Felicitas returned from her last interview with Leo, glowing and
intoxicated with the idea of death. What a harmonious ending it would
be to die in the arms of her lover, breathing her last breath on his
lips.
She recalled a picture that she had once seen in Koenigsberg, afterwards
famous all over the continent It was called "Tired of Life," and
represented a man and a woman who had bound themselves together with
ropes, and were about to hurl themselves from some steps in the
foreground into the sea. She had felt an envious tremour then, and now
all at once the old foolish dream was to be fulfilled at Leo's side.
She had nothing to bind her to life; in every way it would be best to
quit it. Ulrich became more and more of an invalid, and less and less
disposed to make things bearable for her. The society of the
neighbourhood afforded her no consolation; the women hated her, the men
persecuted her with their love; and one was as unsatisfying and dull as
the other. The future promised her nothing. She saw herself slowly
fading away, bored to extinction by discussion about the crops and new
scientific theories of drainage, of farm and dairy management. To die
now would be a thousand times preferable.
"If only I had my little Paul," she thought, "there would at least be
something to live for," and the momentary re-awakening of the maternal
instinct within her filled her eyes with hot tears.
But in the midst of her tender compassion for herself and her dead
child, the thought seized her like an icy hand, that in a few days,
she, like him, would be lying in the dark damp earth. Was it possible?
could it be?
In a year--or better still in ten years' time, after this love had
burned itself out, it would be all very well. But now, when a new
ready-made happiness lay before them, and would have to be left
untasted, unenjoyed? Would it not be folly?
Once more she thought of the picture "Tired of life," and derived a
little solace from it.
The man had not been in the least like Leo. As far as she could
remember, he had worn a velvet coat like an artist, or something of the
kind. Oh yes, artists, with their wide views and great minds, were the
men who understood the hearts of women, and how to drag them into
eternity. She wasn't sure about the velvet coat after all. But the
woman's white satin dress she remembered distinctly; it had fitted like
gleaming armour over the bust. That wasn't the fashion now, but what
did fashions matter when one was going to die? The only thing that
mattered was to look beautiful in death. And she began to consider what
she should put on. Among her peignoirs and _sautes de lit_, she
possessed one of softest _crepe de chine_ which fell in straight Greek
folds, and was drawn in above the waist by a golden girdle. She had
ordered it from Paris before her second marriage, and had been keeping
it for some special occasion. This occasion would certainly have
arrived now if Leo had not got hold of the stupid idea that they must
creep out into the night-mists to put an end to themselves.
In any case, she would not forego the pleasure of trying on the
artistic garment. She locked the doors, put shades of pink gauze on the
toilette-table candles, and undressed. As she stood before the glass,
her figure in the graceful Greek draperies illumined seductively by the
subdued purple light, she was ravished by the sight of her own beauty.
He must see her like this. Just for one second, and all thought of
dying would be abandoned. How glad she was that she had extracted that
promise from him at the last, to come and fetch her. When she met him
thus attired, what else could he do but snatch her in his arms, and
instead of dying with her in the gruesome manner that he had proposed,
he would tread again at her side the primrose path of passion, which
Rhaden's jealousy had so hatefully interrupted.
Yes, so she would win him back to her altogether, her big, adoring boy.
But the night that she passed before this contemplated enjoyment was
anything but peaceful. She recalled his face when he had said, "This
time it will be no joke. We shall not drink toothache drops." And even
granted that she could bring him to reason, there was always the vision
of Johanna hovering in the background, eager to shatter their new-found
bliss.
Was there no way out of it? She pondered and pondered till her head
ached, staring into the darkness with wide, anxious eyes. The plan that
she hit on at last did not differ eventually by a hair's breadth from
the one which Leo had rejected as unworthy. She would write to Ulrich
to-morrow and impress on him how Johanna's brain was becoming more
unhinged every day. She would give striking examples of it, pity and
defend the unfortunate creature, hint at a pending catastrophe, and so
prepare his mind for having to deal with the delusions of a mad woman,
if she should really make a betrayal of her secret.
That would do beautifully; and content at last, she quietly fell
asleep.
The whole of the next day she was in a more or less happy mood. A kind
of bridal excitement quickened the blood in her veins. It was true that
every now and then a sickening memory of Leo's death-threats overcame
her. But she was too confident of the victorious power of her beauty,
which of old had held his senses captive, to entertain any serious
fears.
She leaned back dreamily in a chair by the window and stared across the
stream in the direction of Halewitz, counting the hours. Old Minna, who
the day before had been told of Leo's coming midnight visit, and had
received her instructions, ventured, as she hobbled through the room,
to assist her mistress in this employment. "Now it is only eight hours,
gracious little lady," and then, "Only seven and a half now." And so
the time grew shorter.
At dusk a powdering of snow began to fall, renewing the purity
of the far-stretching grey plains, and quickly obliterating the
roads. Laughing blissfully, she began to beat with her fingers on the
window-panes and to sing a song of the knight who came through floods
and tempests, and by dangerous paths to greet his lady love.
Then she thought of her dead boy, and shed a few tears. "Ah, my little
son," she murmured, clasping her hands, "you may be glad that you have
found eternal peace so early."
And this made her joyous again, and so she passed a highly agreeable
afternoon giving herself up to pleasant dreams, and she was no further
troubled by suspense.
At five o'clock the lamps were brought in, and towards eight supper was
served. Half an hour later a housemaid rushed in greatly excited, and
announced that the gnaediger Herr had driven into the courtyard.
"Which gnaediger Herr?" Felicitas asked.
So calm and self-possessed was her mood that she didn't in the least
grasp what had happened. The maid repeated her information, and her
first emotion was one of resentment at her husband's coming home. She
would have liked to beg him to turn round and go away again.
Only gradually did she become alive to the danger which hung over her.
Half-stunned, she remained sitting at the supper tablet and rolled up
her serviette.
"Johanna has played me this trick," she thought, for she hated her old
friend so intensely that she attributed to her any evil that befell
her, as a matter of course.
But the next moment she was convinced of the groundlessness of her
suspicion. In was quite impossible that Johanna could know anything of
what she had planned for to-day. Her meeting with Ulrich seemed to
confirm this. Although for a moment the first searching look that he
fixed on her was full of uneasiness, he soon became reassured at
finding her sitting over the remains of her supper in solitude.
The alarming telegram had so far had effect that it had brought him
back to Uhlenfelde unannounced post haste in a hired sleigh, but if he
did not, in answer to Lizzie's questions, give the reason of his sudden
return, it was simply to spare his wife unnecessary anxiety rather than
because he mistrusted her.
He knew Johanna of old. She had always looked on the blackest side of
things, and her well-meant warning might concern some question of
estate management.
He resolved to drive over to Halewitz early the next morning, and to be
content to-day only to subject house, yard, and staff to a more
stringent examination than was usual on the day of his coming home.
He felt limp and low-spirited, and his wife's persistent chatter pained
him. As soon as he could, he rose from the table to start on his round
with the bailiffs.
Scarcely had he vanished through the door, than old Minna ran in,
wringing her hands.
"Ah, gracious little mistress, gracious one," she whispered, "we must
send word to Halewitz at once, otherwise something dreadful may
happen."
Felicitas reflected.
If Leo heard of Ulrich's return, it was not improbable that he might
change his tactics, and, to avoid a meeting with him, go back to his
original intention of flight. Then she would be left behind to mourn
for him to the end of her days. On the other hand, if he were allowed
to come and all due precaution taken, there would not be a shadow of
risk. At Fichtkampen Minna had often brought him to her in ten times
more difficult circumstances.
And, besides, when she considered the matter more closely, she saw an
unspeakable advantage in Ulrich's presence. Should dear old Leo refuse
to be weaned altogether from his suicidal resolve, she would only have
to tell him who had come home that day and was sleeping in the room
through the dressing-room, to bring him to a tractable and peaceable
frame of mind.
This decided her.
"Stay where you are, Minna," she said. "You know all the secrets of the
house, and if you manage to smuggle him in all right I will give you
another silk dress."
Towards ten o'clock Ulrich came back from his walk. He reported himself
dead tired, and said that he would retire to his room.
"And mind you go to bed at once," Felicitas said.
He nodded assent, and kissed her on forehead and hand, according to his
habit when saying good night.
"How hot your cheeks are," he remarked.
"I am so glad that you are here," she answered, and she did not lie.
"This time it will be no joke. We shall not drink toothache drops."
Again those words of Leo's occurred to her unpleasantly. She lighted
her husband upstairs, closed the shutters in his room, and looked at
the thermometer to see that he was neither too warm nor too cold for
the night. Then, saying good night once more, she left him and went
down again to give Minna some last hints.
When she entered her bedroom half an hour later she heard Ulrich still
pacing up and down. That was fatal. She dared not put on the _crepe de
chine_ peignoir yet, lest he should surprise her in it, for though
their present relations were such that he would not come to her for
conjugal reasons, he might, hearing her move, at any moment open the
door and ask some question. So she contented herself with arranging her
hair _a la grecque_, and giving her face a soft film of powder. The
peignoir lay spread out ready in the dressing-room. The clock struck
eleven. Still another hour!
What should she do to kill time? She sat down at the writing-table, and
began to turn over old papers with a tremulous hand. A happy idea came
into her head. She would begin a new existence from this hour, an
existence full of glorious joy and imperishable youth, a masque of
spring, a midsummer's night dream, a revel of sweetest, lightest
laughter. For this end, all that had any connection with years of shame
and tormenting anguish must be destroyed and burnt. Nothing should be
left, nothing but him, whom, after what sacrifices God only knew, she
had at last reconquered.
She tore letter after letter into little pieces. They contained
declarations of love of every description, ranging from the sentimental
balderdash of young Neuhaus to the cynical quips of old Stolt. As she
read them she laughed.
"If he had not come home," she thought, "I should have had to give
myself to one or the other."
Then her hand fell on her dead boy's little packet of letters. A cold
shiver ran through her. But she wouldn't be sad. She would not. He was
happily at rest for ever, her dear Paulchen. Still, it was not easy to
destroy his letters. But it must be done, for it was more necessary
than anything else. She kissed the poor little packet, then slowly tore
the first sheet across, and the second. The clock chimed half-past
eleven, and she started up and listened, breathing hard, into the
darkness of the dressing-room. Ulrich's tired footsteps still echoed
from the room beyond--up and down! Up and down!
The minutes flew, and there lay the Greek costume waiting to be donned.
Might she, dare she, array herself in it now? With bent ear she
listened and listened. It was too late to turn back.
Punctually at midnight Leo von Sellenthin entered the bedroom of Ulrich
Kletzingk's wife, to take her with him to meet death, as they had
agreed to meet it.
When she heard the door behind her creak on its hinges she sprang back
from her post and softly drew the bolt. Only then had she the courage
to look round.
Her first emotion as she beheld him standing at the door was one of
intense chagrin that at this long-looked-for tryst she should appear
before him as black as a crow. And this wound to her vanity put even
the threat of death out of her head.
He wore a long riding-cloak, which completely hid his arms, and he was
covered from head to foot with snow.
"Is it still snowing?" she asked, and wiped his moustache, from which
icicles hung, with her black-bordered pocket-handkerchief. "My poor
darling, how wet you are!"
He did not stir, or even take the fur cap from his head.
"You stand there like a post," she said. "Why don't you take off your
things?"
And as he continued motionless, she unbuttoned his collar for him, and
the heavy cloak slipped off his shoulders on to the floor. She fancied
she heard something hard in its folds strike against the panelling of
the wall.
"What was that?" she inquired, terrified.
"Nothing," he growled, and blew through his teeth in an attempt to
laugh.
A cold shudder ran through her. "What a good thing Ulrich is there,"
she thought Had she been alone with Leo in the house, she would have
been horribly frightened.
Then she threw both arms round his neck and pillowed her head against
his breast. Thus she stood for a few minutes, murmuring--
"Now I have got you all to myself. But you must be very quiet," she
added quickly, in a warning tone, "for some one is sleeping not far
off."
He nodded.
"And do you love me?"
She saw his face change, and felt how he trembled. She pressed her
hands against her breast, breathing rapidly.
"I must do it now," she said to herself. It was no matter whether he
was asleep over there or not.