A RAINY EVENING.
It has been raining all the afternoon,--it is raining still. The
inmates of Erlach Court are house-bound. Freddy, because of
disobedience, and in consequence of his sneezing thrice during the
afternoon, has been sent to bed early and sentenced to a dose of
elder-flower tea. His elders, instead of spending the evening, as
usual, in the open air, are assembled in the drawing-room.
Stasy has for the twentieth time finished 'Paul and Virginia,' and is
now devoting herself to another kind of literature, Zola's 'Joie de
vivre,'--of course only that she may testify to the horror with which
such a book must inspire her. Every few minutes she utters an indignant
'no!' in an undertone, or holds out the book to Katrine, one hand over
her blushing face, with "That is really too bad!" Katrine, however,
shows no inclination to participate in her horror; she waves the book
aside, saying, "I do not care to read everything," and goes on
crochetting at the afghan which is to be ready for Freddy's approaching
birthday.
The Baroness Meineck, meanwhile, is playing chess, the only game which
she does not despise, with the general; and the captain is idling.
Hitherto Stella has been singing to her own accompaniment, for the
entertainment of the company, the pretty Italian songs she caught from
the gondoliers on the Canal. She is still sitting at the piano, but she
has stopped singing. Her slender hands touch the keys of the
instrument, playing softly now and then a couple of bars from a Chopin
mazourka, as she looks up at Rohritz, who, with both elbows on the top
of the piano, leans towards her, talking.
"How interested Rohritz seems in his talk with Stella! he is quite
transformed," Leskjewitsch remarks.
"He must answer when he is addressed," Stasy rejoins, sharply, looking
up from her 'Joie de vivre.'
"If he does not like to talk to the girl he can go away," the captain
observes. "She has not nailed him to the piano."
"He-he! she nails him with her eyes. Do you not see how she ogles him?"
Stasy replies, with a giggle. "I wonder what he is telling her."
"He is talking of Mexico, and of the phosphorescence of the tropical
seas," the captain says, curtly.
"Indeed? nothing more sentimental and personal than that? Since, then,
it is not indiscreet, I think I will listen." And, clapping to her
book, Anastasia stretches her long thin neck to hear.
It is very quiet in the large apartment; except for the monotonous drip
of the rain outside, and the click made by setting down the pieces on
the chess-board, there is nothing to interfere with those who wish to
listen to the conversation at the piano.
"Knowing only the poor little sparks which you have seen twinkling
through our Northern ocean on warm September evenings, you can form no
idea of the gleaming splendour of the tropical seas, Fraeulein Meineck.
The nights I spent on the deck of the Europa on my Mexican voyage I
never can forget," says Rohritz.
Stella, who has hitherto shown a genuine interest in all he has told
her, suddenly assumes a whimsically wise air, and, striking a dissonant
chord, asks, "How old were you then?"
"I really do not understand----" he remarks, in some surprise.
"Oh, there is no necessity for your understanding,--only for replying,"
she rejoins, very calmly.
"Twenty-four."
It is one of her peculiarities, the result of her desultory and
imperfect training, that she often plunges into a discussion of topics
which every well-trained girl should carefully avoid.
"Twenty-four," she repeats, thoughtfully; then, pursuing her inquiries,
"And were you in love?"
He laughs in some confusion.
"You are putting me through an examination."
"I allow you the same privilege," she declares, magnanimously. "Your
answer sounds evasive. Apparently you were in love. I merely wanted to
know, that I might judge how large a percentage of romance I must
deduct from your description. All things considered, I can no longer
accord any genuine faith to your account of the phosphorescence of the
tropical seas; when people are in love they see everything as by a
Bengal light."
This sententious remark of course induces Rohritz to put the laughing
inquiry, "Do you speak from experience, Baroness Stella?"
"Certainly," she replies, with a convincing absence of embarrassment.
"I have been through it all with my sister: she saw her
artillery-officer by a Bengal light, or she never would have left
science in the lurch for his sake, for, heaven knows, he was just like
all the rest, except that in addition--he played the piano. Just fancy!
an artillery-officer playing the piano!--Wagner, of course! Two dogs
and a cat of ours went mad at the sight. But Franzi assured me that her
artillery-officer's touch reminded her of Rubinstein. So you see how
trustworthy your descriptions are."
Rohritz laughs good-humouredly, then says, "Even if I admit that on
board the Europa I still had a little touch of the disease you mention,
I must maintain that the delirious period had passed."
"Hm! one thing more," says Stella, pursuing still more boldly the
devious path upon which she has entered. "I must know this precisely.
Were you in love with a married woman? _Un homme qui se respecte_ is
never in love except with a married woman,--at least in all the
novels."
"Stella!" Stasy calls, horrified.
Even Rohritz, who has hitherto listened very patiently to Stella's
nonsense, seems unpleasantly affected by this speech of hers. He looks
penetratingly into the young girl's eyes, and becomes aware that he is
gazing into depths of innocence. Before he has time to say anything,
Stasy calls out, in a shocked tone,--
"Stella, you are frivolous to a degree----"
Stella blushes crimson; her eyes fill with tears; she makes awkward
little motions with her hands upon the keys, and plays a couple of bars
from Thalberg's Etude in Cis-moll.
"Frivolous?--frivolous? But, Anastasia, I was only jesting," she
murmurs, and, turning to Rohritz as if for protection, she adds, "It
needed very little logic to guess that, for if you had been in love
with a young girl there would have been no need for you to be unhappy
and to go sailing about on tropical seas to distract your mind: you
could simply have married her."
"But suppose the young girl would not have him?" the captain asks,
merrily.
Stella looks first at Rohritz, then at her uncle, and murmurs, "That
never occurred to me."
A burst of laughter from the captain--laughter in which Katrine joins
heartily and Stasy ironically--is the reply to this confession.
"Acknowledge the compliment, Rohritz; come, acknowledge it,"
Leskjewitsch exclaims in the midst of his laughter.
But Rohritz maintains unmoved his serious, kindly expression of
countenance.
"It is not given to even the greatest minds to contemplate all possible
contingencies," he says, dryly.
The Baroness Meineck, absorbed in her game, has heard little,
meanwhile, of what has been going on about her; she now suddenly
remembers that it is incumbent upon her to attend to her daughter's
training.
"I suppose you have been uttering some stupidity again, Stella," she
observes, coldly; "you are incorrigible!"
"Poor mamma, she really is to be pitied," Stella sighs, her sense of
humour asserting itself in spite of her; "she has no luck with her
children. Her clever daughter _commits_ stupidities, and her silly
daughter _utters_ them. Which is the worse?"