Signora Biancona appeared to have touched the right chord. The bare
possibility of such an idea broke down Ella's opposition. "I will hear
you," replied she, quickly, "but where?"
"In the little verandah at the right of the gallery. We shall be alone
there; I will go first, you need only follow me."
With an almost imperceptible motion, Ella bowed her head. The few words
had been exchanged so rapidly and softly, that no one had overheard a
syllable, no one even noticed the close vicinity of the two ladies,
who, at that moment, were only surrounded by strangers; therefore, none
remarked it when Signora Biancona immediately afterwards disappeared
from the room, and Ella a few minutes later followed her example.
The gallery, adorned with statues and paintings, next to the
reception-room was almost empty. Only few guests had sought the cooler
apartment, at the end of which a glass door led into a half-open
verandah, which by day probably offered an extensive view over the
surrounding gardens, but tonight had been included in the entertaining
rooms, as it also had been decorated with flowering and foliage plants,
and if not so brilliantly lighted as the saloons, yet was sufficiently
so; at any rate it was quite empty, and the half-hidden room, lying
somewhat apart, which was unknown to most of the guests, offered the
possibility of an undisturbed conversation.
Beatrice was already there when Ella's lace dress rustled through the
doorway, but the young wife remained very close to it, without
advancing even a single step beyond. With just the same unbending,
proud bearing which she had shown at the first meeting in the
_locanda_, did she now await the commencement of this half-compulsory
interview. The Italian's eyes hung with a truly devouring expression on
the white figure which stood opposite to her, flooded with the light of
the lamps, and whose beauty moved her to the bitterest hatred.
"Signora Eleonore Almbach!" began she at last, "I regret having to
explain to you that your _incognito_ is already betrayed. For the
present only to me, but I do not believe that it can be long
maintained."
"And upon whom would it fall?" asked Ella quietly. "I did not spare
myself when I assumed this _incognito_.
"Whom then? Perhaps Rinaldo?"
"I do not know Signor Rinaldo."
The words sounded so icily positive, that it was impossible to
entertain any doubt as to what she meant to express, and Beatrice was
silenced for a moment by them. It was quite beyond her to understand
the pride which could not even forgive a Rinaldo for a breach of faith
once made.
"Indeed, I was not prepared for this denial," replied she. "If
Rinaldo--"
"You wished to speak to me," interrupted Ella, "and I promised to
listen to you. That the decision has cost me something, I need hardly
explain to you; at least I did not expect to hear this name from you,
nor do I wish it. Let our conversation be as short as possible. What
have you to say to me?"
"Above all, I have to beg you to employ a different tone in our
interview," said Beatrice, with irritation. "You are speaking to
Beatrice Biancona, whose name is surely known to you in other ways than
merely through our personal connection with one another, and who may
indeed endure hatred and enmity on the part of an opponent, but not the
contempt you are pleased to express."
Ella remained perfectly unmoved at this demand. She stepped a little
aside, under cover of the tall foliage plants, so that she might not be
seen from the gallery, and then turned again to the speaker.
"I did not seek this interview. It was you, Signora, who to some extent
forced me to it, therefore you must allow me to preserve the tone which
I deem to be suitable towards you; none other is at my disposal."
A glance of wild, deadly hatred shot out of Beatrice's eyes, but she
felt that if she now gave way to her passion, it would rob her of all
power, and prepare her antagonist a new triumph. She therefore crossed
her arms, and replied with annihilating scorn--
"You make me do severe penance, Signora Almbach, for having been the
conqueror in a struggle whose prize was your husband's love."
"You are mistaken," responded Ella, coldly. "I _never_ struggle for any
man's love. I leave that to women who first gain such a prize with
difficulty, and then must ever tremble lest they lose it."
The last words seemed to have touched a sore spot. Beatrice paled.
"Certainly you had a right to claim him on the strength of the bridal
altar," said she, still retaining the former contemptuous tone. "Only,
alas, even this talisman does not protect one from the misfortune of
being forsaken."
Now it was she who aimed mercilessly for a wound which she herself had
made, but the arrow glanced harmlessly back. Ella drew herself up erect
and proud--
"Certainly not from the pain of such a fate, but at any rate from its
shame. For the forsaken wife there remain the interest, the sympathy of
the whole world; for the forsaken lover--only contempt."
"Only that?" said Beatrice grimly. "You mistake, Signora; one other
thing remains for her--revenge!"
"Is that intended for a threat to me?" asked Ella. "Whoever challenges
your revenge, may seek to protect herself against it; I am free from
it."
"Of course, you came from the north where passion is not known, as we
understand the word," cried the Italian. "With you prejudices, duties,
the world's opinion, stand for ever and ever in the front--a woman's
_love_ only comes in the second rank."
"Certainly in the second rank." Ella's tone was now one of unconcealed
scorn. "In the first stands woman's honour; we are accustomed to place
it unconditionally and everywhere in front--a prejudice certainly from
which Signora Biancona has long since emancipated herself."
Ella did not know the rival whom she irritated, otherwise she would not
perhaps have ventured to let the pride of the deeply injured wife speak
in so crushing a manner; the effect was an appalling one.
It was as if all at once a demon sprang up in the Italian, as if her
whole being really shot forth "death and destruction," so flashed her
dark eyes; a half smothered cry of fury broke from her lips, and
forgetting everything around her, she took one or two steps forward.
Ella shrank back at this more than threatening movement--
"What does that mean, Signora?" said she firmly. "Violence perhaps? You
forget where we are. I see that I was wrong to accede to this
interview, it is high time to end it."
Beatrice appeared to recover her senses to some extent; at least she
stood still, although the unnatural expression of her eyes had not
faded; convulsively her hand crushed the black lace veil which fell
over her shoulders; she did not notice that in doing so one of the red
flowers detached itself from her hair, and fell to the ground.
"You shall learn to repent these words--this hour, Signora," hissed she
through her clenched teeth. "You do not know revenge? Very well, I know
it, and shall know how to show it to you and him."
She swept away and left the young wife alone behind, who could not
bring herself to re-enter the drawing-room immediately after this
scene, and encounter Erlau's anxious enquiries. Drawing a long breath,
she sat down on one of the seats, and rested her head on her hand. This
wild hatred and threat of vengeance did shake her, but it showed her
the truth also, through all veils. Only the successful rival is
hated, only what is lost is avenged, or at least what is given up for
lost--the infatuation was at an end.
But whom did these threatening words concern? Reinhold? The wife paled;
she herself had offered a firm bold front to the menace; but at this
thought a breath as of trembling fear passed through her soul, and as
if in half unconscious pain she pressed her hand to her bosom and
whispered--
"Oh, my God, that cannot be. She loves him surely."
"Eleonore!" said a voice quite close to her.
Ella started up. She recognised the voice at the first sound, even
before she saw the figure, which stood on the other side of the
doorway, as though it did not dare to pass. Reinhold seemed to gain
courage when he saw no repelling movement, and entered completely.
"What is it?" asked he uneasily, "I find you alone here in this distant
room, and just now I saw another come from it and hurry through the
gallery. You spoke--"
"To Signora Biancona," added Ella, as he stopped.
"Did she insult you?" cried Reinhold irately. "I know her look, which
betokened no good. I almost suspected it when I saw her disappear so
suddenly from the drawing-room, and you were to be seen no more. I came
too late, as it appears. Did she insult you, Ella?"
His young wife rose, and made a movement as if to leave--
"If she had done so, you understand surely that your protection would
be the last which I should claim."
She tried to pass him, and reach the door. Reinhold made no attempt to
detain her, but his glance rested upon her with such sad reproach, that
she stopped involuntarily.
"Eleonore," said he softly, "one more question before you go--only one.
You were at my opera--why deny it? I saw you, as you saw me. What urged
you to go?"
Ella lowered her eyes, as if it were a fault of which she was accused,
and a treacherous warmth flowed over her brow and cheeks, as she
hesitatingly replied--
"I wanted to become acquainted with the composer, Rinaldo, in his
works."
"And now that you have become acquainted with him?"
"Do you wish for my judgment upon your new creation? The world says it
is a masterwork."
"It was a confession," said he with strong emphasis. "I did not,
indeed, imagine that you would hear it, but as it was so--did you
understand it?"
His wife was silent.
"I only saw your eyes for one moment," continued he passionately, "but
I saw that tears stood in them. Did you understand me, Ella?"
"I comprehended that the author of such tones could not endure the
narrow circle of my parent's house," replied Ella firmly, "and that
perhaps he chose the best for himself when he broke through it and
plunged into a life full of warmth and passion, such as his music
paints. You have sacrificed everything to your genius--I bear you
testimony that this genius was worthy of the sacrifice."
The last words sounded intensely bitter; they seemed to have touched
the same chord in Reinhold.
"You do not know how cruel you are," said he in a like tone, "or rather
you know it only too well, and make me suffer tenfold for every pang I
once caused you. What indeed is it to you, if I rise or succumb in a
life which the world deems unequalled happiness, which I often, so
often already, would have given away for a single hour of rest and
peace! What is it to you, if your husband, the father of your child, be
devoured with wild longing for reconciliation with a past which he
could never quite tear out of his heart, if at last he despairs of
everything and of himself! He has merited his fate; therefore the rod
was broken over him, and the elevated, virtuous pride of his wife
denies him every word of reconciliation, denies him even the sight of
his child--"
"For Heaven's sake, Reinhold, control yourself," interrupted Ella
anxiously. "We are not alone here--if a stranger heard us!"
He laughed bitterly--
"Well, then he would hear the great crime, that the husband has for
once dared to speak to his wife. And if all the world learn it, I care
no longer upon whom the discovery, whom the condemnation falls. Ella
you must remain," interrupted he beside himself, as he saw she wished
to depart. "For once I must ease my breast of what I have carried about
with me for months, and as you are at other times so inaccessible to
me, you must listen to me now and here. You must I say."
He seized her arm, so as to detain her by force; but at the same moment
Marchese Tortoni appeared at the door, and stepped almost furiously
between them.
Reinhold let his wife's arm go, and drew back. Cesario's appearance
showed him that the latter must have been present at least during the
last scene; with dark brow and a grave look the Marchese placed himself
at once by Ella's side.
"May I offer you my arm, Signora?" said he, very positively. "Your
uncle is uneasy at your absence. You will allow me to accompany you to
him."
Reinhold had already mastered his astonishment, but not his excitement.
The interruption at such a moment irritated him to excess, and the
sight of Cesario at his wife's side robbed him completely of his
self-control.
"I request that you will withdraw, Cesario," said he violently and
dictatorially, with that superiority which he had always employed
towards his young friend and admirer, but he forgot that he no longer
held the foremost place with the latter. The Marchese's eyes flashed
with indignation, as he replied--
"The tone of your request is as singular, Rinaldo, as the request
itself; you will therefore understand if I do not accede to it. I
certainly did not understand the German words which you exchanged with
Signora Erlau, but yet I saw that she was to be compelled to stay when
she wished to go. I fear she requires protection--pray command me,
Signora!"
"You will protect her from _me_?" cried Reinhold, becoming excited. "I
forbid _you_ to approach this lady!"
"You appear to forget that it is not Signora Biancona in this case,"
said the Marchese, cuttingly. "You may have a right there to forbid or
allow, but here--"
"I have it here more than any other."
"You lie."
"Cesario! You will answer for this to me," cried Reinhold angrily.
"As you please," replied the Marchese, equally violently.
Ella had up to this time tried in vain to interrupt the sentences which
were exchanged rapidly between the wildly excited men; they did not
listen to her, but the last words, whose meaning she understood only
too well, showed her the whole extent of the danger of this unhappy
meeting. With quick decision she stepped between them, and said with a
determination which commanded attention even at this moment--
"Marchese Tortoni, do not proceed any farther! It is a
misunderstanding."
Cesario turned at once to her. "Pardon, Signora! We forgot your
presence;" said he more calmly. "But you overlook the fact that in
Signor Rinaldo's words there lies an insult to you, which I am not
inclined to tolerate. I cannot and shall not retract my words, unless
you were to convince me that he is right."
Ella struggled with herself in agonising indecision. Reinhold stood
silent and gloomy; she saw that he would not speak now, that with this
silence he wished to compel her, either to deny or acknowledge him as
her husband; but to deny him, meant in this case to call forth the
worst consequences. The insult had taken place, and with the two men's
characters, a fatal meeting was inevitable. If it were not withdrawn,
no choice remained to the wife.
"Signor Rinaldo goes too far when he still claims rights which he once
possessed," replied she at last. "But no insult lay in his words, he
spoke--of his wife!"
Reinhold breathed more freely--at last she confessed it before Cesario.
The latter stood as if struck by lightning. Often as he had sought for
a solution of the enigma, he had never expected one such as this.
"Of his wife!" repeated he almost stupified.
"We have been separated for years," said Ella voicelessly.
This explanation restored the Marchese's steadiness. He immediately
guessed the cause of the separation; did he not know Beatrice Biancona?
The one name made all clear to him, and left no doubt as to whose side
the fault lay on now. The Captain was right in his conjecture; the
discovery, instead of frightening Cesario away, rather made him break
forth in passionate partizanship for the beloved and injured wife.
"Well then, Signora," said he quickly, "it only rests with you, whether
you will recognise a claim, which Rinaldo founds upon a past, which
exists no longer, and which he himself surely destroyed. You alone have
to decide whether I may still approach you, if in future I may dedicate
a feeling to you, which I confess openly is now more than the cold
admiration of a stranger, and which one day you must accept or refuse."
He spoke with all the ardour of a long suppressed emotion, but also
with the noble, immovable confidence of a man, to whom the beloved one
is elevated above all doubt, and the language was sufficiently plain;
it pressed urgently for a decision, from which the wife shrank back
tremblingly.
"Yes, indeed Eleonore, you must decide," said Reinhold, now taking up
the word. His voice all at once sounded unnaturally calm, but the
glance which hung openly on his wife with an expression as if in the
next moment the fiat of life or death should fall from her lips, showed
better how it was with him. For one second's duration both their eyes
met, and Ella could have been no woman had she not now seen that the
most perfect, annihilating revenge lay in her hand. One single "Yes"
from her lips would avenge all that she had suffered. Slowly she turned
to Cesario.
"Marchese Tortoni--I beg you to desist--I still consider myself bound."
A short portentous pause followed the words. Ella saw what a struggle
between pain and pride of the man, who would not show how deeply he had
been struck, went forward in the young Italian's beautiful features;
she saw him bow to her, without speaking a word, and turn to go; but
courage failed her to cast a glance to the other side.
"Cesario!" cried Reinhold, going a step towards him as if in rising
repentance. "We are friends."
"We _were_ so," replied the Marchese, coldly. "You surely comprehend,
Rinaldo, that this hour separates us. My accusation against you I
must certainly retract! your wife's explanation exonerates you from
it--farewell, Signora."
He left the husband and wife alone. Neither spoke during the next few
minutes. Ella bent low over one of the perfumed flowers, and a few
tears fell upon the broad shining leaves. Then her name was borne to
her ear by a trembling breath--she seemed not to hear it.
"Eleonore!" repeated Reinhold.
She raised her eyes to him. Intense pain still rested on her face, but
her voice sounded under perfect control again.
"What have I said then? That I shall never make use of the freedom
which your step gave me? That was certain from the first; without this
the experience of my marriage protects me from any second one. I have
my child, and in it the object and happiness of my life. I require no
other love."
"You, certainly not," said Reinhold, with quivering lip, "and my doom
is indifferent to you--you have always loved your child only, and never
me. For his sake you could break through all the prejudices of your
bringing up and become another woman; you could not do it for your
husband."
"Did he then ever give me such love as I found in my child?" asked
Ella, in a very low voice. "Let it be, Reinhold! You know who stands
between us, and will ever stand."
"Beatrice? I will not accuse her, although she was more to blame for my
departure then than you perhaps believe. Yet, I was always master of my
will--why did I yield to the fascination? But if I have now recognised
its deception, and tear myself away--"
"Will you forsake her, as you forsook me?" interrupted his wife, in
reproachful condemnation. "Do you think that _that_ could reconcile us?
I have lost all belief in you, Reinhold, and it will not be restored to
me, even if you sacrifice a second person now. I have no cause for
sparing or considering this Biancona, but she loves you; she offered up
all for you, and you yourself gave her an undisputed right of
possession for years. If even you would now destroy the fetters you
forged for yourself she would still part us for ever. It is too late; I
_cannot_ trust you any more."
Immeasurable sadness rang in the last words, but at the same time
unbending firmness. In the next moment Ella had left the room. Reinhold
was alone.
* * * * *
It was on the day following this entertainment, already towards
evening, when Captain Almbach entered Reinhold's drawing-room.
"Is my brother still not visible?" asked he of the servant who met him.
The latter shrugged his shoulders, and pointed across to the locked
door of the study.
"You know, Signor, that we dare not disturb him. Signor Rinaldo has
locked himself in."
"Since this morning!" murmured Captain Almbach; "that begins, indeed,
to be alarming. I must absolutely find out what has happened."
He went to the study door, and knocked in such a manner that it could
not be unheard.
"Reinhold, open the door! It is I."
No answer came from within.
"Reinhold, twice to-day have I demanded admittance to you in vain. If
you do not open the door now, I shall think some misfortune has
happened, and burst it open in a minute."
The threat seemed to have some effect. Steps were heard inside the
room; the bolt was pushed back, and Reinhold, standing before his
brother who entered quickly, said impatiently--
"Why this disturbance? Can I never be alone?"
"Never!" said Hugo, reproachfully. "Since this morning you have been
inaccessible to everybody--even to me; and your face shows that you are
more fitted to bear anything than being alone. That unfortunate
_soiree_ last night; Heaven knows what befel you all! Ella suddenly
disappeared from the room, and I am convinced you spoke together.
Marchese Tortoni, who also became invisible, returned with a
countenance as if he had received his verdict of death, and left the
party the next moment. I find you in the gallery in a state of
excitement beyond description, and Donna Beatrice looked like the last
judgment day, as she entered her carriage. I bet that she alone has
caused all the mischief. What is the matter between you?"
Reinhold folded his arms, and looked gloomily at the ground. "Nothing
more now--we are separated from henceforward."
Captain Almbach stepped back in intense surprise. "What does it mean?
You accompanied her."
"Yes, she knew how to manage that, and so at last it came to a decision
between us."
"You have broken with her?" asked Hugo.
"I--no," replied Reinhold, with a bitter expression; "it was told me
plainly enough that I might sacrifice no 'second.' It was Beatrice who
brought the rupture violently about. Why must she force me to an
interview so immediately after it had become clear to me what I had
lost for her sake? She called me to account for my thoughts and
feelings, and I told her the truth which she demanded--mercilessly
perhaps, but if I was cruel, she challenged me to it ten times over."
"I can imagine it, from what I know of Biancona," said Hugo, in an
under tone.
"From what you know of her?" repeated his brother. "Do not believe it!
Did I not only really learn to know her last evening? It was a scene; I
tell you, Hugo, even you, with all your energy, would not have been
equal to her. One must have something of a fiend in one's nature to
resist such a woman. That hour put its seal upon our separation."
The words were full of gloomy moodiness, but betrayed no relief, no
removal of any weight. Captain Almbach shook his head.
"I fear the story will certainly not end there. This Beatrice is not a
woman to waste away in helpless tears. Be upon your guard, Reinhold!"
"She threatened me with all her vengeance," said Reinhold darkly, "and
so far as I know her, she will keep to it. Let her then! I do not
tremble before what I called up myself--with happiness I had parted
already."
"And if this separation continued irretrievable, do you not believe in
the possibility of a reconciliation with Ella?" asked Hugo, gravely.
"No, Hugo, that is over. I know that she cannot forget. Not one voice
in her heart speaks for me now, if it even ever spoke. The cleft
between us is too wide, too deep; no bridge leads across it now. I have
given up the last hope."
The brothers' conversation was interrupted at this moment by Jonas, who
entered hastily.
Reinhold looked up, annoyed that his brother's servant should venture
to enter his study so unceremoniously, and Hugo had a rebuke ready on
his lips, when a glance at the sailor's face arrested it.
"What is it, Jonas?" asked he uneasily. "Is it anything important?"
"Herr Captain!"--the sailor's voice had quite lost its usual quiet
tone, it trembled audibly----"I have just come from Herr Erlau's
house--you know that I often go there now--the old gentleman is beside
himself; all the servants are running about--Annunziata cries her eyes
out, although she really is not to blame for it, and young Frau Erlau
just now----"
"What has happened?" cried Reinhold, with the dread of presentiment.
"Some misfortune?"
"The child is gone," said Jonas, desperately; "since this forenoon. If
they do not find it again, I believe the mother will lose her life."
"Who? Little Reinhold?" enquired Hugo, while his brother stared at the
messenger of evil, without power over a single word. "How could it
happen? Was no one there to look after him?"
"He was playing in the garden as usual," related Jonas, "and Annunziata
with him; she went into the house for a quarter of an hour, as she
often does. When she returned, the garden door was open, the child
gone, and not a trace of him to be found. They have roused all the
neighbourhood, searched all the environs, but no ponds nor pits, where
the little one could come to grief, are anywhere near, and if he had
run away, he is big enough, after all, to find his way back again. No
one can understand the mystery."
The brothers' looks met. In both their eyes stood the same terrible
thought. The next moment, Reinhold, pale as a corpse, and trembling
with excitement in all his limbs, seized his hat from the table.