It was very late when the fete came to an end. After the withdrawal of
the ducal couple, a general move for departure took place. Carriage
after carriage rolled down the Schlossberg; the bright lights were
extinguished, and Furstenstein began to shroud itself in darkness and
silence.
In the apartments devoted to the Ambassador and his wife, however, the
lights still burned.
Adelaide stood at the window in her rich robe of the fete and looked
out into the night like one lost in thought, but it was with a
peculiar, weary gesture that she leaned her head against the window
panes.
Wallmoden sat at the writing table, glancing through some letters and
dispatches which had arrived in the last hour. They seemed to contain
important news, for he did not lay them aside with other papers to
receive attention to-morrow morning, but grasped a pen and hastily
wrote a few lines, then arose and quickly approached his wife.
"This comes unexpectedly," he said. "I shall have to go to Berlin."
Adelaide turned in surprise. "So suddenly?"
"Yes; I thought to accomplish this very serious affair by letter, but
the Minister expressly desires a personal interview. Therefore I shall
take leave of the Duke to-morrow morning for a period of about a week,
and depart immediately."
The young bride's features could not be distinguished in the
semi-darkness, but her breast heaved with a deep sigh, which betrayed a
perhaps unconscious relief.
"At what hour do we leave?" she asked quickly; "I should like to notify
my maid."
"We? This is entirely a business trip, and, naturally, I go alone."
"But I could accompany you."
"What for? You understand that it means an absence of only a week or
two."
"No matter. I--I should like to see Berlin again."
"What a whim!" said Wallmoden, shrugging his shoulders. "I shall be so
occupied this time that I could not accompany you anywhere."
The young wife had approached the table and now stood in the full light
of the lamp. She was much paler than usual, and her voice had a
suppressed sound as she returned: "Well, then, I shall go home. I
should really not like to remain here alone at Furstenstein without
you."
"Alone?" The Ambassador looked at her in astonishment. "You will be
with our relatives, whose guests we are. How long have you been so
desirous of protection? It is a thing I have not observed in you so
far. I do not understand you, Adelaide. What is this strange caprice of
wishing to accompany me at all hazards?"
"Accept it as a caprice, then, but let me go with you, Herbert; I beg
of you."
She laid her hand entreatingly upon his arm, and her eyes were directed
with almost an expression of fear upon her husband's face, whose thin
lips parted in a sarcastic smile. It was that superior smile, which
could be so insulting at times.
"Ah, so? Now I understand. That scene with the Princess has been
disagreeable to you. You fear renewed annoyances, which will probably
not fail to come. You must lose this sensitiveness, my child. On the
contrary, you ought to be aware of the fact that this encounter alone
puts you to the necessity of remaining here. Every word, every look is
interpreted at Court, and a sudden departure on your part would give
rise to all sorts of speculations. You have to hold your own now, if
you do not wish to make your connections with the Court forever
difficult."
The young wife's hand slipped slowly from his arm, and her look sank to
the floor at this cool rejoinder to her almost beseeching entreaty--the
first she had uttered in her short marriage.
"Hold my own," she repeated, in a low voice. "I do that, but I hoped
you would remain at my side."
"That is not possible just now, as you see; besides, you understand in
a masterly manner how to defend yourself. You have shown that to me as
well as to the whole Court to-day, but I am sure the hint I gave you
will be considered, and that you will be more cautious with your
answers in the future. At any rate, you will remain at Furstenstein
until I return for you."
Adelaide was silent. She saw that nothing was to be gained here.
Wallmoden stepped back to the writing table and looked at the document
just received; then he grasped the sheet on which he had written the
answer and folded it.
"One thing more, Adelaide," he said, carelessly; "the young Prince
Adelsberg was constantly at your side to-night. He pays homage to you
in rather a conspicuous manner."
"Do you wish me to decline these attentions?" she asked, indifferently.
"No; I only ask you to draw the necessary limit, so that no idle talk
may ensue. I do not intend to cut short your social victories. We do
not live in burgher circumstances, and it would be ridiculous in my
position to play the jealous husband who views every attention paid his
wife with suspicion. I leave this entirely to your own tact, in which I
have unlimited confidence."
All of this sounded so tranquil, so sensible, so boundlessly
indifferent, Herr von Wallmoden might, indeed, be exonerated from any
thought of jealousy. The openly offered admiration of the young,
charming Prince caused him no anxiety; he quietly left his wife to her
"tact."
"I shall attend to this dispatch myself," he continued; "as we have a
telegraph station in the castle since the Duke's arrival. You should
ring for your mail, my child; you look somewhat fatigued and probably
feel so. Good night."
He left the room, but Adelaide did not follow the advice. She had drawn
near the window again, and a half bitter, half pained expression
trembled on her lips. She had never felt so painfully as at this moment
that she was nothing more to her husband than a shining jewel which one
exhibits, a wife whom one treats with perfect politeness and attention
because she brought in her hand a princely fortune, and to whom a
request could be denied with equal politeness; a request which might
have been so easily granted.
Night rested over the forest; the sky was cloudy and dark, with here
and there a solitary star glimmering through the flying clouds. A pale
face looked up to the gloomy sky; not with the cold, proud composure
the world was accustomed to see, but with an expression of beseeching
entreaty.
The young wife pressed both hands to her bosom, as if the pain and
unrest were there. She had wished to flee from the dark power
whose approach she had felt, and which was drawing the circles nearer
and closer around her. She had wished to flee to her husband's
protection. In vain! He would go away and leave her alone, and another
remained--another, who, with dark, glowing eyes and thrilling voice,
wielded such a mysterious, irresistible power. "Ada," the name with its
sweet, foreign sound, floated near her like a spirit's breath. It was
her name which the legend of the Arivana bore!