OLD BARON FRANZ.
Old Baron Franz Leskjewitsch had changed greatly during the past
winter. Those who saw most of him declared that he was either about to
die or was growing insane. He moved from one to another of his various
estates more restlessly than ever, appearing several times at
Vorhabshen, which he never had been in the habit of visiting in winter,
and not only appearing there, but remaining longer than usual. There
was even a report that on one occasion he had ordered his coachman to
drive to Zirkow; and, in fact, the old tumble-down carriage of the grim
Baron had been seen driving along the road to Zirkow, but just before
reaching the village it had turned back.
Yes, yes, the old Baron was either about to die or was "going crazy."
There was such a change in him. He bought a Newfoundland dog, which he
petted immensely, he developed a love for canary-birds, and, more
alarming symptom than all the rest, he was growing generous: he stood
godfather to two peasant babies, and dowered the needy bride of one of
his bailiffs.
In the beginning of April he appeared again at Vorhabshen, and seemed
in no hurry to leave it.
The day after Harry's sudden arrival at Zirkow, the old man was
sitting, just after breakfast, in a leather arm-chair, smoking a large
meerschaum pipe, and listening to Studnecka's verses, when the
housekeeper entered to clear the table, a duty which Lotta, the despot,
always performed herself for her master, perhaps because she wanted an
opportunity for a little gossip with him.
Studnecka's efforts at entertainment were promptly dispensed with, and
the old Baron shortly began, "Lotta, I hear that good-for-naught Harry
is in this part of the country again; is it so?"
"Yes, Herr Baron; the cow-boy met him yesterday on the road," replied
Lotta, sweeping the crumbs from the table-cloth into a green lacquered
tray with a crescent-shaped brush.
"What is he doing here?" the old man asked, after a pause.
"They say he has come to court the Baroness Zdena."
"Oh, indeed!" The Baron tried to put on a particularly fierce
expression. "It would seem that since that money-bag at Dobrotschau has
thrown him over, he wants to try it on again with the girl at Zirkow,
in hopes I shall come round. Oh, we understand all that."
"The Herr Baron ought to be ashamed to say such things of our Master
Harry," Lotta exclaimed, firing up. "However, the Herr Baron can
question the young Herr himself; there he is," she added, attracted to
the window by the sound of a horse's hoofs. "Shall I show him up? or
does the Herr Baron not wish to see him?"
"Oh, send him up, send him up. I'll enlighten the fellow."
In a few moments Harry makes his appearance. "Good-morning, uncle! how
are you?" he calls out, his face radiant with happiness.
The old Baron merely nods his head. Without stirring from his
arm-chair, without offering his hand to his nephew, without even asking
him to sit down, he scans him suspiciously.
With his hand on his sabre, Harry confronts him, somewhat surprised by
this strange reception, but nowise inclined to propitiate his uncle by
any flattering attentions.
"Do you want anything?"
"No."
"Indeed? You're not short of money, then?
"On the contrary, I have saved some," Harry replies, speaking quite
after his uncle's fashion.
"Ah! saved some, have you? Are you growing miserly?--a fine thing at
your age! You probably learned it of your financial acquaintances," the
old Baron growls.
"I have saved money because I am going to marry, and my betrothed is
without means," Harry says, sharply.
"Ah! for a change you want to marry a poor girl! You display a truly
edifying fickleness of character. And who is the fair creature to whom
you have sacrificed your avarice?"
"I am betrothed to my cousin Zdena."
"Indeed?--to Zdena?" the Baron says, with well-feigned indignation.
"Have you forgotten that in that case I shall disinherit you?"
"You will do as you choose about that," Harry replies, dryly. "I should
be glad to assure my wife a pleasant and easy lot in life; but if you
fancy that I have come here to sue for your favour, you are mistaken.
It was my duty to inform you of my betrothal. I have done so; and that
is all."
"Indeed? That is all?" thunders old Leskjewitsch. "It shall be all!
Wait, you scoundrel, you good-for-naught, and we'll see if you go on
carrying your head so high! I will turn the leaf: I will make Zdena my
heiress,--but only upon condition that she sends you about your
business. She shall choose between you--that is, between poverty--and
me!"
"It will not take her long. Good-morning." With which Harry turns on
his heel and leaves the room.
The old Baron sits motionless for a while. The mild spring breeze blows
in through the open windows; there is a sound in the air of cooing
doves, of water dripping on the stones of the paved court-yard from the
roof, of the impatient pawing and neighing of a horse, and then the
clatter of spurs and sabre.
The old man smiles broadly. "He shows race: the boy is a genuine
Leskjewitsch," he mutters to himself,--"a good mate for the girl!" Then
he goes to the window. Harry is just about to mount, when his uncle
roars down to him, "Harry! Harry! The deuce take you! are you deaf?
Can't you hear?"
Meanwhile, the major and his niece are walking in the garden at Zirkow.
It was the major who had insisted that Harry should immediately inform
his uncle of his betrothal.
Zdena has shown very little interest in the discussion as to how the
cross-grained, eccentric old man would receive the news. And when her
uncle suddenly looks her full in the face to ask how she can adapt
herself to straitened means, she calmly lays her band on the arm of her
betrothed, and whispers, tenderly, "You shall see." Then her eyes fill
with tears as she adds, "But how will you bear it, Harry?"
He kisses both her hands and replies, "Never mind, Zdena; I assure you
that at this moment Conte Capriani is a beggar compared with myself."
Just at this point Frau Rosamunda plucks her spouse by the sleeve and
forces him, _nolens volens_, to retire with her.
"I cannot understand you," she lectures him in their conjugal
_tete-a-tete_. "You are really indelicate, standing staring at the
children, when you must see that they are longing to kiss each other.
Such young people must be left to themselves now and then." At first
Frau Rosamunda found it very difficult to assent to this rather
imprudent betrothal, but she is now interested in it heart and soul.
She arranges everything systematically, even delicacy of sentiment. Her
exact rules in this respect rather oppress the major, who would gladly
sun himself in the light and warmth of happiness which surrounds the
young couple, about whose future, however, he is seriously distressed,
lamenting bitterly his own want of business capacity which has so
impoverished him.
"If I could but give the poor child more of a dowry," he keeps saying
to himself. "Or if Franz would but come to his senses,--yes, if he
would only listen to reason, all would be well."
All this is in his thoughts, as he walks with his niece in the garden
on this bright spring forenoon, while his nephew has gone to Vorhabshen
to have an explanation with his uncle. Consequently he is absent-minded
and does not listen to the girl's gay chatter, the outcome of intense
joy in her life and her love.
The birds are twittering loudly as they build their nests in the
blossom-laden trees, the grass is starred with the first dandelions.
Harry is expected at lunch. The major is burning with impatience.
"One o'clock," he remarks. "The boy ought to be back by this time. What
do you say to walking a little way to meet him?"
"As you please, uncle," the girl gaily assents. They turn towards the
house, whence Krupitschka comes running, breathless with haste.
"What is the matter?" the major calls out.
"Nothing, nothing, Herr Baron," the man replies; "but the Frau Baroness
desires you both to come to the drawing-room; she has a visitor."
"Is that any reason why you should run yourself so out of breath that
you look like a fish on dry land?" the major bawls to his old servant.
"You fairly frightened me, you ass! Who is the visitor?"
"Please--I do not know," declares Krupitschka, lying brazenly, while
the major frowns, saying, "There's an end to our walk," and never
noticing the sly smile upon the old man's face.
Zdena runs to her room to smooth her hair, tossed by the breeze, while
the major, annoyed, goes directly to the drawing-room. He opens the
door and stands as if rooted to the threshold. Beside the sofa where
Frau Rosamunda is enthroned, with her official hostess expression,
doing the honours with a grace all her own, sits a broad-shouldered old
gentleman in a loose long-tailed coat, laughing loudly at something she
has just told him.
"Franz!" exclaims Paul von Leskjewitsch.
"Here I am," responds the elder brother, with hardly-maintained
composure. He rises; each advances towards the other, but before they
can clasp hands the elder of the two declares, "I wish, Paul, you would
tell your bailiff to see to the ploughing on your land. That field near
the forest is in a wretched condition,--hill and valley, the clods
piled up, and wheat sown there. I have always held that no military man
can ever learn anything about agriculture. You never had the faintest
idea of farming." And as he speaks he clasps the major's hand and
pinches Harry's ear. The young fellow has been looking on with a smile
at the meeting between the brothers.
"I understand you, uncle: I am not to leave the service. I could not
upon any terms," the young man assures him,--"not even if I were begged
to do so."
"He's a hard-headed fellow," Baron Franz says, with a laugh; "and so is
the girl. Did she tell you that she met me in the forest? We had a
conversation together, she and I. At first she took me for that fool
Studnecka; then she guessed who I was, and read me such a lecture! I
did not care: it showed me that she was a genuine Leskjewitsch. H'm! I
ought to have come here then, but--I--could not find the way; I waited
for some one to show it to me." He pats Harry on the shoulder. "But
where the deuce is the girl? Is she hiding from me?"
At this moment Zdena enters. The old man turns ghastly pale; his hands
begin to tremble violently, as he stretches them out towards her. She
gazes at him for an instant, then runs to him and throws her arms
around his neck. He clasps her close, as if never to let her leave him.
The others turn away. There is a sound of hoarse sobbing. All that the
strong man has hoarded up in his heart for twenty years asserts itself
at this moment.
It is not long, however, before all emotion is calmed, and affairs take
their natural course. The two elderly men sit beside Frau Rosamunda,
still enthroned on her sofa, and the lovers stand in the recess of a
window and look out upon the spring.
"So we are not to be poor, after all?" Zdena says, with a sigh.
"It seems not," Harry responds, putting his arm round her.
She does not speak for a while; then she murmurs, softly, "'Tis a pity:
I took such pleasure in it!"
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 1: One of a princely family who, although subject to royal
authority, is allowed to retain some sovereign privileges.]
THE END.
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