On the morning following the _soiree_, the lieutenant sat in the second
story of the same hotel, in the little _salon_ which lay between
Irene's bedroom and her uncle's. Although he was continually
complaining about his wretched vassalage to friendship, he had,
nevertheless, presented himself again in good season in order to
receive the watchword for the day. Inasmuch as he had not the faintest
regular occupation, this pretext for passing away the hours was, in
reality, heartily welcome to him. More than this, Irene's strangely
resigned and yet self-reliant character, her repellent manner and
almost bluntness, joined as they were with all the charm of youth,
attracted him more than he knew or cared to admit.
The Fraeulein was still invisible when Schnetz arrived. He found the
uncle seated at breakfast, and was forced to listen to his account of
his experiences of the excursion, and of his evening at the club. The
baron may possibly have been a good dozen years older than the
lieutenant, whom he still continued to treat in his frank and jovial
manner, just as he had formerly treated the young fellow who, in
Africa, had felt flattered to be kindly taken under the wing of his
more experienced countryman and initiated into the mysteries of
lion-hunting and other noble pastimes. Sixteen years had passed since
then. The baron's hair had grown thin, the little rakish mustache on
his upper lip had turned gray, his nervous, thick-set figure had
rounded out, and, seen from behind, looked almost venerable; while
the long, lank figure of his younger comrade had grown even more
spindle-shanked, his face more like parchment, and his movements
clumsier than before. For all that the baron let his eyes rest with
fatherly satisfaction upon the officer, whom he still called "Schnetz,
my dear boy," and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder; all of
which Schnetz, who would have grimly resented any such familiarity from
any one else, received with great patience from him.
"_Bonjour, mon vieux!_" cried the baron, with both cheeks full, when
Schnetz entered. "My little highness is still resting from the fatigues
of a musical entertainment given by a Russian lady here in the hotel.
Come, light a cigar. No?--don't be afraid! On neutral ground smoking is
allowed. That is the only thing which I, the best guarded of guardians,
ever succeeded in carrying through against my ward's wishes. Positively
I have regretted a hundred times that I didn't marry, and bring a few
lively boys into the world. If they had tyrannized over me, I should
know well enough for what sins I had to suffer. Now don't wink for me
to speak lower. She is accustomed to hear these sighs of agony from me.
She knows that her slave lets his hands and feet be put in chains,
but not his tongue. To be sure," he continued, concluding this
lamentation--which he had pronounced with far too jolly an air for it
to excite serious sympathy--"to be sure, my dear Schnetz, my yoke was
never so bearable as it is here in your blessed Munich: before all
else, because you have lent your shoulder to the wheel, and I have a
substitute in you such as I have wished for in vain at my own house,
when my severe little niece has led the old lion-hunter about by her
apron-string like a meek lamb."
Then he related how he had made the most charming acquaintances at the
club yesterday, and what a cordial tone he had found there.
"You South Germans are really a fine race of men!" he cried, excitedly.
"Everybody is so open, so true-hearted, in his _neglige_, just as God
made him. You don't have to feel about a long time until you get
through all the padding, and reach something like a human core; but
whatever there is in you appears on the surface, and, if it doesn't
please, it can't be helped. For that reason, of course, one sometimes
comes across a slight roughness, which, however, only does you honor."
Schnetz puckered his mouth to an ironical grimace.
"Allow me, _chere_ papa, to remark that you over-estimate us," he said,
dryly. "That which you take to be our honest, natural skin is only a
flesh-colored material under which the real epidermis lies concealed as
securely and as secretly as the nut under its shell. We do well to
throw aside our cloaks, because, with us, we do not show ourselves as
we are when we do so. Of course, between ourselves we know perfectly
well how matters stand, and that we can't make an X into a Y. Believe
me, were it not for the drop of Frankish blood that I got from my
mother, I should not be so _naif_ as to blurt out our national secret
to you. I would leave you to quietly find out for yourself whether, at
the end of a year--yes, or even at the end of ten or twenty years--you
would have advanced any further in the friendships made yesterday than
you did in the first hour; whether you would have succeeded even in
penetrating the padding and putting your hand upon a real human heart
of flesh and blood. I--much pains as I have taken--never succeeded in
doing this. It is true, I myself was so exceedingly ill-humored as to
consider it my duty to speak the truth to those whom I consider my
friends. But that is something one must guard against doing here as
carefully as against stealing silver spoons. Why has a man a back,
unless it is that his friends may abuse him behind it?"
"I know you, _mon vieux_," cried the baron. "When you haven't a pair of
shears and some black paper at hand, you cut your caricatures out of
the air with your sharp tongue. But I won't allow this jaundiced art of
yours to put me out of humor with this beautiful city and its good
people. I grumbled sadly when my little highness insisted upon
traveling, and taking up her residence further south. Now, nothing
could afford me greater pleasure than her whim to settle down here in
Munich, of all places, and if she only would decide not to go away from
here again at all--"
The entrance of Irene interrupted him. She looked paler than on the day
before, and greeted the gentlemen with heavy eyes and a languid
movement of her little head, which generally sat so spiritedly and so
erect upon her shoulders.
"Dear uncle," she said, "you would do me a great favor if you would
consent to take me away from here--into the country, no matter where,
if only away from this house. I have passed a night such as I hope I
may never pass again, and didn't get a wink of sleep until this
morning. You came home too late, and sleep too soundly, to have been
disturbed long by the concert and the noise below us. But I--though I
got away from the countess's just as early as possible--the music and
the noise of the conversation reached my ears through the open windows.
It will be just the same every night, for this lady is eternal unrest
personified; and her circle expands into the infinite, since she not
only patronizes music but all the other arts as well. So, if you love
me, uncle, and don't want me to have a brain fever, see that we leave
this house! Don't you too think, Herr von Schnetz, that nothing is left
for me but rapid flight?"
Schnetz looked at his friend, from whose jovial face all the sunshine
had departed. But he took good care not to come to his aid.
"My dearest child," the baron now ventured to remonstrate in a
conciliatory voice, "the idea of rushing off in this wild fashion,
after telling our friends only yesterday that it would be much nicer to
take up our headquarters here in the town, and to make excursions from
here to all points of the compass--"
She did not let him finish his speech.
"Feel how hot my hand is!" she said, pressing two little fingers
against his forehead; "that is fever; and you know how people have
warned us against the Munich climate. Didn't aunt tell us yesterday
that even she intended to fly to the nearest mountains very soon? And
besides, I should never think of asking you to shut yourself up with me
in a mountain hut. I know very well, uncle, that you can't get on
without the city for any length of time. I don't wish to go any further
than the lake where we were yesterday; from there you can be back in
Munich again in an hour, if you find you cannot stand it any longer.
Don't you think this will be the most sensible thing for all parties,
Herr von Schnetz?"
"_Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut!_" replied the lieutenant, bowing,
with the most serious face in the world. It did not escape his keen
eye that this young highness had been battling with some trouble
of the heart during the night, and had not yet recovered her usual
self-possession. While she was speaking, her eyes wandered about in an
odd way, now toward the window, now toward the door, as if she trembled
in fear of some surprise. She pleased him better, however, in this
state of excitement than in her usual cool self-possession; he felt a
curious sympathy for her beautiful youth, that had no friend and
adviser to consult, except an old bachelor whose susceptibilities were
none of the most delicate.
"In Heaven's name, then!" sighed the latter, casting a droll look
upward, "I submit to higher guidance, and acknowledge with gratitude
the consideration you have shown toward my poor person in your project.
Schnetz will find his way out to us, I suppose--after all a horse can
always be found or sent for; there will most likely be a pistol-gallery
at hand; and, if all other sports should leave me in the lurch, I can
still become an angler on the lake--that most insipid of all pastimes,
which I have heretofore regarded with quiet horror from a distance.
When shall we be off? Not before this evening, of course?"
"With the next train, uncle. We have only half an hour to spare. Fritz
is already at work packing your things, for he had heard from Betty
that my trunk was ready. All you will have to do will be to make your
own toilet."
The baron broke into a shout of laughter.
"What do you say to that, Schnetz? Abd-el-Kader himself might learn a
lesson from this rapidity in breaking camp. Child, child! And my new
acquaintances of last night--the stag-party that was arranged for
to-morrow--Count Werdenfels, whose collection of weapons I was to go
and see--"
"You can send them your excuses by letter from Starnberg, dear uncle.
And truly I would not hurry so if there were any other way of avoiding
taking leave in person of our fellow-guest down stairs. But, if we go
off at once, these two lines, which the waiter will give her as soon as
we are gone, will be sufficient."
She produced a visiting-card, on which she had already written a word
of farewell.
"The note already written, too! _La letterina eccola qua!_" cried the
baron. "Child, your genius for command is so sublime that subordination
under your flag becomes a pleasure, and blind submission a matter of
honor. In five minutes I will be ready for the journey."
With comical gallantry he kissed the girl's hand, who had listened to
all his jests in a preoccupied and serious way, gave his friend a look
that seemed to say: "I yield to force!" and rushed out of the room.
Schnetz was left alone with the Fraeulein. A feeling that was almost
fatherly in its tenderness passed over him as he looked at the serious
young face.
"Perhaps," he thought, "it needs but a first word, a light touch, and
this young heart that is full to the brim will overflow and be
relieved."
But, before he could even open his lips, she said suddenly:
"I do hope Starnberg is not such a great resort for artists as the
other places in the Bavarian mountains, of which my cousins have told
me."
He looked at her in amazement.
"You hope so, Fraeulein? And what possible reason can you have for not
wishing it to be such a place? Artists are, as a rule, among the most
harmless of God's creatures, and can hardly be said to disfigure a fine
region with their umbrellas and camp-stools."
"And yet, last evening, I made the acquaintance of one of these artists
at the countess's below. The tone which he adopted--"
"Do you recollect his name?"
"No; but perhaps you know him--a young man in a violet velvet jacket."
Schnetz gave a loud laugh.
"Why do you laugh?"
"I beg a thousand pardons, Fraeulein--it really is not a matter to be
laughed at. This honest fellow--our secret poet--I know him down to the
very folds in his historical velvet jacket. What, in the name of
wonder, were the thorns that this Rosebud presented for you to scratch
your delicate skin upon?"
"I must submit to let you think me a prudish fool, who takes offense at
every light word, Herr von Schnetz," said she, with some asperity. "I
do not care to repeat the conversation of your friend. If he is one of
the most inoffensive of men, I would rather avoid a place where one is
forced to meet people of his stamp at every step."
She turned away and stepped to the window.
"My dearest Fraeulein," she now heard Schnetz's voice say behind her,
"you are ill, seriously ill; I don't know whether in body; but
certainly there is a wounded spot somewhere in your mental
organization."
She turned round upon him quickly.
"I must confess, Herr von Schnetz," she said, with her proudest look,
"I really do not understand--"
"A sick person is very often unconscious that anything is wrong with
him," continued Schnetz, unmoved, pulling at his imperial. "But it is
impossible that you could have seen this picture of the most innocent
of all mortals in such distortion, unless your eye had been clouded by
illness. My dear Fraeulein--no, don't look at me so ungraciously; you
cannot deceive me by so doing; and at the risk of incurring your
direful wrath, I don't see why you shouldn't listen to an honest word
from a fatherly friend. I do not know whether you have many other
friends; but, as far as I know, there is no one here who takes a more
cordial interest in you than my not particularly attractive self--no
one in whom you could more safely confide. Dearest Fraeulein, if you
would only consent to open that proud little mouth and tell me whether
I can help you; whether what you experienced last night--for it is
impossible that it is friend Rosenbusch who has suddenly given you such
a distaste for your stay in this city--"
"Thank you," she said, interrupting him suddenly; "I believe you mean
kindly toward me. Here is my hand on it; and, if I ever need counsel or
help, you shall be the first and only man to whom I will turn. But you
are mistaken if you think I--I--"
She suddenly checked herself, her eyes filled with heavy drops, and her
voice failed her; but she controlled herself, and smiled upon him so
kindly that he could not help admiring the brave young heart.
"All the better," he said. "I am too well bred to doubt the word of a
lady. And the assurance you give me is so precious--"
"Here is my hand on it! Here's to our true friendship, Herr von
Schnetz, and-- Of course I don't need to ask you not to say anything to
uncle; he undoubtedly means well with me, but he knows so little--less
than you who saw me for the first time only a week ago."
She put her finger to her lips and looked listeningly toward the door,
behind which the baron's footsteps could now be heard. Schnetz had only
time, while cordially pressing the hand she offered him, to nod to her
that the pact just concluded should remain her secret, when her uncle
stepped in again in complete traveling costume, and began to urge on
the preparations for departure as zealously as he had before protested
against the flight.
Schnetz got into the carriage with them, in order to accompany the
uncle and niece to the station. The curtains were drawn down on the
first floor of the hotel. The countess was still sleeping. As far as
she was concerned, Irene would have had no need to pull down her veil
over her face before she got into the carriage. But from behind it her
eyes wandered restlessly hither and thither, across the square and
through the streets; for she feared that he from whom she was fleeing
might have taken up his post somewhere in the vicinity, in order to
keep watch upon her movements.
He was nowhere to be seen. She noticed, on the other hand, a beautiful
blonde lady who happened to be crossing the square just at that moment,
accompanied by a rather insignificant-looking female companion and a
male escort, and who had to stand still in order to let the carriage
pass. Schnetz did not recognize them until they had gone by, but then
he waved his hat excitedly by way of greeting, and gazed after them for
some time longer.
"Who was that you were bowing to?" asked Irene.
"Take a good look at that man, my dear Fraeulein. He is only a sculptor,
not yet as celebrated as he deserves to be, and by birth the son of a
peasant. But I have never known a man of more genuine nobility, and he
alone would make the bad society in which I delight to move the very
best in the world. Of the two ladies one is a painter, a very good
person and not a bad artist by any means, while the beautiful one on
Jansen's left--"
"Jansen?"
"Do you know the name? Perhaps you have already seen some of his
works?"
She stammered out a confused answer, and leaned far out of the carriage
as if she wanted to take another look at the party. All her blood had
mounted to her cheeks.
So that was he with whom Felix now passed his days, that friend of his
youth whose presence and society made up for all lost happiness!
A secret jealousy, which she was ashamed to admit even to herself,
arose within her. Luckily for her the carriage drew up a few minutes
after before the entrance of the station; and in the confusion of
getting out and taking leave of their faithful companion, she was able
to recover herself so far as to throw back her veil once more and to
exact from Schnetz, with the merriest mien in the world, a promise that
he would come out to the lake and visit them very, very soon.
The whistle of the locomotive had long died away, and our friend stood
in the middle of the square, like a post, with his eyes fixed on the
ground.
"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_" he growled at length, as a clumsy peasant ran
against him and roused him from his reverie. "It is curious how our
feelings toward people change. Only yesterday these two were in my
way, and I would have given a good deal to have been released from my
woman-service. And now I feel wretchedly bored without the little
highness, and as if I were of no use to anybody. If I were not an old
fellow and past all child's-play, and had not such a good wife, I
almost believe--_Tonnerre de Dieu!_"
And slowly, humming a French soldiers' song between his teeth, he
wended his way home, which to-day, for the first time, appeared to him
as sad and solitary as it really was.