Читать книгу: «Under a Charm. Vol. III», страница 6

The Princess had listened in silence, not attempting to interrupt him; but as she answered, her lips moved convulsively, contracted, as it were, by some inward spasm.

"If I have loved your brother more than you, I have lost him–how have I lost him! I could have borne that he should fall, I myself sent him out to fight for his country–but that he should fall in such a way!" Her voice failed her, she struggled for breath, and there was a pause of some seconds before she could continue. "I let my Leo go without a word of pardon, without the last farewell for which he prayed on his knees, and that very day they laid him at my feet shot through the breast. All that is left to me of him–his memory–is indissolubly connected with that fatal act of his which brought destruction on our troops. My people's cause is lost; my brother is going to meet a doom worse by far than death. Wanda will follow him. I stand altogether alone. I think you may be satisfied, Waldemar, with the manner in which Fate has avenged you."

In the utter weariness of her voice, the dull rigidity of her features, there was something far more pathetic than in the wildest outbreak of sorrow. Waldemar himself could but be impressed by it; he bent down over her.

"Mother," said he, meaningly; "the Count is still in his own country, Wanda is still here. She has to-day unconsciously pointed out to me a way in which I may yet hope to win her. I shall take that way."

The Princess started up in alarm. Her look sought his anxiously, enquiringly; she read her answer in his eyes.

"You mean to attempt …"

"What you two have attempted before me. You have failed, I know. Perhaps I shall succeed better."

A ray of hope illumined the Princess's countenance, but it died out again immediately. She shook her head.

"No, no; do not undertake it. It is useless; and if I say so, you may rest assured that no means have been left untried. We have made every effort, and all in vain. Pawlick has paid for his fidelity with his life."

"Pawlick was an old man," replied Waldemar, "and an anxious, timorous nature to boot. He had devotion enough for any task, but he had not the requisite prudence, not the requisite audacity at a critical moment. Such an enterprise demands youth and a bold spirit; above all, it is essential that the principal should act in person, trusting to no one but himself."

"And himself incur all the terrible danger. We have learned, to our cost, how they guard their frontiers and their prisoners out yonder. Waldemar, am I to lose you too?"

Waldemar looked at her in amazement, as the last words burst from her lips like a cry of pain. A bright flush overspread his face.

"Your brother's freedom depends on it," he reminded her.

"Bronislaus is beyond rescue," said the Princess, hopelessly. "Do not risk your life now in our lost cause. It has cost victims enough! Think of Pawlick's fate, of your brother's death!" She seized his hand, and held it tightly. "You shall not go. I was over rash just now when I said I had nothing more to lose; at this moment I feel there is one thing left to me. I will not give up you too, my last, my only child. Do not go, my son. Your mother entreats you; do not go!"

At length her heart warmed towards him with maternal love; at length this love spoke to him in tender accents, such as Waldemar had never before heard from her lips. Even to this proud, inexorable woman an hour had come, when, seeing all around her tottering and falling, she was fain to cling desperately to the one support which Fate had left her. The spurned, neglected son resumed his rights at last. True, the grave had opened for his brother, before any such rights were accorded to him.

Any other mother and son might now have clasped each other in a long embrace, striving in this rush of new-born tenderness to drown all memory of their long, deep-rooted estrangement; these natures were too hard, and too alike in their hardness, for any such swift and absolute revulsion of feeling. Waldemar spoke no word, but for the first time in his life he lifted his mother's hand to his lips, and pressed them on it long and fervently.

"You will stay?" implored the Princess.

He drew himself up. The bright flush was still on his face, but the last few minutes seemed to have transfigured it. All rancour and bitterness had vanished from his features; his eyes still sparkled with defiance, but it was the glad defiance of one confident of victory, and ready to enter the lists and do battle with Fate.

"No," he replied, "I shall go; but I thank you for those words–they make the venture a light one to me. You have always looked upon me as your enemy, because I would not lend my hand to further your plans. I could not do that–I cannot now; but nothing forbids me to rescue the Count from the consequences of an inhuman verdict. At all events, I am determined to make the attempt, and, if any one can accomplish it, I shall. You know the spur which urges me on."

The Princess gave up all resistance. She could not remain quite hopeless in face of his steady assurance.

"And Wanda?" she asked.

"She said to me to-day, 'If my father were free, I might find courage to defy all and everything for your sake.' Tell her I may one day remind her of those words. Now ask me nothing more, mother. You know that I must act alone, for I alone am unsuspected. You are distrusted and watched. Any step taken by you would betray the enterprise, any news sent you by me would jeopardise it. Leave all in my hands; and now, farewell. I must away, we have no more time to lose."

He touched his mother's hand with his lips once more, and hastened from her. The Princess felt something akin to a pang at this sudden, rapid leave-taking. She went up to the window to wave a last adieu to the traveller as he hurried away; but she waited in vain. His eyes sought, indeed, one of the Castle windows, as he rode slowly, lingeringly through the courtyard; but that window was not hers. He gazed steadfastly, persistently, up to Wanda's room, as though such a look must have power to draw his love to him, to force from her a parting 'God speed!' It was for her sake alone he was entering on the perilous task before him; his mother, the reconciliation so lately sealed, all faded away and sank to nought when his Wanda came in question.

And he really obtained his wish of seeing her once more. The young Countess must have appeared at the bay-window, for Waldemar's face suddenly lighted up, as though a ray of sunshine had fallen athwart it. He waved his hand to her, then gave his Norman the rein, and dashed, quick as the wind, out of the Castle-yard.

The Princess still stood in her place, gazing after him. He had not looked back to her–she was forgotten! At this thought, for the first time that stab went through her heart which had so often traversed Waldemar's at sight of her tenderness to Leo–and yet in this moment a conviction she had hitherto refused fully to admit forced itself irresistibly upon her–a conviction that the inheritance, all share of which had been denied her darling, had fallen to her first-born son, that to him his mother's strength and energy had descended, that in mind and character he approved himself very blood of her blood.

CHAPTER XV

In the forenoon of a cool but sunny May day, Herr Frank was returning from L– whither he had been to fetch his daughter and son-in-law. Professor Fabian and his wife were seated in the carriage with him. The former's new academical dignity seemed to agree right well with him; he looked in better health and spirits than ever. His young wife, in consideration of her husband's position, had assumed a certain stateliness of demeanour which she did her very best to maintain, and which was in comic contrast to her fresh, youthful appearance. Fortunately, she often fell out of her rôle, and became true Gretchen Frank once more; but at this moment, it was the Professor's wife who sat by her father's side with much gravity of deportment, giving him an account of their life in J–.

"Yes, papa, it will be a great relief to us to come and stay with you for a time," said she, passing her handkerchief over her blooming face, which certainly did not look as though it needed relief. "We University people have so many claims upon us. We are expected to interest ourselves in every possible subject, and our position requires so much from us. We Germanists stand well to the front in the scientific movement of the age."

"You certainly appear to stand very much to the front," said the steward, who was listening with some wonder. "Tell me, child, which of you really fills the professorial chair at J–, your husband or yourself?"

"The wife belongs to the husband, so it comes to the same," declared Gretchen. "Without me Emile never could have accepted the post, distinguished scholar as he is. Professor Weber said to him the day before yesterday in my presence, 'My worthy colleague, you are a perfect treasure to the University, as regards science, but for all the details of practical life you are worth absolutely nothing. In all such matters you are quite at sea. It is a mercy your young wife is so well able to supply your deficiencies.' He is quite right, is he not, Emile? Without me you would be lost in a social point of view."

"Altogether," assented the Professor, full of faith, and with a look of grateful tenderness at his wife.

"Do you hear, papa, he owns it," said she, turning to her father. "Emile is one of the few men who know how to appreciate their wives. Hubert never would have done that. By-the-by, how is the Assessor? Is not he made Counsellor even yet?"

"No, not yet, and he is so wrath at it that he has given in his resignation. At the beginning of next month he quits the service of the State."

"What a loss for all the future ministries of our country!" laughed Gretchen. "He had quite made up his mind he should come into office some day, and he used to practice the ministerial bearing when he was sitting in our parlour. Is he still tormented with the fixed idea of discovering traitors and conspirators everywhere?"

Frank laughed in his turn. "I really don't know, for I have hardly seen him since your engagement was announced, and never once spoken to him. He has laid my house under a ban ever since that time. You might certainly have told him the news in a more considerate manner. When he comes over to Wilicza, which does not happen often, he stops down in the village, and never comes near the manor-farm. I have no transactions with him now that Herr Nordeck has taken the direction of the police into his own hands–but the Assessor may pass for a rising man nowadays: he inherited the greater part of Schwarz's fortune. The Professor died a few months ago."

"Of bilious fever, probably," put in Mrs. Fabian.

"Gretchen!" remonstrated her husband, in a tone between entreaty and reproof.

"Well, he was of a very bilious temperament. He went just as much into that extreme as you do into the other with your mildness and forbearance. Just fancy, papa, directly after his nomination to J–, Emile wrote to the Professor, and assured him that he was quite innocent of all the disputes which had taken place at the University. As a matter of course, the letter was never acknowledged, notwithstanding which, my lord and husband feels himself called upon, now that this disagreeable but distinguished person has betaken himself to a better world, to write a grandiloquent article on him, deploring the loss to science, just as if the deceased had been his dearest friend."

"I did it from conviction, my dear," said Fabian, in his gentle, earnest way. "The Professor's ungenial temper too often acted as a hindrance to that full recognition of his talents which was due to them. I felt it incumbent on me to recall to the mind of the public what a loss science has sustained in him. Whatever may have been his defects of manner, he was a man of rare merit."

Gretchen's lip curled contemptuously.

"Well, he may have been; I'm sure I don't mind. But now to a more important matter. So Herr Nordeck is not in Wilicza?"

"No," replied the steward, laconically. "He has gone on a journey."

"Yes, we know that. He wrote to my husband not long ago, and said he was thinking of going over to Altenhof, and that he should probably spend a few weeks there. Just now, when he has his hands so full of business at Wilicza!–it seems strange!"

"Waldemar has always looked on Altenhof as his real home," said the Professor. "For that reason, he never could make up his mind to sell the estate which Herr Witold bequeathed to him by his will. It is natural he should wish to revisit the place where all his youth was passed."

Gretchen looked highly incredulous. "You ought to know your former pupil better. He is not likely to be troubled by any sentimental reminiscences of his youth at a time when he is engaged in the tremendous task of Germanising his Slavonian estates. No, there is something in the background, his attachment to Countess Morynska, probably. Perhaps he has resolved to put all thoughts of her out of his head–it would be the wisest thing he could do! These Polish women sometimes get quite absurd and irrational with their national fanaticism, and Countess Wanda is to the full as great a fanatic as any of them. Not to give her hand to the man she loves, just because he is a German! I would have taken my Emile, if he had been a Hottentot! and now he is always fretting over the supposed unhappiness of his dear Waldemar. He seriously believes that that personage has a heart like other human beings, which I, for one, emphatically deny."

"Gretchen!" said the Professor again, this time with an attempt to look severe, in which laudable effort he signally failed.

"Emphatically!" repeated his young wife. "When a man has a grief at his heart, he shows it one way or another. Herr Nordeck is as busy as possible, making such a stir here in Wilicza that all L– is clapping its hands to its ears, and when he acted as best man at my wedding, there was not a trace of trouble to be seen in him."

"I have already told you that extreme reserve is one of Waldemar's chief characteristics," declared Fabian. "This passion might sap and utterly ruin him without his betraying anything of it to the eyes of others."

"A man who does not show it when he is crossed in love, can't have any very deep feelings," persisted Gretchen. "It was plain enough in you ten paces off. The last few weeks before our engagement, when you thought I was going to marry the Assessor, you went about with the most woe-begone countenance. I was dreadfully sorry for you; but you were so shy, there was no making you speak out."

The steward had abstained from all part in this conversation, being, apparently, fully taken up by an examination of the trees by the wayside. The road, which ran for a short distance along the bank of the river, became rather bad just at this place. The damage caused by the late high tides had not yet been repaired, and in the present dilapidated state of the quay, shaken by the constant wash of the water, some hesitation might reasonably be felt at driving over it. Frank, it is true, maintained that there was not the slightest danger, adding that he had passed over that very spot on his outward journey; but Gretchen did not place absolute reliance on these assurances. She preferred getting out, and walking the short distance to the neighbouring bridge. The gentlemen followed her example, and all three set out, taking a higher footpath, while the carriage proceeded at a slow pace over the quay below.

They were not the only travellers who considered caution the better part of valour.

From the bridge a carriage was seen approaching, the occupant of which appeared to share Gretchen's views. He called to the coachman to stop, and alighted in his turn, just as Frank and his companions reached the spot, and thus suddenly found themselves face to face with Herr Assessor Hubert.

This unexpected meeting caused some painful embarrassment on either side. The parties had not spoken since the day when the Assessor, furious at the engagement so recently contracted, had rushed out of the house, and the steward, under the impression that he had lost his reason, had sent the Inspector to look after him; but their acquaintance was of too old standing for them now to pass as strangers–they all felt that. Frank was the first to recover himself. He took the best possible way out of the difficulty by going up to the Assessor as though nothing had happened, offering him his hand in the most friendly manner, and expressing his pleasure at seeing him again at last.

The Assessor stood erect and stiff, clothed in black from head to foot. He had a crape band on his hat, and another on his arm. The family celebrity was duly mourned, but the money inherited appeared to have dropped some balm into the heart of the sorrowing nephew, for he looked the very reverse of disconsolate. There was a peculiar expression on his face to-day, an exalted self-satisfaction, a tranquil grandeur. He seemed in the humour to forgive all offences, to make peace with his kind–so, after a moment's hesitation, he took the offered hand, and replied by a few polite words.

The Professor and Gretchen now came forward. Hubert cast one glance of dark reproach at the young lady–who, in her little travelling-hat and flowing veil, certainly looked charming enough to awaken regretful feelings in the heart of her former adorer–bowed to her, and then turned to her husband.

"Professor Fabian," said he, "you have sympathised with the great loss which my family, and, with it, the whole scientific world, has experienced. The letter you wrote to my uncle long ago convinced him that you were blameless with regard to the intrigues which had been directed against him, that you at least could recognise his great merits without envy or jealousy. He expressed so much to me himself, and did you ample justice. The eulogistic notice, which you have dedicated to his memory, does you great honour; it has been a source of consolation to his surviving relatives. I thank you in the name of the family."

Fabian heartily pressed the speaker's hand, which the latter had voluntarily extended towards him. His predecessor's hostile attitude and the Assessor's grudge against him had weighed heavily on his soul, innocent as he knew himself to be of the mortification endured by both. He condoled with the afflicted nephew in terms of the sincerest sympathy.

"Yes, at the University we all deeply regret the loss of Professor Schwarz," said Gretchen; and she was hypocritical enough to offer, in her turn, a long string of condolences on the death of a man whom she had thoroughly detested, and whom, even in his grave, she could not forgive for his criticism on the 'History of Teutonism.'

"And so you have really tendered your resignation?" asked the steward, adverting to another topic. "You are leaving the service of the State, Herr Assessor?"

"In a week," assented Hubert. "But, with respect to the title you give me, Herr Frank, I must permit myself a slight correction. I …" Here followed a dramatic pause, far longer and more impressive than that which in bygone days was intended to prelude his love declaration, during which pause he looked at his auditors successively, as though to prepare them for some most weighty intelligence; then, drawing a long breath, he concluded, "I was yesterday promoted to the rank of Counsellor."

"Thank goodness, at last!" said Gretchen, in a loud whisper, while her husband caught hold of her arm in alarm, to warn her against further imprudent utterances. Fortunately, Hubert had not heard the exclamation. He received Frank's congratulations with a dignity befitting the occasion, and then bowed graciously in reply to the good wishes of the young couple. His placable frame of mind was now explained. The new Counsellor stood high above all offences committed against the former Assessor. He forgave all his enemies–he even forgave the State, which had shown so tardy an appreciation of his worth.

"The promotion will make no change in my determination," he continued, it never having occurred to him that to this very determination he owed his advancement. "The State sometimes finds out too late the value of its servants; but the die is cast! I still, of course, fulfil the functions of my former position, and in this, the last week of my official activity, an important trust has been confided to me. I am now on my way to W–."

"Across the frontier?" said Fabian, in surprise.

"Exactly. I have to consult with the authorities there relative to the capture and reddition of a prisoner charged with high treason."

Gretchen gave her husband a look which said plainly: "There, he is beginning again already! Even the Counsellorship has not cured him of it"–but Frank had grown attentive all at once; he disguised any interest he might feel in the subject, however, and merely remarked in a careless, indifferent way–

"I thought the insurrection was at an end."

"But there are conspiracies on foot still," cried Hubert, eagerly. "A striking proof of this is now before us. You, probably, are not aware as yet that Count Morynski, the leader, the soul of the whole revolution, has escaped from prison."

Fabian started, and his wife evinced a lively surprise; but the steward only said quietly, "Impossible!"

The new Counsellor shrugged his shoulders. "It is, unfortunately, no longer any secret. The fact is known already all through L–, where Wilicza and Rakowicz still form the centre of general interest. Of course, Wilicza is beyond suspicion now, under Herr Nordeck's energetic rule; but Rakowicz is the residence of the Princess Baratowska, and I maintain that that woman is a source of danger to the whole province. There will be no peace so long as she remains in the land. Heaven knows whom she may now have stirred up to rescue her brother. Some reckless madman it must have been, who sets no store by his life. The prisoners under sentence of deportation are most closely guarded. Notwithstanding this, the accessory has, or the accessories have, managed to establish communication with the Count, and to furnish him with the means of escape. They have found their way into the interior of the fortress, have reached the very walls of his prison. Traces have been found which show that the fugitive was there received by them and conveyed past posts and sentries, over fortifications and ramparts–how is still an enigma. Half the sentinels on duty must have been bribed. The whole fort is in commotion at the unheard-of boldness of the enterprise. Scouts have been out all over the neighbourhood for the last ten days, but no clue has as yet been found."

Fabian at first had merely listened with some interest to Hubert's story, but as he heard such repeated mention of the amazing boldness of the undertaking, he began to be uneasy. A vague presentiment arose in his mind. He was about to put a hasty question, but just in time he met a warning look from his father-in-law. That look distinctly forbade him to speak. The Professor was silent, but his heart quailed within him.

Gretchen had not noticed this dumb intelligence between the two; she was following the tale with naïve and eager attention. Hubert went on:

"The fugitives cannot be far off, for the escape was discovered almost immediately. The Count has not yet passed the frontier, that is certain, and it is equally sure that he will make for it and attempt to get over on to German territory, where he would be in less danger. He will probably turn his steps to Rakowicz in the first place, Wilicza, thank God, being now closed to all such scheming plots and intrigues, though Herr Nordeck does not happen to be there just at present."

"No," said the steward, speaking with much decision. "He is over at Altenhof."

"I know; he told the President he was going there when he called to take leave of him. This absence of his will spare him much trouble and annoyance. It would be very painful to him to see his uncle captured and given up, as he will be beyond a doubt."

"What, you would give him up?" cried Gretchen, impetuously.

Hubert looked at her in astonishment.

"Of course; he is a criminal, convicted of treason to a friendly State. Its Government will insist upon his being delivered up."

The girl looked from her husband to her father; she could not understand how it was they neither of them joined in her expostulations, but Frank's eyes were fixed on something in the far distance, and Fabian uttered not a syllable.

Brave Gretchen, however, was not so easily intimidated. She indulged in a series of no very flattering comments on the 'friendly State,' and even directed some very pointed remarks against the Government of her own land. Hubert listened in horror. For the first time he thanked God in his heart that he had not made of this young lady a Counsellor's consort. She was proving herself unfit to be the wife of a loyal official. There was a taint of treason in her too!

"In your place, I should have refused the mission," she concluded at last. "Just on the eve of your retirement, you could very well have done so. I would not have closed my official career by delivering up a poor hunted captive into the hands of his tormentors."

"The Government has named me Counsellor," replied Hubert, solemnly emphasising the title, "and as such I shall do my duty. My State commands, I obey–but I see that my carriage has got safely over the critical spot. Madam, adieu; adieu, gentlemen. Duty calls me away!" and with a bow and a flourish, he left them.

"Did you hear, Emile?" asked the young lady, when they were once more seated in the carriage. "They have made him a Counsellor just a week before he retires, so that he shall have no time to do anything stupid in his new capacity. Well, he can't do much harm in future with the mere title!"

She went on in this way, discussing her old friend's advancement and Count Morynski's escape at great length, but received only short and unsatisfactory answers. Her father and husband had become remarkably monosyllabic, and it was fortunate that they soon reached the Wilicza domain, for the conversation began to flag hopelessly.

The Professor's wife found many occasions for surprise, some even for annoyance, during the course of the day. What perplexed her most, was her father's behaviour. He was undoubtedly pleased to have them there; he had taken her in his arms that morning and welcomed them both with such hearty warmth, yet it seemed as though their coming, which had been announced to him by a telegram the day before, was not quite opportune, as though he would willingly have deferred it a little. He declared himself to be overwhelmed with business, and appeared indeed to be constantly occupied. Soon after they got home, he took his son-in-law with him into his room, and they remained nearly an hour closeted there together.

Gretchen's indignation waxed hot within her on finding that she was neither included in this secret conference, nor enlightened as to its nature by her husband. She set herself to watch and to think, and suddenly many little things, which she had noticed during the journey, recurred to her mind. Skilfully putting these together, she arrived at a result, the correctness of which, to her mind, admitted of no doubt.

After dinner, the husband and wife remained alone together in the parlour. The Professor paced up and down the room in a manner very unusual to him, striving in vain to hide some inward uneasiness, but too much absorbed by his thoughts to notice the silent fit which had overtaken his young companion, generally so animated. Gretchen sat on the sofa, and watched him for some time. At last she advanced to the attack.

"Emile," she began, with a solemnity not exceeded by Hubert's, "Emile, I am shamefully treated here!"

Fabian looked up, greatly shocked.

"You! Good Heavens, by whom?"

"By my papa, and, what is worst of all, by my own husband."

The Professor was at his wife's side in a moment. He took her hand in his, but she drew it away very ungraciously.

"Shamefully!" she repeated. "You show no confidence in me whatever. You have secrets from me. You treat me like a child, me, a married woman, wife of a Professor of the J– University! It is abominable!"

"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, timidly, and then stopped.

"What was papa saying to you just now, when you were in his room?" enquired Gretchen. "Why do you not confide in me? What are these secrets between you two? Do not deny it, Emile, there are secrets between you."

The Professor denied nothing. He looked down, and seemed extremely oppressed and uncomfortable. His wife darted a severe, rebuking glance at him.

"Well, I will tell _you_, then. There is a new plot on foot at Wilicza, a conspiracy, as Hubert would say, and papa is in it this time, and he has dragged you into it too. The whole thing is connected with Count Morynski's rescue …"

"Hush, child, for Heaven's sake!" cried Fabian in alarm; but Gretchen paid no heed to his adjuration; she went on quite undisturbed.

"And Herr Nordeck is not at Altenhof, that is pretty sure, or you would not be in such a state of anxiety. What is Count Morynski to you, or his escape either? But your beloved Waldemar is concerned in it, and that is why you are in such a flutter. It has been he who has carried off the Count–that is just the sort of thing he would do."

The Professor was struck dumb with astonishment at his wife's powers of discernment and combination. He was much impressed with her cleverness, but a little disturbed to hear her count off on her fingers those secrets which he had believed to be impenetrable.

"And no one says a word to me of it," continued Gretchen, with increasing irritation, "not a word, although you know very well I can keep a secret, though it was I, all by myself, who saved the Castle that time by sending the Assessor over to Janowo. The Princess and Countess Wanda will know everything. The Polish ladies always do know everything. _Their_ husbands and fathers make confidants of them–_they_ are allowed to take a part in politics, even in conspiracies; but we poor German women are always oppressed and kept in the background. We are humiliated, and treated like slaves …" Here the Professor's wife was so overcome with the sense of her slavery and humiliation that she began to sob.