things on vibrating wings, busy or merely merry, snatching the last
bright hour before the end. Into the middle of a straight forest
clearing, all faint amber with fallen pine needles, a stag pricked his
way with high and dainty steps; then turned his noble head, caught some
scent of danger and leaped into the bracken, which closed in waves over
him.... The very spirit of the woods incarnate!
It seemed shame to be sullenly sleepy on such a morning. Steven
breathed the bright air, and his ill-humour vanished.
"That is well," said Geiger-Hans, as if the young man had spoken.
"Nature sets us the example: what work she has to do, she does happily.
Be brisk, comrade; we have also a task before us, and an immediate. The
mail-bag is ready. We must now start master courier again on his
interrupted duty. Heaven knows in what state we shall find the clown;
we shall doubtless have to pump on him! ... Then, to Cassel!"
Melodious snores were yet intercrossing each other in the locked bedroom
as they passed down the stairs. But the postilion was awake. He lay
full length on the bench, with face upturned to the rafters, staring
stupidly at a bunch of herbs immediately above him, his eyes totally
devoid of speculation.
Early as it was, the household of that solitary house was astir. A fire
was crackling in the hearth, and a fresh sound of water came from an
inner room. The host of The Three Ways stood in the wide-open
house-door looking into the empty road. He turned quickly at the sound
of their steps and grinned in greeting as he saw Geiger-Hans.
"Good morning, Mr. Host," said the musician. "Fine doings have you had
here the night!"
"Students' tricks, students' tricks," said the host, suddenly
uncomfortable, and slouching back into the kitchen as he spoke. His
small eyes blinked furtively away from the sight of the mail-bags which
Geiger-Hans now heaved on the table. "Bah!" pursued he, "I knew
nothing! I busy not my head over gentry's doings or students' pranks.
I go to sleep. They concern me not." Then he burst into a chuckle.
"Popped him into a wine-cask, they did, in the backyard of The Bunch of
Grapes, down at Cassel, where the fellow takes his nip before going his
round. And they sat on the cask, the three of them, singing and smoking
their pipes--drove past the French soldiers who looked on and
laughed--out of the town gates, and not a finger lifted to stop them!
Upon my soul, it was a fine joke! The cart is out yonder, and the cask,
too!" he added, and chucked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction
of the sunlit yard, shaking the while with a laugh that might have
struck the observer as a trifle forced.
"Your jokers are still enjoying the sleep of a blameless conscience,"
said Geiger-Hans. "They lie in your best bedroom, Mr. Landlord. I
locked them in, lest your good wine should lead their innocence and
lightheartedness into new jokes ... that might be less excellent." He
took the key from his pocket and tossed it on the table. "Release the
birds when you think fit," he added.
The landlord took up the key with alacrity. Geiger-Hans remained awhile
musingly fixing the outstretched form of the postilion; then a faint
laugh shook him in his turn.
"In a wine cask," commented he. "A right old German jest, not without
its gross humour...! He did aver they had kidnapped him: the creature
spoke truth!"
Mine host almost perpetrated a wink, but checked himself and coughed.
"Oh, these students!" he reiterated vaguely.
"No wonder the beast smells like a bottle-brush," cried Steven, curling
up his nose. Here, then, was the explanation of that stench of wine
which had sickened him the night before, and which even now the sweeping
breeze could scarcely conquer.
"The High-Born has perfect reason," cried the innkeeper, "for the rascal
is sopped, within and without. If you squeezed him, he would run
vinegar.--Well, so long as I am paid!..." was the philosophic
parenthesis. "But the wife has shaken him in vain. There he lies, and
it were perhaps as wholesome he should jog." His glance moved uneasily
towards the mail-bag. "And what is to be done with that?" it seemed to
ask.
"Quite so," said Geiger-Hans, gravely. "Has he not his letters to
deliver? They will be one post late; but in Westphalia, nowadays, we
are not so mighty particular, are we? He must be freshened up, I think.
Here, friend, I and my comrade will bring him to the trough, and you
shall do the pumping. We'd better off with his jacket first. Never look
so doubtful, Mr. Landlord. If his Majesty hears of it, you may be
decorated. Think of that!"
"Saints forbid!" said the host, turning pale. "If Jerome heard of it, I
might be shot."
"Nay," said Geiger-Hans, cheerfully, "you may take my word for it; the
days are counted within which there will be either decorations or
executions in the name of Jerome. But, meanwhile, to our duty! Never
look so disgusted, little comrade. This is a vile beast, as you said;
but in a minute we shall have him purified."
* * * * *
It was, indeed, a purified courier, a chastened and subdued mail-bearer,
who trotted his way on through the forest, astride that self-same horse
that had dragged him forth in his reeking prison the night before. He
had the great bag on his back (undiminished save for two warrants and
one private missive--one, indeed, that had already reached its proper
destination), a gold piece in his pocket, and a plausible tale of
violence and rescue to tell, should it ever be required of him.
[Illustration: _... the great bag on his back, undiminished, save for
two warrants and one private missive...._]
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*PORTENTS*
"Huet bich, mein Freund, vor schwarzen, alten Kasen,
Doch schlimmer sind die weissen, jungen Kaeschen....!"
HEINE.
There was brilliant sunshine as Steven rode in at the gate of Cassel.
The fiddler walked beside him; but, once within the town, he halted,
waved his hand, and called out:
"Good-bye."
"How?" cried Steven, drawing rein, his heart sinking at this unexpected
parting.
"Ah, little bridegroom!" said Fiddler Hans, "it is even so. And a
pretty figure," he said, "should I be, to shadow your lordship's
magnificence in this fashionable city!"
He stepped across the cobbles, laid his hand on the horse's neck, and
looked up at the young man; all mockery fled out of his eyes.
"You are an honest lad," he said, "and you love her--go, tell her the
naked truth."
* * * * *
In her pink-hung bed at the Bellevue Palace, Betty von Wellenshausen
opened a sleepy eye upon her surroundings. She yawned and stretched
herself. It was good to wake up in Cassel and feel the bustle of life
about her, the gay and ceaseless movement, instead of the rarefied
loneliness of Wellenshausen on the crags, where the morning might find
her higher than the clouds themselves, with perhaps scarce the beat of a
bird's wing across the awful stillness.
Yes, it was _du dernier agreable_ in the _Residenz_--Betty's thoughts
ran naturally to French--to be aroused to the prospect of a day full of
the most new and diverting experience.... Positively, Jerome was a
charming fellow!...
... It was, perhaps, a trifle strong to ask for a secret rendezvous on
the strength of one meeting; but Betty did not regret her answer.
Without being at all prepared to yield--gracious powers, was one not to
enjoy oneself a little? ... after three years of Wellenshausen!
In the midst of these gossamer resolves, the door creaked apart.
The Burgravine rubbed her eyes and thought she must be still dreaming,
for through the aperture peered the heavy countenance, the bristling
head of her husband--actually of the Burgrave of Wellenshausen himself!
She sat up, her lace cap awry upon the starting dark curls, her cherry
mouth open, her eyes round, the very image of astonished indignation.
With ponderous tip-toe tread, not unlike that of a wild boar stepping
out of covert, the husband entered the room. He closed the door behind
him and stood smiling, half timidly, half fatuously. Betty's clenched
hands flew up in the air and down again on the sheets.
"How dare you!" she gasped. "Did I not forbid you----?"
"Oh, come now, Betty, my little wife, my little dove, I've frightened
you. You were asleep, angel? But when I got your letter, last night, I
lost not an instant. His Majesty gave me leave--urgent private affair.
Post haste I came from Heiligenstadt. In Cassel with the dawn--a
mouthful of breakfast to while away the time--a little toilet, and here
I am. Shaved, my treasure! Your dear little letter----"
"My ... my dear little letter?" Betty shrieked, eyes rounder, curls more
startled than ever. She sat rigid. "My dear little letter!" she
repeated under her breath once more. Then, as she recalled the missive
in question, she was shaken with an irresistible giggle. Her face
dimpled. The Burgrave, gazing on her amorously, thought her the most
ravishing, the most maddening being ever created for the delight or
torment of man.
"Your letter, my Betty, to Heiligenstadt," he murmured, drew a pink
sheet from his breast pocket, and carried it to his lips. "What wonder
that, upon receipt of this, I could not delay coming to my sweet Betty a
minute longer!" He held the note at arm's length. "Your wifely, your
dutiful words: '_I should indeed be disloyal to persist in rebellion
against my lawful lord._'"
Now, at a flash, the situation was laid clear before her:--by some
inconceivable carelessness she had put her correspondence of two days
ago in the wrong covers! ... A plague on this new-fangled French
invention of envelopes!
She shut her lips with a snap and swallowed down the cry that rose to
them. Rapidly she tried to recall that elegant reply to the royal
importunities which had given her so much satisfaction; and then all
other feelings were lost in a gush of gratitude to the Providence that
had suggested those ambiguous terms which saved the situation--saved
Betty, Burgrave of Wellenshausen, from premature discovery, irreparable
disgrace.
She turned and smiled adorably on the Burgrave.
"Monster," she murmured, "do you deserve forgiveness?"
* * * * *
Steven halted at the first inn on his way, at the sign of the _Aigle
Imperial_--a new French sign upon an old and solidly Germanic house.
Here he put up his horse and engaged a room.
The best he could obtain was on the second floor. The town was full of
officers--a regular military citadel now, and Cassel, that used to be a
quiet _Residenz_.... Honourable guests could no longer be entertained
as was their due, mine host informed him with a shrug of the shoulders.
Steven, however, was indifferent enough; it was not his purpose to
remain an hour longer in Jerome's capital than he could help. Indeed,
he dropped some words concerning the equipage he would probably
require--it might be that very evening--which gave the landlord an
insight into a long purse and magnificent habits of travel.
This worthy, therefore, sped the stranger towards the Royal Palace with
far greater urbanity than he had displayed on his arrival, and stood
staring after him with some curiosity:--unattended, upon a bony old
horse, and airs of a prince withal ... a sable cloak than which the King
himself wore no better ... and we want, if you please, a travelling
carriage and four of the best horses obtainable. We don't mind buying if
they are not to be hired.... _Oho, ei, ei!_
"The town is turned into a citadel." The words recurred to Steven as he
swung down the ill-paved street. The very air throbbed to military
rhythm. In the fields, without the walls and on the new ramparts,
everywhere, levies were being exercised, to judge by the tramp of feet,
the calls and counter calls of bugles, the distant blare of marching
bands, the beat of drums, cries of command, rattle of sham fire. The
little brown town itself was filled with the most heterogeneous
throng--Hanoverian and Westphalian hangers-on of the Court; French and
Corsican adventurers; soldiers of as varied nationalities as were the
uniforms of Jerome's fretful fancy; grenadiers, late of his brother,
briefly royal of Holland, in their red coatees; wonderful blue hussars
(French most of them) very gallant, with a wealth of jangle, whether
ahorse or afoot--these same wonderful blue hussars, some of whom Steven
had seen driven by the sheep-skin Cossacks like wrack before the storm;
_dragons d'Espagne_, in green and orange, stern, lean and war-worn
(unscrupulously intercepted, these, on their way to rejoin their
imperial leader, and here disdainful of pinchbeck king and petty
service); stolid Westphalian recruits lounging along the cobbles with
the slouch of discontent; astounding diplomats driving about, clad in
astounding embroideries; academicians, too, with the green palm on
coat-tail and cuff, for "Little Brother Jerome" played at being as like
big brother Napoleon as might be.
Market boors plodded by, blue-stockinged, crimson-waistcoated and
wide-hatted; shapeless country wenches tramped, and fair ladies,
reclining in coaches, flashed past Steven; and quite a swarm of lackeys,
postilions, chasseurs, with all the insolence of the servants of
dissolute masters, elbowed him aside, or appraised him with open
comment. Had he not been so absorbed in his private anxiety, he might
have noted, in spite of the air of gaiety, the bustle and the
extravagance, certain ominous signs of impending cataclysm around
him--the swift passage here and there of an urgent courier; the grave
countenances of some officials; the little groups, whispering together
in by-streets, dissolving at the first hint of approaching police; the
singing defiance of the students; the sullenness of the poorer burghers;
and, above all, the febrile, over-strained note in the very merriment of
the ruling class itself. There was a tinkling of madcap-bells at the
Palace of Jerome that rang into the town; no one within those walls had
a mind to hearken to the reverberating echoes of Berlin and Hamburg and
Dresden.
Heartily as he despised the sovereign and his army; careless as he was,
in the absorption of his own vexed affairs, of the dire threat that hung
upon the land, Steven could not but find something inspiriting in the
martial sounds and sights. Unconsciously his step fell to the measure of
some distant drums. He had a valiant sense of marching upon victory as
he turned into the palace courtyard. On the strength of his splendid
air, the sentries saluted him without challenging. A huge
green-uniformed Swiss porter bowed before him.
The first check--and it was a slight one--was that no such person as the
_Graefin_ Waldorff-Kielmansegg was known at the Palace. She had to be
explained as the niece of Chancellor Wellenshausen, as the young
Baroness Sidonia, before her identity could be established. Then, once
more, all was smiles and bows. Nothing could be easier than to see the
gracious _Fraeulein_. He was passed from Swiss porter to royal French
lackey; conducted by the royal French lackey through several corridors
and up a flight of stairs, then delivered to no less a person than
dapper Kurtz, the Burgrave's own Jaeger. This latter gave him first a
stare, then a sharp, meaning look, but, nevertheless, introduced him
without demur to a kind of ante-room. Here Steven was left; and here he
had to wait a length of time, which seemed to him first ill-omened, then
positively insulting.
It was a quaint room, painted with impossible nosegays of flowers and
cornucopias running over with gargantuan fruit. It gave, as did the
whole apartment, on the Bellevue Gardens; and, through the yellowing
trees, he could see distant gleams of the Fulda, blue under a blue sky.
A merry party was playing bowls on the _boulingrin_; and, though it was
screened from sight by sundry formal clipped hedges, Steven could hear
the interchange of voices, ladies' laughter, the banter of men.
As the minutes passed and there came to him no sound from within the
apartment, the tinkling, irresponsible gaiety without grew to be a
personal irritation. The very sunshine that had cheered him on his way
was now a mockery; the distant tunefulness of trumpets, a boding. More
than once he lifted his hands impatiently towards the bell-rope, but
each time refrained: so much hung in the balance, he must be patient.
Patient! He ground his teeth as he paced the bright, absurd room.
* * * * *
Kurtz brought the message intended for Sidonia straight to the
Burgravine. He was an astute young man, and knew the most likely
quarter for promotion. Betty was at the moment engaged with the
contents of a milliner's box, choosing a hat to wear with a certain new
green redingote at the review to be held that afternoon. Something it
must have of the military cock, without offending the feminine graces.
It was matter of the deepest moment. But Betty, it has been hinted, had
a capable mind--a facility for grasping several issues at the same time.
She rose promptly to the new situation.
"Bid Baroness Sidonia come to me," she ordered. Then, tartly recalling
her maid, who was edging towards the door: "Eliza, where are you going?"
she cried.
"_Mon Dieu_," said Eliza, innocently, "but to inform _mademoiselle_ that
some one is waiting for her. And, indeed," she added, seeing by the
flash of her lady's eye that her good-natured intention was
frustrated--"indeed, madam, it is strange what a foolish habit we have
all got into of calling madam's niece _Mademoiselle_. It is the young
countess, I should say."
She clasped her hands, and was about to wax eloquent on the subject of
her pleasure at M. le Comte Kielmansegg's reappearance and of her rooted
conviction that they were _un bien gentil couple_, divinely destined for
each other, when her mistress peremptorily reduced her to silence.
Kurtz thereupon vanished in his brisk soldier way.
Betty selected another hat and set it on her curly head. It had an
adorably impudent tilt and a bunch of orange cock-feathers.
"That, madame," said the French milliner, her thin elbows akimbo, her
bright, familiar eyes fixed admiringly on her client--"that, madame, we
call the _Shako a la Saxonne_--it is everything that is new--an
inspiration after the battle of Luetzen. And there is not another lady
in Cassel will have anything like it."
Betty twisted her figure from side to side, and surveyed herself in the
long mirror. She had donned the long narrow _redingote_ to be sure of
her effect, and the rich dark green of the velvet threw her face into
charming relief. The orange note of the feather was the perfecting
touch.
"I really think--I really think I will have it." She spoke lingeringly:
these things do not decide themselves without reflection.
Sidonia came in slowly. Betty ran a keen eye over the girl; the fair
hair was rough, and that was a dreadful little garment of Wellenshausen
manufacture ... pale face, heavy eyes! Betty broke into a laugh. Life
was really very amusing at times.
"You sent for me, aunt?"
"Yes, my dear. Somebody has called to see you, it seems."
"To see me?" Sidonia drew her breath quickly. Crimson rushed to her
face.
"Dear child," said the Burgravine, in her most cooing voice, "do not
agitate yourself; you need not see him unless you wish. Yes, my love,
it is that tiresome man again--my wretched cousin Kielmansegg."
Sidonia swayed a little, but caught herself up, fiercely erect; then the
blood began to ebb from her cheeks.
"I will go to him," she said under her voice. "Where is he?"
"Perhaps it would be just as well," said the Burgravine, carelessly.
"You can hurry matters on about the annulment. Truly, it is fortunate,"
she laughed, "that we shall not now have to hunt for him God knows
where, in order to free you, my poor little Sidonia, from this absurd
business."
"Aunt!" cried the girl, indignantly, with a glance at the milliner.--How
could Aunt Betty laugh so heartlessly, how dared she discuss these most
intimate affairs, before a stranger!
"Calm yourself," said the elder lady, "she does not understand one word
of our savage language--too true a Frenchwoman for that, my dear! Now,
about this traitor. (There you go white and red, you silly thing.) ...
Everything can be settled by Yes or No! Either he wants to carry off
his heiress, or he is content with your decision. He has, of course,
received your letter. Heavens, my dear, did we not discuss it all
before? And, anyhow, it is not a matter for heroics. Lord knows, I
don't want to interfere; it is entirely for you to decide whether you
are on or off with the bargain. For I will lay forty wagers he is here
to protest. Ah, I know my young Viennese gentlemen; they cannot have too
much gold at their back.--Decidedly, Madame Athenais, I keep this hat."
It was too adorable to be taken off her head even for a moment.
Sidonia stood, clasping and unclasping her hands. Every word her aunt
spoke, dropped apparently with such heedlessness, but in reality with
such subtle intent, stabbed her to her sore heart.
"Approach, my dear," said Betty, maternally, "and let me, for heaven's
sake, run a comb through your hair. Mercy on us, child, what a gown!
Had you not better change it?"
"No," said Sidonia, sullenly. She went, on leaden foot, to her aunt's
toilet table and gave an unseeing touch to her hair.
Betty looked over her shoulder; the two faces were reflected side by
side. Sidonia's reflection in the glass looked positively ugly--in her
own eyes. In Betty's, too, apparently, for she cried, with an air of
great generosity and wisdom:
"I would offer to go with you, to support you, my angel; but after what
has passed--I think it were wiser he should not see me. After all, who
knows? You may patch it up. But, Sidonia, you really ought to make
yourself a little tidy."
Madame Athenais, who, if she had that ignorance of the German language
attributed to her ultra-Parisian nature, had contrived nevertheless to
follow the dialogue pretty closely, here interposed with the unctuous
familiarity of her kind:
"Oh, if the young lady is going to have an interview of importance, it
is certain she should make some toilet. See, if _mademoiselle_ permits,
I will show her a hat that is the very thing for the occasion. Something
young, young, quite virginal, yet, coquet, alluring!--something no
gentleman of taste could resist on _mademoiselle's_ head!"
Sidonia--she was but seventeen, after all--stamped her foot.
"Leave me in peace, all of you!" she cried, and made for the door.
The keenest of all Betty's stabs she carried away in her heart; that was
the vision of Betty herself, so fair, so distracting in her plumed hat,
beside Sidonia, plain, awkward, ill-dressed--poor Sidonia whom Steven
had married ... without love! Betty's words: "It were wiser he should
not see me," sang in her ears to the fierce accompaniment of her own
jealous blood. She recalled the smile and the glance at her own
reflection in the mirror, with which Betty had pointed her concession to
wisdom. Hot-tempered by nature, Sidonia had yet never even suspected
the existence of such passion as now rent her.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*THE PERVERSENESS OF WORDS*
"Berriet mein blasses Angesicht
Dir nicht mein Liebeswehe?
Und willst du, dass der stolze Mund
Das Bettelwort gestehe?"
HEINE.
Steven, stretching a determined hand at last to the bell, was arrested
in the act by the sound of the opening door. He turned to see Sidonia
standing in the entrance.
It seemed as if, after all, these two were as yet unripe for love's
fulfilment. The pride of each, unchastened, the quick susceptibilities,
the unreasonable expectations and demands of the crudely young, built
frowning barriers between them.
Steven, who but last night had burned with ardour for his lost bride;
who, but this morning, had set out to win her back, tender, conquering,
almost joyous, felt the fretful impatience of his ten minutes of waiting
leap into positive anger under the accusing glance of Sidonia's eyes.
Their looks met--one might almost say, struck--like steel blades, each
quick to feel and resent the other's attitude.
"Ah, no, he does not love!" cried the girl, in her heart. And--
"She never loved me," said the man in his pride. "I have been a triple
fool!"
But did she think that a Waldorff-Kielmansegg was thus to be played
with, made the sport of heaven knew what ignoble feminine intrigue, a
marriage of convenience, quickly repented of, and then, farewell? No,
he had his rights as a man, his honour to defend, and things could not
end here.
"What brings you?" asked Sidonia. Being the woman, she was the first to
speak.