Daniel had left the city long ago. Eleanore chanced to meet Herr
Carovius. He forced her to stop, conducted himself in such a familiar
way, and talked in such a loud voice that the passersby simpered. He
asked all about the young master, meaning Daniel.
He told her that "the good Eberhard"--it was his way of referring to
Baron von Auffenberg--had gone to Munich for a few months, and was
taking up with spiritists and theosophists.
"It is his way of having a fling," said Herr Carovius, grinning from ear
to ear. "In former times, when young noblemen wished to complete their
education and have a little lark at the same time, they made the grand
tour over Europe. Now-a-days they become penny-a-liners, or they go in
for table-tipping. Humanity is on the decline, my charming little girl.
To study the flower of the nation at close range is no longer an
edifying occupation. It is rotten, as rotten, I tell you, as last
winter's apples. There is consequently no greater pleasure than to make
such a young chap dance. You play, he dances; you whistle, he retrieves.
It is a real treat!"
He laughed hysterically, and then had a coughing spell. He coughed so
violently that the black cord suspended from his nose-glasses became
tangled about a button on his great coat, and his glasses fell from his
nose. In his awkwardness, intensified by his short-sightedness, he
fumbled the button and the cord with his bony fingers until Eleanore
came to the rescue. One move, and everything was again in order.
Herr Carovius was struck dumb with surprise. He would never have
imagined that a young girl could be so natural and unembarrassed. He
suspected a trap: was she making fun of him, or did she wish to do him
harm? It had never occurred to him that one might voluntarily assist him
when in distress.
Suddenly he became ashamed of himself; he lifted his eyes and smiled
like a simpleton; he cast a glance of almost dog-like tenderness at
Eleanore. And then, without saying a word, without even saying good-bye
to her, he hastened across the street to hide as soon as he might in
some obscure corner.
V
One afternoon in the last week of August, the Ruediger sisters sent the
boy who attended to their garden over to Eleanore with the urgent
request that she call as soon as she possibly could. Feeling that some
misfortune had befallen Daniel and that the sisters wished to tell her
about it, Eleanore was not slow about making up her mind: exactly one
quarter of an hour later she entered the Ruedigers' front door.
A lamentable sight greeted her. Each of the three sisters was sitting in
a high-backed chair, her arms hanging lifeless from her sides. The
curtains were drawn; in the shaded light their faces looked like
mummies. Nor was the general impression measurably brightened by the
"Medea," the "Iphigenie," and the "Roman Woman" that hung on the wall,
copies of the paintings of their idol.
Eleanore's greeting was not returned. She did not dare leave without
finding what was the matter, and the silence with which she was received
was broken only when she herself decided to ask some questions.
Fraeulein Jasmina took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes. Fraeulein
Saloma looked around somewhat like a judge at a session of court. And
then she began to speak: "We three lonely women, forgotten by the world,
have asked you to come to our house so that we might tell you of a crime
that has been committed in our innocent home. We never heard of it until
this morning. It is such an unexampled, gruesome, abominable deed that
we have been sitting here ever since it was brought to our attention,
wringing our hands in vain attempt to make up our minds as to what
course we should pursue."
Fraeulein Jasmina and Fraeulein Albertina nodded their heads in sadness
and without looking up.
"Can we put the unfortunate girl out of the house?" continued Fraeulein
Saloma, "can we, sisters? No! Can we afford to keep her? No! What are we
to do then? She is an orphan; she is all alone, abandoned by her
infamous seducer, and exposed to unmitigated shame. What are we to do?"
"And you," said Fraeulein Saloma turning to Eleanore, "you who are bound
to that gifted monster by ties the precise nature of which we are in no
position to judge, you are to show us a way out of this labyrinth of our
affliction."
"If I only knew what you are talking about," said Eleanore, a great
burden falling from her heart as she realised that her initial fears
were groundless. "By the monster you evidently mean Daniel Nothafft.
What crime has he committed?"
Fraeulein Saloma was indignant at the flippancy of her manner. She rose
to her full stature, and said with punitive lips: "He has made our maid
an ordinary prostitute, and the consequences are no longer to be
concealed. Do you know what we are talking about now?"
Eleanore uttered a faint "Oh!" and blushed to the roots of her hair. In
her embarrassment she opened her mouth to laugh, but she came very near
to crying.
Her saddened feelings slowly crept back to Daniel, and as the picture of
him rose before her mind's eye, she turned from it in disgust. But she
did not wish to allow this picture to remain in her memory: it was too
flabby, petty, and selfish. Before she knew what she was doing, she, as
a woman, had pardoned him. Then she shuddered, opened wide her eyes,
and resumed her accustomed cheerfulness. She was again in complete
control of herself.
The court had in the meanwhile examined the silent woman with stern
scrutiny: "Where is Daniel Nothafft at present?" asked Fraeulein Saloma.
"I do not know," replied Eleanore, "he hasn't written for over three
weeks."
"We must request you to inform him at once of the condition of the
prostitute, for so long as such a person is in our house, we cannot
sleep at night nor rest by day."
"I am sorry that you take the matter so to heart," said Eleanore, "and
it is a rather disagreeable affair. But I have no right to mix myself up
in it, nor have I the least desire to do so."
The three sisters received this statement with despair; they wrung their
hands. They would rather die, they said, than meet this voluptuary face
to face again; they would endure all manner of martyrdom before they
would have him come in. All three spoke at once; they threatened
Eleanore; they implored her. Jasmina told with bated breath how Meta had
come to them and confessed the whole business. Albertina swore that
there was not another living soul on earth who could help them out of
this shameless situation. Saloma said that there was nothing for them to
do but to send the wicked creature back to the streets where she
belonged.
Eleanore was silent. She had fixed her eyes on the "Medea," and was
doing some hard thinking. Finally she came to a conclusion: she asked
whether she might speak to Meta. Filled at once with anxiety and hope,
Saloma asked her what she wanted with Meta. She replied that she would
tell them later what her purpose was. Fraeulein Jasmina showed her the
way to Meta's room.
When Meta caught sight of Eleanore, her features became at once
beclouded in sombre amazement.
She was sitting at the open window of her attic room knitting. She got
up and looked into the face of the beautiful girl without saying a word.
Eleanore was moved on seeing the tall, youthful figure, and yet it was
quite impossible for her to subdue a feeling of horror.
At Eleanore's very first words, Meta began to sob. Eleanore comforted
her; she asked her where she was planning to go during her confinement.
"Why, there are institutions," she murmured, holding her apron before
her face, "I can go to one of them."
Eleanore sat down on the side of the bed. She unrolled her plans to the
girl with a delicacy and consideration just as if she were speaking to a
pampered lady. She spoke with a silver-clear vivacity just as if she
were discussing some hardy prank. Meta looked at her at first with the
air of one oppressed; later she assumed the attitude of a grateful
listener.
Pained by the ethereal and inhuman primness of her three employers,
angry at the man who had abandoned her to her present fate, and fighting
against the reproaches of her own conscience, Meta became as wax in
Eleanore's hands, submissive, obedient, and appreciative.
The Ruediger sisters, all but bursting with curiosity to know what
Eleanore had in mind, could draw nothing from her other than that she
was going to take Meta away and that Meta was agreed.