Seven years had passed by, altering many things, and burying away and
blotting out others, and, as often happens in life, so also here the
reality had been very, very different from the hopes and expectations
of mankind.
Of the artistic fame of Eugen Reinert one heard little or nothing.
Certainly his first great work, the portrait of Countess Arnau, which
was exhibited publicly, created much stir, and justified the highest
hopes for the future. But with this picture, which certainly bore the
stamp of originality, and created a name for him in the artistic world,
he appeared to have exhausted his best powers. He still painted
portraits, though exclusively of those who belonged to aristocratic
circles, the _entree_ of which he had obtained through his wife, and in
these his work was always considered as full of genius, but real art
critics did not think much of them, and they were little noticed by the
public.
Eugen's principal fault, want of energy and perseverance, became more
and more perceptible as time went on. He fluctuated continually between
different studies of all sorts, tried everything and finished nothing,
sketched out the most ambitious plans, but carried none into execution,
and wasted his great talent upon the distinguished, but often
uninteresting faces of counts and "excellencies," and the albums of
aristocratic ladies. Since good fortune had thrown the gifts into his
lap, without trouble on his part, which he had once hoped to obtain
through his art, his pleasure in it, and even his capabilities, seemed
to be exhausted. What reason had he for working still? The riches,
which his wife brought him, and the connections he was able to make
through these, as well as the splendidly appointed house supported
through them, secured all the enjoyments of life to him, as well as an
undisputed position in society, and when, in the course of a few years,
the title of "Von" was added to his name, "on account of his services
to art," the highest degree of earthly fame seemed to have been
attained.
Meanwhile the once so promising talent had all but perished, and
quietly enough, on the other hand, great gifts were developing where
they had been least expected, namely, in Count Hermann, who, on account
of his reserved and silent nature, was little known, and still less
liked. His genius seemed to have taken a sudden leap forward,
astonishing every one. After his return from a long tour, which he had
undertaken as a completion of his education, he entered into the
service of the State, and went with his Prince's ambassador to Vienna.
Scarcely two years elapsed before the young _attache_ had become the
right hand of the ambassador, who was not particularly capable or
gifted, he asked his advice and support in any difficult matters, and
finally Count Hermann became his representative, and undertook all the
business which gave the title to his Excellence. By chance, the way in
which this business was conducted was revealed to the Prince; he began
to notice the young Count attentively, and presently called upon him to
fill a post in the capital, important for a man of his age, and it was
not long before Hermann had become as influential and noticeable here.
His quick foresight, which saw through every matter so plainly, the
never failing energy with which he undertook everything, and the
almost incredible activity he manifested, secured for him success
after success. He mounted from step to step, and now, at the age of
thirty-two, already held one of the highest offices in the country, in
the exercise of power, and stood upon the threshold of the post of
Minister, which would undoubtedly be open to him at the next change of
politics. Of course the ancient title which he bore, together with his
riches, and the personal favour of the Prince, had contributed to this
extraordinarily rapid career; but in reality they only served to smooth
the way, and remove the hindrances, with which a buergerlicher would
first have had to contend with. Hundreds of the same rank and income
would have remained at the foot of, or halfway up the ladder, to the
topmost rung of which he had now climbed--truly his success was only
owing to himself.
On the widowed Praesidentin von Sternfeld's estate, preparations had
been made for the reception of different guests. The eldest son, Baron
von Sternfeld, had already been there for a week with his wife and two
little daughters, Count Arnau had also arrived this morning from the
capital, and Herr and Frau von Reinert were expected next day.
In the garden house of the old family mansion, by the open glass doors,
which led on to the broad stone terrace, Count Hermann sat with his
grandmother. The appearance of the old lady, now more than seventy,
still showed the intellectual and physical strength which had always
made her the centre point of the family, over which she practised her
old authority. The powerful form appeared to bow unwillingly to age;
her hair was snow-white, her face full of lines and wrinkles, but it
was a face which age could not change much. It had not been able to dim
the sharp, clear eye, nor soften the authoritative expression of
energy, and if she was somewhat bowed by the weight of years, her head
was still carried as erect as ever.
Count Arnau, too, was little altered by the lapse of time; it seemed to
leave no trace on these decided, cold features. His glance was,
perhaps, still keener, the peculiar lines round his mouth still
firmer, and his bearing, in spite of its simplicity, showed more
self-assurance; but more conspicuous than ever was now the likeness to
the grandmother, whose face, seemed to repeat his, feature by feature,
as his character resembled hers.
A long conversation had ensued about the affairs of the capital, and
Hermann's post there, together with his views for the future, and thus
the talk had gradually ended in a political discussion; now the Count,
commencing a new topic, asked--
"So Antonie and Eugen are to arrive to-morrow?"
"Yes--according to your openly expressed wish. I am sacrificing my
feelings a great deal, Hermann! You know I shall never pardon Antonie
this _mesalliance_, and if I have prevailed upon myself to invite her,
and Herr Reinert, it is _only_ on your account."
"Thank you, dear grandmother; I know what it costs you; but the
recognition of the marriage on your side had become with time
necessary. And by the way, as the outer form of nobility is no longer
wanting, you need fear no hindrance in introducing Herr and Frau von
Reinert as relations, in society."
The Praesidentin shrugged her shoulders. "Making him a 'Von' was a
necessity, since Antonie had once taken that mad step. She is, and will
always be, Graefin Arnau, in spite of all, and as such cannot be simply
_buergerlich_ Frau Reinert, if she comes back here. But a consideration,
which was due to the world to cover the scandal to the family, has no
influence upon my judgment. To me Herr Reinert remains, as he always
was, _buergerlich_."
Hermann gazed moodily into the distance, and his brow clouded somewhat.
"I hoped Eugen would gain an artist's name for himself, which would
make this 'nobility' superfluous; unfortunately it has come to
nothing."
"What?" The Praesidentin's voice involuntarily became sharper. "Do you
mean to say that the fame of an artist can make up for the inherited
coronet of a count?"
"Make up for it--no! but it can atone for the want of it in a certain
sense, especially with such a romantic nature as Toni's."
The Praesidentin's face showed how little this answer pleased her.
"You always had a weakness for this Reinert," said she, shaking her
head deprecatingly.
"He was once very dear to me!"
"Was?"
"Yes. But several things have happened to cause a coldness between us.
I had the greatest hopes for his talents and future, but nothing has
come of them."
The Praesidentin drew herself up in her arm chair and fixed her eyes
upon Hermann.
"I confess to you openly, Hermann, that formerly I was much concerned
about this friendship. You were true to the aristocratic traditions of
your family in all else; but you always and everywhere made an
exception in favour of this Reinert. Toni would not have dared under my
eyes to misuse her liberty in this manner. Unfortunately I was absent,
but you were near. You ought to have acted in my place, and guarded the
honour of the family. Instead of that you favoured the match openly,
brought them together in Rome, and even took their part against me. I
really had serious fears for your principles at that time."
The Count smiled, his old sarcastic smile, without a trace of
cheerfulness.
"Your fears were groundless; you ought to have known me better,
grandmother. I am constituted differently, and what I thought suitable
in Eugen and Toni's case, I should not have pardoned in myself,--I
should not make a _mesalliance_, you can be sure of that."
"I know it," said the Praesidentin, with calm assurance. "Fortunately
you have not a trace of absurd romance about you."
"No!--and besides that--you know I have much reason for keeping my name
clear!"
His voice sank at the last words, and his brow clouded heavily, whilst
his eyes sought the ground. The Praesidentin, too, became graver, but at
the same time there was something like impatience in her manner.
"The old conflict still? Haven't you been able to put away from you
that remembrance yet?"
"I envy you for being able to do so. I forget it certainly for a few
hours sometimes, but for days and weeks--never!"
The Praesidentin shook her head.
"You torment yourself with self-created fears! We alone know the
secret, and can guard it securely enough. The world can and will never
know more than a breath of it."
The Count raised his head slowly, his brow dark as night.
"The world! But _I_ know that I am dishonoured! I know the disgrace,
the curse which rests upon my name, and upon my riches, and that is the
dark spot of my life which I can never, never, blot out. Whatever I may
accomplish, whatever I may attain to, this dark memory continually
forces itself between. I cannot forget it!"
The grandmother laid her hand authoritatively upon his arm--
"Let that rest, Hermann! I hardly know you, whenever this unhappy
circumstance is touched upon. You, so strong, so energetic in
everything else, are in this as weak as a child. As a boy, you showed
more courage, you kept silence towards your mother, who would have been
killed if she had heard it, and only revealed it, where you knew it
would be safely guarded. And you were silent years afterwards, as
perhaps no other child would have been, and that made my guardianship
of you easy. Must the man, then, hesitate, and be ready to throw off
the burden of responsibility he has incurred by no fault of his own?"
Hermann did not answer, but looked moodily into the distance.
"If only we could find a trace of the wife and child! Your enquiries
were fruitless, but I renewed them with redoubled zeal, every possible
means of discovery are at my command now, but in vain. It really seems
as if they had disappeared from the face of the earth."
"They must have left the country."
"And perhaps perished miserably, whilst I--"
He sprang up suddenly, went to the door, and pressed his forehead
against the glass panes; the usually calm man was fearfully agitated.
The Praesidentin was silent, she had seen him before in this mood;
however great her influence over her grandson might be, this was a
point on which she did not dare to argue further with him, over which
her power did not extend, she knew that he must now be let alone,
unless she wished to make matters worse.
A minute's silence followed, at last Hermann turned round. His features
were calm and cold as usual, but a dark cloud was still on his brow.
"Pardon me, grandmother, that I have tormented you, too, with this
subject."
"You are right, it is better to let it rest? What were we talking of
before?"
He sat down again by her side, and she at once seized the opportunity
of introducing another subject.
"I have wished to ask you a question some time, Hermann. Have you not
yet thought that it will soon be necessary for you, as head of our
family, and only male representative of the house of Arnau, to form an
alliance with some daughter of the nobility?"
The Count leaned his head on his hands.
"Certainly I have thought of it," replied he indifferently, "especially
now that I see the necessity of forming an establishment in the
capital, and of moving frequently in society there."
"Have you made a choice?"
"No. You are aware that ladies have not much attraction for me, and
from my standpoint I consider a marriage of convenience the best. I
shall have very little time to devote to my wife, and seek in her
chiefly a representative of my house."
The grandmother bowed her head assentingly.
"And what qualities do you lay claim to in choice of a wife?"
"Much, and little, just as one takes it. Above all things, she must be
of ancient and noble family; wealthy, for I have found that poor
ladies, who are thrown suddenly into the arms of fortune, are apt to
give way to all sorts of extravagances, and not too beautiful, for I
have no desire to have to watch over my wife continually--the rest is
of small importance."
The young Count set forth these qualifications for his future marriage
with as perfect indifference, as if he were speaking of the purchase of
an estate, but his way of looking at the matter seemed to meet with the
Praesidentin's full approval.
"I quite agree with you," replied she, "and I am very glad that you
look at the affair so clearly. What do you want, my dear?" interrupted
she at this moment, turning towards the door.
"The children wished to say good-bye to the Frau Praesidentin before
going for their walk."
Count Hermann got up from his chair at the sound of this voice, and
looked at the lady with an expression of boundless astonishment as she
entered, leading two little girls of six and eight by the hand. It was
Gertrud, once betrothed to Reinert. The Praesidentin observed his
surprise.
"Ah, so! Mademoiselle Walter--the Herr Count Arnau."
She bent down to her two grandchildren and gave them her cheek to kiss.
Hermann's bow was returned with the most measured formality and
coldness, and not the slightest change in Gertrud's face betrayed her
recognition. She took the children's hands, and at once prepared to
leave the garden house.
"Do not make the walk too long to-day, mademoiselle, it is too hot for
the children."
"I will see that they do not go too far, we will not go beyond the park
to-day."
A second bow, as formal as the first, and she crossed the terrace with
the children, and went down towards the park. The Praesidentin turned
once more to her grandson.
"I think we were saying--but why don't you sit down, Hermann?"
He still remained standing, his hand on the arm chair, and his eyes
fixed upon the avenue, where the three had disappeared; mechanically
following the invitation, he sat down once more.
"Well, I thing we were speaking of your future wife. I imagine the
choice lies open to you; Count Hermann Arnau will hardly receive a
refusal, however ambitious he may be."
"Who is this Mademoiselle Walter?" asked Hermann, instead of answering,
without turning his eyes from the window.
The grandmother looked at him with some astonishment, the question
seemed to her to have very little place in this important conversation.
"She is the new governess for Eurt's daughters," replied the
Praesidentin coldly. "She is said to be pretty well educated and useful,
and the children are wonderfully fond of her considering the short time
she has been with them. I have a certain antipathy against her, for I
fear that she carries something like haughtiness underneath her
unfailing calm politeness, which is, of course, insufferable in a
person of her dependent position."
Hermann was silent, he knew by experience, that here, too, the
Praesidentin's penetration had not deceived her.
"But to come back to our subject--"
The Count got up suddenly.
"Pardon me, grandmother, if I beg you to let it rest for to-day. My
night journey has rather tired me out, I really feel the want of some
rest. Allow me, now that I have seen you, to go to my room for a time."
So saying, he kissed the hand extended to him, and left the room. The
Praesidentin leaned back in her arm chair, and once more thought over
all the plans and hopes connected with her grandson's future alliance,
this grandson who had always been the dearest to her, and who had
fulfilled all her expectations so brilliantly. But it would have
astonished her somewhat, had she seen how Count Hermann, in spite of
his petition to be allowed to rest, had not yet thought of going to his
room, but went off at once from another side to the park, and in spite
of the midday-heat, wandered about in it on all sides.
Under the shade of a great plane tree, in the centre of a large grass
plot, sat Gertrud with her two little charges, telling them a fairy
tale. The eldest of the two children had nestled closely against her
governess, and looked up into her face with the most breathless
attention, as if she feared to lose a single word; the younger knelt on
the grass, her two little arms upon Gertrud's lap, listening as
breathlessly as her sister. It was a charming group; surely that was
not the cold, grave _gouvernante_, who had bowed so formally, and
answered so shortly. The expression of her face was now as warm and
glowing as the golden sunlight itself, which played upon her
countenance through the leafy screen above her, and there was something
unusually gentle and lovely in her tone and attitude, as, in low tones,
with head bent down to the children, she told them of elves and
fairies, something which it had never been permitted for either the
Praesidentin nor the Baronin von Sternfeld to see.
But Count Hermann saw it as he stood unobserved behind a clump of
bushes, and watched her closely. Yes, these features had indeed
fulfilled what they had promised seven years ago.
The delicate, pale, and childish form had blossomed into almost perfect
beauty, and at sight of the tall, beautiful figure, the pure classic
profile and rich masses of pale gold hair, Hermann could not refrain
from thinking that his aunt must have been wanting in her usual sense
and tact in receiving into her house a lady before whose attractions
both she and every other lady must seem plain.
But he was not allowed to remain long unobserved, for one of the
children noticed him suddenly, and pointed in the direction where he
stood. Gertrud rose at once, and freed herself from the children's
encircling arms.
An iciness seemed to creep over her countenance, under which all the
warmth and life which had streamed from it a moment before, seemed
suddenly to wither; cold, grave, and perfectly immoveable, she awaited
the Count's approach.
He now stood opposite, and looked straight towards her. Those were the
same mysterious dark blue eyes which he remembered so well, and the
same shade still lay in them, but it had become only heavier and
deeper. But these eyes flashed somewhat under his searching glance; was
it the old (to him incomprehensible) hatred, or was it some other
feeling?
Hermann, who usually saw through all matters so clearly, did not know
how to interpret it; he only felt that it was hostile to him, and that
the strange girl was still the same.
"I do not know, mein Fraeulein," began he, "whether you will allow me to
renew a former acquaintanceship. I can scarcely hope so after the way
in which you returned my greeting."
"You would oblige me, Herr Graf, if you would forget this
acquaintanceship."
But Hermann was not prepared for such a repulse as this, she
involuntarily irritated him, and just as he had hitherto hesitated as
to whether he should approach her, so now he felt inclined to continue
the conversation in spite of all.
"As you wish; but before we begin to ignore one another, allow me to
inform you of something which you are surely not aware of, and which
might be painful for you to experience were you unprepared for it."
"I know to what you refer!"
"You know, and--?" Hermann's eyes completed the question, which his
lips could not ask--"and you remain here?"
Gertrud's countenance became a shade paler, but she remained
unmoveable.
"You forget, Herr Graf, that I am in a dependent position here. I have
already requested the Frau Baronin to allow me some weeks' absence, but
she thinks that the children need my superintendence, and refused my
request. I must therefore stay."
"If you will accept of my mediation," said Hermann, quickly, "I will go
at once to my aunt, and secure you the fulfilment of your wish."
"No, thank you, Herr Graf; I wish for your interference least of all."
That was speaking plainly enough. Hermann bit his lips and drew back.
"It seems to me, mein Fraeulein, that you have a decided aversion to my
person. You insulted me once before, just as intentionally. I regret
that my approach, should give you cause for it. Be assured that in
future it shall not happen again."
Gertrud's lips quivered, but she made no answer. The Count bowed
hastily, and disappeared.
"Well, this is unheard of. Neither my grandmother nor Toni would have
put on such airs, and neither of them would have dared to say that to
me. 'I wish your interference least.' She condescends, as it were, to
dismiss me in disgrace, and I--"
The calm, immovable Graf Arnau actually forgot himself so far that he
stamped with his foot.
What vexed him most, though he would not confess it to himself, was,
that the manner in which Gertrud had dismissed him resembled his own,
on such occasions, to a hair. That was just the calm, cold, and
repellant tone which he allowed himself towards some one who did not
know how to keep at a distance. Certainly it was the first time it had
been used towards him, and who had dared to do this? A "Mademoiselle
Walter"--the governess of his little cousins!
Yes, the grandmother was right; there was an unbearable haughtiness
hidden under the calm exterior of this girl, and he felt it so much the
more deeply, as, in his present position and importance, he was courted
and spoiled on all sides by compliance with his wishes, especially from
women. Hitherto he had looked down pretty scornfully on all the efforts
he had seen to please him, and now, all at once, he was met with open
opposition, with open intention to displease, and even wound him.
Count Hermann had already once sought in vain for a reason for this
strange hostility, and could find a clue for it now as little as then.
Gertrud's whole demeanour was, and remained, mysterious to him, as well
as her presence here. Why did she not rather go without permission, and
lose her appointment, than expose herself to such a humiliation as a
meeting with Eugen? Was she too proud to fly before her former lover?
Or did she still love him, and could not resist the temptation of
seeing him once more?
The last thought seemed to surprise the Count very much, for he stopped
and knitted his brow--
"Well, I shall see to-morrow! They cannot fail to meet. I will see if
this unfathomable, sevenfold secret will be revealed at last!"
It was the afternoon of the next day. Herr and Frau von Reinert had
arrived somewhat earlier than they were expected, and were received by
Hermann, who would not allow his grandmother's midday rest to be
disturbed.
Directly after the first greetings were over, Antonie had retired to
her room to lay aside her travelling dress, and her husband was now
with Count Arnau in a small ante-room, close to the Gartensaal.
The friends had not seen each other for five years, in fact, since
Eugen's marriage, and these five years had not left so little trace
upon him as upon Hermann.
He would still always pass for a handsome and interesting man; but his
expression, as well as his voice, were much altered. Weariness,
languor, satiation, were all written there only too plainly. The
features, once glowing with life, were weak and vigourless; the eyes,
formerly so enthusiastic, languid; the whole being of the man scarcely
three-and-thirty, had a touch of half-bitter, half-painful, deep,
inward discontent. And this was betrayed in his tone, as, after the
first indifferent questions and enquiries, he said--
"In spite of your laconic letters, I have heard enough of you from a
distance. You have become a celebrity, and if report be true, will
shortly take a high office in State affairs!"
"Is that the report? Well, no one ever expected or took it for granted
that _I_ should become a celebrity!"
Eugen understood the reproach.
"But it was expected of me, you mean? Yes, I did promise you, in those
days, to begin a greater work. I have made plans and sketches enough;
but--our life is so disturbing, so full of changes--hitherto I have
always wanted leisure and quiet to carry them out."
"And the necessary desire to work."
"Well, if you like, the desire too. The dreams of one's youth, with
which one surrounds everything, come to an end at last. In reality,
there is not much in art, or in happiness, or, indeed, in life
altogether!"
He leaned back in his chair with an expression of the greatest
weariness.
Hermann gave no answer; but Eugen felt what lay in the grave, searching
glance with which he regarded him.
"You think my observation strange?"
"From your lips, yes. Any one, to whom life has brought nothing but
disappointments, may speak so; you, who enjoy all its gifts, have no
right to."
"And when I find that these wonderful gifts, this dream of happiness,
are all illusions, is not my disappointment as great?"
Hermann got up and took a turn through the room--
"I hoped that, at least, your marriage with Antonie would be a happy
one," said he, after a pause.
Eugen was silent.
"Then you are not happy?"
Reinert made an impatient movement.
"I do not know. She often torments me terribly with her varying moods,
her jealousy, and then--I have to hear often enough, whom I have to
thank for all, what she has sacrificed for my sake."
An expression of inexpressible scorn curled Hermann's lips.
"Ah! so it has got as far as that! She throws that in your face, and
you endure it?"
"Have I a weapon against it?"
"It lay with you to make yourself independent. I imagined that just
your wife's rank and riches would be a spur to urge you to rise to an
equal height through your own powers."
Eugen heaved a sigh of resignation.
"Confound it, Hermann, you take it for granted that I have an iron
nature like yours, which never needs rest nor refreshment, which pushes
forward unceasingly and takes everything by storm. I have a different
constitution."
"I know that!" said Hermann, with calm bitterness, "and believe me,
Eugen, I have repented often enough, that I had any part in causing
your life to take the direction it has. You ought to be free from the
cares and limitations of ordinary life, ought to find the road to your
future an open one, and it was with that view that I favoured your
marriage. You are right, it was a fatal error to judge you by myself.
You are one of those natures which need continual spurring forward;
when the necessity for work was removed, the food for your talent was
gone; had I left you to yourself, and you had had to work to live, it
had been better!"
"You speak," said Eugen, pettishly, "as if I had done nothing since I
saw you last, and yet my portraits are valued and admired--"
"Because you are the husband of Graefin Antonie. Since that great
picture of Antonie, in which you seem to have exhausted your genius, no
work of yours has risen above mediocrity."
Eugen bit his lips.
"I must say you are very--sincere."
"And you have forgotten how to hear the truth. I cannot refrain from
telling it you frankly."
Reinert drew himself up angrily, his vanity would not bear a reproach,
the justice of which he nevertheless felt; he was on the point of
answering hastily, but Hermann turned away suddenly from him, and
looked with strained attention towards the door, which opened at this
instant. A triumphant smile quivered round his lips, he had not led
Eugen into this ante-room for nothing. He well knew who must pass
through it, to fetch the children to their lessons, the former being
generally with their mother at this hour--this first meeting must and
should be watched.
Eugen, too, had turned his head, but he all at once sprang up and
became deathly pale, stretching out his arms as if against a spectre,
and with a cry of fright, exclaimed--
"Gertrud!"
It was, indeed, Gertrud who stood upon the threshold. She knew what
awaited her to-day, but she was unprepared for a meeting at this
moment, and here. She, too, turned pale, and made a movement as if to
fly, but her eyes met Hermann's, which rested upon her face as if he
would read her inmost soul. The girl's foot seemed suddenly rooted to
the spot; she drew herself up, and returned the glance proudly and
coldly. And there was something in her look which was nobler than
defiance, and mightier than hate; he saw how a deep red flush rose into
her countenance, whilst she met his steadfast glance, but her eyes did
not sink. They stood thus for some seconds, then the Count suddenly
turned away, Gertrud closed the door behind her, and with firm steps
passed by the two gentlemen, disappearing into the neighbouring
apartment.
Hermann clenched his hand angrily.
"Unbending! I knew it! This girl cannot be humiliated; did she not
almost compel my eyes to quail before her?"
Eugen, who had stood during the whole scene as if rooted to the spot,
now seemed to come to his senses.
"Hermann, what does this mean? Was that my--was that Gertrud Walter?
Did you know--_Um Gotteswillen_, speak--speak!"
The Count leaned against the window with folded arms, his face at this
moment showed that repellant expression peculiar to him in moments of
deep irritation, but there lay an almost alarming brusqueness in his
tone as he answered--
"Mademoiselle Walter is at present here as governess in my uncle
Sternfeld's house, and has come with them. I can understand that the
meeting must be painful to you both, but you see that she possesses
sufficient tact to ignore you completely, and as for you, it will be
easy to avoid her, as she devotes, herself exclusively to the children,
and appears seldom or never in society."
Eugen hardly seemed to hear the last, words, his eyes still remained as
if magnetically fixed upon the door which had closed upon her.
"Gertrud here!" repeated he still, "and I must see here, must see her
again _thus_! O, she is no longer the child I left behind! How
beautiful, how wonderfully beautiful she has become!"
With a hasty movement Count Hermann drew himself up from his careless
position.
"I think it is time to join Antonie, she must have finished her
toilette by this time, and if so, I will take you at once to my
grandmother. Come!"
"No, no," cried Eugen, violently, "not now! After this meeting, and in
this fearful agitation, I cannot endure the stiff formality of such an
introduction. I cannot now!"
"My dear Eugen," the Count's voice was once more perfectly calm, but
there was a cutting sarcasm in the sound of it, "this stiff formality
concerns the recognition of your marriage from your wife's side, and
you will show this family the consideration which is due from you. Have
the goodness to control your emotions, and follow me. My grandmother,
the Praesidentin von Sternfeld, is not accustomed to wait."
And with the commanding authority, which he had once practised over the
young artist, he now took Herr von Reinert's arm, and drew his
unwilling companion away with him.