rage there was nothing to be
done with him, as Werner knew, and as Sorr perceived; he did not dare
further to gainsay his will, and, with a low bow, he followed the
Finanzrath out upon the terrace.
The Freiherr sat alone, awaiting with the greatest impatience Anna's
appearance; but the minutes passed and she did not come, nor did old
Franz return to explain the reason why. The Freiherr rang his bell
again, and Werner and Sorr, who had been awaiting this summons,
instantly entered from the terrace.
The Freiherr received them with a good round oath. "I was ringing for
that old ass Franz!" he roared out to Werner. "Stay outside on the
terrace with your Herr von Sorr until I call you by name!"
The two men were obliged to withdraw. The Freiherr rang his bell a
second and a third time without any result, until at the end of a good
half-hour Franz appeared, with the intelligence that Fraeulein Mueller
was nowhere to be found. She was not in her room; Fraeulein Celia said
that the Fraeulein had gone for a walk in the garden or park; but he had
searched for her there in vain, and the gardener had helped him, and
was sure she could not be either in the park or in the garden.