SUSPENSE.
For a little while after the Waldgrave had retired, Count
Leuchtenstein stood turning my lady's letter over in his hands, his
thoughts apparently busy. I had leisure during this time to compare
the plainness of his dress with the greatness of his part, to which
his conduct a moment before had called my attention; and the man with
his reputation. No German had at this time so much influence with the
King of Sweden as he; nor did the world ever doubt that it was at his
instance that the Landgrave, first of all German princes, flung his
sword into the Swedish scale. Yet no man could be more unlike the dark
Wallenstein, the crafty Arnim, the imperious Oxenstierna, or the
sleepless French cardinal, whose star has since risen--as I have heard
these men described; for Leuchtenstein carried his credentials in his
face. An honest, massive downrightness and a plain sagacity seemed to
mark him, and commend him to all who loved the German blood.
My eyes presently wandered from him, and detected among the papers on
the table the two stands I had seen in his town quarters--the one
bearing his child's necklace, the other his wife's portrait. Doubtless
they lay on the table wherever he went--among assessments and imposts,
regimental tallies and state papers. I confess that my heart warmed at
the sight; that I found something pleasing in it; greatness had not
choked the man. And then my thoughts were diverted: he broke open my
lady's letter, and turning his back on me began to read.
I waited, somewhat impatiently. He seemed to be a long time over it,
and still he read, his eyes glued to the page. I heard the paper
rustle in his hands. At last he turned, and I saw with a kind of shock
that his face was dark and flushed. There was a strange gleam in his
eyes as he looked at me. He struck the paper twice with his hand.
'Why was this kept from me?' he exclaimed. 'Why? Why?'
'My lord!' I said in astonishment. 'It was delivered to me only an
hour ago.'
'Fool!' he answered harshly, bending his bushy eyebrows. 'When did
that girl get free?'
'That girl?'
'Ay, that girl! Girl, I said. What is her name? Marie Wort?'
'This is Saturday. Wednesday night,' I said.
'Wednesday night? And she told you of the child then; of my
child--that this villain has it yonder! And you kept it from me all
Thursday and Friday--Thursday and Friday,' he repeated with a fierce
gesture, 'when I might have done something, when I might have acted!
Now you tell me of it, when we march out to-morrow, and it is too
late. Ah! It was ungenerous of her--it was not like her!'
'The Countess came yesterday in person,' I muttered.
'Ay, but the day before!' he retorted. 'You saw me in the morning! You
said nothing. In the evening I called at the Countess's lodgings; she
would not see me. A mistake was it? Yes, but grant the mistake; was it
kind, was it generous to withhold _this?_ If I had been as remiss as
she thought me, as slack a friend--was it just, was it womanly? In
Heaven's name, no! No!' he repeated fiercely.
'We were taken up with the Waldgrave's peril,' I muttered,
conscience-stricken. 'And yesterday, my lady----'
'Ay, yesterday!' he retorted bitterly. 'She would have told me
yesterday. But why not the day before? The truth is, you thought
much of your own concerns and your lady's kin, but of mine and my
child--nothing! Nothing!' he repeated sternly.
And I could not but feel that his anger was justified. For myself, I
had clean forgotten the child; hence my silence at my former
interview. For my lady, I think that at first the Waldgrave's danger
and later, when she knew of his safety, remorse for the part she had
played, occupied her wholly, yet, every allowance made, I felt that
the thing had an evil appearance; and I did not know what to say to
him.
He sighed, staring absently before him. At last, after a prolonged
silence, 'Well, it is too late now,' he said. 'Too late. The King
moves out to-morrow, and my hands are full, and God only knows the
issue, or who of us will be living three days hence. So there is an
end.'
'My lord!' I cried impulsively. 'God forgive me, I forgot.'
He shrugged his shoulders with a grand kind of patience. 'Just so,' he
said. 'And now, go back to your mistress. If I live I will answer her
letter. If not--it matters not.'
I was terribly afraid of him, but my love for Marie had taught me some
things; and though he waved me to the door, I stood my ground a
moment.
'To you, my lord, no,' I said. 'Nothing. But to her, if you fall
without answering her letter----'
'What?'he said.
'You can best judge from the letter, my lord.'
'You think that she would suffer?' he answered harshly, his
face growing red again. 'Well, what say you, man? Does she not
deserve to suffer? Do you know what this delay may cost me? What it
may mean for my child? Mein Gott,' he continued, raising his voice and
striking his hand heavily on the table, 'you try me too far! Your
mistress was angry. Have I no right to be angry? Have I no right to
punish? Go! I have no more to say.'
And I had to go, then and there, enraged with myself, and fearful that
I had said too much in my lady's behalf. I had invited this last
rebuff, and I did not see how I should dare to tell her of it, or that
I had exposed her to it. I had made things worse instead of better,
and perhaps, after all, the message he had framed might not have hurt
her much, or fallen far short of her expectations.
I should have troubled myself longer about this, but for the
increasing bustle and stir of preparation that had spread by this time
from the camp to the city; and filling the way with a throng of people
whom the news affected in the most different ways, soon diverted my
attention. While some, ready to welcome any change, shouted with joy,
others wept and wrung their hands, crying out that the city was
betrayed, and that the King was abandoning it. Others again
anticipated an easy victory, looked on the frowning heights of the
Alta Veste as already conquered, and divided Wallenstein's spoils.
Everywhere I saw men laughing, wailing, or shaking hands; some eating
of their private hoards, others buying and selling horses, others
again whooping like lunatics.
In the city the shops, long shut, were being opened, orderlies were
riding to and fro, crowds were hurrying to the churches to pray for
the King's success; a general stir of relief and expectancy was
abroad. The sunshine still fell hot on the streets, but under it life
moved and throbbed. The apathy of suffering was gone, and with it the
savage gloom that had darkened innumerable brows. From window and
dormer, from low door-ways, from carven eaves and gables, gaunt faces
looked down on the stir, and pale lips prayed, and dull eyes glowed
with hope.
While I was still a long way off I saw my lady at the oriel watching
for me. I saw her face light up when she caught sight of me; and if,
after that, I could have found any excuse for loitering in the street,
or putting off my report, I should have been thankful. But there was
no escape. In a moment the animation of the street was behind me, the
silence of the house 'fell round me, and I stood before her. She was
alone. I think that Marie had been with her; if so, she had sent her
away.
'Well?' she said, looking keenly at me, and doubtless drawing her
conclusions from my face. 'The Count was away?'
'No, my lady.'
'Then--you saw him?' with surprise.
'Yes.'
'And gave him the letter?'
'Yes, my lady.'
'Well'--this with impatience, and her foot began to tap the
floor--'did he give you no answer?'
'No, my lady.'
She looked astonished, offended, then troubled. 'Neither in writing
nor by word of mouth?' she said faintly.
'Only--that the King was about to give battle,' I stammered; 'and
that if he survived, he would answer your excellency.'
She started, and looked at me searchingly, her colour fading
gradually. 'That was all!' she said at last, a quaver in her voice.
'Tell me all, Martin. Count Leuchtenstein was offended, was he not?'
'I think that he was hurt, your excellency,' I confessed. 'He thought
that the news about his child--should have been sent to him sooner.
That was all.'
'All!' she ejaculated; and for a moment she said no more, but with
that word, which thrilled me, she began to pace the floor. 'All!' she
repeated presently. 'But I--yes, I am justly punished. I cannot
confess to him; I will confess to you. Your girl would have had me
tell him this, or let her tell him this. She pressed me; she went on
her knees to me that evening. But I hardened my heart, and now I am
punished. I am justly punished.'
I was astonished. Not that she took it lightly, for there was that in
her tone as well as in her face that forbade the thought; but that she
took it with so little passion, without tears or anger, and having
been schooled so seldom in her life bore this schooling so patiently.
She stood for a time after she had spoken, looking from the window
with a wistful air, and her head drooping; and I fancied that she had
forgotten my presence. But by-and-by she began to ask questions about
the camp, and the preparations, and what men thought of the issue, and
whether Wallenstein would come down from his heights or the King be
driven to the desperate task of assaulting them. I told her all that I
had heard. Then she said quietly that she would go to church; and she
sent me to call Fraulein Max to go with her.
I found the Dutch girl sitting in a corner with her back to the
windows, through which Marie and the women were gazing at the bustle
and uproar and growing excitement of the street. She was reading in a
great dusty book, and did not look up when I entered. Seeing her so
engrossed, I had the curiosity to ask her, before I gave her my lady's
message, what the book was.
'"The Siege of Leyden,"' she said, lifting her pale face for an
instant, and then returning to her reading. 'By Bor.'
I could not refrain from smiling. It seemed to me so whimsical that
she could find interest in the printed page, in this second-hand
account of a siege, and none in the actual thing, though she had only
to go to the window to see it passing before her eyes. Doubtless she
read in Bor how men and women thronged the streets of Leyden to hear
each new rumour; how at every crisis the bells summoned the unarmed to
church; how through long days and nights the citizens waited for
relief--and she found these things of interest. But here were the same
portents passing before her eyes, and she read Bor!
'You are busy, I am afraid,' I said.
'I am using my time,' she answered primly.
'I am sorry,' I rejoined; 'for my lady wants you to go to church with
her.'
She shut up her book with peevish violence, and looked at me with her
weak eyes. 'Why does not your Papist go with her?' she said
spitefully. 'And then you could do without me. As you do without me
when you have secrets to tell! But I suppose you have brought things
to such a pass now that there is nothing for it but church. And so I
am called in!'
'I have given my lady's message,' I said patiently.
'Oh, I know that you are a faithful messenger!' she replied mockingly.
'Who writes love letters grows thin; who carries them, fat. You are
growing a big man, Master Martin.'