IN HER TRUE COLORS
Madame Von Bruyin grew very fond of Lilith and would have had her new
favorite with her every day, or even had her to come and live at the
hotel.
But Lilith pleaded that she wished to stay with her kind landlady as
much as possible during the short interval that would intervene before
their sailing for Europe.
The baroness admitted the excuse and did not insist on Lilith’s entering
upon her duties of companionship before the stipulated time—June 1st.
But whenever Aunt Sophie was out on business, or very much occupied with
her household duties, Lilith would slip away to pay a flying visit to
the baroness, to whom she was now, at all hours, a most welcome guest.
One evening it happened that Aunt Sophie had gone to a protracted
meeting at her church, and Lilith availed herself of that opportunity to
go and see the baroness.
It was the first occasion on which she had ever ventured to call on that
lady in the evening.
She found Madame Von Bruyin alone in her apartments, more lonely and
depressed than usual, and more than ever pleased to see her unexpected
but most welcome visitor.
She received Lilith with a warm embrace, and made her lay aside her
bonnet and mantle, and sit down in the most comfortable chair in that
luxurious room.
The gas had been turned down low, so that the whole room was in a
subdued cathedral light very favorable for meditation or for
confidential conversation.
How it was that Madame Von Bruyin glided into speaking of her own life
neither she nor her companion ever knew.
It was in answer to some remark of Lilith’s, however, that the baroness
answered:
“Yes, I know. Of course there are many people who envy me, and I suppose
that I may be considered in a very enviable position; but that is only
the external view. Within myself I am not enviable. There are few women
in this world less happy than I am.”
“I am very sorry,” said Lilith, in true sympathy. But she was much too
modest to preach to this great lady, this spoiled beauty, and to tell
her of the vast power her wealth furnished of doing good and finding her
happiness in the happiness of others.
“Child!” continued the baroness, “the truth is that I do not know what
to do with my life. If I were not in deep mourning I should take a
plunge into society and in its maddest excitements forget myself. But as
I cannot do that, I go to Europe, to make a tour of the continent. But I
ask myself, to what purpose? I have seen it all before. It will have no
novelty for me.”
“Not the beaten track—the great cities, the great centres of art,
science and learning, the monuments of antiquity—you have seen all
those; not the highways of travel, but the by-ways, madame—the remote
villages, the country people of each country. It seems to me that these
also might be very interesting,” Lilith modestly suggested.
“Possibly,” wearily replied the lady; “but nothing interests me,
child—except yourself—nothing. With every appliance of material
good—with youth and health and wealth—I have no interest in life, no
enjoyment of anything.”
“Oh, madame! what has brought you into such a state as this?” exclaimed
Lilith, speaking from the irrepressible impulse of her great sympathy,
and then stopping short and blushing at the thought of having asked the
baroness an impertinent question.
But Madame Von Bruyin did not seem to perceive any impropriety in
Lilith’s words. She felt only their deep sympathy.
“I must tell you something about myself and my spoiled life, and then
you will understand. Come nearer to me, child.”
Lilith left her easy-chair, drew a hassock after her, and sat down on it
at the feet of the baroness.
The lady bent her stately head until the golden tresses touched the ebon
ringlets of the girl. And after this caress she laid her hand on
Lilith’s head and whispered:
“I have been so wilful all my life. I can never remember the time when
my will was crossed—until about six months ago. How full the last six
months have been of changes for me!”
The lady paused thoughtfully. Lilith might have added: “And for me!” but
she did not. The baroness continued:
“I am an American, my dear, as you might know by my speech; and I was
born and married in America, though my father and my husband were both
subjects of the Emperor William. I was the only child of my widowed
father, who had married very late in life and who lost his wife in the
same hour that gave him his child. He never married a second time, but
devoted himself to me. In time I became the idol of my father and of his
dearest friend and inseparable companion, Mr. Nicholas Bruyin—who became
Baron Von Bruyin later, you understand.”
“Yes, madame,” said Lilith.
“I was never sent to school, but had teachers at home, who taught me no
more than I chose to learn; masters and governesses who never mastered
or governed me, but who had to submit to my will or leave my service.
And in all my self-will I was upheld by the two fondly doting old
gentlemen who held my destiny in their hands. I learned music and
dancing because I liked to do so; but I do not think I should have
learned anything else if it had not been for the advent of Monsieur le
Professeur Le Grange, my present private secretary, whom you have seen.”
“Yes, madame.”
“He was engaged to teach me languages when I was about thirteen years
old, and more ignorant than any girl of my own age and rank. Well,
Professeur Le Grange certainly found out the road to my conscience and
affections, convinced me of my pitiable ignorance and became my teacher
not only of languages, but of science, history and general literature. I
became very appreciative of his character and abilities, and tried to
profit by them. I think I have shown my gratitude for his services by
attaching him to my household. He will never leave.”
“He seems sincerely devoted to you, madame,” said Lilith.
“I think he is. There are spiritual fathers in the church. Professeur Le
Grange may be called my intellectual father. When I was but fifteen
years of age I went to Europe with these three old men—my father, my
friend and my teacher, and with no female companion except my old nurse
and my maid. You have never seen those two faithful women, dear?”
“No, madame.”
“Yet they are still in my service. We made an unusually extensive tour
of Europe, and the professor, who, in addition to his other
acquirements, was a learned archæologist and antiquarian, was my most
valuable guide and mentor. Perhaps I derived more benefit than most
persons from my travels. If so, I owe that benefit to the professor. He
is to go with us when we sail, as I suppose you know.”
“Yes, madame.”
“We returned at the end of three years, and I was, soon after our
arrival, introduced into society. Two years of fashionable seasons, in
the winter spent in New York or Washington, in the summer at Newport or
at some other fashionable resort. I was nineteen years old when my
father was attacked by what he believed to be a temporary though very
sharp illness. But the physician who was called in warned him of its
real significance. Then my father grew anxious to settle up all his
worldly affairs, and very anxious to see me married. I know not how it
happened, or who first suggested the plan—whether it was my father or
Mr. Bruyin—but the issue was that I became the betrothed bride of
Nicholas Bruyin before I knew that I had a heart in my bosom. Mr.
Bruyin, though older than my father, was really a healthier and a
stronger man, with the promise of a longer life. This betrothal took
place just before I went to Washington last summer. Ah! if it had been
delayed but a few weeks longer what a difference it would have made in
my life; for there, in the beginning of that season in Washington, I was
destined to meet the only man whom I could ever love; a man of whom you
have probably heard, for his fame has gone abroad all over the country,
the brilliant orator and rising statesman, Tudor Hereward.”
Lilith uttered a low cry, so low that it escaped the notice of Madame
Von Bruyin, who continued:
“I became so much interested in this gentleman that, unconscious of the
danger into which I was running, I allowed myself to enjoy the heaven of
his society and conversation, for it was heaven to me. One night—it was
at the masquerade ball given by Senator and Mrs. S——, at their splendid
mansion, on New Year’s Eve—Mr. Hereward sought me out and proposed for
my hand. Oh! not until that hour did I realize how much I loved him. But
I had to explain that a betrothal scarcely less sacred than marriage
bound me to Mr. Bruyin. He, my lover, Tudor Hereward, bitterly, bitterly
reproached me for misleading him, and trifling with his affections. And
we parted in wrath.”
The baroness bowed her face on Lilith’s curly black head and wept. The
girl, unable to trust her voice to speak, took one of the lady’s hands
and fondled and kissed it in sympathy. The baroness recovered her self
possession, and continued:
“The next day I missed Hereward from all his usual places. And before
the night came, my betrothed arrived from New York. He was shocked to
see how changed I was. Child, it was my first sorrow, and I had no power
to conceal it. The good old man, who loved me with a totally unselfish
love, won my secret from me, at once released me from my engagement and
left me free to marry the lover of my choice. Then I watched for
Hereward’s return, and when he arrived—child, I went to him, I humbled
myself before him; I told him that I was free, and I offered him my
hand. He replied in icy tones that he was married. Yes, married, within
two days after having been rejected by me. He had married a young girl,
a child who knew no better than to take a man at a moment’s notice. The
news was a thunderbolt to me; yet even through that nervous shock how I
pitied that young wife.”
“Oh, Heaven, yes. How much she was to be pitied!” cried Lilith, in a
tone of sharp pain.
“As for my miserable self, the kind guardian of my peace and welfare saw
that there had been no happy meeting between me and my lover. Again he
won my secret from me. This time it was the secret of my disappointment
and humiliation. Then taking my hand, he said to me:
“‘My dear, the world knows nothing of this. The world still believes us
to be a betrothed pair. Let things go on as they were arranged. You know
me. We will be married at the time appointed. I will then take you
abroad to the court of Berlin. Your dear father will go with us for his
health. You are so young yet that you will outlive and forget this
trouble.’
“Well, I consented. I was so confused and depressed between grief and
mortification, that I was easily led. Only a few days later we were
married in the cathedral in this city, and sailed in the Kaiser Wilhelm
for Germany. We had planned out a very fine tour. But ah! while we were
still at the court of Berlin, and only a few days after Mr. Bruyin had
received his patent of nobility and become the Baron Von Bruyin, he had
a stroke of apoplexy that terminated his earthly existence. We laid him
in the cemetery of the city that he loved so well, and then set out to
return home. My father never reached these shores alive. His mortal
remains repose in Woodlawn. There, my child, I have unburdened my mind
to you.”