The whole first story of the Government-house was brilliantly lighted
up. A great reception was annually held there on the occasion of the
Sovereign's birthday, when all the notabilities of the town and country
around were wont to flock to the Castle. This year the usual levee was
to be followed by a ball, an innovation mainly due to the presence of
Baroness Harder and her daughter, and one which met with the decided
approbation of all the feminine world of R----.
It was too early as yet for the arrival of the guests, but the
state-apartments were resplendent with light, and the servants, having
put the finishing-touch to their preparations, had withdrawn to their
posts in the ante-chambers and hall. Gabrielle had dressed more quickly
than her mother; that lady was still severely exercising her maid's
patience by perpetually finding some fresh thing in her attire which
needed alteration or improvement. So the young Baroness, knowing how
useless it would be to wait, came on alone to a small salon, the first
of a long suite of rooms only thrown open on the occasion of great
ceremonies.
A conspicuous ornament of this salon was a picture in a richly-gilt
frame, well set off by the dark velvet hangings. It represented the
Baron's deceased consort, and was the work of a celebrated artist. Not
even the painter's cunning hand, however, had been able to endow those
rather pleasing, but insipid and unmeaning features with any special
interest; a certain aristocratic dignity of bearing, and an extreme
elegance in the toilette and accessories, were all that might for a
moment captivate attention. An observer of this portrait, calling to
mind the Baron's striking appearance, so full of character and power,
would feel intuitively how great must have been the intellectual
distance between husband and wife, how impossible any mutual attraction
or real companionship.
Gabrielle had paused before this picture, and was still considering it,
when a door at the farther end of the long suite of rooms, which gave
access to the Governor's private apartments, opened, and Raven himself
appeared. He was in full dress to-day, in honour of the occasion, and
his handsome court-suit with the broad ribbon on his breast lent
additional stateliness to his figure, as he walked through the rooms
slowly with his accustomed proud and lofty mien.
"Why, Gabrielle, dressed already! What are you doing there, wrapt in
meditation before that picture?"
There was audible dissatisfaction in the tone in which the last words
were spoken. Gabrielle did not notice it. She answered:
"I was wondering to see my aunt's portrait here. Could you not find a
place for it in your own rooms?"
"No," was the short, but decided reply.
"But these salons are not opened many times during the year. Why do you
not hang the picture in your study?"
"Why should I?" asked the Baron, coldly. "Your aunt never came there. I
had her portrait brought to the drawing-room, which is certainly its
most fitting place. Well, what do you think of the state-apartments at
the Castle? It is the first time you have seen them fully lighted up."
This sudden diversion proved how irksome to him had been the previous
topic. Without more ado, he took Gabrielle's arm, led her away from her
aunt's portrait, and began a tour of inspection through the rooms,
pointing out and explaining many objects of interest. The folding-doors
were all thrown back, so that the eye could wander at will throughout
the long and glittering vista. A princely residence, indeed, the
Governor could boast, and the grave and somewhat antique style of
decoration was in keeping with the architectural taste of the building.
The rich ornamentation of walls and ceilings, the deep window-niches
and high marble fire-places, dated from the Castle's earlier times.
They had been left untouched; but to them had been associated costly
damask or satin hangings, heavy velvet curtains, rich gilding, all of
which, illuminated by innumerable wax-lights, produced a really
dazzling effect.
The young Baroness Harder was not one to remain unimpressed by such a
scene. She perfectly revelled in the bright surroundings, as, with a
heart brimming over with gladness and expectation, she tripped along by
her guardian's side. She had very quickly regained all her old ease of
manner in her intercourse with him. That strange hour by the 'Nixies'
Well' had long since been forgotten, together with the transient
seriousness it had called forth. Like a dream, its influences had come
upon her; swiftly and traceless as a dream they had vanished again from
her mind. On that sunny ground nothing approaching a shadow could for
any length of time hold its own. Gabrielle certainly felt that during
the last few days the Baron had treated her with unwonted gentleness
and indulgence. He had even determined on giving this ball, in order
that, as he said, certain restless little feet might have a chance of
dancing themselves weary. It was an unheard-of concession from him, who
looked on all festive gatherings at the Castle as so many onerous
duties imposed on him by etiquette, so many drawbacks to his position;
but the young lady was too accustomed to be spoiled by her parents and
all about her, to be struck with any special surprise at the favour
shown her. She met her guardian's kindness, as she had previously met
his stern reserve, with the petulance and whimsical caprice of a child.
Today the thought of the coming fete drove all else into the
background. Sparkling and overflowing with all sorts of droll and merry
conceits, the clear ripple of her laughter broke again and again on the
solemn stillness of those stately galleries.
Raven was grave and silent as usual; but he listened to her chatter
with visible satisfaction, and his eyes were fixed, as though
unconsciously, on the blooming young creature hanging on his arm and
looking up at him with happy, beaming, radiant eyes. Gabrielle had
never appeared more lovely than on this evening in her cloud-like white
ball-dress, twined here and there with flowery wreaths, and with a
garland of blossoms daintily set on her fair head. So fascinating was
her charm, so dewy-fresh her youthful grace and beauty, she might have
been one of the airy mischievous elves of the legend quickened into
life and come hither to disport itself. In the sea of light which
streamed through the halls, she was the culminating point of
brightness.
They had finished their round, and arrived at the principal
reception-room, which was adorned with the portraits of divers
historical and princely personages. A dazzling chandelier lit up the
splendid, but as yet untenanted, space, which, in spite of its festive
decorations, was almost awesome in its stillness and emptiness. No
sound was to be heard but the Baron's echoing step and the rustle of
his companion's dress.
"It is like being in an enchanted castle," said Gabrielle, playfully.
"We are the only living creatures amid all this sleeping splendour. I
had no idea you had so many fine things at your disposal, Uncle Arno.
It must be grand to feel one's self the master of such a place."
The Baron cast a general, highly indifferent glance around, as he
replied:
"You think there is something very enviable in that, no doubt. I myself
have never attached much importance to these adjuncts of my position."
"Nor to this, either?"
Gabrielle pointed to the ribbon on his breast. The order the Baron wore
was one of the highest in the land, and was conferred only in very
exceptional cases.
"Nor to this either," said Raven, quietly; "though I would not
willingly renounce the one or the other. External splendour should mark
the seat of power. To the generality of men, greatness is embodied in
these outward symbols; they should, therefore, be taken into due
account. I have never lost sight of this, but my efforts have been
directed to other aims."
"Which you have attained, like everything else in life."
The Baron was silent for a few seconds. His eyes rested with an
enigmatical expression on the young girl's face. At length he answered
her:
"I have attained much--not everything."
"Do you want to mount still higher?" asked Gabrielle, in naive
surprise.
He smiled. "No; this time I should like to retrograde twenty years."
"But, tell me, why?"
"That I might be young again. I have felt sometimes of late that ... I
am growing old."
The young Baroness pointed jestingly to a great panelled mirror
opposite them:
"Look there, Uncle Arno, and dare to talk again of being old!"
Raven followed the direction of her hand. There in the clear glass he
saw the distinct reflection of his image, the tall commanding figure,
in all the vigorous maturity of manly strength. He inspected it with a
certain satisfaction, not untinged by a slight secret uneasiness.
"And yet I am close upon fifty," he said slowly. "Do you know that,
Gabrielle?"
"Of course I do. But why lay such stress on it? You certainly do not
feel as yet any of the premonitory signs of age."
"For which very reason I am sometimes tempted to forget the fact, and
this, under given circumstances, may be dangerous. You should be the
last to encourage me in such a weakness."
Raven broke off suddenly as he met the girl's wondering, questioning
gaze; his speech was evidently quite unintelligible to her. He turned
away from the mirror, and went on in a lighter tone:
"So you like living here with me, at the Castle?"
"Certainly, when all is bright and gay, as it is this evening,"
declared Gabrielle. "But in the daytime the Castle often seems to me
very dismal and dull. These high-vaulted ceilings, these deep recesses
and massive pillars, keep the whole place in shade, and your study is
the very gloomiest room I know. The great heavy curtains shut out every
ray of sunlight."
"The sun disturbs me when I am at work," explained the Baron.
The young lady tossed her head pettishly: "But, dear me, man does not
live for work alone."
"There are natures--mine, for instance--to which work is a positive
want, an absolute necessity. A butterfly, such as you, cannot
understand this. It flies and flutters about in the sunshine, gleaming
with a thousand hues--to perish when the first sharp touch brushes the
many-coloured dust from its wings. Pleasant enough, but very
transitory, this gay butterfly existence!"
There was something of the old sarcastic ring in his voice as he spoke
the last words. Gabrielle assumed a highly-offended expression of
countenance.
"Oh, so you think I am only a sort of gaily-painted, frivolous moth,
Uncle Arno?"
"I think it would be unjust to require of you that you should meet
suffering, or face struggles of any kind," said Raven, more gravely.
"Beings of your order are created for the sunshine, and can exist in no
other element. Work and the battle of life must be left to me, and to
such as me. To be a sunbeam, and to cheer and lighten the darkness of
others, is a vocation, too, in its way. You are quite right, it is
foolish inexorably to exclude the brightness for fear lest it should
blind one. Why should not autumn, for once, be gilded by its golden
rays?"
He had stooped down, and was looking deep into the young girl's eyes,
when a side door was noisily opened, and Baroness Harder rustled over
the threshold. Raven quickly drew himself erect, casting a glance that
was anything but friendly at his sister-in-law, who, happily, did not
observe it. She was at that moment passing the great mirror in the
wall, and taking in it a last general review of her appearance. The
lady had profited by her brother-in-law's liberality in no sparing
fashion. Her rich toilette had but one fault: it was a thought too
overladen to be in perfect taste. The costly satin train was almost
lost to view beneath the velvet and lace which covered it. A whole
parterre of flowers adorned her hair, and on her neck and arms sparkled
the diamonds which Raven's generosity had rescued from the wreck of the
Harder fortunes. All that the many arts of the toilette can effect had
been accomplished, and with their aid and assistance the Baroness might
this evening have made good her claim to be considered a beautiful
woman, had it not been for the youthful, blooming daughter at her side.
Before the grace and freshness of that seventeen-year-old maiden, no
artificial charm could hold its own; and, by force of contrast, the
mother appeared that which, in point of fact, she really was, a faded,
middle-aged lady.
"Excuse me for keeping you waiting," said she, approaching her
brother-in-law with her wonted sweetness of manner. "I did not know you
were already in the drawing-room, Arno; and none of the guests have
arrived as yet. I hope Gabrielle has been amusing you in my absence."
Raven made no reply. He was visibly annoyed by the interruption.
"Our visitors will be here shortly," he remarked, after a while; and,
indeed, scarcely had he spoken the words, when the first carriage drove
up.
The Baron offered his arm to his sister-in-law to lead her to her place
at the upper end of the room, and, as they went, he glanced with keen
scrutiny from mother to daughter.
"Gabrielle does not resemble you in the least, Matilda," he said
suddenly, and his tone betrayed a secret satisfaction.
"Do you think not?" said the Baroness, who would probably have
preferred to hear a contrary opinion expressed. "It may be that she is
more like her father----"
"She does not bear the smallest resemblance to her father either,"
interrupted Raven. "I do not see that she has inherited a single trait
from either of her parents--thank God!" he added to himself.
The Baroness was silent, looking aggrieved, though she could not have
caught the offensive words which concluded his speech. There was no
denying the fact that Gabrielle possessed neither the Harder features
nor those of her mother's family. She was as unlike both parents as she
could possibly be.
The first arrivals now appeared, and were soon followed by others.
Carriage after carriage rolled up to the portico of the
Government-house, and the rooms gradually began to fill. So numerous
had been the invitations issued, that the spacious apartments were
hardly large enough to contain the brilliant assembly which soon
thronged them. Most of the gentlemen were in civilian dress, but
interspersed among the black coats was many a handsome uniform; while
the ladies, some in splendid, all in bright apparel, bloomed gay as any
flower-garden. The heads of the magistrature, the commandant and
officers of the garrison, and those of the neighbouring fortress, were
there _au grand complet_, as was also the entire bureaucratic staff,
and indeed all who in the social circles of R---- could lay claim to a
good position or to any sort of distinction.
The occasion being an official one, it was a matter of course that the
invitations should be accepted, and for this reason the burgomaster and
the other gentlemen of the corporation had put in an appearance
notwithstanding the conflict pending between them and the Governor, a
conflict which daily grew to greater proportions, and increased in
intensity.
Baron von Raven seemed to-day altogether to ignore the existing
dissensions. He received these guests, as he received all the others,
with finished politeness; but still with that cool reserve of manner
which was peculiar to him, and which ever drew about him a sort of
invisible barrier.
Baroness Harder at his side did the honours of the house, noting with
much satisfaction that she and her daughter were pre-eminently the
objects of general interest. The two ladies had hitherto been but
little seen in the world of R----, where the autumn gaieties were only
just beginning. This was their first formal introduction to the society
of the city which was henceforth to be their home. Strangers still to
the majority of those present, their close relationship to the Governor
assigned to them at once the most prominent place, and it was but
natural that they should form a centre of attraction round which all
converged.
While the elder lady received those attentions and marks of deference
which fall by right to the lady of the house, her daughter's grace and
beauty were achieving triumph upon triumph. The young Baroness was
constantly surrounded, courted and admired; the younger men, in
particular, fairly besieging her with entreaties for the promise of a
dance during the evening.
Now and then Raven would cast a glance over at the groups ever
forming and re-forming round his charming ward; but the smile on his
lips was rather forced. He saw with what pleasure, and with what
self-possession, she accepted the homage done her on all sides.
Such flattering triumphs were indeed the best means of whiling away the
time; they helped to assuage the impatience with which Gabrielle looked
for the approach of one familiar figure, while endless new faces
defiled before her, and strange, unknown names were buzzed into her
ears.
George Winterfeld had been in the rooms for some time, but as yet she
had hardly exchanged a word with him. When, on his entrance, he had
come up to pay his respects to her mother and herself, the Colonel had
arrived at the same instant, wishing to introduce his two sons, and had
at once claimed the ladies' attention for himself and the young
officers.
Some personages of high rank, also numbering among the intimates of the
Castle, had joined the circle; and the young clerk, feeling quite
isolated and a stranger in their midst, was forced to withdraw, lest he
might appear importunate. Since then he had found no means of
approaching Gabrielle. She had remained close to her mother and
guardian, taking part with them in the reception of the guests; but now
he must hesitate no longer; the first strains of music were already
sounding, and George, who was determined at any risk to have a few
words with his love during the course of the evening, threw off his
attitude of reserve. He drew near, and begged the young Baroness Harder
to accord him a dance.
Gabrielle had foreseen this, and had taken care to keep at least one
free. She promptly consented. The Baron, who was talking to Councillor
Moser, heard her reply. He turned round, and looked at the two in
surprise.
"I thought you had not a dance at your disposal," said he. "Have you
really one free?"
"Fraeulein von Harder has been so kind as to promise me the second
waltz," declared George.
The Baron frowned.
"Indeed, Gabrielle? If I mistake not, you refused that dance to Colonel
Wilten's son."
"Certainly I did. I had already promised it to Mr. Winterfeld."
"Oh!" said Raven, slowly. "Well, he who is first in the field assuredly
has the best right. Baron Wilten will deplore his mischance in arriving
too late."
As he spoke thus, he scanned Gabrielle's face with a keen investigating
glance; then, turning from her, his look riveted itself on George. At
this moment the cavalier who had been fortunate enough to secure the
young lady's promise for the first dance came up and offered her his
arm. George bowed, and stepped back. There was a movement among the
company. The younger portion of it streamed off towards the ball-room,
while the elders dispersed through the adjoining salons. The great
drawing-room grew comparatively empty, and Baroness von Harder was just
thinking of leaving her post in it, when her brother-in-law came up to
her.
"You know something of Assessor Winterfeld?" he said in a low tone.
The Baroness nodded assent.
"I have told you that we made his acquaintance in Switzerland this
summer."
"Did he often come to your house?"
"Pretty often. I was always pleased to receive him, and should have
continued to see him here, if you had not expressed so decided a wish
to the contrary."
"I do not desire to admit the young clerks to my private circle,"
replied the Baron, curtly; "and I cannot understand, Matilda, how, in
the retirement in which you were then supposed to be living, you could
grant the first stranger you met an entrance to your house, and allow
him perfect freedom of intercourse with your daughter."
"Oh, it was quite an exceptional case," pleaded the Baroness. "The
Assessor had rendered us a signal service one day when we were in
danger on the lake. You know that he----"
"Brought you and Gabrielle through the shallow water to land without
the smallest difficulty," concluded Raven. "Yes, I know that; and I do
not doubt that he has taken advantage of this slight service, which any
fisher-boy could have rendered you, to pose as your deliverer, not
altogether unsuccessfully, it would seem. Gabrielle has just accorded
him a dance which she had refused to young Baron Wilten, and which, in
all probability, she had held in reserve for Mr. Winterfeld. This
familiarity may be accounted for, no doubt, by the previous
acquaintanceship; but it is a proceeding which I, nevertheless,
consider most improper. The promise she has given cannot be recalled;
but I beg of you to see that Gabrielle does not dance more than once
with this young man. I most decidedly object to it."
There was suppressed, but very evident anger in his tone. The Baroness
was rather surprised at his displaying so much irritation, which the
occasion hardly seemed to warrant; but she hastened to assure him that
she would speak to her daughter, and then took the arm offered her by
Colonel Wilten, who had come to lead her to the ball-room.
The Baron sauntered through the other rooms, where much animated
conversation was going on. Joining first one group and then another, he
would enter into a discussion here, make a few passing remarks there,
or merely exchange amenities with some guest he had not hitherto
welcomed. With the Burgomaster he chatted amicably, making no allusion
to the differences existing between them. Pleasant and affable in his
manner to a few, condescending to others, polite to all, he was
familiar with none. He bore himself with the ease and quiet assurance
of one who is accustomed to occupy the first place, and assumes the
lead as a matter of course--a position which all those about him had
long tacitly accepted.
"One would fancy we were the guests of our Sovereign himself, and not
of his representative," said the Burgomaster to the Superintendent of
Police, as the two met. "Upon my word, the airs his Excellency is
pleased to give himself on these occasions are ineffable, but they
would be more becoming in a monarch than in the governor of a province.
Have you been honoured yet with gracious speech and royal dismissal?"
The person addressed smiled his usual ready smile, taking no notice of
the other's caustic tone.
"I am really surprised to see you here," he replied. "From the hostile
attitude you and the other members of the corporation have lately
adopted towards the Governor, I was afraid you might collectively
decline the invitation."
"How could we?" asked the Burgomaster, with some heat. "The fete is
given in honour of our Sovereign. Had we refused to take part in it,
our absence would have been looked upon as a demonstration against the
throne; it would have laid us open to misconstruction of the worst
kind, and we are particularly anxious to avoid giving offence in those
high quarters. The Baron knows very well that it was this consideration
alone which brought us here. We should not be likely to come to a ball
given in his honour."
"On your side, you should not push matters too far," advised his
companion. "You must know Baron von Raven pretty well by this time.
There is no yielding, no compromise to be expected from him."
"And from us still less. We intend to stand firmly by our rights, and
the future will show whether a Governor, who takes up such an attitude
towards us, can permanently hold his own."
"He will hold his own, that is certain," said the Superintendent,
decidedly. "You have nothing to hope there. His influence in high
places is boundless."
The Burgomaster started, and cast a scrutinising look at the speaker.
"You seem to be very well informed on the subject. True, you came to us
from the capital, and have no doubt friends and connections there."
"No, not that," replied the other, coolly repelling the insinuation.
"But it appears to me that the Baron's line of conduct shows
sufficiently how sure he feels of his position, and how all-powerful he
knows his influence to be in certain regions. You would do better not
to provoke any open rupture between the town and him. A catastrophe can
very well be avoided, even yet."
So saying, he went off. The Burgomaster looked after him with a grim
frown of displeasure.
"Yes, yes," he muttered; "avoid a catastrophe at any cost, so that my
friend the Superintendent may be able to preserve the neutrality of
which he makes such a show. He has positively contrived to pose as the
Governor's obedient servant, and at the same time to pass himself off
in the town as the amiable, moderate man who seeks to mediate, and only
obeys his chief because he must. I would rather by far have an open
enemy such as Raven; with him one knows at least what one has to
expect, but these neutrals, who speak fair to both parties, and mean
honourable by neither--I, for my part, have no faith in them."
Meanwhile, in the ball-room, dancing was being pursued with much
spirit, and the couples were already forming for the second waltz.
Gabrielle was at the height of enjoyment, and fluttered from one dance
to another without rest or respite. She delighted in the amusement at
all times, and now drank in, in greedy draughts, the incense offered
her on all sides. She lent a willing ear to the flattery and
reverential homage of her partners, and never noticed with what a
grave, reproachful gaze George's eyes followed her, as she thus
accepted all their tributes with airy playful coquetry.
When at last he came to her to remind her of her promise and lead her
out among the dancers, she gave him her hand with a bright smile
indicative of perfect content.
"Your young ward is really a charming creature," said Colonel Wilten to
his host, who had strolled into the ball-room, and, an unusual
proceeding on his part, stayed looking on at the dance. "I only fear
your Excellency will not keep her long. Some gay cavalier will be
coming to take her from you."
"Bah!" answered Raven, with a touch of impatience. "There can be no
question of that at present. Gabrielle is little more than a child."
The Colonel laughed.
"Our young ladies are not children at seventeen. Fraeulein von Harder
would decidedly protest against such a notion. Just observe how
gracefully she floats along with her partner. The sunny style of beauty
peculiar to her shines with wonderful effect this evening. Positively,
I envy you your fatherly rights where that sweet girl is concerned."
Fatherly rights! The words seemed to jar on the Baron. A deep frown
gathered on his brow as, without replying, he watched every movement of
the young couple, who now absorbed all his attention.
Wilten had not spoken quite at random. He had remarked the assiduous
court his eldest son was paying to the young Baroness, who, as
presumptive heiress to her guardian, would certainly be a brilliant
match. The Colonel would, decidedly, have had no objection to relieve
the latter of his fatherly rights. A daughter-in-law so rich and
handsome would have been right welcome to him, and it occurred to him
he might by a few words clear the way towards so desirable a
consummation. But his hints passed unnoticed, and for the present he
was fain to let the subject drop.
"I was speaking just now to the Superintendent of Police," he began
again. "He thinks there is nothing to be apprehended; but he has taken
all the necessary precautionary measures, in case of any disturbances
in the town to-day."
"To-day! why to-day particularly?" asked Raven, absently, and still
pursuing his observations.
"Well, a general holiday gives occasion for all sorts of meetings,
especially among the lower orders, and in the present irritated state
of public opinion this is a fact not to be overlooked. When heads are
heated, trouble may come of such gatherings."
The conversation did not appear to possess much interest for the
Governor. He hardly listened, being visibly engaged with other
thoughts.
"Do you think so?" he replied indifferently.
The Colonel looked at him in surprise.
"Why, Baron, you should know it better than another. We were discussing
the matter only yesterday, and it is, unfortunately, no secret that the
popular excitement is directed against you in a very special manner.
Councillor Moser tells me you have lately received another threatening
letter."
Raven shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"I have half-a-dozen of them in my waste-paper basket. Their authors
ought to have discovered by this time that such absurdities make no
impression on me."
Wilten glanced around. They were standing at the end of the long
gallery, and at that moment no one was near enough to overhear their
words. The Colonel went on in a low tone:
"You should not, however, absolutely challenge danger. It is most
imprudent for you to go into the town on foot and unaccompanied, no
measures being taken to ensure your safety. I wanted to speak to your
Excellency about it before, to beg you to desist from such ventures. We
do not know whether the mob may not be systematically incited to
violence. The whole burgher class is leagued together against you."
"So much the better," said Raven, mechanically, his eyes still riveted
on one particular spot in the scene before them.
The Colonel gave a little start of surprise.
"Your Excellency?"
The movement recalled the Baron to himself. He turned quickly to his
interlocutor.
"Pardon me, I am somewhat absent. I ... I hardly followed you. What
were we saying?"
"I was begging you to have more regard for your personal safety."
"Ah! yes. You must excuse my inattention. A man, who is daily called on
to give his mind to a hundred different matters, has some difficulty in
shaking off the cobwebs, even on a festive occasion like the present."
"Really, the load of work you take on yourself is quite too heavy,"
observed the Colonel. "The most enduring strength must break down at
last beneath such a constant strain. Look at those enviable young
people yonder, who have no suspicion as yet of all these cares. They
dance, and laugh, and chatter, and are happy among themselves."
"And are happy among themselves," repeated Raven. "Just so."
Deep bitterness lay in his words, and yet no brighter or more animated
scene than the one before them could well have presented itself. The
handsome, spacious room flooded with light, the gaily-sounding music,
and the blooming, youthful crowd swiftly moving to its cadence; surely
there was nothing here to arouse a bitter or a gloomy thought! Just
then Gabrielle flew by with her partner. The Colonel was right. Never
had her beauty shone so radiantly, never had it produced so triumphant
an effect as now, when, yielding herself heart and soul to the pleasure
of the dance, she sparkled in a very effervescence of happy excitement.
The clear stream of light from a thousand sconces, the joyous music,
the handsome rooms with their festive decorations--these were the
surroundings, this the frame which best suited her figure; here she
found her true element, wherein she freely breathed, and her glowing
cheeks and bright eyes showed how entrancing to this neophyte were the
delights of her first ball. Her whole being seemed transfigured,
illumined with radiant contentment, as she floated by in George's arms.
He, too, appeared to have forgotten the world about him, to have lost
count of all else in the joy of seeing his dear one again, in the bliss
of feeling her so near.
Infinite happiness beamed in his eyes as they passed on, her arm
resting on his, her breath fanning his cheek; those eyes spoke but too
plainly the secret of his heart. The young people were at this moment
so supremely blest that they forgot all caution, and a keen observer
might easily divine that the light shining in their faces was kindled
by something other than the mere intoxication of the waltz. The
romantic glamour of a first love was about them, encircling them with
its bright aureole.
That keen observer was nigh at hand. Raven still kept his place at the
end of the room. A knot of gentlemen had gathered round him and the
Colonel, and he was apparently entering with zest into their
conversation; but his eyes, as by some fascination, remained fixed on
the dancers. As he looked, his gaze grew ever more ardent, more
piercing, and it must have had in it some magnetic power of attraction,
for, when Gabrielle came round a second time, she turned her head
slowly, moved as it were by some mysterious influence, towards the spot
where he stood.
For a moment her guardian's eyes met hers. Suddenly a deep glow spread
over the young girl's face, and the Baron's features lighted up with
one fiery, menacing flash. Then he turned away with a quick, impatient
movement.
This dance was followed by a long pause destined for the taking of
refreshments. The company left the ball-room, where the heat was
becoming intolerable, and sought the buffet and adjoining cool
retreats, dispersing at will through the various apartments, and
breaking up into merry, chattering groups.
Now at length came the long-looked-for moment when George and Gabrielle
might hope to exchange some words in private, free, unconstrained
words, such as they had not yet been able to address to each other.
Hitherto the eyes of the assembled company had been on them, making
familiar speech impossible.
A distant boudoir, untenanted for the time being--though a lively hum
of voices told of neighbours in the adjoining room--served as the
desired refuge. Thither the young Baroness Harder and Assessor
Winterfeld repaired, and, standing opposite each other by the
fire-place, entered into what to a chance intruder would have seemed a
quiet, commonplace conversation, though, in truth, that low-spoken
dialogue differed widely from the conventional talk current in society.
"So at last we have one minute alone together," whispered George,
passionately; "the first that has been accorded to us for weeks! I
fancied it would be easier to feel you near, and yet beyond my reach."
"Yes, you were right," said Gabrielle, in the same low tone. "We are
very, very far apart here, though you daily come to the Castle. I
always hoped you would find some means of breaking through the barriers
which separate us."
"Have I not tried to the best of my ability? You know how your mother
met my overtures. She received me kindly enough when I called, but she
was careful not to let fall a word which could be construed into an
invitation to repeat the visit. I cannot force myself into a house
where I am clearly told that my presence is not wanted."
A slight frown gathered on the young lady's fair brow.
"That was not mamma's fault. She would have welcomed you now as
willingly as formerly. It was my guardian who prevented her inviting
you. I got mamma to tell him of your call, and of our previous
acquaintance, because I----"
"Because you dared not."
"I dare anything that is possible," asserted Gabrielle, with some
irritation; "but to hold out under Uncle Arno's look, when one has
anything to conceal from him, is just impossible, and it is of no use
attempting it. Well, he pronounced most decidedly against the intended
invitation. No personal offence to you was meant, for, of course, he
has not the faintest suspicion of any understanding between us; but he
will not allow any intercourse between us and the younger officials
employed in his bureaux--so we had to submit."
"I was sure of it," said George. "I know my chief. He and his must
remain inaccessible to all whom he considers beneath him. Well, there
is this to be said, not even his despotic will can separate us much
more completely than we have been separated during the last few weeks.
I have never seen you but from a distance, and when, at last, we do
meet, as tonight, we are forced to keep up an appearance of coldness
and indifference. I have to look on while you are courted and made much
of, to see every one able to approach you but myself. I, who have the
first and sole right to you, am condemned to silence and the reserve of
a stranger. Gabrielle, I can bear it no longer."
Gabrielle raised her eyes to his face. A bewitching smile played round
the corners of her dimpled mouth, as she replied:
"I do not think the 'stranger' is so much to be pitied. He knows very
well that I am his, and his alone."
"On a ball-night such as this you certainly are not mine," replied
George, rather bitterly. "You are given to the gaiety and the dance and
the homage paid you on all sides. You belong to anything and everyone
rather than to me. All the time that passed before that waltz, I was
striving to meet your glance. Surrounded by your admirers, you had no
eyes for me."
The reproach struck home, wounding by its very justice; but the young
lady was not accustomed to reproaches in this quarter, and she thought
it very cruel and unfair that he should try to spoil her pleasure. The
smile vanished from her lips, giving way to a most ungracious
expression of countenance, and she was about to utter a sharp retort
when Lieutenant Wilten appeared in the doorway.
"Fraeulein von Harder," he said, hastening to her. "You are missed in
the ball-room. His Excellency and the Baroness have both been inquiring
for you. I volunteered to look for you. Will you accept my escort back
to your anxious friends?"
Under other circumstances Gabrielle would have let this intruder feel
how unwelcome he was; but now she was angry, justly offended, as she
thought, and not at all disposed to take the offence patiently--so she
bowed her head coldly to George, and accepted the young Baron's arm
with great affability of manner. The Lieutenant led her from the room,
casting, as he went, a triumphant glance back at the discomfited rival
left behind.
George looked after the pair with angry knitted brows. This childish
revenge wounded him more than he cared to confess to himself, and again
the old tormenting doubt arose within him--the doubt as to whether it
were right for him to withdraw this charming but most superficial young
creature from the glittering sphere for which she seemed created, and
to link her existence to that of an earnest patient worker. True,
Gabrielle's love gave him a right to possess her, but--did she love
him? Was she really capable of a deep and abiding sentiment? or was her
fancy for him a mere caprice, playful and transient as became her gay,
butterfly nature? Suppose she were to be unhappy at his side, or he to
make the miserable discovery that the wife of his bosom could meet his
ardent love, and reward his sacrifices, only with the inconstancy and
waywardness of a child? Perhaps they would both pay for this short
day-dream with a whole life-time of misery and regret!
The young man passed his hand quickly across his brow. He would not
listen to the whispered monitions of reason, so utterly at variance
with the passionate throbbings of his heart. With a great effort he
shook himself free from these torturing thoughts, and was about to
leave the room when Councillor Moser came in, accompanied by the
Superintendent of Police. The former, in honour of the day, wore a
brand-new neck-cloth of snowy whiteness, but of such prodigious
dimensions that he could hardly move his head in it, a circumstance
which lent additional stiffness to his bearing and solemnity to his
mien. The two were holding some animated discussion, but on catching
sight of Assessor Winterfeld they ceased speaking so abruptly that that
gentleman divined he had been the subject of their conversation. This
idea was confirmed by the keen glance with which the Superintendent
measured the young official from head to foot, while the Councillor
walked straight up to him, and without a word of preface, addressed him
as follows:
"I am glad to meet you here, Assessor. I have to request you to
undertake a commission for me."
George bowed slightly.
"With pleasure. I am at your service."
"Your friend. Dr. Brunnow"--the Councillor accentuated his words, as
though some dread and weighty accusation were conveyed in each--"your
friend. Dr. Brunnow, has, without my knowledge or desire, assumed the
office of my family physician. He has listened to an invalid's
statements, has given prescriptions, and even threatened me with a
renewal of his visit. I did not at first comprehend how the matter had
come about----"
"It was all a misunderstanding," interrupted George. "Max told me of
it. He really believed that medical advice was required from him, and
he had no notion into whose house an odd chance had led him."
"Well, he knows now," said Moser, emphatically; "and I must ask you to
tell him, once for all, that I should not dream of applying for advice
to a doctor bearing so compromised a name, to one whose father is an
avowed enemy to the State. Tell him to choose for his revolutionary
intrigues some other scene than the house of Councillor Moser, who has
ever made it his proud boast that he is surpassed by none in loyalty to
his most gracious Sovereign. There are men, gentlemen in the service,
who might take example by his line of conduct. It would be well for
themselves, for society, and for the State, were they to share the
views I have expressed."
With these words the Councillor inclined his head, or rather attempted
to do so, for his neckcloth imposed limits on his will, and
majestically left the room, sublimely conscious of having, in a
figurative sense, crushed and slain his adversary. The Superintendent,
who had throughout been a silent listener, now drew near.
"You seem to be in disgrace with our loyal friend," he remarked, in a
jesting tone. "He was giving me a long account of your dangerous and
treasonable connections. I hope----"
"The Councillor is in error," interposed George, with quiet
distinctness. "The connection with which he reproaches me is a
perfectly harmless college friendship, bearing no relation whatever to
politics. I can assure you that my friend, who is here solely on a
matter of business--to make good his claim to some property he has
lately inherited--and who by a droll mistake found his way the other
day into the Mosers' dwelling, has no thought of carrying on
revolutionary intrigues either there or elsewhere, and that he will not
give you the slightest motive to take an interest in his person."
The Superintendent laughed.
"So much the better. The Councillor grows quite alarming at times
through excess of loyalty. He sees ghosts and spectres at every turn.
Could he but guess that his own chief was once the comrade and friend
of this very Dr. Brunnow, whom he stigmatises as an enemy to the State!
You, probably, are not unaware of this fact?"
"I am aware of it, certainly," said George, taken aback by the
question. The police-officer's intimate acquaintance with circumstances
so remote surprised him greatly.
"How these early friends get separated! How strangely and widely do
their paths in life differ!" remarked the other. "The Governor, Baron
Arno von Raven, and a refugee living in exile, no contrast could well
be greater! It is said, I believe, that the Baron himself entertained
rather extravagant political views in his youth."
He paused, apparently expecting an answer, but none came. Assessor
Winterfeld listened in silence.
"I have even heard it asserted that Herr von Raven was in some way
mixed up with that trial which resulted in the imprisonment of Dr.
Brunnow and his associates. None but vague rumours have reached me,
however. You, I dare say, are better informed through your friend and
his father."
"Not at all--we have never gone into the subject. But, if the Baron had
chanced to be connected with the trial in any way, the fact could
easily be ascertained through the official reports of the case."
The Superintendent cast a glance at the young man which seemed to say:
"If that were so, I should hardly be wasting my time and pains on so
stiff-necked a person as yourself." He replied aloud:
"The Baron's name is not mentioned in the official documents. If he
really had anything to do with the business, all accounts were settled
between himself and his future father-in-law, the Minister. He must
have fully exonerated himself from blame in the latter's estimation,
for the brilliant fortunes which have attended him throughout his
career date from that precise time."
"Very probably," assented George, with cool reserve; "but these events,
which happened fully twenty years ago, must be more familiar to you
than to me. You, I should suppose, were then entering on your
professional duties, whilst I was still a mere child."
The Superintendent saw that here there was no inclination to enlighten
him, that from this source he should not get the information he
required. He gave up the attempt, and when they had exchanged a few
unimportant remarks, the two gentlemen parted.
Only once again during the evening did George find an opportunity of
speaking to Gabrielle, or rather, she herself it was who gave him the
opportunity. As he stood looking on at the cotillon, taking no part in
it, she fluttered up to him, light and airy as any sylph, and led him
to the dance. While they were making the tour of the room, their eyes
met. The moodiness had melted from his face, and about her lips there
played again the captivating smile which his words had lately scared
away.
"Must I not enjoy myself? Are you still jealous?" whispered Gabrielle,
with a delicious mixture of roguishness and penitence. George would not
have been young or in love, could he have withstood that smile and that
appeal. He was already convinced that he had done wrong to reproach
his darling with her radiant gaiety. She was so innocently happy in
it--and, in spite of her caprices and wilful ways, had not this
beaming, joy-loving child found her way to his very heart of hearts?
"My Gabrielle!" was all he said, but infinite tenderness lay in the
softly-spoken words. A slight pressure from her hand answered his. The
reconciliation was sealed.
So the hours flew by, and the ball took the brilliant course usual to
such assemblies. Midnight had long passed when the guests departed, and
the great galleries grew empty once more. Baroness Harder, well
satisfied with the part she had played on the occasion, was about to
retire to her own room. She had taken leave of her brother-in-law, and
had turned to give some directions to the servants, when Gabrielle in
her turn approached to bid her guardian goodnight. Raven saw that she
meant to give him her hand, but he remained immovable, with folded
arms, and there was a look of cold severity on his features, as he
addressed her in a low tone.
"I have made a singular discovery this evening, Gabrielle. There
appears to be a degree of familiarity between you and Assessor
Winterfeld which is highly unbecoming. It is not compatible with his
position, nor with yours in my house. I will venture to hope that in
permitting him such freedom you have been misled by inexperience alone;
but you will have to give me an explanation of this. I must know how
far your acquaintance with this gentleman has really gone."
Again a crimson flush suffused the girl's face, deep as the glow which
had dyed it some time before when she had met her guardian's accusing
glance during that waltz; but this most unwonted tone from his mouth
aroused her temper and her defiance. She drew herself up with a
resolute air.
"If you wish it. Uncle Arno----"
"Not now," he interrupted, with a wave of the hand. "It is too late
to-night, and I do not wish that your mother should be present at our
interview. I shall expect to see you in my study to-morrow morning
early, and you will then have the kindness to answer such questions as
I shall put to you. Good-night."
He turned away without offering her his hand or waiting for a reply,
and walked to the farther end of the room. Gabrielle stood still in
mute consternation. It was the first time the Baron had displayed
harshness towards herself, and for the first time she began to realise
that the matter would not blow over so lightly as in her gay optimism
she had hitherto hoped.
A catastrophe was imminent, inevitable: thus she pondered; and only
when her mother called her did she start from her reverie and hasten to
the Baroness's side.
Raven watched her as she went. His lips were firmly set, as though in
repressed anger or pain, and a dark thundercloud lay on his brow.
"I must know the truth," he muttered. "But, after all, what will it
amount to? Mere childish folly, some travelling episode invested by
both with all necessary romance, and in the course of a few weeks to be
utterly forgotten. No matter, I will take care that such looks are not
translated into words, and that an end is put to the affair in time."