"Cuckoo," hummed Erwin absently to himself as he drove back with his
wife to Steinbach through the capricious, flickering evening shadows.
A filmy confusion of pink and white, a tumbled knot of pale brown hair,
two large, cold eyes, mysterious greenish riddles in a flattering, open
child-face, a seductive, rococo figure which leaned over the stone
balustrade of the terrace, and threw gay kisses after the departing
carriage, this is the last impression which Erwin takes away with him
from Traunberg, in the landau in which he now sits beside his pale
wife.
"She has changed greatly for the better. It is a pity that she has such
bad manners," he breaks the silence after a while.
"Do you really think that she has such bad manners?" replies Elsa,
without looking at him.
"There can scarcely be any doubt as to that," says he. "Some people may
certainly think that it is becoming to her. Nevertheless I should wish
that she gave them up. You must undertake her neglected education,
child!"
"Oh, I will leave that to you," she replies, coldly, almost irritably.
"Linda is not a person who will learn anything from women."
"Do not be harsh," he whispers, reproachfully, perhaps with a trace of
impatience.
The gloomy Traunberg lindens are far behind them, only show as a dark
spot on the horizon. The carriage rolls on between gigantic poplars;
the sun has set and the shadows have vanished with it. Over the earth
is that dull gray light which might be called dead light. The new moon
floats in the heavens, small and white, like a tiny cloud; pale yellow
and reddish tints are on the horizon, above the violet distant
mountains. At the left, only separated by a blooming clover-field, is
the forest.
"Elsa, do you feel strong enough to walk home through the woods?"
whispers Erwin to his wife, coaxingly, and as she nods assent he stops
the carriage, and they take a path through the clover to the shady
woods.
"Now, was not that a good idea of mine, is it not pretty here?" he
asks, gayly and proudly, as if he had made the wood, surveying all its
beauties.
"Lovely," whispers she, but her voice sounds sad.
At her feet the ground is blue with forget-me-nots; under the wild
rose-bushes already lie many white petals. A sob and a sigh pass
through the gloomy trees as if spring mourned that the first roses were
dead. All is grave and solemn, the air spiced with the odor of withered
generations of leaves, with the perfume of fading or still blooming
flowers.
Erwin teasingly waits for Elsa to speak to him--he waits in vain. With
head thrown back and earnest eyes she wanders near him, and does not
rest her little hands tenderly on his arm as usual.
What is the matter with her? That she can be jealous does not occur to
him.
They have almost crossed the forest; the meadow which separates it from
Steinbach park shines between the sparse trees, then Erwin discovers a
striking trace of game; he bends down to observe it more closely. "A
roebuck," he murmurs. "Strange--in this region."
"Is there no other way across?" asks Elsa, who has meanwhile crawled
close to the edge of the meadow, and casting a somewhat anxious glance
over the knee-high, dewy grass.
"No, wait a moment," he replies, still absorbed in contemplating the
strange trace.
"It will cost me a pair of shoes," she murmurs somewhat vexedly, raises
her gown, and resolutely prepares for a very cold foot-bath.
"Elsa, what are you doing?" cries he, perceiving her intention, and,
leaving his hunter's problem, he hurries quickly up to her. "With your
genius for taking cold."
Before she has time to answer he has taken her in his arms and carries
her through the dew. He has wholly forgotten Linda Lanzberg, and also
that he had been vexed with his poor nervous wife's unjust, childish
antipathy for Linda. He looks down tenderly upon the dear head, which
rests with half-closed eyes on his shoulder.
"How light you are," he remarks softly and anxiously; "you do not weigh
much more than Litzi now, my mouse."
Elsa does not answer, but her slender arms twine round his neck, and as
his lips seek her pale face, he feels that she is crying.
"What is the matter, my darling?" he asks.
"I do not know myself," she murmurs with a slight shiver. "I am
afraid."