The outburst was so violent, and lasted so long, that Elsa became
painfully embarrassed. How likely it was that the man of whom Aunt
Sidonie had just said that he was sure to be present at their reception
would come into the room--how soon Aunt Sidonie herself must follow
her! She had only hastened up the staircase before her aunt, while the
latter entered into conversation with the Councillor, who met them in
the hall. While they were on their way to the hotel, she had been
dreading all the time the solemn ceremoniousness of the good lady's
behaviour on so important an occasion--the long-winded address, the
offensive condescension with which she would meet her sister. She had
silently regretted that she had persuaded her aunt to an immediate
visit, and that she had not rather fulfilled her threat and gone alone.
Now, thanks to her prompt decision, everything had happened so
favourably; but now, too, poor Aunt Valerie must calm herself--must
stop crying, and dry her tears, even if they were tears of joy--if
she were really her good angel. So much the more indeed! Her good
angel--she would try to be it, most certainly, and, oh, so willingly!
She would never leave her again, at least in her thoughts and in her
heart--would always be in thought and in heart near her, to comfort
her, to help her, where she could, as much as she could; only now--now
she must compose herself, and, quick, quick! let the black lace veil be
arranged on her beautiful soft hair, and become again the great,
dignified, proud lady that Aunt Sidonie had told her off, whom Aunt
Sidonie must find there, or lose all belief in the penetration and
knowledge of character on which she prided herself so highly.
Thus Elsa comforted and coaxed and jested, till she had the pleasure of
bringing a smile to the delicate pale lips and the mild brown eyes--the
true Werben eyes, said Elsa; a melancholy smile, thought Elsa,
but still a smile. And it came just in time, for the next moment
the curly-headed young man in black coat, silk stockings, and
knee-breeches, whose assiduity Elsa had with some difficulty escaped in
the anteroom, opened the door and announced, in polite respect for the
stately appearance of the lady whose card he held in his hand--"Madame
Sidonie de Werben!"
Sidonie rustled through the door, and found herself face to face with a
slight, pale lady, who, supporting herself on Elsa's arm, held out her
slender white hand, and who must be her sister Valerie, only that she
did not in the least resemble the Valerie whom she had known, and whom
she had last seen seven and twenty years ago. Not that the lady who
stood before her was not still elegant and distinguished looking--she
was even more so than formerly, Sidonie thought--she was still handsome
too in her way, very handsome indeed; but the brilliant glance of the
dark eyes, the rich carnation of the fair cheeks, the fascinating
smile of the small red mouth, the luxuriant masses of her splendid
chestnut-brown hair, which had formed a rich crown over her brow, and
knotted loosely together at the back, had fallen in a few scented locks
over her round, white shoulders, where were gone those magical charms
over whose worldliness and sinfulness she had so often sighed and
lamented?
Sidonie was bewildered, almost dismayed. The little speech which she
had prepared on the way was meant for the vain, pretentious, coquettish
Valerie of former days, and was evidently quite unsuited to the Valerie
of to-day. But her hurried efforts to think of something else to say
were quite unsuccessful. Besides, the longer she gazed on the pale,
noble countenance that was turned with a gentle smile towards her, and
at every moment discovered an expression that brought back to her the
former Valerie, the more she was overcome by a curious mingled
sensation of the old love and of a new pity, so that, interrupting
herself in the midst of the formal phrases through which she was
labouring with a heartfelt "Dear Valerie, dearest sister!" she
opened her arms, kissed Valerie on both cheeks, and then, as if
terrified at this unjustifiable ebullition, sat down in stiff
dignity in an arm-chair, and looked as severe and unapproachable
as her short-sighted, good-humoured eyes would allow her.
But the ice was broken, and Elsa took care that it should not form
again, although there were some difficult points to be got over still.
When Aunt Sidonie had mentioned casually that her brother had already
left the house when Valerie's letter came, and consequently knew and
could know nothing of their visit, "though he would doubtless have
given his permission for it," Elsa blushed for Aunt Sidonie when she
saw how painfully Aunt Valerie's lips quivered at the thoughtless
words. She hastened to say that, after the letter received yesterday
from her aunt, her father had only expected her on the evening of this
day, when it occurred to her that her father's message would now seem
very improbable, and, blushing again at the contradiction in which she
had involved herself, she was silent.
"Never mind, dear Elsa," said Valerie, kindly pressing her hand, "I am
grateful enough as it is. Everything cannot come right at once;" and
she added, to herself, "Nothing will come right so long as I am in the
power of my tyrant, who has once again seen, with one glance of his
unerring eyes, what was hidden from my longing heart."
In the meantime, Aunt Sidonie had entered on a subject which had
occupied all her attention since the day before yesterday, and which
she talked of now with the greater pleasure that she considered it a
perfectly safe one:
"Though I hardly know, my dear Valerie, how far your long absence may
have influenced your interest in the joys and sorrows of your family.
Here it is only a question, of joys. You need not raise your eyebrows,
Elsa--it does not improve your looks; besides that, it shows a want of
confidence in my discretion, which, to put it mildly, is not very
flattering to me, and is so much the more out of place that you ought
by this time to be convinced of the groundlessness of your doubts and
fancies. It is certainly not saying too much if I declare that I
guessed the truth before any one, not even excepting Ottomar himself.
The worldly advantages of the connection, its suitableness from all
points of view--good heavens! no reasonable person could doubt it or
ever has doubted it, as Baroness Kniebreche assured me yesterday, and
she would certainly know if the contrary were the case, and if any one
voice had been raised against it. The Baroness, dear Valerie, born a
Countess Drachenstein, of the Drachenstein-Wolfszahn branch, the
widow of the Lieutenant-General, a comrade and friend of our late
father--eighty-two years old, but still astonishingly fresh, an
extremely clever, delightful old lady, whose acquaintance you would be
charmed to make--very intimate with the Wallbachs, and whose particular
favourite our Carla always was. You have upset my ideas with your
unnecessary grimaces, my dear Elsa, and it is your fault if I appear to
your Aunt Valerie as absent as I am usually collected. You know me of
old, Valerie, and Elsa herself knows best what strong concentration of
thought is necessary for the conception and carrying out of my 'Court
Etiquette.'"
Elsa here tried to keep her aunt to her usually favourite topic, but in
vain.
"There are moments," said Sidonie, "even in the lives of those who,
like myself, most perfectly estimate the whole moral and political
necessity of the growth and prosperity of the smaller courts, in which
the firmly-rooted love and fidelity to the highest personages must not,
indeed, be overpowered by family interests--that would be an improper
expression--but allow the latter somewhat more liberty than usual; and
in my mind that moment has now arrived."
Sidonie now went on to describe the happiness that she felt at the
aspect of the betrothed pair, who were themselves so happy, if they
delicately refrained from giving to their happiness that expression
which to less observant eyes might seem necessary or at least
desirable, but for those who, during a long life at court, had learnt
the requisite knowledge of humanity was neither necessary nor
desirable. She, at least, must confess that Ottomar's modest gratitude
and Carla's timid reticence moved her to the bottom of her heart, and
all the more that she was constantly reminded by it of the bewitching
idyl of the budding love of her Princess towards the then hereditary
Prince, now the reigning sovereign; and if Elsa, as it seemed, intended
to make the objection that the marriage in question had to be broken
off later on account of higher interests, they were higher interests
which had nothing to do with the present question, and never could
have.
Elsa had given up the attempt to stem her aunt's inexhaustible flow of
words; she hardly dared, for fear of drawing upon herself fresh
reproaches for her unkindness and frivolity, even to raise her eyes to
Aunt Valerie, who, leaning back in her chair, listened with an
attention which Sidonie pointed out to Elsa as "exemplary." Neither she
nor Elsa suspected what feelings were tearing the heart of the poor
woman, while her smiling lips from time to time put in a courteous,
kindly word of interest. She must take notice of every turn of the
conversation if she would go through the examination which her
inexorable tyrant would impose upon her later. Woe to her if she had
overlooked or failed to hear anything! Woe to her if she contradicted
herself! Thrice woe to her if she had exclaimed what her heart cried
within her: "I know it all already, better than you, foolish sister, or
you, dear child! Poor things, do you not see that you are in the
tiger's den, to which there are many tracks that lead, but none that
come out again?"
And then her anxious glance turned to the door. How did it happen that
he left her alone for so long? What was his intention, he who never did
anything without intention?