done for; the widow had captivated him beyond recall. Thor Smith,
thinking a warning might yet be in time, sent him anonymously the
following lines:
"Be careful of taking a widow to wife,
She'll lighten your purse and burden your life."
Nickelsen, however, recognised the writing, and promptly sent back a
reply:
"Best thanks for your advice, my friend,
'Twas really kind of you to send;
But still, considering whence it came,
I can manage without it all the same.
So keep your triplets, one--two--three,
A widow without is enough for me!"
A grand ball was to be held at the Town Hall, in aid of the Fund for
National Defence. Old Nick had no intention of going himself, but
Mrs. Rantzau pointed out that it was his duty, as a loyal and
patriotic citizen, to attend. Accordingly, albeit not without
considerable hesitation, he decided to go. She tied his dress-bow for
him, and put a red rosebud with a tip of fern in his buttonhole. She
herself, with Old Nick in attendance, sailed into the ballroom like a
queen, with pearls in her hair, and her dark blue silk dress fitting
like the corslet of a Valkyrie.
The company made way for her involuntarily, and she was placed at the
upper end of the hall, between Mrs. Jansen and Mrs. Heidt. The last
named lady, who was ceremonious and reserved by nature, besides being
conscious of representing the aristocracy of the town, was chilliness
itself towards this newly risen star. Mrs. Jansen, on the other hand,
a kindly soul, felt obliged to show her some little attention, and
introduced her to a number of those present.
Dr. Stromberg, a middle-aged bachelor, had the reputation of falling
in love with every new specimen of the fair sex he encountered. True
to his character, he at once attached himself to Mrs. Rantzau, whose
conquest of Strandvik was thus begun.
Old Nick sat in a corner talking to Winter, the Customs Officer, his
eyes incessantly following the blue silk gown as it passed. His old
heart was so restless and unruly, he began to wonder seriously if
something had gone wrong with the internal mechanism. Cards, drinks,
old friends, all were forgotten that evening he had no thought but
for that figure in the blue silk dress that was ever before his eyes.
He had experienced hallucinations before, when things seemed to dance
round and round, but to-night, with nothing stronger than soda
water--neat--it was past all comprehension.
In a circle of men, old and young, stood Emilie Rantzau, smiling and
alert. She was sought after at every dance, until Mrs. Thor Smith,
nee Tulla Prois, observed indignantly that one might think the men
had never seen a woman from another town before--and Heaven only knew
what sort of a creature this one was. Mrs. Jansen herself began to be
rather uneasy, when she saw her husband lead out the widow as his
partner for the lancers--or "lunchers" as Cilia Braaten called it.
And matters were not improved when the Consul started talking French
with Mrs. Rantzau at supper, of which his wife did not understand a
word.
"She's charming, my dear, a most interesting woman, and speaks French
like an educated Parisienne," said Jansen to his wife.
Poor Mrs. Jansen was beginning to experience the pangs of jealousy,
and determined to purchase a _French made Easy_ the very next day.
"Bless my soul, if there isn't Justice Heidt asking the angelic widow
for a dance," exclaimed Thor Smith, pulling Nachmann by the sleeve.
"Angelic widow's good," said Nachmann. "But there's angels and
angels, you know. And they'd have to be a bit on the dusky side to
pair off with Old Nick, what?"
Mrs. Heidt got up and went into an adjoining room, sending her
husband a glance as she passed which sobered him considerably for the
moment. It was not long, however, before the brilliant dark eyes had
made him forget both his dignity and his domestic obligations.
Old Nick was very taciturn that evening as he walked home with Mrs.
Rantzau. She, however, laughed and joked, and told stories of "all
those silly old men" with such wit and good humour that he was forced
to admit it would have been a pity not to have gone to the ball.
"Yes, a very jolly evening; very nice indeed, yes."
On the following day the "angelic widow" and her conquests at the
ball were the general topic of conversation. The ladies, old and
young, married and the reverse, agreed that she was detestable, and
were sure there must be something "queer" about her. Mrs. Heidt and
Mrs. Knap had a two hours' consultation together, at the end of which
it was decided that no effort should be spared to check "that
woman's" further encroachment upon local society.
All the men, with exception of Thor Smith and Nachmann, were
enthusiastic in praise of the new arrival, and her popularity on that
side was assured.
Emilie Rantzau, however, had her own plans, and let people talk as
they pleased.
One day she astonished Mrs. Jansen by calling on her with a proposal
that the ladies of the town should get up a bazaar in aid of the
Seamen's Families Relief Fund. On another occasion she went to Mrs.
Heidt, and begged her to support the National Women's Movement; she
also invited Governor Abrahamsen to help start a society for helping
ex-convicts to turn over a new leaf. Even Klementsen was urged to
help her in getting up a subscription for a new altar-piece.
In addition to these more or less philanthropic movements, she
arranged excursions to the country round, the beauties of which, she
declared, were not appreciated as they should be, and further,
obtained the assistance of Consul Jansen in forming a Society for the
Furtherance of the Tourist Traffic in Strandvik and Neighbourhood.
The Consul was delighted with the idea, and vowed he must have been
blind not to have discovered earlier the natural beauties of the
neighbourhood. He gave a grand champagne supper and proposed Mrs.
Rantzau's health in a speech, concluding by comparing that lady to "a
breath of ocean fresh and free." The toast was received with
acclamation.
Altogether, the upper circles of Strandvik society were thrown into a
state of unprecedented excitement and activity.
Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen vied with one another in
their efforts to outdo Mrs. Rantzau; they would show her at least
that they were as good as she.
It was a fight to the bitter end.
Societies were started, with "evenings" after, where Emilie Rantzau's
plans were discussed.
Mrs. Heidt thought and thought till she grew giddy and had to have
hot fomentations of an evening; the unusual mental effort had brought
on insomnia. Sukkerstad hoped to find in Mrs. Rantzau an ally to the
cause of temperance, and paid her a ceremonial call, in company with
Watchmaker Rordam, who, a short while back, had suddenly joined the
Temperance Association, "Strandvik's Pride." And the pair of them
explained to her, with all the eloquence at their command, how
greatly her patronage would be appreciated by all.
Emilie Rantzau, however, hardly thought her own interests in the town
would be greatly furthered by closer association with Sukkerstad and
his circle; on the other hand, it was just as well to keep on good
terms with all sections of local society. She therefore informed the
deputation that she would think over the matter, and assured them
meanwhile of her earnest sympathy with the good cause.
The same day she hurried up to Consul Jansen, switched on her
eloquent dark eyes, and suggested that the Temperance Movement was
one they ought to support, but that the best way of doing so would be
to get up a little subscription, and raise enough for an excursion--a
steamer trip for the afternoon, with tea and lemonade. "It would look
well, you know, and all that--and get them off our hands for a bit,"
she added meaningly.
No one could refuse her, and in the course of one afternoon she
managed to collect eight pounds, which she dispatched to Sukkerstad
and Rordam for the purpose indicated. Sukkerstad was so enthusiastic
in his appreciation that he determined to convene a meeting of the
committee and propose a vote of thanks and an address.
All the members turned up, with the exception of Rordam, who, in his
joy at the eight pounds, had given way to a sudden relapse, which
rendered him incapable of further temperance work for the time being.
After some discussion, the committee decided to purchase a portrait
of Mrs. Rantzau from the photographer, and hang it up in their hall;
this was voted preferable to the address.
Mrs. Heidt was beginning to lag behind; it was impossible to keep
pace with a woman of such untiring energy and initiative as Mrs.
Rantzau.
Four ladies were gathered one day in her drawing-room, to talk over
what was to be done; they could not suffer themselves to be set aside
like this. What they wanted was some grand idea, something to
vanquish the enemy at a single blow, and show the rest of the town
that Emilie Rantzau was not wanted.
It was Mrs. Knap who had the happy thought--the Peace Movement. The
cause of universal peace was surely one which nobody in Strandvik
could refuse to aid.
Mrs. Abrahamsen was more inclined to concentrate on a bazaar and
lottery in aid of the proposed crematorium, which institution she
regarded as most desirable from the humane, the sanitary and various
other points of view.
Mrs. Knap protested energetically against the idea; she had recently
had an accident with a box of matches, which had gone off suddenly
and burnt her hand. She for her part would have nothing more to do
with burning--for the present, at any rate.
Finally, after some heated argument, it was agreed that a grand
harvest festival should be held, the proceeds to be devoted to the
cause of universal peace.
Emilie Rantzau was to be kept out of it altogether; they would not
have her help in the arrangements, not a contribution--not so much as
a bunch of flowers was to come from her; it was to be a festival "for
ourselves and by ourselves." The old ladies were already triumphant;
this intriguing minx, this person from nowhere, who had tried to
force herself into society, should be made to feel their power and
her own insignificance. The festival was to be held in the park on
Sunday, from five to nine; there would be illuminations, coloured
lanterns, fireworks and so on. Singing,--male and female
choir,--lecture by a Professor from Christiania, recitation by a
famous actor, solos by an amateur and an "amatrice"--it was a
programme so magnificent that the whole town was amazed.
Meantime, Mrs. Rantzau sat quietly at home, in her pink morning-gown,
pouring out coffee for Nickelsen. She was very quiet and gentle in
manner--there was a curious atmosphere about the situation generally.
There lay the morning papers, white, uncrumpled, untouched. The
coffee now seethed gently in little regular gasps, like a
school-mistress out on a mountaineering expedition; the sun peeped in
through the windows, casting gay gleams over Old Nick's white mop of
hair and Emilie's raven locks.
"Why shouldn't I be happy the few years I've still to live? And who
is to have my money when I'm gone?" Old Nick sat staring absently
before him.
She bent over towards him, handing his cup; he felt her soft, curling
tresses close to his cheek, and her hand just touched his own.
"Mrs. Rantzau!" he exclaimed, flushing as he spoke; his voice was
unsteady.
"Why, how serious you are all of a sudden! You quite frightened me,"
she said, with a laugh, looking up at him innocently.
"Mrs. Rantzau," he began again, "do you know that poem of Byronson,
that--that begins:
"'When blushing blood,
In humble mood
Turns to the man whose mind is proved,
When timid, shy
She seeks....'"
"Lord bless me, old boy, spouting poetry so early in the morning! Did
you think it was Constitution Day--or the day after?"
Old Nick looked round anything but amiably at Nachmann's unbeautiful
face smiling in the doorway; Mrs. Rantzau left the room without a
word.
A long and earnest conference ensued between the two men, after which
they went out for a long walk together.
Emilie Rantzau felt now that her position was secure; it was only a
question of time before she could appear as Mrs. Nickelsen. And
inwardly she vowed vengeance on the women who had systematically
excluded her from the Peace Festival; she pondered how best to get
even with Mrs. Heidt and the rest.
It took a deal of thinking out, but at last she hit upon a way.
Quickly she put on her things, and hurried round to her faithful
supporter, Consul Jansen.
On Saturday evening, the _Strandvik News_ appeared, and created an
indescribable sensation throughout the town by printing immediately
under the big announcement of the festival in the park, the following
lines:
"_N.B._ _N.B._
"After the conclusion of the festival, an impromptu dance for
young people will take place in the Town Hall. Tickets, three
shillings each. The surplus will be devoted to the Society for
Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field. Mrs. Emma Jansen and Mrs.
Emilie Rantzau have kindly consented to act as hostesses."
Mrs. Heidt started up in a fury, and declared it was a disgraceful
piece of trickery on the part of that Emilie Rantzau. She could
forgive Mrs. Jansen, perhaps, as being too much of a simpleton
herself to see through the artful meanness of the whole thing.
On Sunday evening, after the festival, all the young people and a
number of the older ones flocked to the Town Hall, where Mrs. Rantzau
received them with her most winning smile.
Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen went each to their several
homes, boiling with indignation; they had not even been invited to
look on.
Some few there were, perhaps, who failed to see any immediate
connection between a Peace Festival and the Society for Tending Sick
and Wounded in the Field, but all enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and
that, after all, was the main thing.
Emilie Rantzau was the queen of the ball, and well aware of it. She
felt she had vanquished her rivals now, and was left in victorious
possession of the field. One thing, however, caused her some slight
anxiety, and that was that Nickelsen did not put in an appearance,
though he had promised to come on later--what could it mean?
Old Nick was sitting at home, deep in thought, and with him were Thor
Smith, Nachmann and Warden Prois.
"You must see and get clear of this, Nickelsen," said Prois warmly,
laying one hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, I suppose I must. But the worst of it is, I've got fond of her,
you see, and I've been hoping she'd brighten up the few years I've
got left."
"I know, I know," said Prois. "I've been through exactly the same
thing myself, a few years back, but, thanks to Providence, I got out
of it all right."
"Don't blame it on Providence, Warden," put in Nachmann. "It was that
telegraph fellow you had to thank for cutting you out."
"It's not a matter for joking," said Prois sharply; and Nachmann
withdrew to a corner of the sofa, quite depressed by the seriousness
of the situation.
Thor Smith could stand it no longer; this unwonted solemnity was too
much for him. He slipped out into the hall, and, sitting down on an
old leather trunk, laughed till he cried.
There was a long conference at Old Nick's that evening, and it was
one o'clock before he faithfully promised to follow his friends'
advice, and thrust out Emilie Rantzau from his house and heart.
How this was to be accomplished must be decided later; meantime the
conspirators would take it in turn to dine with Old Nick and spend
the rest of the day with him, to guard against any backsliding.
Old Nick agreed to it all, helplessly as a child.
How could they get her to go? The question was argued and discussed,
but no one could hit upon any reasonable plan. At last they decided
to call in Peter Oiland, who had lately been on terms of intimacy
with Old Nick, and see what he could do.
Peter Oiland put on a serious face, and looked doubtfully over at
Prois, whose mind was becoming almost unhinged by these everlasting
conferences and endless discussions, while the seriousness of the
situation forbade any over-hasty steps.
"Well, we can't very well turn her out by force," said Peter Oiland.
"The only thing to do is to try and get at the soft side of her: an
appeal to the heart, you understand."
"H'm; her heart's like the drawers in my store," said Nachmann. "In
and out according to what's wanted."
Peter Oiland determined nevertheless to make an attempt. He would say
nothing for the present as to the details of his plan; he had an
idea, and hoped it might succeed.
Meantime, Emilie Rantzau continued her triumphant progress; she was
leading society in Strandvik. Her dresses, her manner, were a
standing topic among the ladies of the town, who hated and admired
her at once. She on her part was happy enough, but at a loss to
understand why Nickelsen was so unpardonably tardy in making his
declaration; still, it could only be a question of time; she felt
safe enough.
One day there came a letter from Christiania, which in a flash threw
Strandvik and its entire society into the background. It ran as
follows:
"MY DEAR EMILIE RANTZAU,--Years, many years, have passed since we
last met. Do you remember a fair young man whom you often saw at
Mrs. Moller's, when you were a boarder there as a girl? But there
were so many of us young students who were all more or less in
love with you at that time, and I hardly dare suppose you would
have any special recollection of my humble self. It would be only
natural that you should have forgotten. But I have never, never
forgotten Emilie Storm, as you were then.
"I was poor and unknown at the time, and poor, alas, I remained
for many years, until at last I had no longer any hope of meeting
you again, as I had dreamed--yet I have followed your career, and
kept myself informed as to your circumstances. I learned of your
husband's death, and that you are now obliged to earn your
livelihood as housekeeper to an old bachelor in a little
out-of-the-way place.
"To think that you--you, Emilie, who have never for a single day
been absent from my thoughts, should be wasting away your life
among the yokels of an insignificant seaport town.
"And I--I am alone and lonely now, back at home after many long
years of toil in the great cities of Europe, and the fortune I
have made is useless to me. For money cannot purchase happiness,
or bring back the dreams of youth.
"Emilie, shall we try to come together? Shall we renew our old
acquaintance, and see if we can find that mutual sympathy which
binds one life to another?
"If you are willing, then let us meet. My name you need not know.
I should prefer you to find me as I am now, not as the ardent
youth I was when first we met, but as a man, sobered by trials
and experience, who has nevertheless maintained the ideals of
early days unscathed throughout the battle of life. You may reply
to
"ABRAHAM HERTZ.
"POSTE RESTANTE, CHRISTIANIA."
She read the letter through a dozen times at least, and sat puzzling
her brains to try and recollect a "fair young man," who had been one
of her admirers at Mrs. Moller's. She could make nothing of it. She
had been only seventeen at the time, and had had such a host of
admirers before and since; it was too much to expect that she should
recollect them all.
But was it meant in earnest now, or was the whole thing a vulgar
hoax?
This lawyer of hers was but a poor creature after all; red-nosed,
almost a dotard--ugh! To think of getting away from it all and go to
Christiania, perhaps Paris, Vienna, Rome--away! And then to be
rich--rich! Poverty was a dreadful thing to face, dreadful even to
think of. Was she to grow old, and ugly, and poor?
"MR. ABRAHAM HERTZ,--Your kind letter received. I set great store
by old friends, and should therefore be glad to renew the
acquaintance, but must confess that I am unwilling to enter upon
a correspondence with one who remains anonymous. How can I be
sure that I am not exposing myself to a mischievous practical
joke?
"I should be glad of a photo, in order if possible to identify
the 'fair young man.'
"E. R."
Two days later came a registered letter.
"MRS. EMILIE RANTZAU,--How could you ever think I was joking?
However, that you may no longer doubt for a moment the
seriousness of my intentions, I enclose L50, with the request
that you will come to Christiania as soon as possible. If you
will put up at Mrs. Irving's _pension_, I will meet you there.
"Enclosed is a photo of the fair young man, but for Heaven's
sake do not imagine that it resembles your admirer now, with his
eight-and-forty years.--Au revoir.
"A. H."
Emilie had never handled a L50 note before in her life. She spread it
out on the table, smoothing it with her fingers so tenderly that Old
Nick, had he seen her, would have been frantic with jealousy. She
even kissed the portrait of His Majesty in the corners before hiding
the note away in her breast.
Old Nick was utterly astonished when Mrs. Rantzau informed him that
she found herself compelled to leave Strandvik, the air,
unfortunately, did not agree with her. She seemed, too, remarkably
cool in her manner towards him; her customary smile had faded
somewhat, and her ardent eyes, that had been wont to focus themselves
upon his own, seemed now to flicker vaguely in no particular
direction.
Mrs. Rantzau's sudden departure occasioned much comment. Her most
faithful admirer, Consul Jansen, turned up with a big bunch of
flowers, and hoisted the flag in his garden at half-mast.
Old Nick, of course, went down to the quay to see her off. As a
matter of fact, however, he was now beginning to find the situation
rather humorous--a symptom which Thor Smith diagnosed as indicating
that his old friend was well on the way at least to convalescence, if
not to complete recovery.
Mrs. Rantzau stood on the upper deck in her dark blue dress, with the
little toque coquettishly aslant on her head. She waved her
handkerchief, and Consul Jansen cried: "_Adieu, au revoir!_"
"Merci, Monsieur le Consul; je regrette que vous soyez oblige de
rester ici parmi ces dromadaires-ci." That was Emilie Rantzau's
farewell to Strandvik. As for Old Nick, she did not even grant him so
much as a nod.
On the way home he encountered a procession of urchins, ragged,
bare-legged and boisterous, waving Japanese fans and Chinese
parasols--properties which he seemed to recognise.
"Here, you boys, where did you get those things from?"
"Mr. Nachmann gave us them. He threw them out of Nickelsen's window,"
cried the youngsters in chorus.
"H'm," grunted Old Nick. "Very funny...." and he stalked on his way.
Nachmann and Prois were busy moving the sofas back against the wall,
and restoring the card-table to its former place.
"Here, what do you think you're doing?" shouted Nickelsen from the
doorway.
"Salvage Corps, getting ready for a little party," said the Warden
dryly.
That evening Old Nick's little circle of friends assembled at his
house. Cards and the tray of glasses were laid out as in the old
days. The host, in his old brown dressing-gown, sat with his
slippered feet up on the table, and puffed at his long-stemmed pipe.
"Well, you may think yourself lucky to have got out of that as you
did," said Nachmann, touching Old Nick's glass with his own.
"I can't think what made her go off like that, all of a sudden," said
Old Nick, almost wistfully.
"You can thank Peter Oiland for that," said Thor Smith.
"Peter Oiland?"
"Yes, it was he that got her away. What about those letters you sent
her, Oiland? What did you say in them?"
"H'm," said Oiland, with a serious air. "My dear friends, it is ill
jesting with affairs of the heart. Emilie Rantzau's secret is locked
for ever in my breast." And he gazed reflectively into his glass as
he stirred his grog.
"How did you manage to get them sent from Christiania?"
"Posted them myself when I was in with Sukkestad, my respected
father-in-law to be, buying furniture."
"But the photo, and Mrs. Moller's, and all that?"
"Well, the photo was one Maria Sukkestad gave me last year of her
beloved spouse--taken years ago, when they were engaged."
"Oh, Peter, you're a marvel! But suppose she'd recognised him?"
"I hardly think she could," said Oiland dryly.
"But how did you know about Mrs. Moller's?"