THE CASTLE BY DAY
That afternoon, as arranged, Von Tressen and Galabin paid a visit to
Rozsnyo. Count Zarka received them with every sign of hospitality, and
led them through a wide corridor lined with statues and bronzes, to an
octagonal belvidere room where, somewhat to the visitors’ surprise,
they found two ladies. The Count presented them to his cousin, Madame
d’Ivady, a stately, picturesque woman, and her daughter, Fräulein
Royda, a dark, rather handsome girl.
“My cousins,” Zarka said, with his easy, tactful, man-of-the-world air,
“are kind enough to take compassion on my loneliness in this rocky
stronghold, and give me as much of their company here as my conscience
will allow me to take, knowing as I do that I am thereby depriving them
of the joys of the outer world of gaiety and fashion, and that world of
their presence.”
The elder lady swept her hand towards the windows which filled nearly
three-quarters of the side of the room.
“We have at least nothing like this in Paris or Vienna,” she said with
a sort of stately patronage, which made the two visitors struggle with
a smile.
Perhaps the girl noticed their repressed amusement, for she moved to
the window, saying--
“I don’t know where in the whole of Europe another view like this is to
be found. Is it not magnificent?”
She turned her head in invitation to the young men to join her,
and they moved to her side. There was no gainsaying the paramount
loveliness of the panorama beneath and around them; the multitudinous
shades of colour, ranging from the purple black of the pine woods to
the red gold of the mountain tops; the spray of the torrent catching
the sunlight, the deep glassy mirror of the lake, the luscious, restful
green of the valley, and the brilliant flower-clad bank from which the
castle rose--all made it indeed a position of surpassing beauty.
“Before we go over the place,” Zarka said, “you must have some
refreshment. Walking in the forest is so fascinating that one is apt to
forget how exhausting it may be. Now you shall try some Imperial Tokay.”
A large salver with cakes and flasks of wine had been brought in, and
Zarka did the honours with a flourish and excess of politeness which
hardly left room for the suspicion of a grim nature beneath.
“I tried to persuade our friends to take up their abode here for a
while,” he observed to the ladies. “But they preferred the simplicity
of a tent in the forest.”
“More natural than gallant,” Madame d’Ivady commented, in her grand
manner.
“Hardly ungallant,” Galabin objected laughingly, “since we did not know
of the presence of ladies at Rozsnyo.”
“And now you are aware of it,” the old lady said with the same pompous
rigidity, “will you not change your mind?”
Zarka interposed.
“We must not worry our young friends, Cousin Gertrud. It is only
natural that they should like the free life of the forest, and it would
be unfair to make them lead, even here, the very existence from which
they have for the time emancipated themselves.”
The girl laughed.
“Mother can hardly understand any one preferring life in a tent to
being snug in a house.”
Certainly the imagination would fail to picture the majestic, formal
Madame d’Ivady roughing it under canvas, and they smiled at the idea.
“Now,” exclaimed Zarka, as having finally disposed of the subject,
“shall we stroll round and see the few curiosities my poor house has to
show? Come, Royda. I suppose we cannot tempt you, Cousin Gertrud?”
The old lady excused herself with a dignity out of all proportion to
the matter, and they went off on a tour of inspection, the host leading
the way, and keeping up a running description of the place as they
proceeded, explaining how he had, so to speak, grafted a new house
on the remains of the mediæval castle. All the rooms through which
they passed were decorated and furnished in a manner suggestive of
considerable wealth.
Presently they crossed a small inner courtyard, and Zarka paused before
a door of ecclesiastical design.
“This,” he said, “is a necessary adjunct to a house so isolated as
mine.” He threw open the door, and they found themselves to their
surprise in an elaborately fitted private chapel. It was perhaps as
well that their voluble host did not catch the glances exchanged
between his two visitors; he might not have felt flattered by the
implied sarcasm on his religious arrangements. Perhaps their silence
was significant; anyhow the Count did not detain them in the chapel
longer than was needed to glance round it.
“Now,” he said, as they turned from the door, “one more room, and I
will not bore you by playing the showman any longer, at least indoors.
I must take you down into the rock and show you my armoury. I think you
will admit it is worth seeing.”
Indeed it was. The Count led the way down a broad winding staircase cut
between walls of solid rock. Deep loopholes, lined with reflectors,
gave light at intervals, and the roughness of the steps, evidently hewn
in the rock-bed, was covered with thick carpets of Oriental design.
Arrived at the bottom the Count pressed a knob, and the great barred
doors in front of them opened, disclosing an unexpected sight.
It was a great room, constructed deep in the rock; its stone walls,
hewn smooth and polished, were hung with arms and trophies of the
chase. Suits of armour of various descriptions and ages were arranged
on stands round the room, from regal suits of mail to the habergeons
of humble pikemen and arquebusiers. Above were suspended helmets, the
crested, gold-inlaid casques of warrior kings and knights, as well as
the sallet of the free-lance and the plain skull pieces and morions of
foot-soldiers. Shields of various shapes and emblazonry formed a frieze
round the upper part of the walls; below were swords, rapiers and
daggers, lances gay with pennons, murderous pikes, daggers, gauntlets,
all in artistic array. The great room, hewn out almost to the face
of the rock, sloping almost sheer down from beneath the castle, was
lighted by deep windows opening on to the side of the precipice, and
commanding the sunlit valley which stretched away below.
Zarka watched his visitors’ surprise with his habitual smile, a smile
which seemed to serve as a mask for possibly darker thoughts behind.
“This room,” he observed, “is my favourite toy, and it has afforded me
more amusement than most toys.”
“An innocent amusement,” Galabin thought; “yet, truly with a grim
significance behind it.”
“The room was made before my time,” Zarka continued, in answer to a
question of Von Tressen’s. “It was excavated by my great-grandfather
and used as a sort of strong room; perhaps”--he gave a shrug--“who
knows? a hiding place in those troublous times. All I have done is to
have it enlarged and fitted up as you see. Yes; it is my hobby. I have
fallen a prey to the collector’s mania, and I fear have wasted much
time and good money over it.”
Presently, when they had gone round the room, and cursorily inspected
its contents, their host proposed, what his visitors were really eager
for, a stroll round the outside of the castle.
“You have a most interesting abode,” Galabin remarked, as they found
themselves in the hall again. “I suppose there are further curiosities
to be seen above stairs?”
The Count’s urbane smile widened into a half comic grin of apology.
“All modern! Alas! all modern,” he exclaimed. “The lower part of the
castle alone is old. I will not destroy the effect of the few quaint
things you have seen by contrasting them with the bedroom appointments
from the Königstrasse. Unless, that is, you shall change your mind and
care to spend a few nights here. Perhaps if the weather breaks I may
have the pleasure of being your host.”
They strolled out and made the circuit of the castle. It was with no
small curiosity that the two visitors sought the window where they had
seen the light, and which had seemed to disappear so mysteriously. It
had vanished indeed. A blank wall ran from tower to tower without an
opening or break of any kind. Unseen by Zarka the two men exchanged
glances of wonder. Surely, they thought, the window itself with the
light streaming from it across to the very spot where they were
standing had not been a delusion of their brain. At any rate, now in
the broad sunlight, there was no sign of it to be detected. The wall,
massive and thick, seemed to put out of the question the idea of
an opening into it. No particular examination could, of course, be
hazarded, but a glance was enough to show how unaccountable was what
they had seen the night before.
As they strolled on, Fräulein d’Ivady lingered behind to point out to
Von Tressen a rare species of flowering plant which was growing in the
old moat. This manœuvre, for it seemed designed, threw them a little
way behind the other pair.
“You have been long encamped here in the forest?” the girl asked as
they turned to follow.
“Hardly a week.”
“I heard,” she seemed to lower her voice guardedly, “I heard of your
adventure the other day.”
“My adventure?”
“Surely!” she laughed, “The rare game you flushed and hit. The
mysterious lady who has taken up her abode at the old farmhouse.”
“Ah, yes. That was an unfortunate mistake of mine.”
“Tell me of this Fräulein Harlberg,” she said quickly. “I have never
seen her.”
“I have only seen her twice,” he replied, “and know nothing about her
except that she is staying there with her father.”
“For what reason?”
“For sport, I understood. But I am sure the Count could tell you far
more about them than I.”
“Aubray?” She nodded at Zarka. “He is there often? He knows them very
well?”
“I think so,” Von Tressen answered. “He seemed the other day on quite
familiar terms with them. I imagined they were old friends.”
He was a simple, straight-forward fellow, Von Tressen, and innocently
saw nothing beyond curiosity in his companion’s questions. Perhaps,
though, had he looked in her face during his last words he might
have realized that there was something more serious in those almost
breathless inquiries.
“This Fräulein Harlberg,” she went on; “is she very handsome?”
“Yes; very good-looking, I think.”
He hesitated a little awkwardly over his answer, and, woman-like, she
instantly divined the reason.
“Ah,” she returned, with an affectation of banter in her tone, “I
understand, do I? The romance is not to end with the healing of the
lady’s wounded hand?”
He laughed.
“You go too fast for me, Fräulein.”
“At least you are interested in--your victim?”
“Could I be otherwise? Still I regret that my knowledge is not equal
to my interest, or I could better gratify your curiosity.”
“Curiosity about what?”
The Count had turned suddenly--he evidently vibrated with alertness and
had quick ears. The restless, glittering eyes and wolfish teeth faced
them.
“Curiosity about what?” he repeated, as each hesitated for the other to
reply.
“Nothing, Aubray,” the girl answered quickly, as though to anticipate
Von Tressen. “I was asking the Lieutenant about his adventures in the
forest.”
The eyes fixed on them seemed to grow stern, although the smile did not
relax.
“Has the Lieutenant had any adventures, then?”
“Nothing worth relating,” Von Tressen answered. Somehow he felt he did
not care to allude to the one episode the girl and he had been speaking
of.
Zarka’s grin widened as his eyes looked more insistent. “What is the
mystery?” he demanded, addressing his cousin rather than Von Tressen.
“No mystery, Aubray,” she replied, with a little show of impatience,
“but what you already know. Lieutenant Von Tressen’s unlucky shot.”
“Ah? You do not deserve to hear tales if you allude to them so
indiscreetly, my good cousin.”
He spoke playfully, but there was an evil gleam in his eyes. The girl
bit her lip in self-annoyance, and said nothing. Von Tressen interposed.
“I can assure you, Count, that so far as I am concerned, there was no
reason why Fräulein d’Ivady should not allude to that unlucky episode.
At least I deserve to be for ever reminded of my carelessness.”
Zarka made a gesture of protest. “You are my guest, Herr Lieutenant,
and I do not wish you, here, at any rate, to be twitted with a mistake
which might have had very serious consequences.”
It seemed to Von Tressen that his host was making much more of the
business than had the girl. There was a scarcely veiled sharpness in
Zarka’s tone which seemed meant to sting his cousin.
“But I assure you, Count----” Von Tressen began, when Zarka interrupted
him.
“Let us dismiss the subject, please,” he said almost peremptorily. “It
is happily at an end.”