Extensive preparations for the approaching social season were being made
at the house of the Prussian ambassador. Wallmoden had entered upon the
duties of his present official position early in the past spring, but
his father-in-law's death following immediately after, and the summer
coming on, he had as yet done nothing to discharge the social
obligations incumbent upon him as the representative of a great
government. The magnificent house which he had taken was furnished with
great splendor. His marriage to an heiress made many pleasant things
possible to him now, and his great desire was to make his residence one
of mark in the southern capital. The following week he was to give his
first reception, and in the meantime, numerous visits had to be made.
The ambassador was busily engaged, also, in attending to certain
official matters of more than usual importance. With all his other cares
he was secretly annoyed at the result of the production of "Arivana." If
he had had any thought before of openly denouncing Hartmut Rojanow, such
denunciation was now almost impossible.
This adventurer had been so praised and so lauded and admired for his
poetical genius and talents, that just at present it was a matter of
doubt whether any statement which Wallmoden could make would have much
effect on the society and the court where the newly risen star was the
hero of the hour. Hartmut had risked much against Wallmoden's
threats--and won. The one thing which completed the ambassador's
discomfiture, and made his position extremely painful, was the coming of
Falkenried. It would be impossible to conceal his son's whereabouts and
doings from the father, and Wallmoden dare not let him learn them from
strangers. When they had met in Berlin, for a brief hour, neither knew
of the journey to the South which the Colonel would have to take almost
immediately. He was to be the guest of his old friend, for he also knew
Adelheid very well; she and her brother had grown up under his eyes.
When Major Falkenried had taken command of a distant garrison ten years
before, the little city where he was stationed had been very near the
principal Stahlberg factories. The new major's reputation had preceded
him; he was said to be a valiant soldier, devoted to the service, who,
when not on duty, gave all his time to the study of military tactics and
discipline, but who held all mankind, soldiers excepted, in abhorrence.
He had a house and lived among men, but for the rest, he turned his back
upon society and every one connected with it.
But the head of the house of Stahlberg took little heed of the gossip or
of the major's attitude toward his fellow-men, and approached him
without hesitation. The bitter, disappointed man, who shunned all the
world, could not fail to admire in the manufacturer much that was akin
to his own nature, and while their acquaintance never ripened into
friendship, Falkenried understood and appreciated Stahlberg's rugged
character, and in the years in which they lived near one another the
Stahlberg house was the only one which he ever entered willingly. So he
grew to know the children of the house intimately, and kept up his
intercourse with the family after his return to Berlin. When Wallmoden
married he felt that both he and Adelheid had been hardly treated by the
Colonel, when the latter sent some plausible excuse for not attending
the wedding. Adelheid knew little or nothing of the Colonel's fateful
history. She supposed him to be childless, and had only recently learned
from her husband that he had married very young, been divorced from his
wife for many years, and was now a widower.
Eight days after the return of the Wallmodens, as Adelheid was sitting
at her writing table late one afternoon, Colonel Falkenried was
announced. She rose at once, threw down her pen and hastened to greet
her old friend.
"How glad I am to see you, dear Colonel. We received your telegram, and
Herbert was just about to start to the station to meet you himself, when
he received a summons from the duke and had to go at once to the castle,
so we could only send the carriage for you." Her greeting was warm and
cordial, such as an old friend of her father might have expected, but
Falkenried, while not exactly distant, was certainly not hearty. He took
the extended hand, but his manner was cold and earnest, and he said
indifferently, as he took the chair offered him: "Well, we can talk to
one another until his return."
The colonel had changed, changed so greatly as to be past recognition.
Were it not for the tall and erect bearing he would be taken for an old
man. The hair of this man in his fifty-second year was snow white, his
forehead was deeply ploughed with furrows, and the deep lines in his
face told of sorrow beyond all hope of cure. The countenance, which had
once been so full of expression, had a staring, uncomfortable look now,
and his manner bespoke a reserve and repression which could not be
penetrated. Regine's expression, "The man seems turned to stone," was
only too true.
One could not help forming the impression that the good or ill of his
fellow creatures were both matters of supreme indifference to him; he
lived only in the fulfillment of the duties of his profession.
"I have disturbed you, Ada," he said, using the old name which he had
always heard in her father's house, as he threw a glance at the
half-finished letter on the writing table.
"Oh, there's plenty of time," his hostess answered carelessly. "I was
only writing to Eugen."
"Ah, yes; I saw him day before yesterday, and he sent his love to you."
"I knew he would go to Berlin on purpose to see you. He has not seen you
for over two years, and neither have I, except for the moment, as we
passed through Berlin. We did hope you would come out to Burgsdorf while
we were there, and Regine felt sorely vexed that you did not accept her
invitation."
The colonel looked at her gloomily. He knew, too well, the bitter
memories associated with the place. He had only been there a couple of
times since his return to Berlin.
"Regine understands how much my time is occupied," he answered
evasively. "But to return to your brother, I want to speak to you about
something, Ada, and I am not sorry we are alone. What is the matter
between Eugen and his brother-in-law? What has happened?"
A shade of embarrassment crossed Adelheid's face at this question, but
she answered carelessly: "Nothing especial, only they don't exactly
understand each other."
"Not understand one another! Wallmoden is almost forty years your
brother's senior, and he's the lad's guardian, too, for two years more,
until Eugen attains his majority. So the boy had nothing to do but obey
orders for that brief space."
"Of course, but Eugen, while warm-hearted, is impetuous and
inconsiderate, as he has always been from a small boy."
"That's a pity! He'll have to change all that when he assumes the
responsible position which is awaiting him, if he expects to follow in
his father's footsteps. But there seems something more than that the
matter here. I made a passing allusion to your marriage, Ada--that it
had surprised me a little, more especially as I had known your husband
so well, and had not imagined you were so ambitious. Whereupon Eugen
turned on me and defended you in the warmest manner. Said you had been
sacrificed for him, and left me quite bewildered by his passionate words
and insinuations."
"You should not have paid any attention to him," said Adelheid, with
noticeable uneasiness. "Such a young hothead sees the tragical side of
everything. What was it he did say?"
"Really nothing. He said you had made him promise to say nothing without
your permission, but that he hated his brother-in-law. What does it all
mean?"
The young wife was silent; this talk was anything but pleasant to her.
The colonel looked at her searchingly, while he continued:
"You know it is not my habit to force myself into others' secrets. I
take little interest, now-a-days, in the doings of my neighbors, but the
honor of my oldest friend is called into question by the insinuation of
a boy. I had no patience with Eugen, and told him to go to Wallmoden
and threaten him if he had anything to say. His answer was: 'O, Herr von
Wallmoden would explain the thing by calling it diplomatic; he has shown
himself a great diplomat. Ask Ada, let her tell you her experience.' So
I did as he bade me, I asked you, but as you will say nothing, I have no
alternative but to speak to your husband. For I cannot keep silence
concerning such insulting remarks."
He spoke without excitement, in a measured, cold tone, as if, while a
matter of no moment to himself, he felt it his duty to interrogate his
friend's wife.
"Pray don't mention it to Herbert, I beg of you," Adelheid said,
hastily. "I will tell you myself. Eugen has been carried away by his
temper; he has taken the affair too much to heart from the beginning.
There was nothing dishonorable in it."
"I supposed that when Wallmoden had to do with it," the colonel
interrupted with marked emphasis.
Adelheid lowered her voice, but she avoided the colonel's eye as she
continued:
"You know that I was not engaged to Herbert until after our year's
residence in Florence. My father was very ill and his physicians ordered
him to Italy for the winter. We went to Florence for a couple of months;
our farther movements were to depend upon my father's condition. My
brother accompanied, us and when the winter set in he was to return
home. After a few weeks we took a villa just outside the city, and
lived, of course, a very retired life. Eugen saw Italy for the first
time under very sad and depressing circumstances; it was very trying for
him, a mere boy, to sit day after day in a sick room, so I seconded his
request to be allowed to go to Rome for a few weeks, and obtained the
desired permission for him. I ought never to have done so. But I did
not know how great was his inexperience or into what it would lead him."
"Which means that he plunged into frivolous pleasure or dissipation
while his father lay on his death-bed," the Colonel interposed harshly.
"Do not be hard on him. My brother was scarcely twenty years old, and
while he had a loving father, he had a severe one, who had brought him
up with such strictness that this little breath of freedom proved too
much for him. The young German, with no worldly experience whatever, was
enticed into a circle where play ran high, and where, as was afterwards
proven, cheats and gamblers plied their vocation. Eugen in his ignorance
saw nothing of all this; he lost considerable sums, and at last one
night the club was raided by the police. The Italians resisted them and
a scuffle ensued, into which Eugen was drawn. He only defended himself,
but in so doing severely wounded one of the police, and he was arrested
with the others."
The Colonel had listened in silence to Adelheid's agitated recital, but
he showed neither interest nor emotion as he said severely: "And poor
Stahlberg had to live to see his son, whom he imagined a model, come to
this!"
"He never knew it. It was only a momentary seduction, a boy's misstep
through ignorance, which will never be repeated; Eugen has given me his
word of honor for that."
Falkenried laughed out suddenly, such a bitter, mocking laugh, that the
young wife looked at him in alarm.
"His word of honor. Certainly, why not? It is as easy given as broken.
Are you really so credulous that you would take the word of such a boy?"
"Yes, I am, indeed," Adelheid answered earnestly, as she looked
reprovingly into the face of the man whose bitterness she could not
understand. "I know my brother; he is his father's son in spite of
everything and will not break his word."
"It is well for you you can still trust and believe; for me such days
were over long ago," said Falkenried, scowling, but in a milder tone.
"And what happened then?"
"My brother had word sent to me at once. 'Do not tell father, it would
kill him,' he wrote. I knew better than he that it would do so; my
father was far too ill then to bear any excitement. It was hard for the
moment to know what to do, for we were strangers in a strange land. Then
I thought of Herbert, who was at that time ambassador to Florence. We
knew him slightly at home, and he had called upon us in Florence, and
offered his services or those of his attachés if we should desire
anything. Since we had taken a house he had been to see father
frequently, and came now immediately in answer to my request. I had
reliance in him, and told him all, asking for advice and help, and he
gave me both."
"At what price?" asked the Colonel, suddenly, with darkening face.
"No, no; it is not as you think, or as Eugen will persist in believing.
I have not been forced. Herbert gave me my free choice. He explained to
me that the matter was much more serious than I had thought, that all
sums lost at play must be paid, and that the affair might yet assume
serious proportions on account of the wounding of the policeman. He
explained that it would be very embarrassing for him in his position, to
be personally mixed up in such an affair. 'You desire me to save your
brother," he said. "Perhaps I can do it, but I place my present
position, and my whole future at stake by so doing, and one hardly cares
to do that for any one less than a brother, or brother-in-law!"
Falkenried rose with a start and paced the room once, then he stood
before his friend's wife, and said in an angry tone:
"And in your deadly anxiety, naturally you believed him?"
"Do you mean that it was not so?" questioned Adelheid.
He shrugged his shoulders as he answered:
"Possibly. I understand little of diplomatic considerations, but I know
that Wallmoden showed himself a greater diplomat than ever in this hour.
What answer did you give him?"
"I begged for time, it had all come on me so suddenly. But I knew not a
moment was to be lost, so the same evening I gave Herbert the right to
rescue his brother-in-law."
"Naturally," muttered Falkenried with keen contempt. "Wise Herbert."
"He left for Rome at once," continued Baroness von Wallmoden, "and
returned eight days later with my brother. He had succeeded in getting
Eugen off without making him conspicuous; his name was not even
mentioned in the papers as connected with the affair. How Herbert did it
I never knew. He spent money like water, and he told me later that he
pledged half his fortune to cover the gambling debts."
"That was very magnanimous, when he was about to gain a million by the
sacrifice. And what did Eugen say to this--transaction?"
"He did not know of it at the time, for he returned at once to Germany,
as had been arranged before. Herbert came to the house now, daily, and
my father grew to like him, and when Herbert finally proposed to him for
my hand, I was thankful that the affair had taken the turn it had, and
my father imagined he had been paying court to me all this time. But
Eugen was not to be deceived. As soon as he heard of our betrothal, his
suspicions were aroused, and he wrung the truth from me. Since then he
has reproached himself continually, and has a hatred for Herbert,
notwithstanding my repeated assurances that I was not coerced, and have
had no cause to regret my marriage, and that I find in Herbert an
attentive, considerate husband."
Falkenried looked searchingly in her face as if he would read her inmost
thoughts.
"Are you happy?" he asked at last, slowly.
"I am contented."
"That is much in this life; we are not born to be happy. I have done you
an injustice, Ada. I thought that the glitter of court life, the
opportunity to marry a baron and an ambassador had tempted you to become
Frau von Wallmoden, but I find instead--I am sorry, Ada, that I did you
an injustice."
He extended his hand as he spoke, and in the motion there was a plea for
pardon.
"Now you know all," said Adelheid with a deep sigh, "and I beg you not
to discuss the subject with Herbert. You see for yourself he did nothing
dishonorable. I repeat to you he used no force, my love for my brother
was the only force. I could not have expected Herbert to exert himself
as he had to do in Rome--for a stranger."
"If a woman had come to me under such circumstances, I should have saved
her brother--without stipulations," Falkenried exclaimed.
"Ah, you--I would have followed you with a light heart."
These words disclosed unconsciously how hard had been the struggle
within this girl's breast. If a sacrifice had to be made, far easier to
make it to the dark, gloomy, rigid man who, notwithstanding all his
bitterness and hardness, she could trust implicitly, than to the polite
and attentive husband who had taken advantage of her inexperience and
fear.
"You'd have had a sad lot in that case, Ada," the colonel answered with
a shake of the head. "I am one of those human beings who can give or
receive nothing more in this world; life was over for me long ago. But
you are right, it is better for me not to discuss this matter with
Wallmoden, for if I gave him my opinion--but he is and ever will be a
diplomat."
The conversation was over and Adelheid rose and said in her usual quiet
tone:
"And now shall I show you to your room? You must be fatigued after your
long journey."
"No indeed, I'd be a poor soldier to be worn out by a night's travel. In
the service something else is expected from us."
He bore no marks of fatigue; as he stood, broad and tall before her, his
muscles and sinews seemed made of steel, it was only the face which was
old and haggard. The eyes of the young wife followed him thoughtfully as
he again paced the room. She noted the furrowed forehead, so high and
broad under the white hair. It seemed to her she had seen it somewhere
else, only the locks were dark and curly, and beneath the brow were
strange, large eyes, which illumined a face of southern beauty. But
surely the forehead on which she gazed was strangely like that across
which the sudden wave of passion had passed on that memorable day of the
hunt, even to the deep-set blue veins which stood out so prominently in
the temples. It was a strange, unaccountable, fascinating resemblance.
A few hours later the two old friends were seated together in
Wallmoden's private study. The host had dreaded this hour, but now the
tale was told and the impression which it made on the Colonel anything
but what his host had expected. He had told of Rojanow's sudden
appearance at Fürstenstein, of the sensation which his drama had created
in the city, of his wandering life with his mother during past years,
and of Zalika's death. Falkenried had leaned back in the chair, his arm
resting on the window sill, and listened to the whole long story without
movement of form or feature, without a question, without a comment; he
hardly seemed to hear, he was indeed made of stone.
"I believe it is right to tell you all this now," concluded the
ambassador. "Hitherto I have not troubled you with the knowledge which
has come to me from time to time, but now you must learn all I have to
tell and how the land lies."
The Colonel did not change his position, and his voice betrayed no
emotion as he replied: "I thank you for your good intentions, but you
could have spared yourself the trouble. What do I care for this
adventurer?"
Wallmoden had not expected such an answer, and looked keenly at his
friend as he continued:
"I deemed it necessary to tell you because of the possibility of a
meeting. Rojanow plays a conspicuous part here and is to be met with
everywhere. The duke is greatly taken with him; you will be very apt to
come across him at the castle."
"And what then? I know no one who bears the name of Rojanow, and he will
not dare to know me. We will pass one another as strangers."
Wallmoden watched his friend's face closely while he was speaking; he
wondered if all feeling was dead, or if this intense coldness and
indifference were assumed.
"I believed you would have taken the news of your son's re-appearance
differently," he said, half aloud. It was the only time he used the word
"son;" he had called him Rojanow in telling the story, and he did it
with a purpose now. For the first time there was a movement from the
window, but it was a movement of anger.
"I have no son, bear that in mind, Wallmoden. He died that last night at
Burgsdorf, and the dead return no more."
Wallmoden was silent, but the colonel stepped up to him and laid his
hand heavily on his arm.
"You mentioned just now that you felt it your duty to tell the duke, but
consideration for me had kept you silent so far. I have but one thing
left to guard in the wide world, the honor of my name, and such an
explanation on your part would stain it forever. Do what you think is
best. I shall not prevent you, but--I must then do what I think best."
His voice sounded hard as ever, but there was a tone underlying his
words which fairly frightened the ambassador.
"For God's sake, Falkenried, what do you mean?"
"Do as you choose. You diplomats have peculiar ideas of honor at times,
with which ordinary mortals may not agree--I leave it to you."
"I shall be silent, I give you my word," answered Wallmoden, to whom
Falkenried's words were enigmatical, for Adelheid's confession was
unknown to him. "I had really decided on that before you came. The name
of Falkenried shall not be exposed to scorn or derision through me."
"Well and good, then we need not discuss the subject farther," said
Falkenried. Then, after a short pause, he began on quite a different
subject. "You have prepared the duke for what I bring him? What does
he say about it?"
Here was again the old, iron impenetrability which closed the door
against all inquiry. The change was a welcome one to the ambassador, who
was here, as elsewhere, the diplomat, and disliked nothing more than
unnecessary candor and straightforwardness, and who would never have
thought of giving all this information to Falkenried, had not the danger
of his friend learning it elsewhere been very great. Now no matter what
happened, he could say to the father, "I told you. I warned you." Even
the duke could not find fault with a man for sparing an old friend.
"Wise Herbert" understood how to answer them all.
Colonel Falkenried's stay was limited, and there was so much to be done
that he had scarcely time to breathe.
Audiences with the duke, consultations with prominent military
officials, hours spent with certain members of foreign embassies, all
these had to be crowded into a few days. Wallmoden was scarcely less in
demand until everything was arranged. The ambassador, and more
especially Colonel von Falkenried, had reason to be contented with the
result, for they had acquired everything which they demanded for their
government, and could count with full reliance on the duke. It was
whispered that some matter of more than ordinary import was on the
tapis, but none of the gossipers knew what, and the few who did know
kept their own counsel.
The author of "Arivana" was the favorite of the day, and people began to
discuss his very erratic behavior. Almost immediately after his
glittering triumph he had turned his back upon all who had done him
homage, friends and sycophants alike, and gone to the "wilderness," as
Prince Adelsberg explained to every one; where that wilderness lay, no
one knew, for Egon had given his word to his friend that he would not
reveal his retreat, and Hartmut had promised in return that as soon as
he had had a little quiet and rest he would come back. So no one knew
that Herr Rojanow was at Rodeck.
Baron von Wallmoden's carriage was drawn up on a cold, dark morning
before the door of the Prussian ambassador's residence.
This time the drive was to be a long one, for servants brought out furs
and robes and piled them on the seats. The ambassador, who had just
risen from his breakfast, was taking leave of the Colonel.
"Well, good-bye until to-morrow night," he said, holding out his hand.
"We'll be back by that time, anyway, and you'll remain for several days
yet."
"Yes, as the duke has requested it," answered the Colonel. "I sent my
report off at once to Berlin; so a few days either way doesn't matter
now."
"Of course not. And they'll certainly be well satisfied with your
reports, too. But we've had a few hot days with little time for rest.
Thank God, everything is arranged and we can breathe again! I feel that
I am free to leave the city now for twenty-four hours, so Adelheid and I
will go to Ostwalden."
"Ostwalden is the name of your new country seat? I remember, you
mentioned it yesterday, but I did not understand just where it was
situated."
"It lies about ten miles from Fürstenstein. When we were there in
September, Schönau called my attention to it. It is situated in the most
beautiful part of the celebrated forest, and suits me exactly. They
asked a ridiculous price for it, but since my return I've decided to
take it and am going there now to make some final arrangements."
"Ada does not appear too well pleased with your choice. She seems to
dislike the neighborhood of Fürstenstein," said the Colonel. But
Wallmoden shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"Just a whim, nothing more. In the beginning Adelheid was in raptures
over Ostwalden, and then later she raised every possible objection to
the place; but I had gone too far to retreat. I shall in all probability
remain some time at my present post, and want to avoid long journeys in
the summer. So that a country seat which can be reached in four hours
from town possesses great attractions in my eyes. The castle has been
sadly neglected of late years, and I'll have to make many altertions.
But I have my plans for rebuilding and altering all arranged, and am
going to make it one of the finest places in the country."
He talked with great satisfaction over all he was to accomplish at
Ostwalden. Herbert von Wallmoden had possessed but a small fortune of
his own, and had been forced to live very circumspectly all his life
long, in consequence. But now he could give free rein to his desire for
splendor and display, and could talk of fine homes in city and country
without thought of the outlay, or any consideration either for the whims
of the young wife whose fortune he was spending with so lavish a hand.
Perhaps Falkenried thought of all this as he listened to his friend
grown almost enthusiastic on the subject, but he said nothing. He had
grown more silent and stonier than ever, if that were possible, during
the last few days. And when he did ask a question concerning the
every-day affairs of life, one felt it was merely mechanical, and that
he scarcely cared whether he received an answer or not.
Now as Adelheid entered the room, fully equipped for her journey, he
turned to her and offered his arm to escort her to the carriage. After
he had helped her in it, Wallmoden entered, and as the coachman cracked
his whip, said:
"We'll be back to-morrow without fail--good-bye."
Falkenried bowed and stepped back. It mattered little to him whether
they came back to-morrow or not, all friendships were over for him. But
as he entered the house again, he said:
"Poor Ada, she deserved a better fate."
Everything was going on in the usual quiet fashion at Fürstenstein.
Willibald had been there for a week. He was two days later than he had
expected to be; but he had met with a slight accident, and his hand was
hurt, so he told his uncle; and this was perfectly satisfactory, and not
at all alarming, as the hand was nearly healed now. The head forester
found his son-in-law changed since his last visit, and changed for the
better, too. He had become much more earnest and decided than formerly,
and seemed so well satisfied with his daughter, von Schönau thought.
"I believe Will will turn out to be a man, yet. How much he improves
without his mother to stand by to command and dictate."
As for the rest, Herr von Schönau had no time to trouble himself with
the lovers. The duke, during his stay at Fürstenstein, had made many
changes and innovations upon the established order of things in the
forestry, and it required both zeal and watchfulness on the part of the
head forester to set things straight again, and bring his subordinates
back to the old regime. He saw Antonie and Willibald daily, and noticed
that they were much together and seemed to understand one another
perfectly, so he did not concern himself much about them.
In the meantime there had been much anxiety and alarm in the house of
Dr. Volkmar.
The doctor's sickness, which had not at first been regarded as serious,
had suddenly taken an alarming turn, and owing to his age the worst was
feared. His granddaughter was telegraphed for in hot haste, and she,
after obtaining permission from her manager, who gave her part in
"Arivana" to an understudy, hurried home at once.
It was at this time that Antonie showed her sincere, unobtrusive
attachment to her childhood's friend. Day after day she went to the
Volkmar cottage, to comfort and cheer Marietta, who hung in an agony of
anguish and suspense over her grandfather's bed. Willibald found it
necessary to go with his cousin and do what he could. All this seemed
natural enough to the head forester, who was sincerely attached to the
Volkmars, and felt a great desire to show more than an ordinary amount
of attention to "the poor little thing" who had been so cruelly insulted
in his house. He had it in for his sister-in-law when he should see her
again.
At the end of three dreadful days the doctor's strong constitution
asserted itself, and hopes of his recovery were entertained. Herr von
Schönau was as rejoiced as any of the family, and rubbed his hands with
a satisfied air when Toni, on the fourth day, reported a marked
amendment in the doctor's condition.
But a thunder-storm from the north was descending upon them all.
Suddenly, without any announcement, Frau von Eschenhagen appeared in
their midst. She had wasted no time in the city with her brother, but
came on directly from Burgsdorf, and descended like a veritable
thunder-storm upon her brother-in-law, who was in his own room reading
the papers.
"Bless us--is it you, Regine?" he cried, really alarmed. "This is a
surprise. Why didn't you send word you were coming?"
"Where is Willibald?" was her only response in an incensed tone. "Is he
at Fürstenstein?"
"Of course, where else would he be? He wrote you of his arrival, that
much I know."
"Let him be called--now, this minute."
"What's the matter with you, Regine?" asked the head forester, noticing
for the first time her intense excitement. "Is Burgsdorf burned to the
ground? I can't bring your Will to you now, this minute, for he's not
here just now, he's over at Waldhofen--"
"Probably, at Dr. Volkmar's. In that case she's there too."
"What 'she?' Toni has gone over as usual to be with Marietta; that poor
little girl has been in despair for the past few days. And I want to
have a word with you, Frau sister-in-law, while we are on this subject.
How could you have spoken so cruelly to Marietta, in my house, too. I
didn't hear of it for some time after, but I can tell you I--"
A loud, angry laugh interrupted him.
Frau von Eschenhagen had thrown aside her bonnet and cloak, and she now
strode angrily to her brother-in-law's chair.
"Do you still reprove me because I did my best to put an unclean thing
out of your house? You have always been blind. You would not listen to
me--and now it is too late."
"I believe you're gone clean mad, Regine," said Herr von Schönau
solemnly. He didn't really know what to think. "Control yourself long
enough to tell me what the trouble is."
For reply Regine unfolded a newspaper and pointing to a certain
paragraph said tragically:
"Read!"
The head forester began to read, and he, too, soon became excited, and
grew red and angry as he read on. The paper was a weekly, published in
the South-German capital, and the article which excited their joint
wrath read as follows:
"We have just learned that a duel with pistols was fought early last
Monday morning, in one of the unfrequented suburbs of our city. The
opponents were the well-known society gentleman, Count W., and a young
North German landlord, W.v.E., who is the nephew and has been for the
past few days the guest of a very prominent member of the diplomatic
circle. The cause of the quarrel which resulted in the duel was a member
of the court theatre company, a young singer who has, until now, enjoyed
a good reputation. Count W. was wounded in the shoulder, and Herr v.E.,
who has left the city since, received a trifling wound in the hand."
"That goes beyond anything I ever heard," cried the head forester, in a
towering rage. "My future son-in-law fights a duel on Marietta's
account. What was the quarrel about? What do you know about it, Regine?
My papers don't mention it."
"But mine do. You'll find it in yours if you look them over well. I
caught sight of the article yesterday, and started at once, without even
staying over to see Herbert. Evidently he knows nothing about it yet, or
he'd have sent me word."
"Herbert'll be here to-day; in an hour or two now," said von Schönau,
while glancing hastily over the papers. "He was going to Ostwalden with
Adelheid, he wrote me, and would return to town by way of Fürstenstein
and spend an hour with me. Perhaps he is coming to tell me about it,
but that doesn't change anything. What's the matter with Will, has he
gone mad?"
"Yes, that he has," answered Regine, all excitement again. "You sneered
at me, Moritz, when I warned you your child would suffer from
association with an actress. That such a thing as this could happen
never entered my head until the moment when I discovered that Willibald,
my own, only son, was in love with this Marietta Volkmar. I tore him
from the danger and returned at once to Burgsdorf. That was the reason
of our sudden flight. I did not tell you for I thought Will was only
dazed for the moment, and would soon recover his reason again. The boy
seemed to have done so, or I would never have trusted him to come here
without me. I put him in Herbert's charge and felt perfectly sure that
all would be well. He could only have been in the city three or four
days at most, and well must he have spent his time."
She threw herself back in an easy chair, worn out and anxious as well as
angry, while the head forester walked up and down the room angrier than
ever now.
"And that's not the worst of it," he cried. "The worst is the game which
the rascal has been playing with me and my poor daughter since he came
here. My poor child has been running to Waldhofen day after day to give
what comfort and aid she could, and Willibald has always accompanied her
to comfort Marietta too--oh, its atrocious! Your model son has turned
out well, I must say, Regine."
"Perhaps you think I intend to shield him!" Regine answered spitefully.
"He shall stand before me, shall stand before us both, and speak. That's
what I have come for. He shall learn to know me!"
She rose as though ready now for the attack, and her hearer, who was
muttering angrily to himself, said aloud:
"He shall learn to know us both!"
Just then, in the middle of their excitement, the door opened, and the
poor, ill-treated fiancé, Antonie von Schönau entered the room quiet and
composed as ever, and said as she went toward her aunt:
"I heard from the servants of your unexpected arrival, dear aunt--I am
so glad to see you."
Instead of any answer or word of greeting from her aunt the same
question from both sides sounded in her ears.
"Where is Willibald?"
"He'll be here in a few minutes, he waited to give some direction to the
castle gardener; he does not know his mother is here."
"To the castle-gardener! Doubtless he wants some more roses," Frau von
Eschenhagen broke out afresh, while the father held out both his arms to
Toni and said, in a trembling voice:
"My child, my poor, deceived child, come to me. Come to your father's
arms."
He would have drawn his daughter into his arms, but Regine stepped
before him and said in a husky voice:
"Be composed, Toni, you will have a fearful blow from your false lover;
you will despise him and his deceptions from your very soul."
This sudden sympathy had in it something alarming, but fortunately Toni
had never been troubled with weak nerves; she released herself now from
this double embrace, and drew back from them both as she said, with
quiet decision:
"I could not do that, for Will is beginning to please me better now than
he has ever pleased me before in his life."
"So much the worse," interrupted her father. "Poor child, you know
nothing, suspect nothing. Your lover has fought a duel, and for a woman,
too."
"I know it, papa."
"For Marietta," screamed her aunt.
"I know it, dear aunt."
"But he loves Marietta," they both cried out with one voice.
"I know it all," declared Toni in her quiet, drawling tone. "Have known
it for a week."
The effect of this declaration was so depressing that the two angry
parents were dumb, and looked at one another stupefied. In the meantime
Toni continued with the utmost composure:
"Will told me all about it just as soon as he got here; and he spoke so
simply and with such true heartedness that he made me weep from very
sympathy; then a letter came from Marietta begging my pardon, and it was
so loving and penitent in its tone that I was deeply moved. There was
nothing for me to do but to give back my lover his freedom."
"Without asking us?" interposed her aunt.
"No questions were necessary in this case," Antonie answered, quietly.
"I cannot marry a man who declares to me that he loves another woman. So
we dissolved our engagement without any further discussion."
"Indeed, and I learn it now for the first time. You two have become very
independent, all at once," cried the head forester, enraged.
"Will meant to explain to you the next day, papa, but after such an
explanation he felt he could not remain here longer, and just then
Marietta was called home by her grandfather's illness. She was nearly
broken hearted when she thought he would die, and Will felt he could
not leave her until he knew what would be the result of the illness. So
I said to keep silence until the danger was over, and then speak. We
have both gone daily to the cottage to cheer poor Marietta. They are so
grateful to me and call me the guardian angel of their love."
The young girl seemed quite affected by this thought, and took her
handkerchief to wipe the tears which were welling up in her eyes.
Frau von Eschenhagen stood stark and stiff as a statue.
Schönau had folded his arms, and said with a deep sigh:
"Well, God bless you for your magnanimity, my dear child. So everything
is as if it had never been. But you have been very generous in your
statements, one must acknowledge that. You have taken it very quietly,
and seen your betrothed make love to another girl before your very
eyes."
Antonie nodded her head. She was greatly pleased to play the _rôle_ of
guardian angel, and she found no difficulty in so doing for her
affection for Willibald had been very mild from the beginning.
"There was no talk of love making, papa. Dr. Volkmar was far too ill,"
she explained. "We had all we could do to comfort poor Marietta, who was
dreadfully alarmed. You can see for yourself now that I have not been
deceived and that Will has been outspoken and honorable throughout. It
was I who advised him to be silent for a few days, particularly as it
was a matter which only concerned us two, and--"
"Oh, that is what you thought. Then it does not concern us at all?" the
head forester interrupted angrily.
"No papa, and Will thought with me that in such a case there was no use
in troubling the parents--"
"What did Will think ?" asked Frau Regine, who at this unheard of
assertion thought it was time to take part in the conversation again.
"That one should love before one marries, and Will is right," Toni
declared with unwonted vivacity. "When he and I were engaged, there was
no talk of love. It was all settled for us, but that'll never happen to
me a second time. I see now for myself what it means when two people
love one another with their whole hearts, and how greatly it has changed
and improved Will. Now when I marry I must be loved as Will loves
Marietta, and if I can't find a man who will love me devotedly, I'll
remain single all my life."
And with this declaration and with a decisiveness in which nothing was
lacking, Fräulein Antonie von Schönau tossed her head back, and walked
out of the room leaving her father and aunt in anything but an enviable
state.
Herr von Schönau turned to his sister-in-law and said in a subdued but
angry tone:
"Your son has been going ahead beautifully, Regine. Now Toni declares
she will be loved devotedly, too; this is the beginning of fine,
romantic ideas in her head, and Will seems to have them all down fine by
this time. I verily believe he has done his own proposing this time."
Frau von Eschenhagen did not heed his ironical remarks; she sat gazing
vacantly into space, but the look on her face was not pleasant to see.
"I'm glad you can see the comical side," she said after a pause. "I
confess I look another way."
"That won't help you much," Herr von Schönau answered. "When a model son
begins to rebel, that's the end of it. It's hopeless trying to change
him, particularly when he's in love. But I am very curious to see Will
genuinely in love, and to hear what this paragon has to say for
himself."
His curiosity was to be gratified at once, for just at that moment
Willibald put in an appearance.
It could be seen at a glance that he had heard of his mother's arrival
and was prepared to face her. The young heir did not hang back
diffidently this time, as he had done when he hid the roses in his
pocket two months before. There was something in his bearing which told
he was prepared for combat.
"There is your mother, Will," began the head forester. "You must be
greatly surprised to see her."
"No, uncle, I am not," the young man answered, but he made no attempt to
approach his mother, who stood like a threatening cloud, and whose voice
was an angry growl as she asked:
"Perhaps you know, then, why I came?"
"I imagine why, mother, even though I do not know where you obtained
your information."
"The newspapers keep us advised--there, read that," and his mother
handed him the newspaper from the table. "But Toni has been here and
told us all--do you hear--all!"
She spoke the last words in a tone of annihilation, but Willibald did
not seem at all disturbed by them, and answered very quietly:
"Well, then, in that case, there's no need for my saying anything.
Otherwise I should have spoken to my uncle this afternoon."
That was too much. Now the cloud broke with thunder and lightning, and
the storm descended with such violence upon the head of the sinning son
that there seemed nothing less for him to do than to sink into the
ground as a creature too debased to live; but he did not sink; he bent
his head before the driving tempest, and when his mother stopped a
moment--she had to take breath--he looked up quietly and said:
"Mother--will you allow me to speak now?"
"Oh, you are ready to speak? That is really remarkable," Schönau
interrupted with a sneer. He felt he had not been kindly used by his
daughter and her lover. Willibald began to speak, at first hesitatingly
and slowly, but, as he went on, his voice strengthened, and his courage
returned.
"I am very sorry to have grieved you, but I could do nothing else this
time. I was as innocent of any desire to fight a duel as was Marietta.
She was followed in the park by an impertinent fellow who insisted upon
pressing his attentions upon her; she was alone, unprotected. I saw what
happened and knocked the fellow down for his pains. He sent me a
challenge which I would not, and dare not decline. I have only Toni's
pardon to beg for loving Marietta, and that I did immediately upon my
arrival. She knows all, and has given me back my freedom. We understand
and respect one another much more since our betrothal is at an end, than
ever we did before."
"Well, this almost passes belief," exclaimed the head forester angrily.
"We did not force you; you could have said no, either of you, if you had
desired."
"Well, we do it now," Willibald answered, so decidedly and quickly that
his uncle looked at him quite bluffed. "Toni sees as well as I that a
mere marriage by arrangement is not right, and when one has felt the
bliss of loving he must marry the object of that love and no other."
Frau von Eschenhagen, who had recovered her breath by this time, felt
the sting of these last words. It had not entered her thoughts that one
betrothal had been broken in order that another might be arranged, but
now the fearful possibility struck her.
"Marry;" she repeated, "who would you marry? Would you marry that
Marietta, that creature--"
"Mother, you must learn to speak of my future wife in a different
tone--" said her son, in so earnest and decided a manner that the
enraged woman was dumbfounded. "As Toni has released me, I am at liberty
to love Marietta, and Marietta's character is blameless, of that I have
had proof. Who vexes or insults her must answer to me--even if it be my
own mother."
"See, see, the boy's getting on bravely," cried the head forester, whose
sense of justice overcame for the moment his anger. But Frau von
Eschenhagen was far removed from any instinct of justice. She had
believed that her mere presence would have subdued her son, and now he
defied her in this manner. His very appearance was different, and this
enraged her the more for she realized how deep and strong was the
feeling which could thus have changed him.
"I will spare you the trouble of calling your own mother to account,"
she said with intense bitterness. "You are of age and are the heir of
Burgsdorf, and I cannot prevent you doing as you choose. But on the day
when you bring Marietta Volkmar to Burgsdorf--I leave it."
The threat had its effect; Willibald moved back a step as he said
excitedly:
"Mother, you are speaking in anger."
"I speak in full earnest. As soon as an actress enters that house as
mistress, where I have lived and ruled in honor for thirty years, and
where I had hoped to lay my head down for my last, long sleep, I leave
it forever. So take her to Burgsdorf if you wish--you have your choice
between your mother and the actress."
"But Regine, don't be so unreasonable," remonstrated Schönau. "You
should give the poor fellow some chance and not leave him such a hard
choice."
Regine did not heed his remonstrance, she stood there, white to the very
lips, her eyes fixed upon her son. She repeated impressively:
"Decide which it shall be--she or I."
Willibald had grown pale, too, and an expression of deep pain lay on his
face as he said gently: "That is hard, mother. You know how dearly I
love you, and what a grief it will be to me if you should leave me. But
if you are so cruel as to leave me no option, then," he straightened
himself and finished with great decision, "then I choose Marietta."
"Bravo!" cried the head forester, who quite forgot that he was a
sufferer also. "Will, I can echo what Toni said, you please me better
now than you have ever done in your life. I really feel very sorry you
are not going to be my son-in-law."
Frau von Eschenhagen had not been prepared for such an answer. She had
built upon her old power and strength, and now it lay at her feet a
wreck.
She was not the woman to yield, however; had it cost her her life she
would not have bent her stubborn will then.
"Very well, then, we are done with one another," she said shortly, and
turned to leave the room without heeding her brother's whispered words,
as he rose to follow her. But before they had reached the door, it was
opened hastily by a servant, who said excitedly:
"The steward from Rodeck is here and wishes--"
"I have no time to be bothered now," interrupted Schönau sharply. "Tell
old Stadinger I am engaged upon important family matters and--"
He did not finish, for Stadinger, who had followed the servant stood in
the doorway, and said in a suppressed tone:
"I come upon a family matter, Herr von Schönau, but it is a sad one. I
cannot wait, but must speak with you at once."
"What is it? speak out!" said the head forester. "Has any misfortune
happened to the prince? He's not at Rodeck?"
"No, his highness is in the city, but Herr Rojanow is here and sent me.
He begs that you and Herr von Eschenhagen come down at once to Rodeck,
and," he glanced at Frau von Eschenhagen, of whose arrival he had not
heard, "and my lady should come, too."
"But what is it, what has happened?" cried the forester, seriously
alarmed now.
The old man hesitated; he seemed not to know how to break his bad news
gently. At last he spoke.
"His excellency Baron von Wallmoden is at Rodeck--and the baroness,
too."
"My brother?" Regine cried apprehensively.
"Yes, my lady. His excellency was thrown from his carriage and now he is
unconscious at Rodeck, and the physician whom we summoned in haste, says
his condition is very serious."
"God help us! Moritz, we must go at once," exclaimed Regine.
Schönau had already rung and he ordered horses and carriage to be got
ready at once. "And now, Stadinger, tell us how it happened."
"The Herr Baron was on his way from Ostwalden to Fürstenstein," began
Stadinger. "The way lay through the Rodeck lands, not far from the
Castle. Our forester, who was in the woods close by with some of the
men, fired a couple of shots at a deer which started out of the thicket
and ran across the road just in front of His Excellency's carriage. The
horses shied and started off, and the coachman lost control of them.
The forester, who reached the road at that moment, heard the Frau
Baroness say to her husband: 'Sit still, Herbert! for God's sake, don't
move!' But the baron must have lost his head, for he stood up and made
one spring. Of course he did not know where he was going, and fell with
great force against a fallen tree. Just a few yards farther on, at a
bend in the road, the coachman succeeded in pulling up the horses. The
baroness, who was not hurt at all, only shaken a little, hastened at
once to her husband, but the poor gentleman was badly hurt, and was
unconscious. The forester and his men brought him to Rodeck. Herr
Rojanow did everything that was necessary, and then sent me in hot haste
for you!"
In the presence of this new disaster, all dissensions ceased, and Toni
was summoned and orders were hastily given, and as soon as the carriage
was ready the head forester and Frau Regine hurried off. Willibald and
Stadinger followed them at once, but as they descended the stairs, the
former held back for a moment and asked in a whisper:
"What did the physician say? Did you hear anything?"
The old man shook his head sadly and answered in a subdued tone:
"I stood by when Herr Rojanow questioned him in the hall. There is no
hope. The poor baron won't live until night."