HIDDEN SPRINGS.
Thus Easter came 'slowly up this way,' and with the holidays the 'sons'
from Berlin came to Eichhof and to Rollin.
No finer sight was to be seen than the handsome Count Eichhof and his
wife, whose rather faded face and figure retained the traces of former
beauty, surrounded by their three sons, the two elder models of manly
strength and grace, while a kind of vague nimbus of future distinction
hovered around Walter, for which, as the reader knows, his mother was
far more responsible than himself. When her high-handed lord had
yielded a reluctant consent that her youngest boy should be moulded
according to his mother's desire, her imagination instantly perceived
in him the future diplomat,--the one of her children born to act a part
in the world's history. He was in her eyes a most remarkable child,
and, since he really was a very docile, amiable boy, and in
consideration of the fact that one of his uncles was an ambassador and
another a lord of the treasury, there were found family friends on all
sides ready, whenever Walter was spoken of, to whisper significantly,
"A wonderful young fellow! He has a brilliant career before him!"
To complete the charming family picture another figure was now added,
in the person of Bernhard's lovely betrothed. She was the daughter of a
Herr von Rosen, whose estates were in the neighbourhood of Eichhof.
Bernhard and she had been boy and girl lovers. Bernhard, indeed, knew
something of society and of other women, but Therese--or Thea, as she
was called--knew absolutely nothing of the outside world. Without her
being in the least aware of it, the love of the child had grown into
the pure devotion of the maiden. It had seemed the most natural thing
in the world to be betrothed to Bernhard,--that he should henceforth be
the centre around which every thought and hope of her heart should
cling, and that he should typify to her all that she could conceive of
beauty and excellence.
And now he was at home on leave. She saw him daily, and in May they
were to be married.
"Thea is 'fearfully happy,'" said her younger sister Alma, Adela's
bosom friend; and the servants at Eichhof, who were wont to consider
their verdict as important in such cases, as well as all the
neighbouring gentry, rung the changes upon the same theme.
The neighbours were soon offered a special opportunity for admiring and
discussing the 'charming Eichhofs,' since very early in the Easter
holidays they were bidden to a grand dinner at the castle. The state
apartments were thrown open, and worthy representatives of the noblest
of the county families--the Hohensteins, the Rosens, the Lindenstadts,
and many others--gladly accepted this first invitation issued after the
return home of the soldier sons.
And yet the betrothed pair were not on this occasion the cynosure of
every eye, the theme of every tongue, as might have been expected.
These guests were all either distantly related to one another or
intimate from the association of years. One of them, however, appeared
to-day for the first time in this exclusive circle, exciting universal
attention and remark. This was the young wife of Marzell Wronsky, who,
himself a very German of the Germans, had lately, by marrying a distant
Polish cousin, revived in the minds of all the memory of his Polish
ancestry.
"What do you think of young Madame Wronsky?" was a question often
whispered at this dinner behind a lady's fan or in the recess of some
window. The answer would consist either of a shrug of the shoulders and
an elevation of the eyebrows, signifying 'not much,' or in the
whispered reply, "Very elegant, yes, undeniably elegant, but not at all
handsome; scarcely good-looking. Why, she has red hair and green eyes,
and then she is so very pale."
But when Madame Wronsky came to be discussed after dinner in the
smoking-room over a bowl of punch,--her husband having rejoined the
ladies,--the opinions expressed concerning her were rather different.
"A striking creature, the Wronsky," was heard from Lieutenant
Hohenstein,--"decided air of race; she would create a _furor_ in
Berlin."
"A perfect Undine," murmured the Assessor von Schoenburg; "coy, cold,
and immovable at first, but as soon as she is interested, all fire and
passion,--indescribably attractive."
"Schoenburg is off on his old romantic track," laughed Lieutenant von Z.
"I rather think your fair Undine is quite capable of giving an eager
admirer a bath of very cold water; there is something absolutely
freezing in her eye at times, and she has a way of throwing back her
head that reminds one of an obstinate horse."
"A profane simile!" the Assessor declared, with a shrug, swallowing his
irritation in a glass of punch.
"In what capital taste the Wronsky was dressed!" came from the other
side of the table. "Everything about her is so _chic_. She's a great
acquisition to the neighbourhood."
"Still, she is not regularly beautiful," said Lothar Eichhof.
Hohenstein looked at him with his eyes half closed, after his listless
manner. "You are either in love with her, or she has treated you
badly," he said, in a low tone. "I tell you that if the Wronskys go to
Berlin next year, as Marzell says they think of doing, that woman will
create a perfect _furor_. Remember this."
Meanwhile, the object of this discussion was leaning back negligently
in one of the low arm-chairs in the drawing-room, adding a word now and
then in broken German to the general conversation, while, with eyes
cast down as though finding nothing worthy of their special notice, she
toyed with a costly lace fan. Her dark arched eyebrows contrasted
strangely with the transparent pallor of her face, and when a slanting
sunbeam called forth brilliant sparkles of light from the diamonds in
her hair, certainly, in her light-blue gown trimmed with water-lilies,
she justified the Assessor's declaration that she was an Undine.
"How reserved and haughty she looks!" Thea Rosen whispered to her
lover, as she was walking through the room upon his arm towards the
conservatories.
"I do not think her attractive," he rejoined. "I cannot conceive how
Marzell Wronsky could ever fall in love with that woman."
"It is a pity you do not like her."
"You never could be friends with her, my darling."
"Why not?" asked Thea, lifting her lovely eyes to his.
"Why not? I can hardly tell you; it's a matter of sentiment. You are my
rosebud, you know, and the Countess Wronsky, if she can be likened to
any flower, resembles one of those strange, unnatural orchids."
Thea looked up. Just above her hung one of the fantastic blossoms of
which he spoke.
"Well, at all events, an orchid is far more distinguished than a poor
little rose, that only needs a little sunlight to blossom and grow,
while the grander flower must be petted in a hot-house."
"Do not talk so," said Bernhard, closing her lips with a kiss in the
solitude of the conservatory. "I will not have you compared with that
woman. What is she to us? You are and always will be my May rose, and I
wish May were here, and that we were married. We will have charming
apartments in a villa in the Thiergarten, with roses blossoming all
over the door, and a wild grape-vine growing about the windows to the
very roof. Such a pretty, comfortable, cosey nest as it shall be, with
a boudoir---- But no, I'll tell you nothing about that; it shall be a
surprise."
While these happy lovers were building their airy castles in one of the
conservatories, in another two young people were also carrying on an
eager conversation. There was much mention of "rides" and "papa's
strange ideas," whereat Fraeulein Adela von Hohenstein would frequently
blush rosy red, and Herr Walter von Eichhof would put on a very grave
and thoughtful expression.
In the mean time, the smokers were growing rather noisy in their talk
and laughter, and there was now and then a suppressed yawn in the
drawing-room, when suddenly new life was infused into the guests by the
lighting of the candles and the throwing open of the ball-room, whence
came the strains of the polonaise.
The gentlemen in the drawing-room were immediately largely reinforced,
and all led their partners to the brilliant ball-room.
"A delightful surprise this for the young people," said Frau von Rosen,
who, on Count Eichhof's arm, led the polonaise.
"We must entertain our children," the Count replied, with a smile; "and
since we have enjoyed dancing ourselves, it seems to us the best thing
to provide for the young."
"You have been rather sly about this evening, however, my dear Count,"
the lady continued. "If I had known that our pleasant dinner was to be
followed by a small ball, I should have left my little Alma at home.
She was, as you know, confirmed but very lately."
The Count laughed. "All the better then that you did not know it," he
replied; "we could ill spare the buds from among our blossoms. Only
look at Adela von Hohenstein; the child has prevailed upon her father
to let her appear to-night in a train for the first time, and she
really looks a finished little lady, who would have probably cried
herself to sleep had she been forced to stay at home to-night, although
she is just Fraeulein Alma's age."
"Adela is too precocious; but then the poor child has no mother, and
has been forced to judge for herself and to depend upon her own
intuitions now for so many years."
"And if she should be betrothed at eighteen, like our Thea, it is well
that she should begin to enjoy herself now. I like to see these very
young girls about us. Oho! _changement de dames_," he suddenly called
out as he made a turn, resigned Frau von Rosen to another gentleman,
and took for his partner Frau von Wronsky, who blushed a little at this
distinction, then smiled, and really looked very charming.
The Count made a sign to the musicians, and the dignified polonaise was
converted into a rapid waltz.
"_Au galop_," he called gayly, and away he flew with his partner,
followed by all the younger dancers, while their elders smilingly
retired from among them. The Freiherr von Hohenstein alone, who never
would be outdone in anything by his neighbour Eichhof, joined in the
galop, while his son, with Lothar Eichhof, to both of whom elderly
partners had been assigned, after having led these to their seats,
stood together and clapped applause of their several fathers whirling
like the wind from one end to the other of the ball-room.
"Your governor dances famously," Hohenstein said to Lothar, who
assented,--
"Yes, he is as light on his feet as any one of us. The Wronsky dances
well."
"Just wait, my son, and you'll see what you will see. Then think of
me!"
With these oracular words Lieutenant Hohenstein retreated privately to
the smoking-room, for he was, as he expressed it, long past the age for
the passion for dancing, and found his El-Dorado in the smoking-room,
where card-tables were now laid ready for him and such as he.
The ball-room windows at Eichhof gleamed brilliantly until long after
midnight, and the cocks were already beginning their morning concert,
when the sisters Thea and Alma Rosen, leaning back among the cushions
of their carriage, began to dream of the vanished delights of the
evening.
Immediately after their departure, Herr von Wronsky's carriage drew up
before the castle terrace. Frau von Wronsky appeared with her husband
at the hall door, where Bernhard, who had just taken leave of his
betrothed, was still standing.
The lights on the castle wall shone upon the equipage and the horses.
Wronsky detected something wrong in the harness of the latter; and as
he descended the steps to direct the groom to repair the error, his
wife was left for a few moments alone in the vestibule with Bernhard.
Their eyes met, and in hers there was a hasty, mute inquiry. Bernhard
stepped close to her side. He looked very grave, and there was a gloomy
fire in his glance, as he gazed steadfastly into her face, and said in
a low tone, and yet so as to be distinctly heard by her, "You may rely
upon my silence, but I impose certain conditions. Confine your
intercourse with us within as narrow bounds as is possible without
exciting remark, and never, never attempt to make friends with my
future wife!"
The young wife's cheek first flushed crimson and then grew deadly pale,
while the eyes, which were for one moment opened wide and riveted upon
Bernhard's face, seemed fairly to flash fire. Then the eyelids drooped
over them, and the same cold, proud countenance that had been shown all
the evening in the ball-room looked out from among the snowy folds of
her white wrap.
"Good-night, Herr von Eichhof," she said, calmly, putting her hand upon
her husband's arm as he returned to her, and, passing the young man
with the air of a queen dismissing a subject, she descended the steps
and entered her carriage.
Bernhard followed the vehicle with his eyes as it rolled away. "Did she
really suppose until this moment that I had not recognized her?" he
thought. "She certainly betrayed herself by no look or gesture. Poor
Wronsky, how could he----"
His thoughts were interrupted by other guests, who at that moment
thronged into the hall. There was the usual bustle of departure,
calling of carriages, searching for wraps, etc., and as the son of the
house he was obliged to make himself as useful as possible.
At last every guest had left Castle Eichhof, the lights were
extinguished, and its inmates were wrapped in the slumber which was to
refresh them after past enjoyments. But Bernhard's dreams were not of
his lovely betrothed, but of the brilliant eyes of Frau von Wronsky,
and, instead of the cold 'good-night' she had given him, he heard her
say, "I hate you, and I will work your ruin!"