Evening had come, but the sultriness of the day still remained, in the
west a great thunder cloud hung threateningly, and the harvest people
hurried homewards. Without any suspicion of the coming storm, since the
wood hid the lowering clouds as yet, Gertrud Walter walked slowly along
the footpath which led to the Schloss. She looked still graver and more
thoughtful than in the morning, for Eugen's whole being seemed so
strangely altered and disturbed. He had not been able to hide his
visible disquiet and agitation, had seemed unwilling to answer her
questions, and had hurried away, after barely a quarter of an hour's
conversation with her, under the pretext that his presence was
necessary at the Schloss. Gertrud was certainly embarrassed at this
behaviour, but had not the slightest suspicion of anything seriously
wrong, she had perfect faith in her _fiance's_ explanation, that an
unpleasant circumstance had occurred, which had greatly annoyed him,
and she waited impatiently for the night's meeting, in which he had
promised to explain all. She wished to have some share in his
unhappiness, wished to advise, comfort, help, so much as she could--she
little imagined what explanation awaited her.
It was the hour agreed upon; she had come to meet him, and now stood
waiting, having already accomplished her half of the way. She did not
dare to go further, for the Schloss could already be seen through an
opening in the wood, where, as Eugen said, some commission kept him,
with the completion of which he was now occupied. The young girl sat
down upon the trunk of a tree, and let her folded hands fall into her
lap. At this moment she looked childish enough, and in spite of the
shade of care, her face bore the aspect of full confidence, as she
gazed out into the distance. But this expression suddenly changed; she
had been looking towards the Schloss, which one could see to the left
through the tall fir trees, and with the sight of it some dark
remembrance seemed to come back to her. A shade passed over the
youthful features, and her lips pressed themselves together, her
clasped hands loosened, she passed her hand several times hastily over
her forehead, as if she would smooth away some tormenting thought, and
then looked anxiously towards the spot where she expected Eugen to
appear.
Steps were now really heard in the distance. Gertrud sprang up, but it
was the voices of two persons she heard. The young girl stood undecided
whether to hurry forwards or wait, then a clear sharp voice reached
her, and she no longer hesitated. But she turned pale; meet Eugen in
this company? No, indeed. The next minute she was safely hidden behind
a bush, which effectually shielded her from notice.
"I have been trying to get a minute alone with you all the afternoon,"
said Eugen's voice, "but you seemed to avoid it purposely, and Antonie
would not let me leave her side for an instant. You must really listen
now, Hermann, I need your advice, your assistance."
"What for?"
Meanwhile both the young men had reached the entrance of the wood, and
the Count stopped close by the bush where Gertrud was hidden.
"What for?" repeated he.
Eugen looked at him, somewhat surprised at the cool tone.
"You ask me? Why, you know, Gertrud is here, and surely can imagine my
painful, dreadful situation."
"Tell me first of all, how does your future bride happen to be here?"
"Through the most unlucky chance in the world! Her guardian is on the
way to visit some relations in A, and is taking her with him. They had
to pass this village, and Gertrud, who knew I was here, persuaded her
uncle to stay a day, to give me, as she imagined, a pleasant surprise!
I thought I should have, sunk into the earth when I heard she was here
to-day!"
"Indeed?" The peculiar coldness of the Count's tone formed a sharp
contrast to Eugen's passionate voice.
"A very painful chance, certainly! And what do you intend to do?"
The young man passed his hand over his brow--
"I don't know!" said he, in a constrained voice. "I was obliged to make
an excuse for appearing so disturbed to-day, and got away as quickly as
I could, so as to escape questions; but she expects me to-night, and
will persecute me with questions and entreaties. Do advise me, Hermann,
what am I to do?"
The Count sat down upon the trunk of a tree, with his back to the
before-named bush; he did not for a moment alter his cold, repellant
manner.
"Something which will be anything but easy, but nevertheless _must_
happen--tell her the truth."
"Impossible! I cannot!"
"Eugen!"
"I cannot!" repeated Eugen passionately. "To any one else I could, but
demean myself in her eyes by such a confession, I cannot!"
"You seem to fear those eyes very much. But if you dare not confess it,
what then?"
Eugen cast down his eyes.
"I thought," said he, hesitating after a pause, "I thought I would not
tell her anything at present. She is going away again this evening, and
next week I shall leave for Italy with you. From then I thought of
gradually loosening the tie--"
"Gradually loosening the tie--well, I'm waiting to hear the next."
The young painter seemed to be becoming more and more uncomfortable
under his friend's steadfast glance.
"I do not wish to wound Gertrud by allowing her to know of my relations
with Antonie," said he hastily. "She may think that reasons of another
kind, losses or unfortunate circumstances, oblige me to break off the
connection. I have already hinted at something of the sort. It will be
easier to explain by letter, and from a distance--you can understand
that I wish to spare her as much as possible."
"Spare her? Then why will you torment the girl for weeks, perhaps
months, with uncertainty as to her future, and anxiety about you? You
intend to _spare_ her by giving her the poison by drops, and, after you
have attracted to yourself all the womanly anxiety and tenderness she
is capable of, you will give her the boundless humiliation of hearing
that her _fiance_, whom she imagines in the depths of need and despair,
is the chosen spouse of the rich Countess Arnau, is about to make one
of the most brilliant matches in the country. Rather an odd way of
sparing her!"
Eugen looked at him in great astonishment.
"Why, Hermann, what has taken you today? You have quite altered your
views!"
"My views have nothing to do with it, the question is, whether you were
in earnest in what you said."
The young man was silent.
"You really mean it, then?" continued the Count, adding energetically.
"Well, I must say I should not have expected it of you!"
"I cannot understand," began Eugen, irritated at his friend's scornful
tone, "how you can judge my intentions so severely. Was it not you who
urged me against this match from the first, and continually drove me to
break it off, and almost forced me to make a declaration to Antonie? I,
at least, have suffered in the conflict, but you are one of those
ice-natures who stride on, indifferent to the joy or sorrow of others,
not troubling whether hearts are broken or not. You know you have
openly confessed to these unscrupulous principles, how is it, then,
that you have changed all at once, and argue just the opposite, and
condemn me because I follow your example?"
Hermann was silent a moment--did his conscience convict him? There was
truth enough in what he said, and this was proved, since, for once,
Count Arnau was in want of an answer, but in a moment he replied with
perfect calmness--
"You are mistaken! I _was_ averse to this match, and am still, because
I see no good for your future in it. That you must break off this match
I still think, but our opinions differ as to the way in which it is to
be done. I _am_ regardless, unscrupulous, when an important end to be
gained is at stake, there you are right, and I suppose in this case, I
should actually have broken the girl's heart; but to invent excuses in
order to hide what she must discover eventually, pretend I was the
victim of a cruel fate, and thus knit a tissue of falsehoods of all
kinds about the matter--that Eugen, I would not do, for to tell you the
truth, I think such a proceeding pretty cowardly."
"Hermann!" burst out Eugen.
"Don't be absurdly sensitive," said the Count, authoritatively, "it is
out of place here. I have told you my opinion frankly, now do what you
like. By-the-by, I think the storm is coming on, I must go back to the
Castle. I suppose you are on the way to the village, adieu!"
Eugen did not answer, he turned away and walked off angrily without any
word of greeting. Hermann shrugged his shoulders, he knew his friend's
temper, and also knew it would not last long. Such scenes were not of
unfrequent occurrence between them. Reinert, after such a one, usually
played the part of an injured person, but ended generally by leaning to
his friend's superior wisdom.
Meanwhile the sky had grown darker and darker, the wind rose and
whistled in the tops of the trees. Graf Arnau glanced at the clouds,
and turned towards the Schloss. Just then the wind, with a sudden gust,
blew aside the neighbouring bushes, and something glimmered amongst
them like a woman's dress. Struck with a sudden presentiment, Hermann
stopped and peered sharply through the bushes, nothing could be made
out distinctly, but he strode a few steps forward, and the next moment
stood before Gertrud Walter.
The girl had sunk on her knees, her head against the root of a great
tree, her face hidden in both hands. By no sound had she betrayed
herself, but she had broken down at the sudden news, which had come
upon her unexpectedly like a flash of lightning. Hermann only needed to
stand there an instant, in order to understand and feel how fearfully
humiliating his presence would be to her at this moment. For an instant
he looked down at her silently, then turned and walked away as quietly
and quickly as he had come.
But after walking a few steps, he stopped and looked back. She lay as
still and motionless as a statue--perhaps she had fainted--perhaps--the
Count had not decided within himself what common humanity and
compassion demanded in this case, before he again stood at her side.
"Fraeulein!"
No answer, nor the slightest movement.
Hermann bent down and lifted her up. She received his help silently,
and whilst she mechanically raised her head, her eyes gazed
unconsciously at his face.
"You are not well! May I offer you my assistance as far as the
village?"
He ought not to have spoken, for with the tone of his voice came back
at once strength and consciousness, and with it hostility against him.
There it was once more, that terrified shrinking, which she had shown
in the morning, the same strange hostile look returned to her eyes, it
seemed, as if in the one feeling of detestation against him, even the
remembrance of the last quarter of an hour was forgotten.
"I need no help--I am well--quite well--"
She walked a few steps, but tottered, and was obliged to lean against a
tree to keep herself from falling. The wind shook the branches and sent
a shower of leaves down upon her; the first flash of lightning quivered
through the air, and a distant growl of thunder followed it. Hermann,
who had again turned away, once more returned to the young girl, and
said, with a decision, through which some bitterness sounded--
"I am sorry to be troublesome to you by my presence, but you are _not_
well, _mein Fraeulein_. You are alone, and a stranger here, and the
village is half an hour's distance from this spot. You will therefore
accept my assistance, and the assurance that I will not be troublesome
to you a moment longer than is actually necessary."
Quietly, as if a refusal were unheard of, he took her arm, like that of
a child, to lead her, but this had a truly alarming effect upon
Gertrud. As if stung by a snake, she could not have started more
fearfully, nor shrunk back with greater horror. With almost a cry she
tore her hand out of his, and Hermann seemed suddenly to behold a
changed being before him. Nothing more of the "child" was to be seen;
her figure, as she stood before him, drawn up to her full height, had
something commanding and powerful about it. So mysterious was this
commanding glance, that any one else would have quailed before it, as
with a tone and expression which perfectly electrified the Count, she
cried, threateningly--
"Do not touch me, Count Arnau. I will not accept of your assistance!"
She turned away, took the road to the village and disappeared behind
the bushes. Hermann stood motionless, looking after her, but the next
minute anger had overcome his silent astonishment.
Never had the young Count been treated so, never so insulted, and
here--when, for the first time in his life he had approached any one
with warm sympathy, had for the first time diverged from his
indifferent character! How could this girl dare to behave so to him?
And wherefore?
He laughed aloud bitterly.
"H'm, well now, I can understand that Eugen would not care to demean
himself in her eyes! He is not the man to have much influence upon a
nature which can act in this way, just after it has experienced such
humiliation. She would have withered him with that look!"
The thunder, becoming ever louder, and the frequent flashes of
lightning, put an end to the Count's observations, and warned him to
make the best of his way back to the Castle, which he had scarcely
reached before heavy drops began to fall.
An hour later--the storm was over, but the rain still fell in torrents.
In the Castle the last preparations were being completed for the great
ball, which was to take place that night. Eugen came back from the
village, pale, excited, and wet through, and at once hastened to
Hermann's room. They had some conversation, and the servants, hurrying
backwards and forwards, heard their voices raised loudly in dispute,
and also noticed that Herr Reinert came out of the Count's room with a
remarkably grave and displeased air, so that they imagined some scene,
not of the pleasantest nature, had taken place between them.
The two avoided each other as much as possible the whole evening, but
their quarrel went no farther, at least, outwardly. The carriages of
the guests now rolled in from all sides, and so soon as night descended
the whole row of windows in the Castle streamed with light.
The centre point and crown of the brilliant company, was, of course,
the beautiful Countess Arnau. She appeared this evening more charming
and bewitching than ever before, and Eugen hardly left her side for an
instant. To-day, for the first time, he ventured publicly to offer her
his homage, which Antonie accepted in such a manner as left scarcely
room for a doubt as to the impending relations between them.
All eyes followed the pair, everywhere one heard whispered observations
and questions, as to whether it were possible that the proud, much
courted Countess Arnau could really seriously think of marrying a
young, unknown painter, who, _quelle horreur!_ instead of offering her
the coronet of a Count, could only give her a _buergerlich_ name. What
unpardonable extravagance! What a scandal for the family!
An old baroness, who was possessed of more curiosity, and more
indignation at such improprieties, than all the others, determined to
find out the truth at any price, and therefore to turn to the surest
source of information, namely, Count Hermann.
It was some time before she found him. The Count did not care for
dancing much at any time, and did not, as usual, take part in it
to-night. The clang of a post horn sounded below on the country road,
mixing itself strangely with the noisy dance music.
"My dear Count, what in the world are you doing here in this secluded
room, at the open window? All the guests have missed you already!"
Hermann turned round, with a face on which vexation at the interruption
was written plainly enough.
"It is oppressive in the ball-room," replied he, very coldly and
repellantly. "I found it necessary to get a few minutes' fresh air."
"You are right, it is terribly warm there, and the air after the storm
is so refreshing! But you are missing too much here--your cousin
waltzes so charmingly with your friend, the young artist--_apropos_, my
dear Count, is it true then--this report, that the Graefin returns the
passion of this Herr Reinert, which he takes no pains to conceal? Does
she actually intend to honour him with her hand?"
Hermann shut down the window hastily.
"I regret, my _gnaedigste Baronin_, that I cannot give you any
information upon the subject. I am as little instructed by my cousin as
to her intentions as you can be. And, by the way, I think it is
becoming too cool for you here, allow me to conduct you back to the
_saal_."
So saying, he offered his arm with cool politeness, and led her back to
the ball-room. The waltz was not yet finished as they entered; Graefin
Antonie floated past them in the full light of the wax tapers, moving
in time to the lively music, with Eugen as her partner--and in the
distance died away the last note of the post horn!