“ZOL”
“The boy soldier, Lieutenant Gerold, was, I found, known everywhere
in Vienna by the name of ‘Zol.’ It had begun by his brother officers
calling him ‘Sol,’ from the blaze of gold which his father, Albert
Gerold, the banker, was supposed to possess. The softer sound of the
sibilant, however, had soon given way to the buzz of the ‘z’; and there
was no pretty girl in the Prater who could not tell you his nickname.
For the matter of that, the lad was one of those affectionate,
big-hearted boys who make friends with all the world; he had followed
little Christine like a dog since the day he first set eyes upon her
at the Café des Trois Mousquetaires. He thought her the most beautiful
thing he had ever seen. Her pictures were everywhere in his rooms.
He used to dress with one at the right hand of his mirror. His first
waking act was to touch with his lips a little photograph of her hung
above his bed. In his boyish way, he used to think how glorious a
thing it would be to die with Christine’s arms about his neck. He hated
the prospect of her triumph, because that, he feared, would carry her
into a new world, where she would find new friends.
“For five months now this boy and girl friendship had been a pretty
fact. During four of the months, at any rate, Zol had been aware that
some great trouble hung about the girl, and was the shadow upon her
life.
“‘Christine,’ he had once said, ‘why must not I tell you that I love
you? Do not I say it every hour of my life? I must speak--you shall
hear me----’
“‘Hush, Zol!’ she had answered him; ‘you know why I cannot hear you.’
“‘I know they say in the theatre that you have a husband who is a
brute----’ he blurted out; but she stopped him instantly.
“‘Never say that again,’ she had cried with a shudder; ‘never speak to
me of him, Zol. Oh, you make me remember!’
“She ran away from him to hide her tears; and he, seeing how he had
blundered, heaped new kindnesses upon her.
“‘I will love you always--always!’ he protested; ‘I care not if I
may only look into your eyes and be your friend. I will wait--wait
patiently--to hear some day a word of love from your lips.’
“The promise made of affection was of affection fulfilled. As a little
stream of water falling upon a rock will find a way to the heart of
it, so will friendship long continued break down all barriers of
circumstance and of difficulty, and cut a way to the heart of a friend.
As the months went on, Christine found herself talking to Zol as she
would have talked to a brother. Day by day they spent hours in each
other’s company. He ransacked the shops of Vienna diligently to give
her new pleasures. He asked nothing but a word spoken with the eyes
for his reward. He became necessary to her--how necessary she had yet
to learn. Though she said often that she had left all hope of life in
the mountains of Jézero, she was unconsciously finding new hopes in the
pure ties of this unselfish service. And to this friendship she added
her ceaseless, ardent toil, working with a persistency--nay, almost a
fury--of application in that art which alone was powerful to efface the
past.
“During all these months, when the lad Zol had been waiting so
patiently, Ugo Klun, the husband of Christine, had not neglected to
take advantage of her new situation. One by one he had struck the gamut
of the lusts--desire of the woman, desire of revenge, desire of the
money she earned. He had begun by putting unspeakable insults upon her;
he ended by spending what he could extort from her in debauchery and
in pleasure. And this was the baser side of the man’s nature--that the
friendship which his wife had made in the city was rather pleasing to
him.
“‘Your little hussar amuses me,’ he had said to her; ‘you are a fool if
you do not profit by it. Men like that are born with their boots full
of gold pieces. It is a pity if they do not drop some of them where
they walk. Hang him on your chatelaine like you would hang a purse.
That is my advice to you.’
“She heard him rather with contempt than with scorn. The compact
between them was quite simple now--he came to her when he had need of
her.
“‘Is that another way of asking me for money?’ she said, going to her
cabinet and taking a roll of notes from it.
“‘Exactly, Christina _mia_. You know how much it costs to live here.
And the husband of Mademoiselle Zlarin must not have holes in his
boots. What would your little hussar say to that?’
“She gave no heed to the insult, but began to count the notes--an
operation which he watched with greedy eyes.
“‘_Diavolo_, Christine,’ continued he, ‘you have your freedom cheaply:
fifty guldens a week to keep me from Vienna! My price will be higher
by-and-bye, when you sing at the Opera. And I shall go away only for a
month this time. What! there are tears in your eyes that I leave you?
How we love each other, _anima mia_!’
“Again she was silent; and when he had put the money into a scented
pocket-book, and had helped himself to the wine which stood upon her
sideboard, he took his leave again.
“‘_Addio_, little one,’ cried he; ‘do not forget that your hussar is
the son of a banker. Look into his eyes well, _carina_, for you will
see the colour of his gold there. It is good to have friends like
that--but the other--your devil of the mountains--God steady my hand
when I draw my knife to him.’
“He did not wait for her answer, but went singing from the place,
leaving her with hate and shame rushing to her cheeks. Coward that
he was, she believed that this was a threat which he would have the
courage to make good. Concentration upon a single hate is often the
strength of little minds. In all his debaucheries, in all his new
pleasures begotten of his wife’s earnings, the remembrance of the Count
of Jézero was ever with him.
“‘I will kill him if he comes here; I swear it on the Sacrament,’ he
said; and that word he meant.
“Excellency, the Count of Jézero came to Vienna six weeks after my
arrival there. It was upon the day that Christine was to play Joseph at
the Opera.”