A SHORT VISIT.
Lotta, too, noticed the master's new hat, but that was not the only
change she observed in him. The expression of his face was not so stern
as usual. Instead of sneering at the coxcombical superintendent, he
smiled at his approach; his complexion was far less sallow than it had
been; and, above all, he allowed the superintendent to pay the driver
of the post-chaise without an inquiry as to the fare.
After nodding right and left, he asked Lotta if his room were ready.
"Of course," the housekeeper replied, and at once conducted him to a
spacious and exquisitely clean and neat apartment, rather scantily
furnished with spindle-legged chairs and brass-mounted cabinets dating
from the time of the First Empire. Not a speck of dust was to be seen
anywhere. The Baron ordered coffee, and dismissed Lotta.
When she had gone he looked about him keenly, as if in search of
somewhat, from the arm-chair into which he had thrown himself. Not
finding what he sought, he arose and went into the adjoining room. Yes,
there it was!
On the wall hung two portraits, in broad, tasteless gilt frames. One
represented a fair, handsome woman, with bare shoulders and long, soft
curls; the other a dark-browed man, in the red, gold-embroidered
uniform of a court chamberlain. He smiled bitterly as he looked at this
picture. "Done with!" he muttered, and turned his back upon the
portraits; with those words he banished the memory of his past. A
strange sensation possessed him: an anticipation of his future,--the
future of a man of seventy-three! He walked about the room uncertainly,
searching for something. A dark flush mounted to his cheek; he loosened
his collar. At last he turned the key in the door, as if fearful of
being surprised in some misdeed, and then went to his writing-table, a
large and rather complicated piece of furniture, its numerous drawers
decorated with brass ornaments. From one of the most secret of these he
took a small portfolio containing about a dozen photographs. All
represented the same person, but at various stages of existence, from
earliest infancy to boyhood and manhood.
"Fritz!" murmured the old man, hoarsely; "Fritz!"
Yes, always Fritz. The father looked them through, lingering over each
one with the same longing, hungry look with which we would fain call to
life the images of our dead. There was Fritz with his first gun, Fritz
in his school-uniform, and, at last, Fritz as a young diplomat,
photographed in Paris, with a mountain view in the background.
This picture trembled in the old hands. How he had admired it! how
proud he had been of his handsome son! and then----
There was a knock at the door. Buried in the past, he had not heard the
bustle of preparation in the next room, and now he thrust away the
pictures to take his seat at his well-furnished table, where Lotta was
waiting to serve him.
"Sit down, sit down," the Baron said, with unwonted geniality, "and
tell me of what is going on here."
Lotta seated herself bolt upright at a respectful distance from her
master.
"Well?" began the Baron, pouring out the coffee for himself.
"I wrote all the news to the Herr Baron; nothing else has happened,
except that the English sow which the Herr Baron bought at the fair
littered last night,--twelve as nice fat little pigs as ever were
seen."
"Indeed! very interesting. But what was in the letter? Since I never
received it, it must be lying at Franzburg."
"Oh, all sorts of things,--about the short-horn calves, and the weight
of the hay, and Baron Harry's betrothal; but of course the Herr Baron
knew of that."
The Baron set down his cup so hastily that it came near being broken.
"Not a word!" he exclaimed, doing his best to conceal the delight which
would mirror itself in his face. Harry betrothed? To whom but to the
golden-haired enchantress he had met in the forest, Fritz's daughter
Zdena? To be sure, he had threatened to disinherit the boy if he
married her, but the fellow had been quite right to set the threat at
naught. The old man chuckled at the fright he would give them, and
then---- Meanwhile, he tried to look indifferent.
"Indeed? And so the boy is betrothed?" he drawled. "All very
fine--without asking any one's advice, hey? Of course your old heart is
dancing at the thought of it, Lotta. Oh, I know you through and
through."
"I don't see any reason for rejoicing at the young master's betrothal,"
Lotta replied, crossly, thrusting out her chin defiantly.
The old man scanned her keenly. Something in the expression of her face
troubled him.
"Who is the girl?" he asked, bluntly.
"The younger of the two Harfink fraeuleins; the other married Count
Treurenberg."
"Harfink, do you say? Impossible!" The Baron could not believe his
ears.
"So I thought too, but I was mistaken. It is officially announced.
Baron Karl has been to see the mother, and there is shortly to be a
betrothal festival, to which all the great people in the country round
are to be invited."
"But what is the stupid boy thinking about? What do people say of him?"
thundered the Baron.
"Why, what should they say? They say our young Baron had interested
motives, that he is in debt----"
The Baron started up in a fury. "In debt? A fine reason!" he shouted.
"Am I not here?"
Whereupon Lotta looked at him very significantly. "As if every one did
not know what those get who come to the Herr Baron for money," she
murmured.
The old man's face flushed purple. "Leave the room!" he cried, pointing
to the door.
Lotta arose, pushed back her chair to the wall, and walked out of the
room with much dignity. She was accustomed to such conduct on her
master's part: it had to be borne with. And she knew, besides, that her
words had produced an impression, that he would not be angry with her
long.
When the door had closed after her, the old man seated himself at his
writing-table, determined to write to Harry, putting his veto upon the
marriage of his nephew with the "Harfink girl;" but after the first few
lines he dropped the pen.
"What affair is it of mine?" he murmured. "If he had yielded to
a foolish impulse like my Fritz,"--he passed his hand over his
eyes,--"why, then I might have seen things differently, and not as I
did twenty years ago. But if, with love for another girl in his heart,
he chooses to sell himself for money, he simply does not exist for me.
Let him take the consequences. My money was not enough for him, or
perhaps he was afraid he should have to wait too long for it. Well, now
he can learn what it is to be married without a penny to a rich girl
whom he does not love."
He pulled the bell furiously. The young gamekeeper who always filled
the position of valet to the Baron upon these spasmodic visits to
Vorhabshen entered.
"Harness the drag, Martin, so that I can catch the train."
That very evening he returned to Franzburg, where he sent for his
lawyer to help him make a new will.