"What are you talking about?" I said. "Really, Comtesse, I cannot
understand you."
"Fray don't call me that; call me Riki. I like you so very much; you
are different from others."
"Every one tells me that," I answered, a little bitterness in my tone.
"You have the goodness within--you perhaps have not the beauty without;
but what does that matter when goodness within is more valuable? It is
but to look at you to know that you have got that."
"If you were really to see into my heart, Riki, you would perceive that
I am an exceedingly selfish and very ungrateful girl."
"Oh dear!" said the Comtesse Riki, "what is it to be what you call
ungrateful?"
"Not to be thankful for the blessings that are given you," I made
answer.
She glanced at me in a puzzled way.
"Some day, perhaps," I said, "you will visit our England and see for
yourself what the life is like."
"I should like it," she replied--"that is, after my nuptials."
"But you are only a child yourself."
"Not a child--I am sixteen; I shall be seventeen in a year; then I shall
leave school and go home, and--and--"
"Begin your fun," I said.
"Oh no," she answered--"not exactly. I may go to a few of the dances
and take a _tour_ [dance] with the young men--I should, of course, have
many partners; but what is that? Then I shall become affianced, and my
betrothal will be a very great event; and afterwards there will be my
trousseau, and the preparing for my home, and then my marriage with the
husband whom my parents have chosen for me."
"And you look forward to that?" I said.
"Of course; what else does any girl look forward to?"
I could not speak at all for a minute; then I said, "I am truly thankful
I am not a German."
She smiled.
"If we," she said slowly, "have one thing to be more--what you call
grateful for--than another, it is that we don't belong to your so
strange country of England. Your coldness, and your long time of
remaining without your _dot_ and your betrothal and your so necessaire
husband, is too terrible for any girl in the Fatherland even to
contemplate the pain."
"Oh!" I said, feeling quite angry, "we pity _you_. You see, Comtesse,
you and I can never agree."
She smiled and shook her little head.
"But what would you do," she said a few minutes afterwards, "if these
things were not arranged? You might reach, say, twenty, or even
twenty-one or twenty-two, and--"
"Well, suppose I did reach twenty-one or twenty-two; surely those years
are not so awful?"
"But to be unbetrothed at twenty-one or twenty-two," she continued.
"Why, do you not know that at twenty-five a girl--why, she is lost."
"Lost?" I cried.
"Well, what we call put aside--of no account. She doesn't go to dances.
She stays at home with the old parents. The young sister supersedes
her; she goes out all shining and beautiful, and the adored one comes
her way, and she is betrothed, and gets presents and the _dot_ and the
beautiful wedding, and the home where the house linen is so marvellous
and the furniture so good. Then for the rest of her days she is a good
housewife, and looks after the comforts of the lord of the house."
"The lord of the house?" I gasped.
"Her husband. Surely it is her one and only desire to think of his
comforts. What is she but second to him? Oh! the chosen wife is happy,
and fulfils her mission. But the unfortunate maiden who reaches the age
of twenty-five, why, there is nothing for her--nothing!"
The Comtesses pretty checks were flushed with vivid rose; her blue eyes
darkened with horror.
"Poor maiden of twenty-five!" I said. "Why, in England you are only
supposed to be properly grown-up about then."
"But surely," said the Comtesse, glancing at me and shrugging her
shoulders--"you surely do not mean to say that at that advanced age
marriages take place?"
"Much more than before a girl is twenty-five. But really," I added, "I
don't want to talk about marriages and _dots_; I am only a schoolgirl."
The Comtesse laughed.
"Why will you so speak? What else has a girl of my great nation to
think of and talk of? And the mademoiselles here--what have they to
think of and to talk of? Oh! it is all the same; we live for it--our
_dot_, and our future husbands, and the home where he is lord and we his
humble servant."
"It doesn't sound at all interesting," I said; and after that my
conversation with Comtesse Riki languished a little.
A few days afterwards this same girl came to me when I was preparing a
letter for home. I was writing in our sitting-room when she entered.
She glanced quickly round her.
"It is you who have the sympathy," she said.
"I hope so," I answered. "What is the matter, Riki?" Her eyes were
full of tears; she hastily put up her handkerchief and wiped them away.
"There is no doubt," she said, "that you English are allowed liberties
unheard-of for a German girl like me. I would beg of you to do me a
great favour. I have been thinking of what you said the other day about
this so great liberty of the English maidens, and the great extension of
years which to them is permitted."
"Yes, yes?" I said, and as I spoke I glanced at the gilt clock on the
chiffonier.
"You are in so great a hurry, are you not?" asked Riki.
"I want to finish my letter."
"And you will perhaps post it; is it not so?"
"Yes; I am going out with Hermione and Mademoiselle Wrex."
"You are going, perhaps, to shops to buy things?"
"Yes. Do you want me to bring you in some chocolates?"
"Oh! that would be vare nice; but if you would, with your own letter,
put this into the post also?"
As she spoke she gave me a letter addressed in the somewhat thin and
pointed hand which most German girls use, and which I so cordially
detested.
"It is to Heinrich," she said. "I wouldn't ask you; but your heart is
warm, and--he suffers."
"But why should I post it? Will you not take it downstairs and put it
with the other letters in the letter-box?"
The delicate colour flew to her cheeks; her eyes were brighter than
usual.
"Heinrich would not then receive it," she answered. "You will post it--
it is necessaire for him that he gets it soon; he is in need of comfort.
You will, will you not?"
I really hardly thought about the matter. I did not know why, but it
did not occur to me that Riki was asking me to do anything underhand or
outside the rules. She laid the letter on the table and flew away. I
had just finished my own; I put it into an envelope and addressed it,
and taking Riki's letter also, I put on my outdoor things and went
downstairs to meet Hermione and Mademoiselle Wrex.
It was now a very bitter day in March. We had been at school for two
months. The time had flown. I was a healthy and very happy girl.
Mademoiselle Wrex said, "We must walk quickly to keep ourselves warm in
this so bitter north-east wind."
We all walked quickly, with our hands in our muffs, and as we were
passing a pillar-box I dropped the letters in.
"Now that is off my mind," I thought, with a sigh of relief.
"How did you manage to write two letters?" asked Hermione. "You were in
such a fearful fuss getting through your one!"
I made no answer. Something the next moment distracted our attention,
and we absolutely forgot the circumstance.
It was not until about a week afterwards that I observed a change in
Comtesse Riki. She was very pale, and coughed now and then. She no
longer took interest in her work, and often sat for a long time pensive
and melancholy, her eyes fixed on my face. One bitterly cold day I
found her alone in the _salon_, where we seldom sat; for although there
was what was called central heating all over the house, it was not often
put on to any great extent in the _salon_. Riki had flung herself into
a chair which was the reverse of comfortable. She started up when she
saw me.
"Oh, you will sympathise with me in my trouble!"
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"If we might go for a little walk together."
"But why so?" I asked. "You are not fit to go out to-day, it is so
cold."
"But the cold will revive me. Feel my hand; my pulse beats so fast."