In a large, pleasant garden, laid out in the old fashioned style, two
young friends were walking together one summer evening. Sometimes they
would sit down on a grassy slope, looking at the bright clouds in the
western sky; then rising together in the most friendly manner, they
would walk beneath the arching trees, stopping often to pluck flowers,
and many-patterned leaves, from the low hanging boughs, but ever and
anon they talked busily together, and their conversation soon turned
upon their early recollections.
“I remember well the first time I ever saw you, Magdalene,” commenced
the younger one. “It was a still summer day, soon after we first moved
here. Every thing at home was in confusion. Our scanty load of furniture
had been tossed into our neglected old house, apparently to arrange
itself. Our one girl, with noisy undirected zeal, went stumbling about,
falling over chairs, and breaking crockery; while my poor father, sick
and irritable, lay upon a bed, fuming at every thing. Unnoticed and
wondering, I sat in a corner, amused for a time by the chaos by which I
was surrounded. But at length I grew very weary at the voices of
displeasure and vexation, that grated so harshly upon my ears. Looking
up at the window, I saw how brightly the sun was shining upon the green
waving trees in the avenue beyond; and with a sudden longing for quiet I
slipped out at the door. Our own garden, a square of bare ground was by
no means inviting; but beyond grew a row of tall, beautiful trees, that
seemed to bound a large flower-garden, and farther still, a little wood
with a low stile, enchanted my fancy, and promised me an easy entrance.
Oh! I cannot tell you how beautiful it looked, to a child brought up in
the close dismal streets of a large city. I felt as if I stood in
Fairy-land. Every thing seemed to have a marvelous light,—a mysterious
shading cast over it, which gave me a sensation, as if something strange
and wonderful were hidden behind every bush, or at every corner around
which I passed. As I went on, my childish attention was attracted by the
pretty iron railings which bounded the garden, and looking between them,
I saw a well-kept lawn, and smooth walks, winding around mounds of green
turf. On one of these mounds, you were sitting, reading with a calm air,
perfectly in keeping with the scene around. I thought you much older
than you really were, for you were tall for your age. You seemed to me
so striking in your dark blue dress, with your beautiful features, that
I immediately ran over in my mind all the heroines I had ever read of,
but as I could not find one that exactly resembled you, I thought of a
name for you, and had commenced to connect a long story with it, when a
voice from the house called you, and to my great disappointment, you
went in. I continued for awhile to look in upon the wide garden, but I
felt as if the life of the scene, and the heroine of my story had
departed with you.”
“Ah! yes, Franzchen,” answered her companion, “from the first, you were
romantic and fanciful. But I remember well, with what childish
superiority I at first looked down upon you. When Aunt Katrine told me
one day, that she was going to bring little Franzchen Deshalbens to see
me,—I cried contemptuously—What, Aunt!—That girl, with such a little
unwashed face, and such great black eyes to see me!—I don’t like babies
for play-fellows! But before you had been with me long, I learned to
like you well enough, and think I might possibly find pleasure in the
companionship of one younger than myself. You remember, we went into the
garden, and as we sat upon the mound, you told me the story of ‘the fair
lady and the genii.’ I soon forgot my disdain, and besought you to
continue, until the moon rose upon your endless and enchanting
recitals.”
“Yes, indeed! Magda. I too remember with what dignity you received me.
But that only pleased me, because it corresponded with the character I
had drawn out for you, of a great princess. But I think I should have
been a little overawed, if Aunt Katrine had not spoken so kindly to me.
Then when I commenced to speak of my favorite stories, you seemed to
think such things so far beneath you, that I did not expect the interest
with which you afterward listened.”
“And then, Franzchen, I used to come to the fence at the foot of the
garden, to see you sitting on the ground, building a castle with small
sticks, and you, little muddy thing, would look up with your great dark
eyes, to tell me of some new tale you had been reading, and you would
fix upon a character in it for each of us. Sometimes you were the hero
or heroine of the piece, and would tell the whole in the first person.
What a changeful, chameleon-like creature you made yourself out to be.
Now you were the brave knight, Sir George, and rode fighting for
Christendom; and now as the sorrowful Griselda, you told me of your
cruel, task-exacting aunt, until the tears came into my eyes; or you
spoke of yourself as ‘the fair one with the locks of gold,’ while all
the time your curling black hair fell over your face. Do you know,
Franzchen, I often envy you those curling dark locks? Stay now, while I
arrange these white jasmins in your hair. Flowers never look so well in
mine.”
“Dear Magda, how can you envy me, with your beautiful, light, braided
hair? Do you know, last night, I thought you looked like an old Grecian
statue, with your fine features, and tall, fine figure; and you spoke to
every one with so much ease and self-possession.”
“There, now! Franzchen. You are running away again from all common
sense, into the crazy region of your imagination. Do not try to make a
heroine of me, I beseech you, or expect me to take all your fancies for
realities. But it is growing late. I hope you are not too romantic to
eat any supper.”
As they returned to the house, they were met by Aunt Katrine. “Here,
girls! come quickly,” she cried. “I have a letter for Magdalene, from
her father’s sister, the high and mighty Baroness of Radgardin.”
Now this aunt of Magda’s,—a pretty, foolish, ambitious woman, had
married a nobleman of high birth, and great wealth, whose sister was a
margravine. Great indeed, was the dignity of the noble Baron of
Radgardin, and great was the elation and self-consequence of his
baroness. Had not Magda grown up uncommonly beautiful and striking in
appearance, it may well be doubted whether she would have taken so much
interest in her, as she now seemed to. But as it was, she liked to have
her handsome niece with her, and had already many ambitious designs
connected with her. Her darling scheme at present, was to marry her to
the young Count Hugo, the son of an old friend of the baron’s, and she
constantly remarked that Magda, a beauty, and somewhat of an heiress,
should hold up her head, and remember, that she was the niece of the
Baroness of Radgardin, and the grand-daughter of the Baron of Roderkamp.
She had now written to invite her to pay her a visit, as she expected to
have much noble company at her house, to whom she was anxious to
introduce her.
Among the rest, she was to be honored by the presence of Count Hugo, and
she went so far as to hint that her family were always remarkable for
beauty, and as some of them had already done so well in the world, Magda
also, under her guidance, might do equally so. At the close, she added,
“My dear child, you must come. I have seen your father, and he said that
the only obstacle that would prevent your coming was, that you had a
friend staying with you, whom you had promised to accompany on a visit.
You must prevail upon your friend to delay this visit, and come with
you. My carriage shall be at your door next Tuesday—so be sure and be
ready.”
Magda laughed heartily as she read the letter. “But we will go,
Franzchen,” she said, “for we shall have a fine time no doubt, and
besides that, I have seen this Count Hugo, and like him very much. So
does my father. I have often heard him speak very highly of him.”
But Franzchen looked upon the matter very seriously, and never doubting
but that Magda had only to appear to conquer the whole world, she
cried,—“But Carl Engleford, Magda, what is to become of poor Carl
Engleford?”
“Oh, never mind Carl Engleford! I tell you, Franzchen, I’m very
ambitious, and I want to see Count Hugo again. But we must write to your
cousin and delay our visit there.”
This cousin of Franzchen’s whom they spoke of visiting, was a
good-natured, but high-tempered woman, who had never been able to bear
with Monsieur Deshalbens’ perverse and irritable temper; but at his
death she would gladly have taken charge of her little cousin; Magda
however would never consent that she should be separated from her, and
they compromised the matter by going often to pay her a long visit, but
this might easily be delayed on so important an occasion as the present.
“We shall want a good many things,” said Magda, with a prudent and
business like air, after a few minutes consideration; “I shall go at
once to my father and get a draft for each of us. Shall I manage every
thing myself?”
“Pray do,” said Franzchen, who was still thinking of Carl Engleford.
Magda found plenty to occupy her, and busied herself with preparing and
packing; but at length the eventful day arrived, and with it the
baroness’s carriage.
“Is Lisette to go with us?” asked Franzchen, as she saw the girl
descending the stairs, bonnet on and band-box and parcel in hand.
“Certainly. We must have a waiting-maid at Radgardin castle,” answered
her companion.
They set off in high spirits. After a long and somewhat wearisome ride
they approached the castle.
It was a magnificent building, situated upon a winding river, which
swelled out into a little lake before it. The commencement of the water
was hidden from view by deep, dark woods, terminated by a distant range
of blue mountains. Franzchen was fairly enchanted, as the coachman,
exciting the spirited horses, whirled them at full speed along the
smooth, level road entering the extensive pleasure-grounds.
“Oh, Magda, look, look!” she cried, “what beautiful glimpses we catch of
the water as we pass among the trees, and how finely the road winds down
to the river!”
Magda had been there before, but she now joined heartily in her friend’s
admiration. Soon they drew up at the gate of the castle, were ushered up
stairs, and received in the vestibule by the baroness.
“Oh, my dear Magda, how delighted I am to see you—I knew you would
come. Although I am rusticating here in the country just now, we shall
not be very dismal, I can assure you. I have a delightful party coming
to see me. The Margrave and Margravine of Baralt, the Landgrave of
Durathor, the Dowager Countess of Hinkle, Baron Logrum, and better than
all—”
Here she was interrupted by her niece, who drew Franzchen forward to
introduce her to her aunt, who immediately drew herself up—“was much
gratified at the honor Mademoiselle Deshalbens had done her in
accompanying her niece to her little country-house”—“hoped she was not
fatigued by the journey,” and so on.
After the usual inquiries and compliments had been gone through with,
they were conducted to a handsome room, opening on a balcony overlooking
a modern flower-garden behind the castle. The baroness left them to rest
and refresh themselves. She was soon followed by a servant bearing
fruits and refreshments on a gilded waiter.
But Franzchen thought not of eating as she stood at the window looking
out upon the terrace. So looking doubtfully at her companion, who was
busily engaged directing Lisette to unpack the trunks, she began:
“Oh, Magda, how pleasant it would be to run down and look at the river.
We could so easily descend these steps and pass through that gate.”
“No, indeed, Franzchen. You must lie down immediately and go to sleep.”
“What! I go to sleep! It isn’t night yet!”
“But we have been traveling all day, and to-night we are to be
introduced to a great party. If we do not rest now we shall be horribly
weary when evening comes, and look frightful and stupid.”
“But, Magda, I’m not sleepy at all. It will be of no use to lie down.”
“But you must, Franzchen; you must eat and sleep, or you will look thin
and pale, and I don’t want you to look like a scarecrow.”
“I don’t want to look like a scarecrow, either. Do you think I shall?”
“Of course you will if you don’t lie down. Now do, dear Franzchen.”
“Well, then, if I must,” said Franzchen, sighing as she turned away from
the window.
Magda smiled as she saw her lie down and in a few minutes fall fast
asleep, but without thinking of following her example, she was turning
again to Lisette, when the baroness looked in.
“Do you not want to rest, my dear?”
“No, aunt; I never sleep in the day time.”
“Well, then, leave Lisette and come with me a moment, I want to have a
talk with you.” So saying, she led the way to the balcony, and after a
few compliments on her manners and appearance, she began. “Now, my dear
child, who is this friend of yours, this Mademoiselle Deshalbens?”
“She is an orphan,” answered Magda. “Her father came to our neighborhood
when she was very young, and purchased a house near to ours. When he
died he left her, with a moderate fortune, to the guardianship of my
father, who had taken a great deal of interest in her.”
“Who was her father? Were you acquainted with him before?”
“No, they were perfect strangers, but we liked Franzchen so much, that
we would gladly have had her with us always. Monsieur Deshalbens was
French. His health was very poor from the time we first became
acquainted with him; his wife, who was a German, had died some time
before.”
“A Frenchman! and nobody I suppose. My dear Magda, you must be careful
what acquaintances you form. At your time of life it is very important.
Now, don’t look so indignant, my dear, I’m not finding fault with your
friend in the least, you know, for she seems to be a harmless little
creature, and her manners are very pretty, only wanting in style of
course. But how much better it would be if all your acquaintances were
selected from high-life, and your intimate friend should be a baroness,
or a lady something, at least.”
“If all she wants is a little mann—”
“There, now, my dear, why should you take offense at what I have said?
It was only meant to guide your conduct in future. Do not let us speak
of it any more now. I want you to give me your opinion about a little
walk I am having made down here. Come, let us go and see it.” So saying,
she descended from the balcony with a smiling countenance, and Magda
followed, to hear that Count Hugo was expected every moment—was such a
handsome young man—so brave, so distingué, etc.
When Franzchen opened her eyes, it was quite evening. The room was
brightly lighted by a chandelier from the ceiling, and Magda was
standing beside her, waiting for her to awaken. She jumped up, wondering
that she had forgotten herself for so long a time, and asking how her
companion had slept.
“Excellently well, dear Franzchen. But it is time you dressed. The
baroness has been here. She says that every one has come, and we must
descend to the drawing-room as soon as we can. Come, I will arrange your
hair myself, for I have set Lisette to altering a little your white
gauze dress with the blue trimming.”
“But how will you get dressed, Magda?”
“Don’t you see that Lisette has already braided my hair? She can finish
dressing me in a minute. Now, pray, don’t open your eyes so wide. I did
not sleep quite as long as you, that is all.”
“But my white gauze dress with the blue trimming! Where did it come
from? I never saw it before.”
“Why, I ordered it, to be sure, and plenty more beside. Did you think,
you little ignoramus, that we were coming without any thing to wear? But
now, let me do your hair.”
“How kind you always are, Magda! I never thought of it.”
“I know that. You never paid a visit to the Baroness of Radgardin
before, and don’t know of what importance such things are in her eyes.”
“But, Magda, what are you putting those pearls in my hair for? They are
the prettiest ornaments you have. You must wear them yourself.”
“Oh, no! I’m going to wear my little tiara, my golden crescent, that we
used to call the crown. It is more suitable, you know.”
“Suitable! To what?”
“Why, to my exalted expectations, to be sure! You forget Count Hugo.”
“Has he come?” asked Franzchen, eagerly.
“Yes, some time ago; and I have seen and talked with him. There! Now,
pray, don’t give such another start, for you have disarranged all the
curls I had just finished brushing. Sit still, and I will tell you all
about it. I did not feel at all inclined to sleep, and I went down the
terrace, with the baroness, to see a new walk she is having made. We
were in full discussion concerning it, when we heard a voice behind us
and turning, saw Count Hugo, who had left his horse with a servant at
the entrance of the park, that he might, as he told us, have the
pleasure of walking slowly through it, and enjoying the fine views.”
“I like him for that!” cried Franzchen, who was growing quite excited.
“That is just what I should have liked to have done! I hate those
indifferent sort of persons, who pass every thing by without the least
admiration, and would not walk a step out of their way to see the most
beautiful scene in the world. But what next, Magda?”
“Only that we had a pleasant little conversation, and I like him better
than ever. After paying his respects to the baroness, he hastened to
claim my acquaintance, and stayed talking to me until my aunt, alarmed
for my toilette, carried him off.”
“Oh, I am so glad! I’m sure he must like you very much, Magda! It seems
like a dream. How stupid I was to sleep all the time.”
“Not at all,” said Magda, quietly, as she gave the last touch to
Franzchen’s hair. “There comes Lisette with the dress.”
The toilette was at length completed, and Magdalene announced her
intention of descending immediately.
Franzchen, who always delighted in seeing her friend handsomely dressed,
could not refrain from a little innocent admiration, but danced around
her, examining her from head to foot, and exclaiming, “You look like
some great queen, Magda, in your white satin dress, and your little
golden coronal.” Magda smiled quietly, and thought little Franzchen did
not look at all amiss in the white gauze dress, her dark curls fastened
back by the bandeau of pearls, and her eyes sparkling with delight.
As they were ushered into the brilliant saloon, the baroness came
forward and introduced them to one and another, until Franzchen was
almost bewildered. First they must curtsey to this stout lady in blue,
and the noble margravine, then smile sweetly on that good-tempered old
gentleman, and gratefully on this condescending great landgrave.
Then advanced from the crowd, a thin, elderly gentleman, with rather a
vacant countenance, and stiff manner, accompanied by a younger one, with
bright, brown eyes, and a lively, pleasant face. They welcomed Magda
with much friendliness, and were introduced to Mademoiselle Deshalbens
as Baron Radgardin and Count Hugo.
Franzchen’s eyes fairly danced. She felt as if she was in an enchanted
land, and although, after the first introduction was over she was left
almost unnoticed in the crowd, she was fully occupied in admiring the
brilliancy of the lights, the gay appearance of the lamps, and above
all, in watching Magda dancing with Count Hugo, who evidently admired
her greatly, and seized every opportunity of conversing with her.
At length a sandy-haired young man, whose countenance left the
impression of a perfect blank upon Franzchen’s mind, requested her to
dance. She arose to join the set, but was so busy thinking and admiring,
that she hardly knew what she was doing; but she danced with the
unconscious grace that was natural to her.
“Mademoiselle Deshalbens moves like a zephyr,” remarked the count, who
had been watching the new-comer with considerable satisfaction—and
Magda smiled assent.
After the dancing and supper were over, a walk was proposed upon the
terrace—and every gentleman hastened to escort some fair lady to the
promenade.
As Franzchen stood waiting, she saw the count looking for Magda, who was
already walking with Baron Logrum. As he turned away disappointed, he
noticed her standing alone, and hastened to beg the honor of conducting
her.
She desired nothing more than the opportunity of becoming acquainted
with him; and although at first she stood a little in awe of him, she
had a natural gift at making herself at home with every one, and
inducing them to talk. But the count was no difficult subject. He spoke
with the ease of an intelligent, well educated man, and the wit of a
young and lively one.
He commenced at once about Magdalene, whom he rejoiced again to have
met. Then they admired the pleasant walk, the fine view, and the bright
moonlight; and at length they wandered off into a comparison of their
favorite writers, whom they discussed with an animation that astonished
a very prim and proper couple, who walked just behind them, alternately
answering with yes and no’s, to questions asked at minute intervals.
By the time they returned to the saloon, Franzchen felt almost as if
they were old friends, and thought how much better one free and earnest
conversation was than a thousand silent meetings.
“I like the count very much,” she said, as she returned with Magda to
their room, after the company had dispersed; “and he talks so much of
you.”
“You do not wonder so much now, that I could forget Carl Engleford,
while thinking of him?”
“No.” Franzchen was obliged to confess that she was no longer surprised
at it.
It may easily be imagined that the two friends rose rather late upon the
ensuing morning; but that was the custom in that noble house—and the
midday sun was shining brightly when Lisette entered with the coffee.
Magdalene and Franzchen sat opposite each other in their loose
morning-dresses, and entered into a regular gossip, as they sipped their
coffee, on the events of the preceding day.
They talked over the kind though stiff baron, the ambitious baroness,
the condescending landgrave, and last, but not least, the agreeable
young count.
“I always had a high esteem for him,” said Magda, “from what I have
heard of him. And I think he is more truly polite and polished than any
one I have ever met with.”
“I think so, too,” said Franzchen; “he is so gentle and kind; and I like
so much to see his eyes twinkle, when he says any thing merry.”
“Yes, he really has beautiful eyes, so full of life and intelligence.”
“And then, Magda, his manners are so simple and unaffected. I was
afraid, because he was a count, and very rich, that he would be haughty
and self-conceited; but he is not so at all—is he?”
“Not in the least,” responded Magda; and so they agreed that they were
very well pleased to have met him.
“Good news! good news!” cried the baroness, when she next found Magda
alone. “The count is going to stay with us awhile, for he is quite at
leisure for some time to come. Ah! I know well enough to whom it is
owing. He was delighted with the party last night, and expressed great
pleasure at meeting you here, expressing at the same time the highest
admiration of your appearance and manners—so dignified and lady-like!”
Magda smiled, blushed, and said he was really too complimentary.
“Oh, he admires you exceedingly; and he likes your little friend, too.
He says there is something very bright and lovely in the expression of
her face, and that the contrast between you is very becoming to you
both. Was it not good-natured of him to take so much notice of her?”
“No, he only showed a due discernment, I think,” answered Magda.
“Oh, my dear, you are so fond of her! But to do her justice, she really
dressed herself with good taste last night, which is a thing I like to
see. And you did also, Magda; only I did not like your head-dress quite
so well.”
“That is because nature has not bestowed upon me such fine dark curls,
ma’am.”
“Well, she has pretty hair. But, my dear, we must make good use of the
time while the count is with us.”
“I shall certainly endeavor to,” said Magda, as she went to join
Franzchen and the count in the park.
One fine evening the two friends, accompanied by Count Hugo, who was now
their constant companion, strolled down to the river. As they looked
toward the blue distant mountains, Franzchen wished for wings that she
might fly away to their dim summits; but Magda thought it would be far
more agreeable to glide over the clear surface of the water.
The count seized upon the idea with alacrity. “Yes, that is the very
thing,” he cried. “And, see! here is a little boat all ready. Will you
not trust yourselves to my guidance? I am a good boat’s-man, I assure
you.”
“Oh, delightful!” cried Franzchen. “You shall row us in the path that
the moon has marked out for us; and we will glide down the stream like
the fairies we hear of in old stories, in their little walnut-shell
boats.”
“But what if we should tip over?” suggested the prudent Magda.
“Then we would float along like the sea-nymphs, with flowing locks
spread out upon the water. I think, to bathe in this beautiful river
would be quite pleasant.”
“And only think,” interposed the count, “what a fine opportunity I
should have of displaying my gallantry in rescuing you by those flowing
locks, and swimming with you to the land.”
“Oh, my poor head! It makes me shudder to think of it,” said Magda,
clasping her hands above her. “That might do for water-nymphs, if they
have hair of ropes, and skin like leather; but for poor human beings, me
thinks, it would be more romantic than agreeable.”
“But there is really no danger,” replied the count; “and I shall
consider it as an imputation upon my skill, if you do not try it.”
Franzchen jumped into the boat, Magda followed, and Count Hugo, placing
himself at the helm, soon showed himself skillful in the use of the oar.
The moonlight shining like silver upon the still water, the dark trees
and bushes casting deep, mysterious shadows upon the margin, the fresh
evening air, and the showers of diamonds falling from the oars, all
combined to carry Franzchen, keenly alive to every thing picturesque,
into the seventh heaven. Unable to contain herself, she broke forth with
her clear voice into a little river song, in which she was quickly
joined by her companions. Then Count Hugo begged for another, and
another—and so they floated on, making the echoes resound with sweet
sounds until they came to a little island, where the count moored the
boat to the shore, and springing out, offered them his hand.
They made the circuit of the island, and then sat down on the craggy
roots of some old trees, looking toward the dark woods on the opposite
side of the river.
“This little island reminds me of a story you were telling me the other
day, Franzchen,” said Magda.
“Oh, tell it us! tell it us again!” said the count, seating himself
opposite to them. “This is the very time and place for it; and that
alone is needed to make the evening perfect!”
Franzchen thought it quite perfect already, but she readily consented,
on condition that they also should relate something in their turn. She
then commenced a little anecdote concerning a prince, who once possessed
a large province, with a small island upon the coast, to which his
predecessors had been so greatly attached, on account of its extreme
beauty, that they had built a palace upon it, and held there their court
during the fairest months of the year. There, one by one, his ancestors
had been gathered to their rest—and tradition associated with that spot
the fate of their line. Year by year the king grew more attached to his
island heritage; and through many sorrows and misfortunes, he clung to
it as a reminiscence of the past, and a safeguard for the future. At
length a powerful and ambitious neighbor made war upon him, defeated
him, and drove him to take refuge upon this one small island, the last
of his possessions. As long as he could retain it he was not without
hope; but when this also was taken from him, the unfortunate king
wandered, exiled and broken-hearted, in a foreign land, and at length
returned in disguise, old and friendless, to die upon the ground
consecrated to his race.
Franzchen always entered with her whole heart into every thing she
related, however insignificant; and she now described with great effect
the loveliness of the island, and the despair of the exiled monarch. Her
eyes beamed, and her voice rose as she told of the conflict, and fell
again into sadness, as she spoke of the defeat, the exile, and the sad
return.
Count Hugo moved nearer as she proceeded, and looked at her with
increasing interest and pleasure; and Magda smiled, for she had often
experienced the living interest which Franzchen threw, like a magic web,
over all her recitals. Then she and Count Hugo must also relate
something; and though they could not pretend to compete with Franzchen,
yet the eager interest she took in all that was said, acted almost like
inspiration; and the tales and traditions went round, until Magda,
startled by the lateness of the hour, rose to return.
After that the count liked nothing better than to prevail upon Franzchen
to draw upon her retentive memory for the stories and anecdotes in which
she delighted; and then they would enter into airy and mystical
conversations, and such abstract philosophical questions, that Magda
declared she was fast taking leave of her seven senses, and running the
risk of colds, chills, and all kinds of disasters, by sitting upon the
grass, and walking through the park at all hours of the day.
So passed the time for days and for weeks; for Count Hugo prolonged his
stay, and, indeed, he seemed very unwilling to take his departure at
all; and the baroness, triumphant in the success of her plans, would not
hear of Magda’s leaving.
Day after day Count Hugo walked out with them, read to them, and seemed
to take increasing interest in their society.
After leaving Magda and the count alone, Franzchen often found them
engaged in earnest conversation, when they would appear evidently
embarrassed by her return. Then the count would jump up, offer her his
seat, and enter at once into an animated discussion upon the first
subject that entered his head. This Franzchen looked upon as a very
natural proceeding, and a matter of course. Sometimes it struck her,
that he talked too much to her, that he paid her more attention, and
consulted her wishes even more than Magda’s; but that was only a little
awkwardness, and Magda was not of a jealous disposition.
At length they came to the conclusion that the visit to Franzchen’s good
cousin could be postponed no longer. So they reluctantly fixed upon the
day for their departure, and the baroness could not prevail upon them to
delay it.
On the last evening they went to take a farewell walk in the park. Magda
was silent and thoughtful, Franzchen decidedly dismal, and Count Hugo
seemed uneasy and absent-minded. Franzchen at length, to break the
silence, doubled a large leaf into a cup, and pretending to be very
thirsty, dipped up water from the river, and offered it to her
companions, under the pretence that it was the choicer nectar. Count
Hugo declared the river water was detestable, begged her not to taste
it, and said he would bring her some from the spring. In vain she
protested that she would wait until she returned, that she could not
think of letting him go all the way back to the spring. He was only too
happy to be of any service—and he darted away.
“And so we really must go to-morrow,” said Franzchen, sadly, after
standing a moment looking after him. “What shall we do without Count
Hugo, Magda?”
“But we need not part with him. He only waits for permission to
accompany us to-morrow to your cousin’s.”
“Does he, indeed? Oh, Magda, surely you will grant it.”
“I have nothing to do with it, Franzchen. I shall never exert any
influence over him but that of a friend.”
“Why, Magda, I always supposed—”
“But Carl Engleford,” interrupted Magda, archly. “What would become of
poor Carl Engleford! And now,” she said, speaking more seriously, “let
me assure you, dearest Franzchen, that I have never for a moment thought
of the count for myself. It is for you I have sought his society; it is
for your sake I have prolonged our stay; and it is for your sake alone
that the count has remained with us. Forgive me a little innocent
deception. The baroness manœuvered for me, and I must needs manœuvre a
little for you. Now the count has fairly engaged me on his side. He
loves you truly; and it has long been my most earnest wish to see you
look favorably upon him.”
“Ah, yes!” cried Count Hugo, who at that moment appeared among the
trees, bearing a pitcher of water, which he let fall hastily as he
rushed forward to seize her hand. “Loveliest Franzchen! have you not
long seen how I delight in your society, and how miserable I should be
without you! It is, indeed, your permission I wait for! Will you not
grant it?”
Magda quietly descended after the pitcher, which had been rolling down
the sloping ground in a most perilous manner, while the count poured
forth such a torrent of persuasion and beseeching looks, that before the
bewildered little Franzchen well knew what she was about, she had
granted the desired permission, and allowed him to cover her hand with
kisses, in gratitude therefor. But although she had consented rather
hastily, yet, on recovering her senses, and considering the matter, she
did not feel inclined to retract; and her first thought on the following
morning was, “How glad I am Count Hugo is going with us.”
* * * * *
Great was the triumph of the baroness, when she heard that the count was
to accompany her guests; but immense was her astonishment and
disappointment, when she discovered that it was as the declared suitor,
not of Magdalene, but of Franzchen; and severe would have been the
upbraidings which her niece would have had to bear, for not acquainting
her sooner with the true state of things, had not Count Hugo, before
their departure, earnestly thanked her for the great kindness and
discretion with which she had discerned his feelings, and aided him in
seeking the society of her young friends. Whereupon, she thought it best
to conceal her dissatisfaction, under the pretence of great penetration.
And, after all she thought, Baron Logrum is richer than the count, and
evidently admires Magda greatly; and so—and so—
And so ended the visit to Radgardin.
* * * * *