Gregers Daa received the letter when he was sitting in the same room as
Jeanne. His pale cheeks flushed as he read it; Jeanne remarked his
emotion. She sat working near the fireplace, and at a little distance
from her was a third person, a guest that evening--this person was
Captain Kruse.
After Jeanne's marriage he had often visited her at Hald, Gregers
himself encouraged him to come, when he perceived that she seemed
pleased to see him. He had not then the most remote idea of the
engagement which had formerly existed between them.
'That letter seems to interest you,' said Jeanne, turning towards the
general.
'Yes--certainly!' replied Gregers. 'I am called away to-morrow.'
'Called away!' exclaimed at the same moment Jeanne and Kruse.
There was something in the tone of the captain's exclamation which
seemed to displease the general; he knitted his brow, while he
answered,
'I ought to have said that _we_ are called away. I have just received
an order for our regiment to join the army in Holstein immediately.'
Jeanne uttered no exclamation. During the last two or three years she
had acquired complete command over her feelings; her countenance
remained calm, and did not betray the slightest sign of agitation.
Gregers relapsed into his former silence; he had returned to the place
where he had before been sitting, by a table in a corner of the room,
at a little distance from Jeanne, because, he said, the lights on her
table hurt his eyes; from that place his look seemed to be fastened
steadily upon the two others.
During the uncomfortable silence which now reigned in the drawing-room,
were distinctly heard the wailing of the stormy wind, and the screech
of the owls amidst the elm-trees on the outside of the windows.
Shortly after Gregers arose, took a candle, and left the room. Those
who remained behind heard his steps becoming fainter and fainter as he
traversed the long corridor which led to his study. When they were
alone Jeanne let her work fall, and bending over the table covered her
eyes with her hand. On raising her head again in a little time, she
uttered a low cry, for Kruse was lying at her feet! She made a motion
of her hand as if to bid him go, but the captain seized that soft white
hand and pressed it to his lips, while he cast an indescribably
beseeching look up at her.
'You have heard it,' he whispered; 'we must go--we shall part, for
ever, perhaps--I must say a few words to you first. Meet me down
yonder--only this once, this once--for the first and the last time!'
'No, no!' cried Jeanne, vehemently: 'I have already refused this. Oh,
go!--it would be wrong!'
'Oh, I pray you,' he continued, in a still more touching and trembling
voice, 'do not refuse my petition! Are you afraid of me, Jeanne, though
in all these long years I have shown you how safe you are near me? Or
are you afraid that your glance will fall on yonder wood, where, one
afternoon, you promised to love me, where the sun shone, and the birds
sang, while God received those vows which have since been so cruelly
broken?'
Jeanne burst into tears. 'But go--only go, unhappy one! Do you not
hear? There is some one coming--it is my husband.'
'Let him come, he is not my worst enemy at this moment.'
Jeanne cast on him a sorrowful and reproachful look, but at the same
time held out her hand to him. Kruse sprang up.
'Then you have some pity for all that I have suffered,' he said; 'and
you will not let me go without one kind word at parting?'
She bowed her head almost imperceptibly, and yet it was sufficient for
him; his eyes shone, his lips trembled, in his deep emotion.
When Gregers returned to the room, they were both sitting quietly and
in perfect silence.
A few minutes afterwards, Kruse took leave, and rode away. Within an
hour from that time, a youthful figure stole softly out of one of the
side-doors which led from the apartments of the lady of the house down
to the garden. She was wrapped in a large shawl, and moved slowly, and,
as if unwillingly, onwards. Kruse hastened to meet her as she entered
the garden. Jeanne received him more coldly than she need have done
after having consented to the interview. But he knew her so well, he
had expected nothing else.
'You desired me yesterday,' he began, in a low and unsteady voice, 'not
to come up often to Hald, and were vexed at me this evening because I
venture to disobey your injunction. God is my witness, Jeanne, that it
was my intention to have been guided by your commands.'
'Why, then, did you come this evening?' she asked.
'Because I knew before the general did that we were to be ordered on
immediate service, and I could not resist seeing you once more ere our
departure.'
'Would to God we had never met each other!' she whispered in a low sad
voice. 'It would have been better for us both.'
'Oh, I entreat you,' he said, with that irresistible tenderness which
had always found its way to Jeanne's heart, 'do not say that. I am
going far away now, and your wish will be fulfilled; but why should you
give me so sad a souvenir to take with me? It is probable, Jeanne, that
I shall never return--indeed, it is almost certain, for on what
account, or for whom need I seek to save my life?--but if I _do_
return, should I be fated to live, will you then be less merciful than
God, and deny me permission to visit you as hitherto? If you will only
grant me leave to see you again, I shall never misuse that kindness by
a word or a look of which you might disapprove; no sigh, no complaint
shall betray to you what I suffer.'
'Oh Heavens!' whispered Jeanne, 'do _I_ not suffer too myself, and do
you not perceive that your presence here only prolongs a struggle under
which it is certain that we shall both sink? What can you wish to know
that you do not already know? What can you see here except that I am
Gregers Daa's wife?'
'Yes, it is true--too true!' he replied, scarcely above his breath.
'Farewell! It is best that we should never meet again.'
'Farewell!' replied Jeanne, in the same heartbroken tone. 'But you will
not thrust yourself needlessly in the way of danger. Do you hear?--you
will not do that? Oh, you must not--you dare not!'
'I am weary of battling with my fate!'
'And I, too!' exclaimed Jeanne, bursting into tears.
There was a confession as well as a depth of sorrow in these words; he
raised his head, grasped her hand, and carried it to his lips.
'Farewell!' he said--'farewell! God be with you, Jeanne!'
She left her hand in his, and whispered, 'Farewell, until we meet
again!'
'I may come, then!' he exclaimed joyfully.
'Since you threaten to throw your life away. But go now--leave me. Let
me beg this of you.'
Kruse knelt before her, whilst he kissed her hand and said:
'Put up a prayer for me, then I shall, perhaps, come back, and God may
have compassion upon us both.'
He sprang up and left her; a minute or two after, the clatter of his
horse's hoofs was heard upon the other side of the garden fence.
Jeanne stood and listened.
At that moment Jeanne felt her hand seized, and the following words
were uttered in a low, sad, scarcely audible tone:
'Put up also a prayer for me, Jeanne!'
She started back, and uttered a piercing shriek. A man stood before
her, in whom she recognized Gregers Daa, whose countenance in the
bluish moonlight looked even paler than usual, and whose smile was
sweet, placid, and resigned as it had ever been.
Jeanne thought herself lost; she fell at his feet, and stretched out
her clasped hands towards him, while she exclaimed:
'Oh, forgive me! Do not condemn me. I am not so guilty as you must
think--if you only understood me--if you only knew all--'
'Hush, my dear child!' whispered Gregers, in a voice that was full of
grief, but mild and consoling. 'Do not weep so bitterly; I know all,
and it is you who do not understand me. You have never understood me
aright. Let us go in now.'
He assisted the pale, trembling young woman up to her apartment, and
then retired to his own study.
The next morning, Gregers, attended by his servant, had started on his
journey before Jeanne was awake.