The fourteen days which had been fixed for the stay of the guests were
drawing to a close. They had been entirely devoted to all the pleasures
and amusements of country life. The Praesidentin, who, on account of her
advanced age, usually made a duty of rest and retirement, could not
this time entirely withdraw from all the visits and invitations which
chiefly concerned her grandson. Count Arnau had, indeed, become a
celebrity, and visitors came from the whole neighbourhood round to see
and admire the "lion;" the report, too, that he intended, at no very
distant period, to make the choice of a fitting partner for his exalted
station, made him still more the centre-point of attention on all
sides, in reality, because each was anxious to form a match, brilliant
in every respect, for some daughter, sister, or relation. The Count
took all in his cool, reserved, and sarcastic manner, without being in
the slightest degree impressed.
The duties which he owed to society he undertook with that resignation
accorded to a painful but unavoidable necessity, for in this unceasing
round of visits and amusements he found the safest weapon against the
fermenting discontent, which, in spite of the so-called reconciliation,
still reigned in the bosom of the family. Certainly the Praesidentin, in
spite of her aristocratic prejudices, was perfectly well-bred, and
never failed in the politeness and consideration which she owed towards
the guests she had herself invited, but she, nevertheless, managed to
make her granddaughter and Herr von Reinert feel that they were only
tolerated, and that they owed only this toleration itself to Hermann's
influence. Naturally, this knowledge did not contribute to the comfort
of the visit. Antonie was sensitive and petulant upon every
opportunity, Eugen continually bitter and irritable, and often it was
only Hermann's interference or mediation which hindered the threatening
breach.
This visit and meeting of relations would, indeed, have been, probably,
most unpleasant, had not the frequent presence of strangers laid a
wholesome restraint upon all.
It was the last day but one of the guests' stay, towards evening.
The Praesidentin had asked for the children to be sent to her, and
Gertrud seized one of the few free hours which her appointment left
open to her, to go into the park alone. During the last fortnight she
had endeavoured to avoid Herr von Reinert as much as possible, or, at
least, never to meet him, except when in charge of her two pupils, but
to-night she felt secure; she knew that several farewell calls had to
be made in the neighbourhood, and, in the enjoyment of this security,
gave herself up freely to the pleasure of an often-desired walk alone.
A book in her hand, she went slowly to her favourite place under the
great plane tree.
The park seemed at this time perfectly deserted. The evening sun lay
golden upon the bushes and grass plots; in the distance glimmered the
white plumage of the swans, sailing lazily up and down on the pond; no
sound broke the deep stillness.
Gertrud sat down, leaning her head on her hand. So they had come to an
end at last, these much-feared fourteen days of intercourse, and, on
the whole, had passed away better than she had hoped. No one had in any
possible manner made any hindrance to her manifest desire for
retirement. The Praesidentin had a somewhat out-spoken antipathy against
"Mademoiselle Walter," and Antonie, though she had not the slightest
suspicion of any former relations with her husband, by no means loved
the presence of this _gouvernante_, who had the impertinence to be so
beautiful, that even she, aristocratic lady as she was, felt herself
put in the shade so soon as Gertrud even appeared. After the stormy
surprise of the first moment, Eugen seemed to have come back to his
senses, perhaps he also feared his wife's jealousy; in any case, he
seemed to understand better how to control himself than in the first
sudden meeting, and when they saw one another, which happened usually
only at table, and in the presence of others, his demeanour was as
distant as hers could be.
And Count Arnau? He had kept his word, and given Gertrud no cause to
offend him again. There was an iron consistency in the way with which
he seemed to ignore her completely after their last conversation; not a
word, not a recognition did she now receive from him, not the
slightest, most unimportant attention, accorded even to persons in such
a dependent position. The governess appeared no longer to exist for
him, and when he was obliged to acknowledge her presence by a cold,
forced bow, he did so with manifest reluctance. Certainly this was what
she from the first had hoped and striven for, now she had obtained her
desire, and all the rest of her difficulties were coming to an end. The
day after to-morrow Baron Sternfeld, with his wife and children, would
return to his estate; the rest would return to the capital, the party
would be broken up--it was to be hoped never to meet again, as far as
some were concerned.
Gertrud gave a deep sigh of relief at this thought, or rather
endeavoured to do so, but a heavy weight still seemed to be upon her
heart, and she clasped her folded hands closer together in wild pain.
The young girl had grown much paler these few weeks, and the shade did
not lie as of old in her eyes, it was effaced, forced into the
background by another expression. There was an anxious unrest, a
tormenting pain to be read there now, and the firmly-pressed lips
seemed to hold back some secret, which she hardly dared to speak of,
even to herself. She took her book and tried to read, but she could
not. She opened it in the middle, at the end, in vain. Her eyes
wandered over the words without taking in the sense; her thoughts were
too strong to be banished.
With a passionate movement, which betrayed the hidden conflict within,
she at last threw it down, and hid her face in both hands.
"Gertrud!"
She sprang up with a look of terror.
"Herr von Reinert! You here!"
It was, indeed, Eugen, who stood at some little distance from her. He,
too, was pale and agitated, and his voice trembled as with cast down
eyes, he asked, in a low tone--
"May I--may I approach?"
"No!" was the firm, grave answer.
In spite of the refusal he dared to advance a step.
"Gertrud, do not be so unforgiving! I know you hate me, that I have
made you unhappy--"
With an expression of indescribable pride Gertrud lifted her head, her
eyes met his, large, and full of disdain, and not the slightest trace
of agitation trembled now in her voice, but there was a touch of
compassionate scorn as she replied, quietly--
"You are mistaken, Herr von Reinert; I do not hate you, and have _not_
been made unhappy through you."
"Well, then, _I_ am unhappy!" said Eugen, bluntly. "Since the moment
when I left you, I have never known happiness. I could not forget the
past, and now that I must meet you again, I am driven to despair!"
With his old passion he threw himself down where she had just been
sitting, and pressed his hand against his brow. Gertrud stood before
him; who, that was witness of the mute, but powerful conflict, which,
but a few minutes since, had agitated the girl's whole being, would
have understood the calm collectedness with which she now looked down
upon her former lover.
"Eugen!"
He sprang up, but she gravely motioned him back.
"Do not misunderstand me. I address you now as the playfellow of my
childish days, whom I have never called anything else. If what torments
you is the thought of my presumed unhappiness--my loneliness, be calm,
_such_ a reproach I can bear from you. If I have suffered from our
separation, it was only through my pride, which rose at the humiliation
of being forsaken, my _heart_ had no part in it, for I, Eugen--I have
never loved you!"
"Gertrud!"
"Never!" repeated she, firmly. "You released me for the good of us
both! perhaps, else, I should have had to confess to you that I could
never be your wife."
"Impossible!" cried Eugen, springing up. "If you did not love me,
why--"
"Why did I accept your offer, do you mean?" Her eyes sank to the
ground, and a gentle shade passed over her face, whilst, with a low
voice, the peculiarly painful tone of which pierced to his heart, she
continued--"I was scarcely more than a child, I had learnt nothing
beyond my mother's sick room, but care, sorrow, and many other things
more difficult to bear. The first ray of sunshine which falls upon such
a childhood is seldom denied entrance. You came back then from the
capital in all the brilliance of your rising talent, admired by all in
our little town. You told me of your love, and I--did, what every girl
of sixteen does, whose heart is still free. I dreamed myself into the
idea that I loved you, whilst I really only cherished an affection for
my old playfellow. That this feeling was not _love_, I began to find
out, when we separated, now--now I know it!"
The last words came almost inaudibly from her lips, but there was
indescribable pain in them. Eugen had hitherto controlled himself with
manifest difficulty, and now he broke out with painful bitterness--
"No, Gertrud, that is not true! It cannot be, you deceive yourself and
me. You tell me this, and desire me to be calm, and you do not know how
it makes me still more miserable, if I can no longer believe in your
love to me. If you knew how unhappy I am in these golden fetters, in
this marriage with a wife who sees in me only a plaything for her
varying moods, whom she idolises at one moment, and at another reminds,
in the most humiliating way, of his unimportance; if you knew how
deeply I repent the unhappy course, which I once--"
"Let us put an end to this conversation, Eugen," interrupted she
gravely, "it goes beyond the limits which are drawn between us. You
have heard the truth from me. I cannot alter anything that I have said,
now farewell!"
She would have extended her hand, but he took no notice, but continued
in rising agitation--
"Too late, I see what I once possessed in you, what I gave up in
foolish madness, and what I have exchanged for it. The fruits of that
foolish passion have been reaped long ago, and now that Fate had again
led us together--now the old love flames up mightily, and tears me
again to your feet--"
In the deepest indignation Gertrud retreated a step.
"You forget yourself, Herr von Reinert, and deeply insult both me and
your wife through such words. Leave me, instantly, I will not hear a
word more!"
But even these energetic, commanding words, which would not usually
have failed in effect, were powerless against a passion which tore
Eugen away from the bonds of sense and reason. He fell on his knees,
and repeated his former words, in that glowing, raving language with
which he had once wooed the girl of sixteen, and which, a year later,
Antonie had heard from his lips. This time Gertrud did not reply. With
a look of unconcealed scorn she turned silently away, and would have
gone, but this seemed to make him beside himself. He sprang up, seized
her arm, and tried to keep her back by force.
With a cry of indignation, Gertrud endeavoured to free herself, but
there was no longer need. At the moment Eugen dared to touch her, he
tottered, thrown back by a powerful arm--
Count Arnau stood between them.
Gertrud, too, had shrunk back at Hermann's sudden appearance, as if it
were directed against her also. Before Reinert's wild passion she had
kept her presence of mind. Now it suddenly seemed to leave her, and it
almost looked as if she feared the protector more than the offender.
The Count noted her timidity, and an expression of deep bitterness
showed itself round his lips, nevertheless he placed himself
protectingly before her, crossed his arms, and calmly awaited the next.
Eugen, meanwhile, had risen, and now came up to him, pale with anger--
"What does that mean, Hermann? Why do you follow me secretly to pry,
unasked, into my affairs? What right have you to do it?"
The Count remained very calm in face of this threatening violence, but
there was an icy scorn in the glance, with which he measured him from
head to foot.
"Can you really dare to ask why I must interfere here?"
"You have insulted me!" cried Eugen, passionately, "insulted me deeply,
and either you make me an apology, or give me satisfaction with a
weapon in your hand!"
Without honouring him with an answer, Hermann turned to Gertrud--
"Mein Fraeulein, you see that Herr von Reinert is not sufficiently
master of himself to pay the necessary consideration to the presence of
a lady. May I beg you to leave us?"
She stood before him, pale, with downcast eyes. Where had the proud
unapproachable demeanour of the maiden come from? Her eyes, which but
lately had met his so firmly, so ready for conflict, sank now shyly to
the ground. She bowed in mute assent, and walked away.
The Count looked after her long and earnestly, then he passed his hand
over his brow, and turned away.
"We are alone, what do you wish to say to me?"
"That I am at last tired out of being dictated to by you, of being
treated like a schoolboy, and insulted. What has passed between
Gertrud and me concerns no third."
"Really?" The Count's voice was still calm, but passion lurked
underneath it. "You may be mistaken."
"It is all the same to me what you think. You have attacked me, thrown
me to the ground. I demand satisfaction for this insult; do you hear,
Hermann, I demand it from you!"
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"A duel between us? That would indeed be more than ridiculous."
"Ah, you refuse?"
"Yes! It would be a poor return to my grandmother's hospitality, to
shoot each other dead on her estate, added to which, Antonie is too
near a relation, and I must openly confess to you, Eugen, my life and
work are too valuable to me, for me to risk it for the sake of one of
your mad moods. I certainly refuse."
Eugen clenched his fist in boundless rage.
"Hermann, you are--"
"No insults!" said the Count, authoritatively, raising his hand. "I
should have thought you have often enough had opportunity to test my
courage. To-day's scene is the open breach of a friendship which has
long existed only in name. In the future our paths must lie apart--let
that be sufficient."
If Hermann really wished to avoid irritating Eugen still further, he
ought not to have spoken in this proud, scornful tone. It robbed him of
the last particle of sense remaining to him, and drove him finally to
the use of force. He came close up to the Count, and with a voice half
choked with passion, he said between his teeth--
"I ask you for the last time, will you give me satisfaction?"
"No!"
"Well, then, I will compel you to!"
He raised his hand, and the next minute a blow struck the Count.
The effect was terrible. Every drop of blood left Hermann's face, his
fist clenched convulsively, and for a moment it seemed as if he would
rush upon the offender and fell him to the earth, but the usual
self-command conquered; he took a deep breath, and let his arms fall.
"Good, you shall have your way! To-morrow morning early, then!"
There lay something in the iron energy with which this man controlled
himself, which shamed Eugen's violence, and was not without its effect
upon him. He stood, perhaps himself frightened at what he had done, as
if something like repentance were working within him, for he made a
movement, as if to hold the Count back, but it was too late, Hermann
had already turned away, and left the place.
On the point of turning into the great avenue, which led towards the
house, he stood suddenly before Gertrud, who seemed to have gone but a
few steps. A single glance at her face showed him at once, that in
spite of her apparent absence, she had been a witness of a
conversation, the subject of which she must have expected, meanwhile he
said nothing about it, but coming up asked simply--
"I must beg of you to accept of my companionship to the house, else you
might be in danger of meeting Herr von Reinert once more."
As before, she made no reply, but silently assented to his proposal.
They went slowly along the avenue; here, under the shade of the great
oaks and beeches it was already twilight; high up above, the last
golden rays gilded the branches, and here and there a bird still
warbled low and dreamily his evening song.
The two walked side by side as distantly, as if, indeed, chance had
brought them into a position mutually painful. Count Arnau preserved a
consistent silence, Gertrud did not raise her eyes from the ground, and
yet now and then his eyes searched her countenance as if with a gloomy
question, and her bosom heaved more and more stormily in some hidden
conflict, which at last gained the victory over her reserve.
"Herr Graf!"
He stopped at once.
"Mein Fraeulein?"
She was still silent an instant, the words would not come to her lips,
and it evidently cost her a powerful effort, as she at last asked--
"You have consented to a duel with Herr von Reinert?"
Hermann shrugged his shoulders.
"You can bear me witness that I have done all that was possible to
avoid it, but Eugen knew how to compel me to it. There are forms, the
hurtfulness and foolishness of which one sees, and yet one has to bow
to them. After what has passed between us, my honour gives me no other
choice than to defend it with a weapon in the hand. I must bow to
necessity."
"On my account? No, that shall not, must not be!"
Her voice became firmer as she went on, but something like a smile
crossed the Count's features.
"Will _you_ prevent it?"
"Yes!" replied she energetically. "I shall appeal to the Praesidentin,
and Frau von Reinert, that both by their influence may--"
"You will not do that!" interrupted Hermann, gravely and sternly. "You
will not misuse the knowledge which a chance possessed you of. This is
a matter which concerns us men alone, and must be settled by us alone.
I, for my part, will not suffer the interference of a woman here,
whoever she may be, and neither my grandmother's reasoning, nor the
tears and swoons of my cousin will alter my decision in the least."
For the first time during the whole conversation she lifted her eyes to
his with such a look of inexpressible, entreating anxiety, that the
Count, who had but just before so proudly declared his inflexibility,
turned suddenly away, as if he feared to succumb to a temptation. He
continued speaking, but his voice was much milder, though it had lost
nothing of its peculiar firmness.
"I know that I impose a hard task upon you to be silent, and, perhaps,
to tremble, where a word could hinder the bloody decision. I know, too,
that few women are equal to such a task, but I give _you_ credit for
it. My honour now demands, that the duel shall take place undisturbed,
therefore I require your promise to preserve an unbroken silence
towards every one until to-morrow at noon. Give me your word upon it!"
He held out his hand to her; whether she actually laid hers in his, or
whether he took it, Gertrud knew not, but the little hand trembled so
violently that he let it fall the next moment.
"Do not tremble so," said he with bitterness, "I have the first shot,
and am sure of my weapon, however deeply Eugen may have angered me, I
shall not forget that I once called him friend. He shall not pay for
his folly with his life, even if I cannot hope for such generosity from
him."
Gertrud had let his bitterness pass without remark, but at his last
words she lifted her head in sudden terror. Something in her
countenance must have touched the Count magnetically, for his eyes
suddenly lighted up, he seized both her hands, and asked in a low tone,
but with quite a different expression from before, "Gertrud, why do you
hate me?"
The girl started violently, and a suspicious flush bathed her cheeks
and brow. She tried to free herself, but he would not let her go.
"From the first you have shown the most unconcealed hatred towards me,
and yet, Gertrud, matters must be clear between us now. What have I
done to you? Why do you hate me?"
No one would have thought it possible that this cold, hard voice could
melt into such soft, heart-felt tones, and Gertrud's whole being seemed
to tremble under them. It is impossible to describe the emotions which
played in stormy strife upon the young girl's countenance, anxiety,
pain, despair, and yet behind all these, an unspeakable joy, which
found vent in the single exclamation, half jubilant, and yet half like
a deep cry of pain, "O, my God!"
She clasped her hands before her face, Hermann looking steadfastly at
her. "I see that a secret lies here, which you will not speak out. But
I must take certainty with me to-morrow, Gertrud, tell me only this one
thing, for which of us two do you tremble?"
A moment's heavy pause, then she slowly let her hands fall. Her face
was deadly pale, but calmly, though almost inaudibly, she answered, "I
tremble for every life which is threatened."
The Count drew back a step, the light in his eyes was suddenly
extinguished, and his face was once more hard and cold. "You are right,
_mein Fraeulein_," said he icily. "Since you are the innocent cause of
our duel, the death of either of us must be equally unpleasant to you.
I understand that perfectly. Adieu!"
He went to the end of the avenue, his foot hesitated an instant, he
imagined he heard a cry, but when he looked back she still stood
immovably in the same place. With all his aristocratic pride, Count
Arnau threw back his head, and strode through the deepening twilight
towards the house.