THE COUNTESS BAILLOU,
The beautiful Countess Baillou was about to give a ball. She had invited
all the haut ton of Vienna, and they had accepted the invitations. And
yet the countess had been but four weeks in the Austrian capital; she
had no relations there, and none of the aristocracy had ever heard her
name before. But she had come to Vienna provided with letters of
introduction, and money; and these two keys had opened the saloons of
the fashionables to the beautiful stranger.
Her splendid equipage had been seen in the parks, and her magnificent
diamonds at the theatre. All the young men of fashion had directed their
lorgnettes toward her box, admiring not only her extraordinary beauty,
but the grace and abandon of her attitude, as she leaned back in her
velvet arm-chair. She had not long been seated when the door of the box
opened, and a young man entered whom the lady greeted with a cordial
smile. Every one knew the visitor to be Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein.
the richest, haughtiest, and handsomest cavalier in all Vienna.
Podstadsky was the son of a distinguished nobleman, high in the
emperor's favor; he had just returned from his travels, and all the
Viennese gallants were eager to imitate him in every thing. To see him
in the box of the beautiful stranger was to fire the ambition of every
man to know her; the more so that the haughty Podstadsky, instead of
accepting a seat, was standing in an attitude of profound respect, which
he maintained until he took his leave.
Podstadsky, of course, was assailed with questions in relation to the
countess. He had known her in Italy as the wife of a wealthy old
nobleman to whom her parents had sacrificed her before she was eighteen.
She had been sincerely admired in Rome, not only on account of her
beauty, but of her wit, goodness, and above all of her admirable
behavior toward her repulsive old husband. Her conduct had been so
exemplary that she had been called "La contessa del cuore freddo."
[Footnote: The countess with the cold heart.] Podstadsky confessed that
even he had been desperately in love with her, but finding her
unapproachable, had left Rome in despair. What then was his delight
when, a few moments ago, he had learned from her own lips that she was a
widow, and had come to spend a season in Vienna!
The consequence of this recital was that Podstadsky's young
acquaintances were clamorous for presentation to la contessa. He stepped
into her box to inform the lady of their wishes, but soon returned with
the unwelcome tidings that the countess would receive no male visitor
unless he came in the company of a lady. This, of course, increased the
longing of the gallants tenfold, and the next day when her equipage was
seen coming in the park, it was followed by many an eager horseman,
jealous beyond expression of Count Podstadsky, who was admitted to the
blessed privilege of riding near the lady of their thoughts.
Some days later the young countess left her cards and letters of
introduction, and as they were from Orsinis, Colonnas, and other
grandees of Rome, her hotel was crowded with elegant equipages, and she
was admitted into the charmed circles of the first society in Vienna.
As for the furniture of her hotel, it surpassed anything in the city.
Her orders of every kind had been princely. Her sofas and chairs were of
embroidered satin; her tables of inlaid wood and verde antique; her
carpets the richest Persian; her paintings and statuary of rarest value.
She had bespoken several services of gold, and jewellers were revelling
in her orders for parures such as princesses would have been proud to
possess.
One quality which the Countess Baillou possessed gave her unbounded
popularity with those whom she patronized. Her purchases were all
promptly paid in new Austrian bank-notes, and tradesman vied with
tradesman as to who should have the privilege of her custom.
Finally, her palace was furnished, and the day of her ball had dawned.
Every invitation had been accepted, for the world was curious to see the
splendors of her fairy abode, and to behold the fairy emerge from the
retreat wherein she had buried herself up to the date of this grand
reception.
And now the long suites were lit up, and room after room was one blazing
sea of light, gold, crystal, bronze, and marble. Here and there were
charming boudoirs, where those who were weary of splendor could retire
to converse in the soft, subdued light that was shed upon them from
veiled lamps. The whole was closed by magnificent conservatories, where
flourished the flowers and fruits of every clime; where tropical birds
were seen fluttering among the branches of the orange-trees, or dipping
their beaks in the classic basins of the fountains that were gently
plashing there.
The countess had just emerged from her dressing-room. Her dress for the
evening was of white satin, and the coronal of brilliants which flashed
among the braids of her black hair was worthy to be the bridal-diadem of
a queen. The Countess Baillou was tall and stately in her beauty, hers
was the fascination of the dark-eyed Italian, united to the majesty of a
daughter of ancient Rome, and the union was irresistible. Her throat was
slender, her head small, and her classic oval face was of a pale, pearly
hue, without a tinge of the rose, which, while it lends animation to a
woman's face, detracts from the camelia-like purity of genuine patrician
beauty.
The countess glided across the room, and throwing back her head took a
critical survey of her apartments. They presented a combination of taste
with magnificence, and their mistress was satisfied.
She turned to her steward, who was breathlessly awaiting the result of
his lady's inspection. "Not bad," said she, in a rich, melodious voice.
"I am quite pleased with your labors."
"Will my lady walk through the rooms to see the conservatories?" asked
the steward.
"Why so?" replied she, with indifference. "I have no doubt that all is
as it should be, I am too weary of splendor to take much interest in it.
See, however, that the tables are spread with every luxury that can
tempt the palates of my guests."
"I hope your ladyship will be satisfied. The two cooks from Paris
profess, the one to have learned his art under the Prince de Soubise,
the other to have received his receipts for pastry from the Duke de
Richelieu?"
"Let them both do their best," said the countess, languidly, "and
remember that expense is to be no obstacle to the carrying out of my
orders."
With these words she dismissed the steward, and sank back into the
recesses of an arm-chair. But when he had fairly left, and she knew that
she was alone, her aspect changed. She rose quickly from the chair, and
walked through her rooms, surveying their splendor with visible
exultation.
How peerless was her beauty as she swept through those empty rooms, her
diamonds reflected from mirror to mirror, her rich dress falling in
heavy folds about her form! He who had seen her there would have taken
her for the princess who had just awakened from her hundred years'
sleep, looking around her palatial solitude to see who it was that had
broken the spell of her enchanted trance. Her face was lit up with
triumph as she went, and at times, when something of rare value met her
eyes, in the ecstasy of her pride she laughed aloud.
Suddenly the stillness was broken by the sound of a man's footstep. The
laugh of the countess ceased, and she drew on her mask of indifference.
She turned slowly around, and dropped it again--for the intruder was
Count Podstadsky.
Just in the midst of the dancing room, tender the blaze of a crystal
chandelier, they met. The countess gave him her hand, and he grasped it
in his own, looking earnestly at her fair, bewitching face. She returned
the glance with her large, flashing eyes, and so they stood for a time
together. There was a secret between those two.
The countess spoke first. Her mouth relaxed into a scornful smile.
"Count Carl von Podstadsky-Liechtenstein," said she, "you are a man, and
yet you tremble."
"Yes, Arabella, I tremble, but not for myself. As I look upon you, in
the fulness of your incomparable beauty, my blood freezes with terror,
and a voice whispers to me, 'Have mercy on this woman whose beauty is so
akin to that of angels! You both stand upon the edge of a precipice:
shield her at least from the ruin which threatens you!'"
The countess raised her snowy shoulders. "German sentimentality," said
she. "If you mix sentiment with your cards, we shall lose the game,
Count Podstadsky. Hear, then, what I have to say to you. It is true that
we stand upon the brow of a precipice; but we must contemplate it
fearlessly, and so we shall grow accustomed to our danger, and learn to
escape it. Why do you wish to rescue me, Carl? I do not wish to be
rescued. I like the giddy brink, and look down with defiance into the
abyss that blackens the future before me."
"Give me some of your courage," sighed the count. "Let me drink
confidence from the depths of your fearless, flashing eyes, my angel."
"Angel!" said Arabella, with a mocking laugh. "If so, call me your
fallen angel; for when I took the unfathomable leap which leads from
innocence to guilt, your arms were outstretched to receive me. But
pshaw! what bootless retrospection! I am here, Carl, true as steel;
ready to stand or fall at your side. Feel my hand, it is warm--feel my
pulse, it beats as evenly as though I had never slept a night out of
Eden."
"You are a heroine, Arabella. The magnificence around us affrights my
cowardly soul; while you--surely I heard your silvery laugh when I
entered this room awhile ago."
"To be sure you did, faint-hearted knight of the card-table! I laughed
for joy when I thought of former misery; and compared it with present
splendor; the more so, that I am the bold architect who raised the
edifice of my own fortune. We need not be grateful to Heaven for our
luck, Carl, for we are not in favor with the celestial aristocracy; we
have no one to thank for our blessings but ourselves."
"And will have no one to thank but ourselves when ruin overtakes us."
"Possibly," said Arabella, with a shrug. "But remember that we have
already been shipwrecked, and have not only saved ourselves, but have
brought glorious spoils with us to shore. So away with your misgivings!
they do not become the career you have chosen."
"Right, Arabella, right. They do not, indeed! But promise me that I
shall always have you at my side to share my fate, whatever it bring
forth."
"I promise," said she, raising her starry eyes to his, and clasping with
her small, firm hand his cold and clammy fingers. "By the memory of
Rome, and the dark-rolling waters of the Tiber, from which you rescued
me that night, I promise. And now let us pledge each other in a draught
from the depths of the Styx. Look around you, Carl, and realize that all
this magnificence is ours, and to-night I play the hostess to the proud
aristocracy of Vienna. But one question before the curtain rises. How
goes the affair with the banker's lovely Rachel?"
"Gloriously! She loves me, for she has consented to receive me day after
to-morrow, during her father's absence."
"Go, then, and the blessings of your fallen angel go with you! Play your
game cautiously, and let us hear the chink of Herr Eskeles Flies' gold
near the rustling of our fragile bank-notes. And now go. Return in half
an hour, that I may receive you in presence of our fastidious guests.
They might not approve of this tete-a-tete, for you are said to be a sad
profligate, Carl!"
She kissed her little jewelled hand, and while her Carl disappeared
through a secret door on one side of the room, she glided forward with
grace and elegance inimitable, to receive the high-born ladies who were
just then passing the portals of her princely abode.