THE LADY PATRONESS.
The days of the Countess Baillou glided away in one continued round of
pleasure. She was the cynosure of all eyes at concert, ball, or
festival. Even women ceased to envy the conquering beauty, and seemed to
think it just that all mankind should succumb to her unparalleled
attractions. The emperor had shared the common enthusiasm, and, at a
ball given by Prince Esterbazy, had danced twice with the countess.
Those therefore who, through their rank or station, were ambitious of
the emperor's presence at their entertainments, hastened one and all to
issue pressing invitations to the enchantress of whom their sovereign
had said that she was the most fascinating woman in Vienna.
Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein was about to give a ball, and the
Countess Baillou had consented to receive his guests. It would perhaps
have been more natural that the mother of the count should play the
hostess on this occasion, but it was known that the old couple were at
variance with their only son; and the more lavish he grew in his
expenditure, the more penurious became his parents. The avarice of the
latter was as well known as the extravagance of the former, and whenever
there was a new anecdote current, illustrative of the prodigality of the
son, another was related to exemplify the increasing parsimony of the
father.
It was no wonder, therefore, that the bewitching countess should have
been selected to preside over the ball given by her aristocratic friend.
Everybody was delighted. The emperor was to be there, and it was to be
the most magnificent entertainment of the season. Long before the hour
fixed for the arrival of the guests, the street before the count's
palace was thronged with people, eager to obtain a glance at any thing
appertaining to the fairy spectacle. While they were peering through the
illuminated windows at a wilderness of flowers, mirrors, silk, and
velvet, a carriage drawn by four splendid horses came thundering down
the street, and drew up before the door of the palace. Two footmen in
sky-blue velvet picked out with silver, leaped down to open the door,
and in a trice the large portals of the palace were thrown open, and a
rich carpet rolled to the carriage door, while six liveried servants
ranged themselves on either side.
And now from the carriage emerged the lady patroness, resplendent in
silver gauze, and diamonds that glittered like a constellation just
fallen from the heavens. The people enraptured by the beauty of the
countess, gave vent to their admiration without stint. As she reached
the top of the marble steps, she turned and smiled upon her worshippers,
whereupon they shouted as an audience is apt do at the appearance of a
favorite prima donna.
In the midst of this applause, the lady entered the hotel, and until the
door closed and shut out the enchanted scene within, the crowd watched
her graceful form as it glided along followed by a train of lackeys.
Count Podstadsky came forward to meet her with ceremonious courtesy.
They entered the gay saloons, but, as if led by one common impulse, both
traversed the long suite of apartments in silence, and approached a door
which led into a small boudoir evidently not lit up for the occasion.
Once within, the door was closed, and the purple velvet portiere was
dropped before it.
"Do not be afraid," said the countess, with a bewitching smile, "we are
alone. You are at liberty to congratulate me upon my appearance, for I
see by your eyes that you are dying to tell me how beautiful I am."
"Neither eyes nor tongue could give expression to a hundredth part of
the rapture which my heart feels at your approach, Arabella," replied
Podstadsky, gazing upon her with passionate admiration. "Surely every
woman must hate you, and every man be intoxicated by your charms."
"They are intoxicated, Carlo," replied she. "They are such fools! To
think that they are willing to commit any deed of folly for the sake of
a fair face and two bright eyes."
"And you, my angel, are cruel to all, and for me alone has the proud
Countess Baillou a heart."
"A heart!" ejaculated the countess, with irony. "Do you believe in
hearts, silly Carlo? My dear friend, I at least am without such an
inconvenience. If I love any thing it is gold. Its chink to my ear is
sweetest harmony, its touch thrills through my whole being."
"How you have changed, Arabella! The time was when your lips murmured
words of love and despair, too?"
"Ay, Carlo! But the woman who murmured of love and despair--she who
believed in innocence and loyalty, is buried in the Tiber. She whom you
rescued thence has received the baptism of shame; and you, Count
Podstadsky, were her sponsor. You taught me the art of lying and
deceiving, and now you prate to me of a heart!"
"It is because your maddening beauty will not suffer me to forget that
mine is still susceptible of love," replied Podstadsky.
The countess laughed, but there was no mirth in her voice. "Podstadsky,"
said she, throwing back her superb head, "you have about as much heart
as a hare, who runs from a rustling leaf, taking it to be the clink of
the hunter's rifle."
"And yet, Arabella," replied Podstadsky, with a sickly smile, "I am
here, although sometimes I do start, and fancy that I hear the hunter's
step behind me."
"Hare-like fright," said Arabella, raising her shoulders. "I wonder at
you, Carlo, when you look upon what we are, and reflect upon what we
have been. Everybody in Vienna admires and envies us. The highest nobles
of the land are our willing guests, and the emperor himself (dit-on) has
fallen in love with the Countess Baillou. Oh, Carlo! Is it not enough to
make all the gods of Olympus laugh?"
"You are right," replied Podstadsky, encouraged. "The emperor's visit
here to-night will silence the clamor of my creditors."
"Creditors! What of them? Was there ever a nobleman without creditors!
They are one of the appendages of rank. And, then, Carlo--if your
creditors annoy you, what prevents you from paying them?"
Podstadsky shuddered. "Do you mean--"
"What is the matter with the man?" asked Arabella, as he paused, and she
saw how ghastly he looked. "Of course, I mean you to pay as you have
paid before. Pay, and pay promptly. Then when every thing--furniture,
plate, jewels, horses, and equipages are ours, we sell out, and realize
our fortune in GOLD--(no bank-notes, Carlo)--and, then, we take up our
abode in the city of cities--Paris! Gold--gold! There is--"
A light knock was heard at the door. The countess disappeared, and the
count put out his head. It was his steward, who announced that a lady,
closely veiled, wished to speak with Count Podstadsky on urgent business.
"Show her into the anteroom. The Countess Baillou will do me the favor
to receive her."
"My lord," said the steward, "the lady wishes to see you alone."
"Indeed? Then show her in here."
The steward retired, and the count stepped into one of the lighted
rooms. The countess came forward, smiling.
"I heard it all," said she playfully, threatening him with her finger.
"I am not going to allow you to have a tete-a-tete in the dark. No, no,
my Jupiter, your mysterious beauty shall be received just here under the
light of the chandelier, and I shall watch you both from the boudoir.
That will be safer for all parties. I suspect a certain dark-eyed beauty
of this stratagem, and I long to see the haughty prude."
"Do you suspect Rachel Eskeles?"
Arabella nodded affirmatively. "Doubtless she comes to implore
forgiveness for her father's insolence, and to deny all complicity with
the old Jewish dragon. Here she comes, Carlo, but mark me! if I see
danger ahead, I come to the rescue."
The countess, like a graceful gazelle, then bounded into the boudoir,
while the count advanced to meet the veiled visitor.