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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9114921 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52136 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52136) diff --git a/old/52136-0.txt b/old/52136-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 006b112..0000000 --- a/old/52136-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8098 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52136 *** - -WANDA - -BY - -OUIDA - - - - _'Doch!--alles was dazu mich trieb;_ - _Gott!--war so gut, ach, war so lieb!'_ - Goethe - - -IN THREE VOLUMES - -VOL. II. - - -London - -CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - -1883 - - - - -WANDA. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -On her return she spoke of her royal friends, of her cousins, of -society, of her fears for the peace of Europe, and her doubts as to -the strength of the empire; but she did not speak of the one person of -whom, beyond all others, Mdme. Ottilie was desirous to hear. When some -hours had passed, and still she had never alluded to the existence of, -the Princess could bear silence no longer, and casting prudence to the -winds, said boldly and with impatience: - -'And your late guest? Have you nothing to tell me? Surely you have seen -him?' - -'He called once,' she answered, 'and I heard him speak at the Chamber.' - -'And was that all?' cried the Princess, disappointed. - -'He speaks very well in public,' added Wanda, 'and he said many tender -and grateful things of you, and sent you many messages--such grateful -ones that my memory is too clumsy a tray to hold such eggshell china.' - -She was angered with herself as she spoke, but the fragrance of the -white lilac and the remembrance of its donor pursued her--angered -with herself, too, because Hohenszalras seemed for the moment sombre, -solitary, still, almost melancholy, wrapped in that winter whiteness -and stillness which she had always loved so well. - -The next morning she saw all her people, visited her schools and her -stables, and tried to persuade herself that she was as contented as -ever. - -The aurist came from Paris shortly after her, and consoled the Princess -by assuring her that the slight deafness she suffered from occasionally -was due to cold. - -'Of course!' she said, with some triumph. 'These mountains, all this -water, rain whenever there is not snow, snow whenever there is not -rain; it is a miracle, and the mercy of Heaven, if one saves any of -one's five senses uninjured in a residence here.' - -She had her satin hood trebly wadded, and pronounced the aurist a -charming person. Herr Greswold in an incautious moment had said to her -that deafness was one of the penalties of age and did not depend upon -climate. A Paris doctor would not have earned his fee of two hundred -napoleons if he had only produced so ungallant a truism. She heard a -little worse after his visit, perhaps, but if so, she said that was -caused by the additional wadding in her hood. He had told her to use a -rose-water syringe, and Herr Greswold was forbidden her presence for a -week because he averred that you might as well try to melt the glacier -with a lighted pastille. - -The aurist gone, life at Hohenszalras resumed its even tenor; and -except for, the post, the tea-cups, and the kind of dishes served at -dinner, hardly differed from what life had been there in the sixteenth -century, save that there were no saucy pages playing in the court, and -no destriers stamping in the stalls, and no culverins loaded on the -bastions. - -'It is like living between the illuminated leaves of one of the Hours,' -thought the Princess, and though her conscience told her that to dwell -so in a holy book like a pressed flower was the most desirable life -that could be granted by Heaven to erring mortality, still she felt it -was dull. A little gossip, a little movement, a little rolling of other -carriage-wheels than her own, had always seemed desirable to her. - -Life here was laid down on broad lines. It was stately, austere, -tranquil; one day was a mirror of all the rest. The Princess fretted -for some little _frou-frou_ of the world to break its solemn silence. - -When Wanda returned from her ride one forenoon she said a little -abruptly to her aunt: - -'I suppose you will be glad to hear you have convinced me. I have -telegraphed to Ludwig to open and air the house in Vienna; we will go -there for three months. It is, perhaps, time I should be seen at Court.' - -'It is a very sudden decision!' said Madame Ottilie, doubting that she -could hear aright. - -'It is the fruit of your persuasions, dear mother mine! The only -advantage in having houses in half a dozen different places is to be -able to go to them without consideration. You think me obstinate, -whimsical, barbaric; the Kaiserin thinks so too. I will endeavour to -conquer my stubbornness. We will go to Vienna next week. You will see -all your old friends, and I all my old jewels.' - -The determination once made, she adhered to it. She had felt a vague -annoyance at the constancy and the persistency with which regret for -the lost society of Sabran recurred to her. She had attributed it to -the solitude in which she lived: that solitude which is the begetter -and the nurse of thought may also be the hotbed of unwise fancies. -It was indeed a solitude filled with grave duties, careful labours, -high desires and endeavours; but perhaps, she thought, the world for a -while, even in its folly, might be healthier, might preserve her from -the undue share which the memory of a stranger had in her musings. - -Her people, her lands, her animals, would none of them suffer by -a brief absence; and perhaps there were duties due as well to her -position as to her order. She was the only representative of the great -Counts of Szalras. With the whimsical ingratitude to fate common -to human nature, she thought she would sooner have been obscure, -unnoticed, free. Her rank began to drag on her with something like the -sense of a chain. She felt that she was growing irritable, fanciful, -thankless; so she ordered the huge old palace in the Herrengasse to be -got ready, and sought the world as others sought the cloister. - -In a week's time she was installed in Vienna, with a score of horses, -two score of servants, and all the stir and pomp that attend a great -establishment in the most aristocratic city of Europe, and she made her -first appearance at a ball at the Residenz covered with jewels from -head to foot; the wonderful old jewels that for many seasons had lain -unseen in their iron coffers--opals given by Rurik, sapphires taken -from Kara Mustafa, pearls worn by her people at the wedding of Mary of -Burgundy, diamonds that had been old when Maria Theresa had been young. - -She had three months of continual homage, of continual flattery, of -what others called pleasure, and what none could have denied was -splendour. Great nobles laid their heart and homage before her feet, -and all the city looked after her for her beauty as she drove her -horses round the Ringstrasse. It left her all very cold and unamused -and indifferent. - -She was impatient to be back at Hohenszalras, amidst the stillness of -the woods, the sound of the waters. - -'You cannot say now that I do not care for the world, because I have -forgotten what it was like,' she observed to her aunt. - -'I wish you cared more,' said the Princess. 'Position has its duties.' - -'I never dispute that; only I do not see that being wearied by society -constitutes one of them. I cannot understand why people are so afraid -of solitude; the routine of the world is quite as monotonous.' - -'If you only appreciated the homage that you receive----' - -'Surely one's mind is something like one's conscience: if one can be -not too utterly discontented with what it says one does not need the -verdict of others.' - -'That is only a more sublime form of vanity. Really, my love, with -your extraordinary and unnecessary humility in some things, and your -overweening arrogance in others, you would perplex wiser heads than the -one I possess.' - -'No; I am sure it is not vanity or arrogance at all; it may be -pride--the sort of pride of the "Rohan je suis." But it is surely -better than making one's barometer of the smiles of simpletons.' - -'They are not all simpletons.' - -'Oh, I know they are not; but the world in its aggregate is very -stupid. All crowds are mindless, the crowd of the Haupt-Allee as well -as of the Wurstel-Prater.' - -The Haupt-Allee indeed interested her still less than the -Wurstel-Prater, and she rejoiced when she set her face homeward and saw -the chill white peaks of the Glöckner arise out of the mists. Yet she -was angry with herself for the sense of something missing, something -wanting, which still remained with her. The world could not fill it up, -nor could all her philosophy or her pride do so either. - -The spring was opening in the Tauern, slow coming, veiled in rain, -and parting reluctantly with winter, but yet the spring, flinging -primroses broadcast through all the woods, and filling the shores of -the lakes with hepatica and gentian; the loosened snows were plunging -with a hollow thunder into the ravines and the rivers, and the grass -was growing green and long on the alps between the glaciers. A pale -sweet sunshine was gleaming on the grand old walls of Hohenszalras, -and turning to silver and gold all its innumerable casements as she -returned, and Donau and Neva leaped in rapture on her. - -'It is well to be at home,' she said, with a smile, to Herr Greswold, -as she passed through the smiling and delighted household down the -Rittersaal, which was filled with plants from the hothouses, gardenias -and gloxianas, palms and ericas, azaleas and camellias glowing between -the stern armoured figures of the knights and the time-darkened oak of -their stalls. - -'This came from Paris this morning for Her Excellency,' said Hubert, -as he showed his mistress a gilded boat-shaped basket, filled with -tea-roses and orchids; a small card was tied to its handle with -'_Willkommen_' written on it. - -She coloured a little as she recognised the handwriting of the single -word. - -How could he have known, she wondered, that she would return home that -day? And for the flowers to be so fresh, a messenger must have been -sent all the way with them by express speed, and Sabran was poor. - -'That is the Stanhopea tigrina,' said Herr Greswold, touching one with -reverent fingers; 'they are all very rare. It is a welcome worthy of -you, my lady.' - -'A very extravagant one,' said Wanda von Szalras, with a certain -displeasure that mingled with a softened emotion. 'Who brought it?' - -'The Marquis de Sabran, by _extra-poste_, himself this morning,' -answered Hubert--an answer she did not expect. 'But he would not wait; -he would not even take a glass of tokayer, or let his horses stay for a -feed of corn.' - -'What knight-errantry!' said the Princess well pleased. - -'What folly!' said Wanda, but she had the basket of orchids taken to -her own octagon room. - -It seemed as if he had divined how much of late she had thought of him. -She was touched, and yet she was angered a little. - -'Surely she will write to him,' thought the Princess wistfully very -often: but she did not write. To a very proud woman the dawning -consciousness of love is always an irritation, an offence, a failure, a -weakness: the mistress of Hohenszalras could not quickly pardon herself -for taking with pleasure the message of the orchids. - -A little while later she received a letter from Olga Brancka. In it she -wrote from Paris: - -'Parsifal is doing wonders in the Chamber, that is, he is making Paris -talk; his party will forbid him doing anything else. You certainly -worked a miracle. I hear he never plays, never looks at an actress, -never does anything wrong, and when a grand heiress was offered to -him by her people refused her hand blandly but firmly. What is one to -think? That he washed his soul white in the Szalrassee?' - -It was the subtlest flattery of all, the only flattery to which she -would have been accessible, this entire alteration in the current -of a man's whole life; this change in habit, inclination, temper, -and circumstance. If he had approached her its charm would have been -weakened, its motive suspected; but aloof and silent as he remained, -his abandonment of all old ways, his adoption of a sterner and worthier -career, moved her with its marked, mute homage of herself. - -When she read his discourses in the French papers she felt a glow -of triumph, as if she had achieved some personal success; she felt -a warmth at her heart as of something near and dear to her, which -was doing well and wisely in the sight of men. His cause did not, -indeed, as Olga Brancka had said, render tangible, practical, victory -impossible for him, but he had the victories of eloquence, of -patriotism, of high culture, of pure and noble language, and these -blameless laurels seemed to her half of her own gathering. - -'Will you never reward him?' the Princess ventured to say at last, -overcome by her own impatience to rashness. 'Never? Not even by a word?' - -'Hear mother,' said Wanda, with a smile which perplexed and baffled the -Princess, 'if your hero wanted reward he would not be the leader of a -lost cause. Pray do not suggest to me a doubt of his disinterestedness. -You will do him very ill service.' - -The Princess was mute, vaguely conscious that she had said something -ill-timed or ill-advised. - -Time passed on and brought beautiful weather in the month of June, -which here in the High Tauern means what April does in the south. -Millions of song-birds were shouting in the woods, and thousands of -nests were suspended on the high branches of the forest trees, or -hidden in the greenery of the undergrowth; water-birds perched and -swung in the tall reeds where the brimming streams tumbled; the purple, -the white, and the grey herons were all there, and the storks lately -flown home from Asia or Africa were settling in bands by the more -marshy grounds beside the northern shores of the Szalrassee. - -One afternoon she had been riding far and fast, and on her return a -telegram from Vienna had been brought to her, sent on from Lienz. -Having opened it, she approached her aunt and said with an unsteady -voice: - -'War is declared between France and Prussia!' - -'We expected it; we are ready for it,' said the Princess, with all -her Teutonic pride in her eyes. 'We shall show her that we cannot be -insulted with impunity.' - -'It is a terrible calamity for the world,' said Wanda, and her face was -very pale. - -The thought which was present to her was that Sabran would be foremost -amidst volunteers. She did not hear a word of all the political -exultation with which Princess Ottilie continued to make her militant -prophecies. She shivered as with cold in the warmth of the midsummer -sunset. - -'War is so hideous always,' she said, remembering what it had cost her -house. - -The Princess demurred. - -'It is not for me to say otherwise,' she objected; 'but without war all -the greater virtues would die out. Your race has been always martial. -You should be the last to breathe a syllable against what has been the -especial glory and distinction of your forefathers. We shall avenge -Jena. You should desire it, remembering Aspern and Wagram.' - -'And Sadowa?' said Wanda, bitterly. - -She did not reply further; she tore up the message, which had come from -her cousin Kaulnitz. She slept little that night. - -In two days the Princess had a brief letter from Sabran. He said: 'War -is declared. It is a blunder which will perhaps cause France the loss -of her existence as a nation, if the campaign be long. All the same I -shall offer myself. I am not wholly a tyro in military service. I saw -bloodshed in Mexico; and I fear the country will sorely need every -sword she has.' - -Wanda, herself, wrote back to him: - -'You will do right. When a country is invaded every living man on her -soil is bound to arm.' - -More than that she could not say, for many of her kindred on her -grandmother's side were soldiers of Germany. - -But the months which succeeded those months of the 'Terrible Year,' -written in letters of fire and iron on so many human hearts, were -filled with a harassing anxiety to her for the sake of one life that -was in perpetual peril. War had been often cruel to her house. As a -child she had suffered from the fall of those she loved in the Italian -campaign of Austria. Quite recently Sadowa and Königsgrätz had made -her heart bleed, beholding her relatives and friends opposed in mortal -conflict, and the empire she adored humbled and prostrated. Now she -became conscious of a suffering as personal and almost keener. She had -at the first, now and then, a hurried line from Sabran, written from -the saddle, from the ambulance, beside the bivouac fire, or in the -shelter of a barn. He had offered his services, and had been given the -command of a volunteer cavalry regiment, all civilians mounted on their -own horses, and fighting principally in the Orléannois. His command was -congenial to him; he wrote cheerfully of himself, though hopelessly of -his cause. The Prussians were gaining ground every day. Occasionally, -in printed correspondence from the scene of war, she saw his name -mentioned by some courageous action or some brilliant skirmish. That -was all. - -The autumn began to deepen into winter, and complete silence covered -all his life. She thought with a great remorse--if he were dead? -Perhaps he was dead? Why had she been always so cold to him? She -suffered intensely; all the more intensely because it was not a sorrow -which she could not confess even to herself. When she ceased altogether -to hear anything of or from him, she realised the hold which he had -taken on her life. - -These months of suspense did more to attach her to him than years -of assiduous and ardent homage could have done. She, a daughter of -soldiers, had always felt any man almost unmanly who had not received -the baptism of fire. - -Mdme. Ottilie talked of him constantly, wondered frequently if he were -wounded, slain, or in prison; she never spoke his name, and dreaded to -hear it. - -Greswold, who perceived an anxiety in her that, he did not dare to -allude to, ransacked every journal that was published in German to find -some trace of Sabran's name. At the first he saw often some mention of -the Cuirassiers d'Orléans, and of their intrepid Colonel Commandant: -some raid, skirmish, or charge in which they had been conspicuous for -reckless gallantry. But after the month of November he could find -nothing. The whole regiment seemed to have been obliterated from -existence. - -Winter settled down on Central Austria with cold silence, with roads -blocked and mountains impassable. The dumbness, the solitude around -her, which she had always loved so well, now grew to her intolerable. -It seemed like death. - -Paris capitulated. The news reached her at the hour of a violent -snowstorm; the postillion of her post-sledge bringing it had his feet -frozen. - -Though her cousins of Lilienhöhe were amongst those who entered the -city as conquerors, the fate of Paris smote her with a heavy blow. She -felt as if the cold of the outer world had chilled her very bones, her -very soul. The Princess, looking at her, was afraid to rejoice. - -On the following day she wrote to her cousin Hugo of Lilienhöhe, who -was in Paris with the Imperial Guard. She asked him to inquire for and -tell her the fate of a friend, the Marquis de Sabran. - -In due time Prince Hugo answered: - -'The gentleman you asked for was one of the most dangerous of our -enemies. He commanded a volunteer cavalry regiment, which was almost -cut to pieces by the Bavarian horse in an engagement before Orleans. -Two or three alone escaped; their Colonel was severely wounded in -the thigh, and had his charger shot dead under him. He was taken -prisoner by the Bavarians after a desperate resistance. Whilst he -lay on the ground he shot three of our men with his revolver. He was -sent to a fortress, I think Ehrenbreitstein, but I will inquire more -particularly. I am sorry to think that you have any French friends. - -By-and-by she heard that he had been confined not at Ehrenbreitstein -but at a more obscure and distant fortress on the Elbe; that his wounds -had been cured, and that he would shortly be set free like other -prisoners of war. In the month of March in effect she received a brief -letter from his own hand, gloomy and profoundly dejected. - -'Our plans were betrayed,' he wrote. 'We were surprised and surrounded -just as we had hobbled our horses and lain down to rest, after being -the whole day in the saddle. Bavarian cavalry, outnumbering us four to -one, attacked us almost ere we could mount our worn-out beasts. My -poor troopers were cut to pieces. They hunted me down when my charger -dropped, and I was made a prisoner. When they could they despatched -me to one of their places on the Elbe. I have been here December and -January. I am well. I suppose I must be very strong; nothing kills -me. They are now about to send me back to the frontier. My beautiful -Paris! What a fate! But I forget, I cannot hope for your sympathy; your -kinsmen are our conquerors. I know not whether the house I lived in -there exists, but if you will write me a word at Romaris, you will be -merciful, and show me that you do not utterly despise a lost cause and -a vanquished soldier.' - -She wrote to him at Romaris, and the paper she wrote on felt her tears. -In conclusion she said: - -'Whenever you will, come and make sure for yourself that both the -Princess Ottilie and I honour courage and heroism none the less because -it is companioned by misfortune.' - -But he did not come. - -She understood why he did not. An infinite pity for him overflowed her -heart. His public career interrupted, his country ruined, his future -empty, what remained to him? Sometimes she thought, with a blush on her -face, though she was all alone: 'I do.' But then, if he never came to -hear that? - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -The little hamlet of Romaris, on the coast of Finisterre, was very dull -and dark and silent. A few grave peasant women knitted as they walked -down the beach or sat at their doors; a few children did the same. Out -on the _landes_ some cows were driven through the heather and broom; -out on the sea some fishing-boats with rough, red sails were rocking to -and fro. All was melancholy, silent, poor; life was hard at Romaris for -all. The weatherbeaten church looked grey and naked on a black rock; -the ruins of the old _manoir_ faced it amidst sands and surfs; the only -thing of beauty was the bay, and that for the folk of Romaris had no -beauty; they had seen it kill so many. - -There was never any change at Romaris, unless it were a change in the -weather, a marriage, a birth, or a death. Therefore the women and -children who were knitting had lifted up their heads as a stranger, -accompanied by their priest, had come down over the black rocks, on -which the church stood, towards the narrow lane that parted the houses -where they clustered together face to face on the edge of the shore. - -Their priest, an old man much loved by them, came slowly towards them, -conversing in low tones with the stranger, who had been young and -handsome, and a welcome sight, since a traveller to Romaris always -needed a sailing-boat or a rowing-boat, a guide over the moors, or a -drive in an ox-waggon through the deep-cut lanes of the country. - -But they had ceased to think of such things as these when the curate, -with his hands extended as when he blessed them, had said in _bas_ -Breton as he stood beside them: - -'My children, this is the last of the Sabrans of Romaris, come back to -us from the far west that lies in the setting of the sun. Salute him, -and show him that in Brittany we do not forget--nay, not in a hundred -years.' - -Many years had gone by since then, and of the last of the old race, -Romaris had scarcely seen more than when he had been hidden from -their sight on the other side of the heaving ocean. Sabran rarely came -thither. There was nothing to attract a man who loved the world and -who was sought by it, in the stormy sea coast, the strip of sea-lashed -oak forest, that one tall tower with its gaunt walls of stone which -was all that was left of what had once been the fortress of his race. -Now and then they saw him, chiefly when he had heard that there was -wild weather on the western coast, and at such times he would go out -in their boats to distressed vessels, or steer through churning waters -to reach a fishing-smack in trouble, with a wild courage and an almost -fierce energy which made him for the moment one of themselves. But -such times had been few, and all that Romaris really knew of the last -marquis was that he was a gay gentleman away there in distant Paris. - -He had been a mere name to them. Now and then he had sent fifty -napoleons, or a hundred, to the old priest for such as were poor or -sick amongst them. That was all. Now after the war he came hither. -Paris had become hateful to him; his political career was ended, at -all events for the time; the whole country groaned in anguish; the -vices and follies that had accompanied his past life disgusted him -in remembrance. He had been wounded and a prisoner; he had suffered -betrayal at unworthy hands; Cochonette had sold him to the Prussians, -in revenge of his desertion of her. - -He was further removed from the Countess von Szalras than ever. In the -crash with which the Second Empire had fallen and sunk out of sight for -evermore, his own hopes had gone down like a ship that sinks suddenly -in a dark night. All his old associations were broken, half his old -friends were dead or ruined; gay châteaux that he had ever been welcome -at were smoking ruins or melancholy hospitals; the past had been -felled to the ground like the poor avenues of the Bois. It affected -him profoundly. As far as he was capable of an impersonal sentiment -he loved France, which had been for so many years his home, and which -had always seemed to smile at him with indulgent kindness. Her vices, -her disgrace, her feebleness, her fall, hurt him with an intense pain -that was not altogether selfish, but had in it a nobler indignation, a -nobler regret. - -When he was released by the Prussians and sent across the frontier, he -went at once to this sad sea village of Romaris, to collect as best -he might the shattered fragments of his life, which seemed to him as -though it had been thrown down by an earthquake. He had resigned his -place as deputy when he had offered his sword to France; he had now no -career, no outlet for ambition, no occupation. Many of his old friends -were dead or ruined; although such moderate means as he possessed were -safe, they were too slender to give him any position adequate to his -rank. His old life in Paris, even if Paris arose from her tribulations, -gay and glorious once more, seemed to him altogether impossible. He had -lost taste for those pleasures and distractions which had before the -war--or before his sojourn on the Holy Isle--seemed to him the Alpha -and Omega of a man's existence. '_Que faire?_' he asked himself wearily -again and again. He did not even know whether his rooms in Paris had -been destroyed or spared; a few thousands of francs which he had -made by a successful speculation years before, and placed in foreign -funds, were all he had to live on. His keen sense told him that the -opportunity which might have replaced the Bourbon throne had been lost -through fatal hesitation. His own future appeared to him like a blank -dead wall that rose up in front of him barring all progress; he was no -longer young enough to select a career and commence it. With passionate -self-reproach he lamented all the lost irrevocable years that he had -wasted. - -Romaris was not a place to cheer a disappointed and dejected soldier -who had borne the burning pain of bodily wounds and the intolerable -shame of captivity in a hostile land. Its loneliness, its darkness, -its storms, its poverty, had nothing in them with which to restore his -spirit to hope or his sinews to ambition. In these cold, bleak, windy -days of a dreary and joyless spring-time, the dusky moors and the -gruesome sea were desolate, without compensating grandeur. The people -around him were all taciturn, dull, stupid; they had not suffered by -the war, but they understood that, poor as they were, they would have -to bear their share in the burden of the nation's ransom. They barred -their doors and counted their hoarded gains in the dark with throbbing -hearts, and stole out in the raw, wet, gusty dawns to kneel at the -bleeding feet of their Christ. He envied them their faith; he could not -comfort them, they could not comfort him; they were too far asunder. - -The only solace he had was the knowledge that he had done his duty by -France, and to the memory of those whose name he bore; that he had -rendered what service he could; that he had not fled from pain and -peril; that he had at least worn his sword well and blamelessly; that -he had not abandoned his discrowned city of pleasure in the day of -humiliation and martyrdom. The only solace he had was that he felt -Wanda von Szalras herself could have commanded him to do no more than -he had done in this the Année Terrible. - -But, though his character had been purified and strengthened by the -baptism of fire, and though his egotism had been destroyed by the -endless scenes of suffering and of heroism which he had witnessed, he -could not in a year change so greatly that he could be content with the -mere barren sense of duty done and honour redeemed. He was deeply and -restlessly miserable. He knew not where to turn, either for occupation -or for consolation. Time hung on his hands like a wearisome wallet of -stones. - -When all the habits of life are suddenly rent asunder, they are like a -rope cut in two. They may be knotted together clumsily, or they may be -thrown altogether aside and a new strand woven, but they will never be -the same thing again. - -Romaris, with its few wind-tortured trees and its leaden-hued dangerous -seas, seemed to him, indeed, a _champ des trépassés_, as it was called, -a field of death. The naked, ugly, half-ruined towers, which no ivy -shrouded and no broken marble ennobled, as one or the other would have -done had it been in England or in Italy, was a dreary residence for -a man who was used to all the elegant and luxurious habits of a man -of the world, who was also a lover of art and a collector of choice -trifles. His rooms had been the envy of his friends, with all their -eighteenth century furniture, and their innumerable and unclassified -treasures; when he had opened his eyes of a morning a pastel of La -Tour had smiled at him, rose-coloured windows had made even a grey -sky smile. Without, there had been the sound of wheels going down -the gay Boulevard Haussmann. All Paris had passed by, tripping and -talking, careless and mirthful, beneath his gilded balconies bright -with canariensis and volubilis; and on a little table, heaped in -their hundreds, had been cards that bade him to all the best and most -agreeable houses, whilst, betwixt them, slipped coyly in many an -amorous note, many an unlooked-for declaration, many an eagerly-desired -appointment. - -'_Quel beau temps!_' he thought, as he awoke in the chill, bare, -unlively chamber of the old tower by the sea; and it seemed to him -that he must be dreaming: that all the months of the war had been -a nightmare; that if he fully awakened he would find himself once -more with the April sunshine shining through the rose glass, and -the carriages rolling beneath over the asphalt road. But it was no -nightmare, it was a terrible, ghastly reality to him, as to so many -thousands. There were the scars on his breast and his loins where -the Prussian steel had hacked and the Prussian shot had pierced him; -there was his sword in a corner all dinted, notched, stained; there -was a crowd of hideous ineffaceable tumultuous memories; it was all -true enough, only too true, and he was alone at Romaris, with all his -dreams and ambitions faded into thin air, vanished like the blown burst -bubbles of a child's sport. - -In time to come he might recover power and nerve to recommence his -struggle for distinction, but at present it seemed to him that all was -over. His imprisonment had shaken and depressed him as nothing else -in the trials of war could have done. He had been shut up for months -alone, with his own desperation. To a man of high courage and impatient -appetite for action there is no injury so great and in its effect so -lasting as captivity. Joined to this he had the fever of a strong, and -now perfectly hopeless, passion. - -Pacing to and fro the brick floor of the tower looking down on the -sands and rocks of the coast, his thoughts were incessantly with Wanda -von Szalras in her stately ancient house, built so high up amidst the -mountains and walled in by the great forests and the ice slopes of the -glaciers. In the heat and stench of carnage he had longed for a breath -of that mountain breeze, for a glance from those serene eyes; he longed -for them still. - -As he passed to and fro in the wild wintry weather, his heart was sick -with hope deferred, with unavailing regret and repentance, with useless -longings. - -It was near noonday; there was no sun; a heavy wrack of cloud was -sweeping up from the west; on the air the odour of rotting fish and -of fish-oil, and of sewage trickling uncovered to the beach, were too -strong to be driven away by the pungency of the sea. - -The sea was high and moaning loud; the dusk was full of rain; the -wind-tormented trees groaned and seemed to sigh; their boughs were -still scarce in bud though May had come. He felt cold, weary, hopeless. -His walk brought no warmth to his veins, and his thoughts none to -his heart. The moisture of the air seemed to chill him to the bone, -and he went within and mounted the broken granite stairs to his -solitary chamber, bare of all save the simplest necessaries, gloomy -and cheerless with the winds and the bats beating together at the high -iron-barred casement. He wearily lighted a little oil lamp, and threw -a log or two of drift-wood on the hearth and set fire to them with a -faggot of dried ling. - -He dreaded his long lonely evening. - -He had set the lamp on a table while he had set fire to the wood; its -light fell palely on a small white square thing. It was a letter. He -took it up eagerly; he, who in Paris had often tossed aside, with a -passing glance, the social invitations of the highest personages and -the flattering words of the loveliest women. - -Here, any letter seemed a friend, and as he took up this his pulse -quickened; he saw that it was sealed with armorial bearings which he -knew--a shield bearing three vultures with two knights as supporters, -and with the motto '_Gott und mein Schwert_;' the same arms, the same -motto as were borne upon the great red and gold banner floating from -the keep on the north winds at the Hohenszalrasburg. He opened it with -a hand which shook a little and a quick throb of pleasure at his heart. -He had scarcely hoped that she would write again to him. The sight of -her writing filled him with a boundless joy, the purest he had ever -known called forth by the hand of woman. - -The letter was brief, grave, kind. As he read he seemed to hear the -calm harmonious voice of the lady of Hohenszalras speaking to him in -her mellowed and softened German tongue. - -She sent him words of consolation, of sympathy, of congratulation, on -the course of action he had taken in a time of tribulation, which had -been the touchstone of character to so many. - -'Tell me something of Romaris,' she said in conclusion. 'I am sure -you will grow to care for the place and the people, now that you seek -both in the hour of the martyrdom of France. Have you any friends near -you? Have you books? How do your days pass? How do you fill up time, -which must seem so dull and blank to you after the fierce excitations -and the rapid changes of war? Tell me all about your present life, and -remember that we at Hohenszalras know how to honour courage and heroic -misfortune.' - -He laid the letter down after twice reading it. Life seemed no longer -all over for him. He had earned her praise and her sympathy. It was -doubtful if years of the most brilliant political successes would have -done as much as his adversity, his misadventure, and his daring had -done for him in her esteem. She had the blood of twenty generations of -warriors in her, and nothing appealed so forcibly to her sympathies and -her instincts as the heroism of the sword. Those few lines too were -a permission to write to her. He replied at once, with a gratitude -somewhat guardedly expressed, and with details almost wholly impersonal. - -She was disappointed that he said so little of himself, but she did -justice to the delicacy of the carefully guarded words from a man -whose passion appealed to her by its silence, where it would only have -alienated her by any eloquence. Of Romaris he said nothing, save that, -had Dante ever been upon their coast, he would have added another canto -to the 'Purgatorio,' more desolate and more unrelieved in gloom than -any other. - -'Does he regret Cochonette?' she thought, with a jealous -contemptuousness of which she was ashamed as soon as she felt it. - -Having once written to her, however, he thought himself privileged -to write again, and did so several times. He wrote with ease, grace, -and elegance: he wrote as he spoke, which gives this charm to -correspondence, seem close at hand to the reader in intimate communion. -The high culture of his mind displayed itself without effort, and he -had that ability of polished expression which is in our day too often -a neglected one. His letters became welcome to her: she answered them -briefly, but she let him see that they were agreeable to her. There -was in them the note of a profound depression, of an unuttered, but -suggested hopelessness which touched her. If he had expressed it in -plain words, it would not have appealed to her one half so forcibly. - -They remained only the letters of a man of culture to a woman capable -of comprehending the intellectual movement of the time, but it -was because of this limitation that she allowed them. Any show of -tenderness would have both alarmed and alienated her. There was no -reason after all, she thought, why a frank friendship should not exist -between them. - -Sometimes she was surprised at herself for having conceded so much, -and angry that she had done so. Happily he had the good taste to take -no advantage of it. Interesting as his letters were they might have -been read from the housetops. With that inconsistency of her sex from -which hitherto she had always flattered herself she had been free, she -occasionally felt a passing disappointment that they were not more -personal as regarded himself. Reticence is a fine quality; it is the -marble of human nature. But sometimes it provokes the impatience that -the marble awoke in Pygmalion. - -Once only he spoke of his own aims. Then he wrote: - -'You bade me do good at Romaris. Candidly, I see no way to do it -except in saving a crew off a wreck, which is not an occasion that -presents itself every week. I cannot benefit these people materially, -since I am poor; I cannot benefit them morally, because I have not -their faith in the things unseen, and I have not their morality in the -things tangible. They are God-fearing, infinitely patient, faithful -in their daily lives, and they reproach no one for their hard lot, -cast on an iron shore and forced to win their scanty bread at risk -of their lives. They do not murmur either at duty or mankind. What -should I say to them? I, whose whole life is one restless impatience, -one petulant mutiny against circumstance? If I talk with them I only -take them what the world always takes into solitude--discontent. It -would be a cruel gift, yet my hand is incapable of holding out any -other. It is a homely saying that no blood comes out of a stone; so, -out of a life saturated with the ironies, the contempt, the disbelief, -the frivolous philosophies, the hopeless negations of what we call -society, there can be drawn no water of hope and charity, for the -well-head--belief--is dried up at its source. Some pretend, indeed, -to find in humanity what they deny to exist as deity, but I should -be incapable of the illogical exchange. It is to deny that the seed -sprang from a root; it is to replace a grand and illimitable theism by -a finite and vainglorious bathos. Of all the creeds that have debased -mankind, the new creed that would centre itself in man seems to me the -poorest and the most baseless of all. If humanity be but a _vibrion_, -a conglomeration of gases, a mere mould holding chemicals, a mere -bundle of phosphorus and carbon? how can it contain the elements of -worship; what matter when or how each bubble of it bursts? This is the -weakness of all materialism when it attempts to ally itself with duty. -It becomes ridiculous. The _carpe diem_ of the classic sensualists, the -morality of the "Satyricon" or the "Decamerone," are its only natural -concomitants and outcome; but as yet it is not honest enough to say -this. It affects the soothsayer's long robe, the sacerdotal frown, and -is a hypocrite.' - -In answer she wrote back to him: - -'I do not urge you to have my faith: what is the use? Goethe was -right. It is a question between a man and his own heart. No one should -venture to intrude there. But taking life even as you do, it is surely -a casket of mysteries. May we not trust that at the bottom of it, as -at the bottom of Pandora's, there may be hope? I wish again to think -with Goethe that immortality is not an inheritance, but a greatness -to be achieved like any other greatness, by courage, self-denial, and -purity of purpose--a reward allotted to the just. This is fanciful, may -be, but it is not illogical. And without being either a Christian or a -Materialist, without beholding either majesty or divinity in humanity, -surely the best emotion that our natures know--pity--must be large -enough to draw us to console where we can, and sustain where we can, in -view of the endless suffering, the continual injustice, the appalling -contrasts, with which the world is full. Whether man be the _vibrion_ -or the heir to immortality, the bundle of carbon or the care of angels, -one fact is indisputable: he suffers agonies, mental and physical, -that are wholly out of proportion to the brevity of his life, while he -is too often weighted from infancy with hereditary maladies, both of -body and of character. This is reason enough, I think, for us all to -help each other, even though we feel, as you feel, that we are as lost -children wandering in a great darkness, with no thread or clue to guide -us to the end.' - -When Sabran read this answer, he mused to himself: - -'Pity! how far would her pity reach? How great offences would it cover? -She has compassion for the evil-doers, but it is easy, since the evil -does not touch her. She sits on the high white throne of her honour and -purity, and surveys the world with beautiful but serene compassion. -If the mud of its miry labyrinths reached and soiled her, would her -theories prevail? They are noble, but they are the theories of one who -sits in safety behind a gate of ivory and jasper, whilst outside, far -below, the bitter tide of the human sea surges and moans too far off, -too low down, for its sound to reach within. _Tout comprendre, c'est -tout pardonner._ But since she would never understand, how could she -ever pardon? There are things that the nature must understand rather -than the mind; and her nature is as high, as calm, as pure as the snows -of her high hills.' - -And then the impulse came over him for a passing moment to tell her -what he had never told any living creature; to make confession to -her and abide her judgment, even though he should never see her face -again. But the impulse shrank and died away before the remembrance -of her clear, proud eyes. He could not humiliate himself before her. -He would have risked her anger; he could not brave her disdain. -Moreover, straight and open ways were hot natural to him, though he was -physically brave to folly. There was a subtlety and a reticence in him -which were the enemies of candour. - -To her he was more frank than to any other because her influence -was great on him, and a strong reverence was awakened in him that -was touched by a timid fear quite alien to a character naturally -contemptuously cynical and essentially proud. But even to her he could -not bring himself to be entirely truthful in revelation of his past. -Truthfulness is in much a habit, and he had never acquired its habit. -When he was most sincere there was always some reserve lying behind -it. This was perhaps one of the causes of the attraction he exercised -on all women. All women are allured by the shadows and the suggestions -of what is but imperfectly revealed. Even on the clear, strong nature -of Wanda von Szalras it had its unconscious and intangible charm. She -herself was like daylight, but the subtle vague charm of the shadows -had their seduction for her; Night holds dreams and passions that fade -and flee before the lucid noon, and who, at noonday wishes not for -night? - -For himself, the letters he received from her seemed the only things -that bound him to life at all. - -The betrayal of him by a base and mercenary woman had hurt him more -than it was worthy to do; it had stung his pride and saddened him in -this period of adversity with a sense of degradation. He had been sold -by a courtezan; it seemed to him to make him ridiculous as Samson was -ridiculous, and he had no gates of Gaza to pull down upon himself and -her. He could only be idle, and stare at an unoccupied and valueless -future. The summer went on, and he remained at Romaris. An old servant -had sent him word that all his possessions were safe in Paris, and his -apartments unharmed; but he felt no inclination to go there: he felt no -sympathy with Communists or Versaillists, with Gambetta or Gallifet. He -stayed on at the old storm-beaten sea-washed tower, counting his days -chiefly by the coming to him of any line from the castle by the lake. - -She seemed to understand that and pity it, for each week brought him -some tidings. - -At midsummer she wrote him word that she was about to be honoured again -by a two days' visit of her Imperial friends. - -'We shall have, perforce, a large house party,' she said. 'Will you -be inclined this time to join it? It is natural that you should -sorrow without hope for your country, but the fault of her disasters -lies not with you. It is, perhaps, time that you should enter the -world again; will you commence with what for two days only will be -worldly--Hohenszalras? Your old friends the monks will welcome you -willingly and lovingly on the Holy Isle?' - -He replied with gratitude, but he refused. He did not make any plea or -excuse; he thought it best to let the simple denial stand by itself. -She would understand it. - -'Do not think, however,' he wrote, 'that I am the less profoundly -touched by your admirable goodness to a worsted and disarmed combatant -in a lost cause.' - -'It is the causes that are lost which are generally the noble ones,' -she said in answer. 'I do not see why you should deem your life at an -end because a sham empire, which you always despised, has fallen to -pieces. If it had not perished by a blow from without, it would have -crumbled to pieces from its own internal putrefaction.' - -'The visit has passed off very well,' she continued. 'Every one was -content, which shows their kindness, for these things are all of -necessity so much alike that it is difficult to make them entertaining. -The weather was fortunately fine, and the old house looked bright. -You did rightly not to be present, if you felt festivity out of tone -with your thoughts. If, however, you are ever inclined for another -self-imprisonment upon the island, you know that your friends, both at -the monastery and at the burg, will be glad to see you, and the monks -bid me salute you with affection.' - -A message from Mdme. Ottilie, a little news of the horses, a few -phrases on the politics of the hour, and the letter was done. But, -simple as it was, it seemed to him to be like a ray of sunshine amidst -the gloom of his empty chamber. - -From her the permission to return to the monastery when he would -seemed to say so much. He wrote her back calm and grateful words of -congratulation and cordiality; he commenced with the German formality, -'Most High Lady,' and ended them with the equally formal 'devoted and -obedient servant;' but it seemed to him as if under that cover of -ceremony she must see his heart beating, his blood throbbing; she must -know very well, and if knowing, she suffered him to return to the Holy -Isle, why then--he was all alone, but he felt the colour rise to his -face. - -'And I must not go! I must not go!' he thought, and looked at his -pistols. - -He ought sooner to blow his brains out, and leave a written confession -for her. - -The hoarse sound of the sea surging amongst the rocks at the base of -the tower was all that stirred the stillness; evening was spreading -over all the monotonous inland country; a west wind was blowing and -rustling amidst the gorse; a woman led a cow between the dolmen, -stopping for it to crop grass here and there; the fishing-boats were -far out to sea, hidden under the vapours and the shadows. It was all -melancholy, sad-coloured, chill, lonesome. As he leaned against the -embrasure of the window and looked down, other familiar scenes, long -lost, rose up to his memory. He saw a wide green rolling river, long -lines of willows and of larches bending under a steel-hued sky, a vast -dim plain stretching away to touch blue mountains, a great solitude, -a silence filled at intervals with the pathetic song of the swans, -chanting sorrowfully because the nights grew cold, the ice began to -gather, the food became scanty, and they were many in number. - -'I must not go!' he said to himself; 'I must never see Hohenszalras.' - -And he lit his study lamp, and held her letter to it and burnt it. -It was his best way to do it honour, to keep it holy. He had the -letters of so many worthless women locked in his drawers and caskets -in his rooms in Paris. He held himself unworthy to retain hers. He -had burned each written by her as it had come to him, in that sort -of exaggeration of respect with which it seemed to him she was most -fittingly treated by him. There are less worthy offerings than the -first scruple of an unscrupulous life. It is like the first pure drops -that fall from a long turbid and dust-choked fountain. - -As he walked the next day upon the windblown, rock-strewn strip of sand -that parted the old oak wood from the sea, he thought restlessly of her -in those days of stately ceremony which suited her so well. What did he -do here, what chance had he to be remembered by her? He chafed at his -absence, yet it seemed to him impossible that he could ever go to her. -What had been at first keen calculation with him had now become a finer -instinct, was now due to a more delicate sentiment, a truer and loftier -emotion. What could he ever look to her if he sought her but a mere -base fortune-seeker, a mere liar, with no pride and no manhood in him? -And what else was he? he thought, with bitterness, as he paced to and -fro the rough strip of beach, with the dusky heaving waves trembling -under a cloudy sky, where a red glow told the place of the setting sun. - -There were few bolder men living than He, and he was cynical and -reckless before many things that most men reverence; but at the thought -of her possible scorn he felt himself tremble like a child. He thought -he would rather never see her face again than risk her disdain; there -was in him a vague romantic wishfulness rather to die, so that she -might think well of his memory, than live in her love through any -baseness that would be unworthy of her. - -Sin had always seemed a mere superstitious name to him, and if he had -abstained from its coarser forms it had been rather from the revolt -of the fine taste of a man of culture than from any principle or -persuasion of duty. Men he believed were but ephemera, sporting their -small hours, weaving their frail webs, and swept away by the great -broom of destiny as spiders by the housewife. In the spineless doctrine -of altruism he had had too robust a temperament, too clear a reason, -to seek a guide for conduct. He had lived for himself, and had seen -no cause to do otherwise. That he had not been more criminal had been -due partly to indolence, partly to pride. In his love for Wanda von -Szalras, a love with which considerable acrimony had mingled at the -first, he yet, through all the envy and the impatience which alloyed -it, reached a moral height which he had never touched before. Between -her and him a great gulf yawned. He abstained from any effort to pass -it. It was the sole act of self-denial of a selfish life, the sole -obedience to conscience in a character which obeyed no moral laws, but -was ruled by a divided tyranny of natural instinct and conventional -honour. - -The long silent hours of thought in the willow-shaded cloisters of -the Holy Isle had not been wholly without fruit. He desired, with -passion and sincerity, that she should think well of him, but he did -not dare to wish for more; love offered from him to her seemed to him -as if it would be a kind of blasphemy. He remembered in his far-off -childhood, which at times still seemed so near to him, nearer than all -that was around him, the vague, awed, wistful reverence with which -he had kneeled in solitary hours before the old dim picture of the -Madonna with the lamp burning above it, a little golden flame in the -midst of the gloom; he remembered so well how his fierce young soul and -his ignorant yearning child's heart had gone out in a half-conscious -supplication, how it had seemed to him that if he only knelt long -enough, prayed well enough, she would come down to him and lay her -hands on him. It was all so long ago, yet, when he thought of Wanda -von Szalras, something of that same emotion rose up in him, something -of the old instinctive worship awoke in him. In thought he prostrated -himself once more whenever the memory of her came to him. He had no -religion; she became one to him. - -Meanwhile, he was constantly thinking restlessly to himself, 'Did I do -ill not to go?' - -His bodily life was at Romaris, but his mental life was at -Hohenszalras. He was always thinking of her as she would look in those -days of the Imperial visit; he could see the stately ceremonies of -welcome, the long magnificence of the banquets, the great Rittersaal -with cressets of light blazing on its pointed emblazoned roofs; he -could see her as she would move down the first quadrille which she -would dance with her Kaiser: she would wear her favourite ivory-white -velvet most probably, and her wonderful old jewels, and all her orders. -She would look as if she had stepped down off a canvas of Velasquez -or Vandyck, and she would be a little tired, a little contemptuous, a -little indifferent, despite her loyalty; she would be glad, he knew, -when the brilliant gathering was broken up, and the old house, and the -yew terrace, and the green lake were all once more quiet beneath the -rays of the watery moon. She was so unlike other women. She would not -care about a greatness, a compliment, a success more or less. Such -triumphs were for the people risen yesterday, not for a Countess von -Szalras. - -He knew the simplicity of her life and the pride of her temper, -and they moved him to the stronger admiration because he knew also -that those mere externals which she held in contempt had for him an -exaggerated value. He was scarcely conscious himself of how great a -share the splendour of her position, united to her great indifference -to it, had in the hold she had taken on his imagination and his -passions. He did know that there were so much greater nobilities in -her that he was vaguely ashamed of the ascendency which her mere rank -took in his thoughts of her. Yet he could not divest her of it, and -it seemed to enhance both her bodily and spiritual beauty, as the -golden calyx of the lily makes its whiteness seem the whiter by its -neighbourhood. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -In the Iselthal the summer was more brilliant and warm than usual. The -rains were less frequent, and the roses on the great sloping lawns -beneath the buttresses and terraces of Hohenszalras were blooming -freely. - -Their mistress did not for once give them much heed. She rode long and -fast through the still summer woods, and came back after nightfall. Her -men of business, during their interviews with her, found her attention -less perfect, her interest less keen. In stormy days she sat in the -library, and read Heine and Schiller often, and all the philosophers -and men of science rarely. A great teacher has said that the Humanities -must outweigh the Sciences at all times, and he is unquestionably -true, if it were only for the reason that in the sweet wise lore of -ages every human heart in pain and perplexity finds a refuge; whilst in -love or in sorrow the sciences seem the poorest and chilliest of mortal -vanities that ever strove to measure the universe with a foot-rule. - -The Princess watched her with wistful, inquisitive eyes, but dared -not name the person of whom they both thought most. Wanda was herself -intolerant of the sense of impatience with which she awaited the coming -of the sturdy pony that brought the post-bag from Windisch-Matrey. -He in his loneliness and emptiness of life on the barren sea-shore -of Romaris did not more anxiously await her letters than did the -châtelaine of Hohenszalras, amidst all her state, her wealth, and her -innumerable occupations, await his. She pitied him intensely; there was -something pathetic to her in the earnestness with which he had striven -to amend his ways of life, only to have his whole career shattered by -an insensate and unlooked-for national war. She understood that his -poverty stood in the path of his ambition, and she divined that his -unhappiness had broken that spring of manhood in him which would have -enabled him to construct a new career for himself out of the ruins of -the old. She understood why he was listless and exhausted. - -There were moments when she was inclined to send him some invitation -more cordial, some bidding more clear; but she hesitated to take a step -which would bind her in her own honour to so much more. She knew that -she ought not to suggest a hope to him to which she was not prepared -to give full fruition. And again, how could he respond? It would be -impossible for him to accept. She was one of the great alliances of -Europe, and he was without fortune, without career, without a future. -Even friendship was only possible whilst they were far asunder. - -Two years had gone by since he had come across from the monastery in -the green and gold of a summer afternoon. The monks had not forgotten -him; throughout the French war they had prayed for him. When their -Prior saw her, he said anxiously sometimes: 'And the Markgraf von -Sabran, will he never come to us again? Were we too dull for him? -Will your Excellency remember us to him, if ever you can?' And she -had answered with a strange emotion at her heart: 'His country is -in trouble, holy father; a good son cannot leave his land in her -adversity. No: I do not think he was dull with you; he was quite happy, -I believe. Perhaps he may come again some day, who knows? He shall be -told what you say.' - -Then a vision would rise up to her of herself and him, as they would -be perhaps when they should be quite old. Perhaps he would retire into -this holy retreat of the Augustines, and she would be a grave sombre -woman, not gay and pretty and witty, as the Princess was. The picture -was gloomy; she chased it away, and galloped her horse long and far -through the forests. - -The summer had been so brilliant that the autumn which followed was -cold and severe, earlier than usual, and heavy storms swept over the -Tauern, almost ere the wheat harvest could be reaped. Many days were -cheerless and filled only with the sound of incessant rains. In the -Pinzgau and the Salzkammergut floods were frequent. The Ache and the -Szalzach, with all their tributary streams and wide and lonely lakes, -were carrying desolation and terror into many parts of the land which -in summer they made beautiful. Almost every day brought her some -tidings of some misfortunes in the villages on the farms belonging to -her in the more distant parts of Austria; a mill washed away, a bridge -down, a dam burst, a road destroyed, a harvest swept into the water, -some damage or other done by the swollen river and torrents, she heard -of by nearly every communication that her stewards and her lawyers made -to her at this season. - -'Our foes the rivers are more insidious than your mighty enemy the -salt water,' she wrote to Romaris. 'The sea deals open blows, and men -know what they must expect if they go out on the vasty deep. But here -a little brook that laughed and chirped at noon-day as innocently as -a child may become at nightfall or dawn a roaring giant, devouring -all that surrounds him. We pay heavily for the glory of our mountain -waters.' - -These autumn weeks seemed very dreary to her. She visited her horses -chafing at inaction in their roomy stalls, and attended to her affairs, -and sat in the library or the octagon room hearing the rain beat -against the emblazoned leaded panes, and felt the days, and above all -the evenings, intolerably dull and melancholy. She had never heeded -rain before, or minded the change of season. - -One Sunday a messenger rode through the drenching storm, and brought -her a telegram from her lawyer in Salzburg. It said: 'Idrac flooded: -many lives lost: great distress: fear town wholly destroyed. Please -send instructions.' - -The call for action roused her as a trumpet sounding rouses a cavalry -charger. - -'Instructions!' she echoed as she read. 'They write as if I could bid -the Danube subside, or the Drave shrink in its bed!' - -She penned a hasty answer. - -'I will go to Idrac myself.' - -Then she sent a message also to S. Johann im Wald for a special train -to be got in readiness for her, and told one of her women and a trusty -servant to be ready to go with her to Vienna in an hour. It was still -early in the forenoon. - -'Are you mad?' cried Madame Ottilie, when she was informed of the -intended journey. - -Wanda kissed her hand. - -'There is no madness in what I shall do, dear mother, and Bela surely -would have gone.' - -'Can you stay the torrents of heaven? Can you arrest a river in its -wrath?' - -'No; but lives are often lost because poor people lose their senses in -fright. I shall be calmer than anyone there. Besides, the place belongs -to us; we are bound to share its danger. If only Egon were not away -from Hungary!' - -'But he is away. You have driven him away.' - -'Do not dissuade me, dearest mother. It would be cowardice not to go.' - -'What can women do in such extremities?' - -'But we of Hohenszalras must not be mere women when we are wanted in -any danger. Remember Luitgarde von Szalras, the _kuttengeier._' - -The Princess sighed, prayed, even wept, but Wanda was gently -inflexible. The Princess could not see why a precious life should be -endangered for the sake of a little half barbaric, half Jewish town, -which was remarkable for nothing except for shipping timber and selling -_salbling._ The population was scarcely Christian, so many Hebrews were -there, and so benighted were the Sclavonian poor, who between them made -up the two thousand odd souls that peopled Idrac. To send a special -messenger there, and to give any quantity of money that the distress -of the moment might demand, would be all right and proper; indeed, -an obligation on the owner of the little feudal river-side town. But -to go! A Countess von Szalras to go in person where not one out of a -hundred of the citizens had been properly baptized or confirmed! The -Princess could not view this Quixotism in any other light than that of -an absolute insanity. - -'Bela lost his life in just such a foolish manner!' she pleaded. - -'So did the saints, dear mother,' said his sister, gently. - -The Princess coloured and coughed. - -'Of course, I am aware that many holy lives have been--have been--what -appears to our finite senses wasted,' she said, with a little asperity. -'But I am also aware, Wanda, that the duties most neglected are those -which lie nearest home and have the least display; consideration for -_me_ might be better, though less magnificent, than so much heroism for -Idrac.' - -'It pains me that you should put it in that light, dearest mother,' -said Wanda, with inexhaustible patience. 'Were you in any danger I -would stay by you first, of course; but you are in none. These poor, -forlorn, ignorant, cowardly creatures are in the very greatest. I -draw large revenues from the place; I am in honour bound to share -its troubles. Pray do not seek to dissuade me. It is a matter not of -caprice but of conscience. I shall be in no possible peril myself. I -shall go down the river in my own vessel, and I will telegraph to you -from every town at which I touch.' - -The Princess ceased not to lament, to oppose, to bemoan her own -powerlessness to check intolerable follies. Sitting in her easy chair -in her warm blue-room, sipping her chocolate, the woes of a distant -little place on the Danube, whose population was chiefly Semitic, were -very bearable and altogether failed to appeal to her. - -Wanda kissed her, asked her blessing humbly, and took her way in the -worst of a blinding storm along the unsafe and precipitous road which -went over the hills to Windisch-Matrey. - -'What false sentiment it all is!' thought the Princess, left alone. -'She has not seen this town since she was ten years old. She knows that -they are nearly all Jews, or quite heathenish Sclavonians. She can do -nothing at all--what should a woman do?--and yet she is so full of her -conscience that she goes almost to the Iron Gates in quest of a duty in -the wettest of weather, while she leaves a man like Egon and a man like -Sabran wretched for want of a word! I must say,' thought the Princess, -'false sentiment is almost worse than none at all!' - -The rains were pouring down from leaden skies, hiding all the sides of -the mountains and filling the valleys with masses of vapour. The road -was barely passable; the hill torrents dashed across it; the little -brooks were swollen to water-courses; the protecting wall on more than -one giddy height had been swept away; the gallop of the horses shook -the frail swaying galleries and hurled the loosened stones over the -precipice with loud resounding noise. The drive to Matrey and thence -with post-horses to S. Johann im Wald, the nearest railway station, was -in itself no little peril, but it was accomplished before the day had -closed in, and the special train she had ordered being in readiness -left at once for Vienna, running through the low portions of the -Pinzgau, which were for the most part under water. - -All the way was dim and watery, and full of the sound of running -or of falling water. The Ache and the Szalsach, both always deep -and turbulent rivers, were swollen and boisterous, and swirled and -thundered in their rocky beds; in the grand Pass of Lueg the gloom, -always great, was dense as at midnight, and when they reached Salzburg -the setting sun was bursting through ink-black clouds, and shed a -momentary glow as of fire upon the dark sides of the Untersberg, and -flamed behind the towers of the great castle on its rocky throne. All -travellers know the grandeur of that scene; familiar as it was to her -she looked upward at it with awe and pleasure commingled. Salzburg in -the evening light needs Salvator Rosa and Rembrandt together to portray -it. - -The train only paused to take in water; the station was crowded as -usual, set as it is between the frontiers of empire and kingdom, but in -the brief interval she saw one whom she recognised amongst the throng, -and she felt the colour come into her own face as she did so. - -She saw Sabran; he did not see her. Her train moved out of the station -rapidly, to make room for the express from Munich; the sun dropped down -into the ink-black clouds; the golden and crimson pomp of Untersberg -changed to black and grey; the ivory and amber and crystal of the -castle became stone and brick and iron, that frowned sombrely over a -city sunk in river-mists and in rain-vapours. She felt angrily that -there was an affinity between the landscape and herself; that so, at -sight of him, a light had come into her life which had no reality in -fact, prismatic colours baseless as a dream. - -She had longed to speak to him; to stretch out her hand to him; to -say at least how her thoughts and her sympathies had been with him -throughout the war. But her carriage was already in full onward -movement, and in another moment had passed at high speed out of the -station into that grand valley of the Szalzach where Hohensalzburg -seems to tower as though Friederich Barbarossa did indeed sleep there. -With a sigh she sank backward amongst her furs and cushions, and saw -the soaring fortress pass, into the clouds. - -The night had now closed in; the rain fell heavily. As the little -train, oscillating greatly from its lightness, swung over the iron -rails, there was a continual sound of splashing water audible above -the noise of the wheels and the throb of the engine. She had often -travelled at night and had always slept soundly; this evening she could -not sleep. She remained wide awake watching the swaying of the lamp, -listening to the shrill shriek of the wheels as they rushed through -water where some hillside brook had broken bounds and spread out in a -shallow lagoon. The skies were overcast in every direction; the rain -was everywhere unceasing; the night seemed to her very long. - -She pondered perpetually on his presence at Salzburg, and wondered if -he were going to the Holy Isle. Three months had gone by since she had -sent him the semi-invitation to her country. - -The train sped on; the day dawned; she began to get glimpses of the -grand blue river, now grey and ochre-coloured and thick with mud, its -turbid waves heaving sullenly under the stormy October skies. She had -always loved the great Donau; she knew its cradle well in the north -land of the Teutons. She had often watched the baby-stream rippling -over the stones, and felt the charm, as of some magical transformation, -as she thought of the same stream stretching broadly under the monastic -walls of Klosterneuberg, rolling in tempest by the Iron Gates, and -gathering its mighty volume higher and deeper to burst at last into -the sunlight of the eastern sea. Amidst the levelled monotony of -modern Europe the Danube keeps something of savage grandeur, something -of legendary power, something of oriental charm; it is still often -tameless, a half-barbaric thing, still a Tamerlane amidst rivers: and -yet yonder at its birthplace it is such a slender thread of rippling -water! She and Bela had crossed it with bare feet to get forget-me-nots -in Taunus, talking together of Chriemhilde and her pilgrimage to the -land of the Huns. - -The little train swung on steadily through the water above and below, -and after a night of no little danger came safely to Vienna as the dawn -broke. She went straight to her yacht, which was in readiness off the -Lobau and weighed anchor as the pale and watery morning broadened into -day above the shores that had seen Aspern and Wagram. The yacht was -a yawl, strongly built and drawing little water, made on purpose for -the ascent and descent of the Danube, from Passau up in the north to -as far south as the Bosphorus if needed. The voyage had been of the -greatest joys of hers and of Bela's childhood; they had read on deck -alternately the 'Nibelungen-Lied' and the 'Arabian Nights,' clinging -together in delighted awe as they passed through the darkness of the -defile of Kasan. - -Idrac was situated between Pesth and Peterwardein, lying low on marshy -ground that was covered with willows and intersected by small streams -flowing from the interior to the Danube. - -The little town gave its name and its seigneurie to the owner of its -burg; an ancient place built on a steep rock that rose sheer out of -the fast-running waves, and dominated the passage of the stream. The -Counts of Idrac had been exceeding powerful in the old times, when -they had stopped at their will the right of way of the river; and -their appanages with their title had come by marriage into the House -of Szalras some four centuries before, and although the dominion over -the river was gone, the fortress and the little town and all that -appertained thereto still formed a considerable possession; it had -usually been given with its Countship to the second son of the Szalras. - -Making the passage to Pesth in fourteen hours, the yacht dropped -anchor before the Franz Josef Quai as the first stars came out above -the Blocksburg, for by this time the skies had lightened and the rains -had ceased. Here she stayed the night perforce, as an accident had -occurred to the machinery of the vessel. She did not leave the yacht, -but sent into the inner city for stores of provisions and of the local -cordial, the _slibowitza_, to distribute to the half-drowned people -amongst whom she was about to go. It was noonday before the yawl got -under weigh and left the twin-towns behind her. A little way further -down the stream they passed a great castle, standing amidst beech woods -on a rock that rose up from fields covered with the Carlowitz vine. She -looked at it with a sigh: it was the fortress of Kohacs, one of the -many possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -The weather had now cleared, but the skies were overcast, and the -plains, which began to spread away monotonously from either shore, -were covered with white fog. Soon the fog spread also over the river, -and the yacht was compelled to advance cautiously and slowly, so that -the voyage was several hours longer than usual. When the light of the -next day broke they had come in sight of the flooded districts on their -right: the immense flat fields that bore the flax and grain which make -the commerce of Baja, of Neusatz, and of other riverain towns, were -all changed to shallow estuaries. The Theiss, the Drave, and many -minor streams, swollen by the long autumnal rains, had burst their -boundaries and laid all the country under water for hundreds of square -leagues. The granaries, freshly filled with the late abundant harvest, -had at many places been flooded or destroyed: thousands of stacks of -grain were floating like shapeless, dismasted vessels. Timber and the -thatched roofs of the one-storied houses were in many places drifting -too, like the flotsam and the hulls of wrecked ships. - -There are few scenes more dreary, more sad, more monotonous than those -of a flat country swamped by flood: the sky above them was leaden -and heavy, the Danube beneath them was turgid and discoloured; the -shrill winds whistled through the brakes of willow, the water-birds, -frightened, flew from their osier-beds on the islands, the bells of -churches and watch-towers tolled dismally. - -It was late in the afternoon when she came within sight of her little -town on the Sclavonian shore, which Ernst von Szalras had fired on -August 29, 1526, to save it from the shame of violation by the Turks. -Though he had perished, and most of the soldiers and townsfolk with -him, the fortress, the _têtes du pont_, and the old water-gates and -walls had been too strong for the flames to devour, and the town had -been built up again by the Turks and subsequently by the Hungarians. - -The slender minarets of the Ottomans' two mosques still raised -themselves amidst the old Gothic architecture of the mediæval -buildings, and the straw-covered roofs and the white-plastered walls -of the modern houses. As they steamed near it the minarets and the -castle towers rose above what looked a world of waters, all else seemed -swallowed in the flood; the orchards, which had surrounded all save the -river-side of the town; were immersed almost to the summits of their -trees. The larger vessels could never approach Idrac in ordinary times, -the creek being too shallow on which it stood; but now the water was -so high that though it would be too imprudent to anchor there, the -yacht easily passed in, and hove-to underneath the water-walls, a pilot -taking careful soundings as they steered. It was about three in the -afternoon. The short, grey day was near its end; a shout of welcome -rose from some people on the walls as they recognised the build and the -ensign of the yawl. Some crowded boats were pulling away from the town, -laden with fugitives and their goods. - -'How soon people run away! They are like rats,' she thought. 'I would -sooner be like the stork, and not quit my nest if it were in flames.' - -She landed at the water-stairs of the castle. Men, women, and children -came scrambling along the walls, where they were huddled together out -of temporary reach of the flood, and threw themselves down at her -feet and kissed her skirts with abject servility. They were half mad -with terror, and amongst the population there were many hundreds of -Jews, the most cowardly people in all the world. The boats were quite -inadequate in number to the work they had to do; the great steamers -passing up and down did not pause to help them; the flood was so -general below Pesth that on the right shore of the river each separate -village and township was busy with its own case and had no help for -neighbours: the only aid came from those on the opposite shore, but -that was scanty and unwisely ministered. The chief citizens of Idrac -had lost their wits, as she had foreseen they would do. To ring the -bells madly night and day, and fire off the old culverins from the -water-gate, was all they seemed to know how to do. They told her that -many lives had been lost, as the inland waters had risen in the night, -and most of the houses were of only one storey. In the outlying -flax-farms it was supposed that whole households had perished. In the -town itself there were six feet of water everywhere, and many of the -inhabitants were huddled together in the two mosques, which were now -granaries, in the towers, and in the fortress itself; but several -families had been enabled to escape, and had climbed upon the roofs, -clinging to the chimneys for bare life. - -Her mere presence brought reviving hope and energy to the primitive -population. Their Lady had a romantic legendary reputation amongst -them, and they were ready to cling round the pennon of the yacht as -their ancestors had rallied round the standard of Ernst von Szalras. - -She ascended to the Rittersaal of the fortress, and assembled a few of -the men about her, who had the most influence and energy in the little -place. She soon introduced some kind of system and method into the -efforts made, promised largesse to those who should be the most active, -and had the provisions she had brought distributed amongst those who -most needed them. The boats of the yawl took many away to a temporary -refuge on the opposite shore. Many others were brought in to the -state-room of the castle for shelter. Houses were constantly falling, -undermined by the water, and there were dead and wounded to be attended -to, as well as the hungry and terrified living creatures. Once before, -Idrac had been thus devastated by flood, but it had been far away in -the previous century, and the example was too distant to have been a -warning to the present generation. - -She passed a fatiguing and anxious night. It was impossible to -think of sleep with so much misery around. The yacht was obliged to -descend, the river for safe anchorage, but the boats remained. She -went herself, now in one, now in another, to endeavour to inspire the -paralysed people with some courage and animation. A little wine, a -little bread, were all she took; food was very scarce. The victuals of -the yacht's provisioning did not last long amongst so many famishing -souls. She ordered her skipper at dawn to go down as far as Neusatz -and purchase largely. There were five thousand people, counting those -of the neighbourhood, or more, homeless and bereft of all shelter. The -telegraph was broken, the poles had been snapped by the force of the -water in many places. - -With dawn a furious storm gathered and broke, and renewed rains added -their quota to the inundation and their discomfort to the exposed -sufferers. The cold was great, and the chill that made them shudder -from head to foot was past all cure by cordials. She regretted not -to have brought Greswold with her. She was indifferent to danger, -indefatigable in exertion, and strong as Libussa, brave as Chriemhilde. -Because the place belonged to her in almost a feudal manner, she held -herself bound to give her life for it if need be. Bela would have done -what she was doing. - -Twice or thrice during the two following days she heard the people -speak of a stranger who had arrived fifteen hours before her, and had -wrought miracles of deliverance. Unless the stories told her were -greatly exaggerated, this foreigner had shown a courage and devotion -quite unequalled. He had thrown himself into the work at once on his -arrival there in a boat from Neusatz, and had toiled night and day, -enduring extreme fatigue and running almost every hour some dire peril -of his life. He had saved whole families of the poorest and most -wretched quarter; he had sprung on to roofs that were splitting and -sinking, on to walls that were trembling and tottering, and had borne -away in safety men, women, and children, the old, and the sick, and the -very animals; he had infused some of his own daring and devotedness -into the selfish and paralysed Hebrew population; priests and rabbis -were alike unanimous in his praise, and she, as she heard, felt that -he who had fought for France had been here for her sake. They told -her that he was now out amongst the more distant orchards and fields, -amidst the flooded farms where the danger was even greater than in the -town itself. Some Czechs said that he was S. John of Nepomuc himself. -She bade them bring him to her, that she might thank him, whenever he -should enter the town again, and then thought of him no more. - -Her whole mind and feeling were engrossed by the spectacle of a misery -that even all her wealth could not do very much to alleviate. The -waters as yet showed no sign of abatement. The crash of falling houses -sounded heavily ever and again through the gloom. The melancholy sight -of humble household things, of drowned cattle, of dead dogs, borne down -the discoloured flood out to the Danube renewed itself every hour. -The lamentations of the ruined people went up in an almost continuous -wail like the moaning of a winter wind. There was nothing grand, -nothing picturesque, nothing exciting to redeem the dreariness and the -desolation. It was all ugly, miserable, dull. It was more trying than -war, which even in its hideous senselessness lends a kind of brutal -intoxication to all whom it surrounds. - -She was incessantly occupied and greatly fatigued, so that the time -passed without her counting it. She sent a message each day to the -Princess at home, and promised to return as soon as the waters had -subsided and the peril passed. For the first time in her life she -experienced real discomfort, real privation; she had surrendered nearly -all the rooms in the burg to the sick people, and food ran short and -there was none of good quality, though she knew that supplies would -soon come from the steward at Kohacs and by the yacht. - -On the fourth day the waters had sunk an inch. As she heard the good -tidings she was looking out inland over the waste of grey and yellow -flood; a Jewish rabbi was beside her speaking of the exertions of the -stranger, in whom the superstitious of the townsfolk saw a saint from -heaven. - -'And does no one even know who he is?' she asked. - -'No one has asked,' answered the Jew. 'He has been always out where the -peril was greatest.' - -'How came he here?' - -'He came by one of the big steamers that go to Turkey. He pulled -himself here in a little boat that he had bought; the boat in which he -has done such good service.' - -'What is he like in appearance?' - -'He is very tall, very fair, and handsome; I should think he is -northern.' - -Her pulse beat quicker for a moment; then she rejected the idea as -absurd, though indeed, she reflected, she had seen him at Salzburg. - -'He must at least be a brave man,' she said quietly. 'If you see him -bring him to me that I may thank him. Is he in the town now?' - -'No; he is yonder, where the Rathwand farms are, or were; where your -Excellency sees those dark, long islands which are not islands at all, -but only the summits of cherry orchards. He has carried the people -away, carried them down to Peterwardein; and he is now about to try and -rescue some cattle which were driven up on to the roof of a tower, poor -beasts--that tower to the east there, very far away: it is five miles -as the crow flies.' - -'I suppose he will come into the town again?' - -'He was here last night; he had heard of your Excellency, and asked for -her health.' - -'Ah! I will see and thank him if he come again.' - -But no one that day saw the stranger in Idrac. - -The rains fell again and the waters again rose. The maladies which -come of damp and of bad exhalations spread amongst the people; they -could not all be taken to other villages or towns, for there was no -room for them. She had quinine, wines, good food ordered by the great -steamers, but they were not yet arrived. What could be got at Neusatz -or Peterwardein the yacht brought, but it was not enough for so many -sick and starving people. The air began to grow fœtid from the many -carcases of animals, though as they floated the vultures from the hills -fed on them. She had a vessel turned into a floating hospital, and -the most delicate of the sick folk carried to it, and had it anchored -off the nearest port. Her patience, her calmness, and her courage did -more to revive the sinking hearts of the homeless creatures than the -cordials and the food. She was all day long out in her boat, being -steered from one spot to another. At night she rested little and passed -from one sick bed to another. She had never been so near to hopeless -human misery before. At Hohenszalras no one was destitute. - -One twilight hour on the ninth day, as she was rowed back to the castle -stairs, she passed another boat in which were two lads and a man. The -man was rowing, a dusky shadow in the gloom of the wet evening and the -uncouthness of his waterproof pilot's dress; but she had a lantern -beside her, and she flashed its light full on the boat as it passed -her. When she reached the burg, she said to her servant Anton: 'Herr -von Sabran is in Idrac; go and say that I desire to see him.' - -Anton, who remembered him well, returned in an hour, and said he could -neither find him nor hear of him. - -All the night long, a cheerless tedious night, with the rain falling -without and the storm that was raging in the Bosphorus sending its -shrill echoes up the Danube, she sat by the beds of the sick women -or paced up and down the dimly-lit Rittersaal in an impatience which -it humiliated her to feel. It touched her that he should be here, -so silently, so sedulously avoiding her, and doing so much for the -people of Idrac, because they were her people. The old misgiving that -she had been ungenerous in her treatment of him returned to her. He -seemed always to have the finer part--the _beau rôle._ To her, royal -in giving, imperious in conduct, it brought a sense of failure, of -inferiority. As she read the psalms in Hungarian to the sick Magyar -women, her mind perpetually wandered away to him. - -She did not see Sabran again, but she heard often of him. The fair -stranger, as the people called him, was always conspicuous wherever -the greatest danger was to be encountered. There was always peril in -almost every movement where the undermined houses, the tottering walls, -the stagnant water, the fever-reeking marshes presented at every turn a -perpetual menace to life. 'He is not vainly _un fils des preux_,' she -thought, with a thrill of personal pride, as if someone near and dear -to her were praised, as she listened to the stories of his intrepidity -and his endurance. Whole nights spent in soaked clothes, in half -swamped boats; whole days lost in impotent conflict with the ignorance -or the poltroonery of an obstinate populace, continual risk encountered -without counting its cost to rescue some poor man's sick beast, or pull -a cripple from beneath falling beams, or a lad from choking mud; hour -on hour of steady laborious rowing, of passage to and fro the sullen -river with a freight of moaning, screaming peasantry--this was not -child's play, nor had it any of the animation and excitation which in -war or in adventure make of danger a strong wine that goes merrily and -voluptuously to the head. It was all dull, stupid, unlovely, and he -had come to it for her sake. For her sake certainly, though he never -approached her; though when Anton at last found and took her message -to him he excused himself from obedience to it by a plea that he was -at that moment wet and weary, and had come from a hut where typhoid -raged. She understood the excuse; she knew that he knew well she was no -more afraid than he of that contagion. She admired him the more for his -isolation; in these grey, rainy, tedious, melancholy days his figure -seemed to grow into a luminous heroic shape like one of the heroes of -the olden time. If he had once seemed to seek a guerdon for it the -spell would have been broken. But he never did. She began to believe -that such a knight deserved any recompense which she could give. - -'Egon himself could have done no more,' she said in her own thoughts, -and it was the highest praise that she could give to any man, for -her Magyar cousin was the embodiment of all martial daring, of all -chivalrous ardour, and had led his glittering hussars down on to the -French bayonets, as on to the Prussian Krupp guns, with a fury that -bore all before it, impetuous and irresistible as a stream of fired -naphtha. - -On the twelfth morning the river had sunk so much lower that the yacht -arriving with medicines and stores of food from Neusatz signalled that -she could not enter the creek on which Idrac stood, and waited orders. -It had ceased to rain, but the winds were still strong and the skies -heavy. She descended to her boat at the water-gate, and told the men to -take her out to the yacht. It was early, the sun behind the clouds had -barely climbed above the distant Wallachian woods, and the scene had -lost nothing of its melancholy. A man was standing on the water-stairs -as she descended them, and turned rapidly away, but she had seen him -and stretched out her long staff and touched him lightly. - -'Why do you avoid me?' she said, as he uncovered his head; 'my men -sought you in all directions; I wished to thank you.' - -He bowed low over the hand she held out to him. 'I ventured to be near -at hand to be of use,' he answered. 'I was afraid the exposure, and, -the damp, and all this pestilence would make you ill: you are not ill?' - -'No; I am quite well. I have heard of all your courage and endurance. -Idrac owes you a great debt.' - -'I only pay my debt to Hohenszalras.' - -They were both silent; a certain constraint was upon them both. - -'How did you know of the inundation? It was unkind of you not to come -to me,' she said, and her voice was unsteady as she spoke. 'I want so -much to tell you, better than letters can do, all that we felt for you -throughout that awful war.' - -He turned away slightly with a shudder. 'You are too good. Thousands of -men much better than I suffered much more.' - -The tears rose to her eyes as she glanced at him. He was looking pale -and worn. He had lost the graceful _insouciance_ of his earlier manner. -He looked grave, weary, melancholy, like a man who had passed through -dire disaster, unspeakable pain, and had seen his career snapped in -two like a broken wand. But there was about him instead something -soldierlike, proven, war-worn, which became him in her eyes, daughter -of a race of warriors as she was. - -'You have much to tell me, and I have much to hear,' she said, after -a pause. 'You should have come to the monastery to be cured of your -wounds. Why were you so mistrustful of our friendship?' - -He coloured and was silent. - -'Indeed,' she said gravely, 'we can honour brave men in the Tauern and -in Idrac too. You are very brave. I do not know how to thank you for my -people or for myself.' - -'Pray do not speak so,' he said, in a very low voice. 'To see you again -would be recompense for much worthier things than any I have done.' - -'But you might have seen me long ago,' she said, with a certain -nervousness new to her, 'had you only chosen to come to the Isle. I -asked you twice.' - -He looked at her with eyes of longing and pathetic appeal. - -'Do not tempt me,' he murmured. 'If I yielded, and if you despised -me----' - -'How could I despise one who has so nobly saved the lives of my people?' - -'You would do so.' - -He spoke very low: he was silent a little while, then he said very -softly: - -'One evening, when we spoke together on the terrace at Hohenszalras, -you leant your hand upon the ivy there. I plucked the leaf you touched; -you did not see. I had the leaf with me all through the war. It was -a talisman. It was like a holy thing. When your cousin's soldiers -stripped me in their ambulance, they took it from me.' - -His voice faltered. She listened and was moved to a profound emotion. - -'I will give you something better,' she said very gravely. He did not -ask her what she would give. - -She looked away from him awhile, and her face flushed a little. She was -thinking of what she would give him; a gift so great that the world -would deem her mad to bestow it, and perhaps would deem him dishonoured -to take it. - -'How did you hear of these floods along the Danube?' she asked him, -recovering her wonted composure. - -'I read about them in telegrams in Paris,' he made answer. 'I had -mustered courage to revisit my poor Paris; all I possess is there. -Nothing has been injured; a shell burst quite close by but did not -harm my apartments. I went to make arrangements for the sale of my -collections, and on the second day that I arrived there I saw the news -of the inundations of Idrac and the lower Danubian plains. I remembered -the name of the town; I remembered it was yours. I remembered your -saying once that where you had feudal rights you had feudal duties, so -I came on the chance of being of service.' - -'You have been most devoted to the people.' - -'The people! What should I care though the whole town perished? Do not -attribute to me a humanity that is not in my nature.' - -'Be as cynical as you like in words so long as you are heroic in -action. I am going out to the yacht; will you come with me?' - -He hesitated. 'I merely came to hear from the warder of your health. I -am going to catch the express steamer at Neusatz; all danger is over.' - -'The yacht can take you to Neusatz. Come with me.' - -He did not offer more opposition; he accompanied her to the boat and -entered it. - -The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing more, but she could not -forget that scores of her own people here had owed their lives to his -intrepidity and patience, and that he had never hesitated to throw his -life into the balance when needed. And it had been done for her sake -alone. The love of humanity might have been a nobler and purer motive, -but it would not have touched her so nearly as the self-abandonment of -a man by nature selfish and cold. - -In a few moments they were taken to the yawl. He ascended the deck with -her. - -The tidings the skipper brought, the examination of the stores, the -discussion of ways and means, the arrangements for the general relief, -were air dull, practical matters that claimed careful attention and -thought. She sat in the little cabin that was brave with marqueterie -work and blue satin and Dresden mirrors, and made memoranda and -calculations, and consulted him, and asked his advice on this, on -that. The government official, sent to make official estimates of the -losses in the township, had come on board to salute and take counsel -with her. The whole forenoon passed in these details. He wrote, and -calculated, and drew up reports for her. No more tender or personal -word was spoken between them; but there was a certain charm for them -both in this intimate intercourse, even though it took no other shape -than the study of how many boatloads of wheat were needed for so many -hundred people, of how many florins a day might be passed to the head -of each family, of how many of the flooded houses would still be -serviceable with restoration, of how many had been entirely destroyed, -of how the town would best be rebuilt, and of how the inland rivers -could best be restrained in the future. - -To rebuild it she estimated that she would have to surrender for five -years the revenues from her Galician and Hungarian mines, and she -resolved to do it altogether at her own cost. She had no wish to see -the town figure in public prints as the object of public subscription. - -'I am sure all my woman friends,' she said, 'would kindly make it -occasion for a fancy fair or a lottery (with new costumes) in Vienna, -but I do not care for that sort of thing, and I can very well do what -is needed alone.' - -He was silent. He had always known that her riches were great, but -he had never realised them as fully as he now did when she spoke of -rebuilding an entire town as she might have spoken of building a -carriage. - -'You would make a good prime minister,' she said, smiling; 'you have -the knowledge of a specialist on so many subjects.' - -At noon they served her a little plain breakfast of Danubian -_salbling_, with Carlowitzer wine and fruit sent by the steward of -Mohacs. She bade him join her in it. - -'Had Egon himself been here he could not have done more for Idrac than -you have done,' she said. - -'Is this Prince Egon's wine?' he said abruptly, and on hearing that it -was so, he set the glass down untasted. - -She looked surprised, but she did not ask him his reason, for she -divined it. There was an exaggeration in the unspoken hostility more -like the days of Arthur and Lancelot than their own, but it did not -displease her. - -They were both little disposed to converse during their meal; after the -dreary and terrible scenes they had been witness of, the atmosphere -of life seems grave and dark even to those whom the calamity had not -touched. The most careless spirit is oppressed by a sense of the -precariousness and the cruelty of existence. - -When they ascended to the deck the skies were lighter than they had -been for many weeks; the fog had cleared, so that, in the distance, the -towers of Neusatz and the fortress of Peterwardein were visible; vapour -still hung over the vast Hungarian plain, but the Danube was clear and -the affluents of it had sunk to their usual level. - -'You really go to-night?' she said, as they looked down the river. - -'There is no need for me to stay; the town is safe, and you are well, -you say. If there be anything I can still do, command me.' - -She smiled a little and let her eye meet his for a moment. - -'Well, if I command you to remain then, will you do so as my viceroy? -I want to return home; Aunt Ottilie grows daily more anxious, more -alarmed, but I cannot leave these poor souls all alone with their -priests, and their rabbi, who are all as timid as sheep and as stupid. -Will you stay in the castle and govern them, and help them till they -recover from their fright? It is much to ask, I know, but you have -already done so much for Idrac that I am bold to ask you to do more?' - -He coloured with a mingled emotion. - -'You could ask me nothing that I would not do,' he said in a low tone. -'I could wish you asked me something harder.' - -'Oh, it will be very hard,' she said, with an indifference she did not -feel. 'It will be very dull, and you will have no one to speak to that -knows anything save how to grow flax and cherries. You will have to -talk the Magyar tongue all day, and you will have nothing to eat save -_kartoffeln_ and _salbling_; and I do not know that I am even right,' -she added, more gravely, 'to ask you to incur the risks that come from -all that soaked, ground, which will be damp so long.' - -'The risks that you have borne yourself! Pray do not wound me by any -such scruple as that. I shall be glad, I shall be proud, to be for ever -so short or so long a time as you command, your representative, your -servant.' - -'You are very good.' - -'No.' - -His eyes looked at hers with a quick flash, in which all the passion -he dared not express was spoken. She averted her glance and continued -calmly: 'You are very good indeed to Idrac. It will be a great -assistance and comfort to me to know that you are here. The poor people -already love you, and you will write to me and tell me all that may -need to be done. I will leave you the yacht and Anton. I shall return -by land with my woman; and when I reach home I will send you Herr -Greswold. He is a good companion, and has a great admiration for you, -though he wishes that you had not forsaken the science of botany.' - -'It is like all other dissection or vivisection; it spoils the artistic -appreciation of the whole. I am yet unsophisticated enough to feel the -charm of a bank of violets, of a cliff covered with alpen-roses. I may -write to you?' - -'You must write to me! It is you who will know all the needs of Idrac. -But are you sure that to remain here will not interfere with your own -projects, your own wishes, your own duties?' - -'I have none. If I had any I would throw them away, with pleasure, to -be of use to one of your dogs, to one of your birds.' - -She moved from his side a little. - -'Look how the sun has come out. I can see the sparkle of the brass on -the cannon down yonder at Neusatz. We had better go now. I must see my -sick people and then leave as soon as I can. The yacht must take me to -Mohacs; from there I will send her back to you.' - -'Do as you will. I can have no greater happiness than to obey you.' - -'I am sure that I thank you in the way that you like best, when I say -that I believe you.' - -She said the words in a very low tone, but so calmly that the calmness -of them checked any other words he might have uttered. It was a royal -acceptance of a loyal service; nothing more. The boat took them back -to the fortress. Whilst she was occupied in her farewell to the sick -people, and her instructions to those who attended on them, he, left -to himself in the apartment she had made her own, instinctively went -to an old harpsichord that stood there and touched the keys. It had a -beautiful case, rich with the varnish of the Martins. He played with -it awhile for its external beauty, and then let his fingers stray over -its limited keyboard. It had still sweetness in it, like the spinet -of Hohenszalras. It suited certain pathetic quaint old German airs he -knew, and which he half unconsciously reproduced upon it, singing them -as he did so in a low tone. The melody, very soft and subdued, suited -to the place where death had been so busy and nature so unsparing, and -where a resigned exhaustion had now succeeded to the madness of terror, -reached the ears of the sick women in the Rittersaal and of Wanda von -Szalras seated beside their beds. - -'It is like the saints in Heaven sighing in pity for us here,' said one -of the women who was very feeble and old, and she smiled as she heard. -The notes, tremulous from age but penetrating in their sweetness, came -in slow calm movements of harmony through the stillness of the chamber; -his voice, very low also, but clear, ascended with them. Wanda sat -quite still, and listened with a strange pleasure. 'He alone,' she -thought, 'can make the dumb strings speak. - -It was almost dusk when she descended to the room which she had made -her own. In the passages of the castle oil wicks were lighted in the -iron lamps and wall sconces, but here it was without any light, and -in the gloom she saw the dim outline of his form as he sat by the -harpsichord. He had ceased playing; his head was bent down and rested -on the instrument; he was lost in thought, and his whole attitude was -dejected. He did not hear her approach, and she looked at him some -moments, herself unseen. A great tenderness came over her: he was -unhappy, and he had been very brave, very generous, very loyal: she -felt almost ashamed. She went nearer, and he raised himself abruptly. - -'I am going,' she said to him. 'Will you come with me to the yacht?' - -He rose, and though it was dusk, and in this chamber so dark that his -face was indistinct to her, she was sure that tears had been in his -eyes. - -'Your old harpsichord has the vernis Martin,' he said, with effort. -'You should not leave it buried here. It has a melody in it too, faint -and simple and full of the past, like the smell of dead rose-leaves. -Yes, I will have the honour to come with you. I wish there were a full -moon. It will be a dark night on the Danube.' - -'My men know the soundings of the river well. As for the harpsichord, -you alone have found its voice. It shall go to your rooms in Paris.' - -'You are too good, but I would not take it. Let it go to Hohenszalras.' - -'Why would you not take it? - -'I would take nothing from you.' - -He spoke abruptly, and with some sternness. - -'I think there is such a thing as being too proud? she said, with -hesitation. - -'Your ancestors would not say so,' he answered, with an effort; she -understood the meaning that underlay the words. He turned away and -closed the lid of the harpsichord, where little painted cupids wantoned -in a border of metal scroll-work. - -All the men and women well enough to stand crowded on the water-stairs -to see her departure; little children were held up in their mother's -arms and bidden remember her for evermore; all feeble creatures lifted -up their voices to praise her; Jew and Christian blessed her; the -water-gate was cumbered with sobbing people, trying to see her face, -to kiss her skirt for the last time. She could not be wholly unmoved -before that unaffected, irrepressible emotion. Their poor lives were -not worth much, but such as they were she, under Heaven, had saved them. - -'I will return and see you again,' she said to them, as she made a slow -way through the eager crowd. 'Thank Heaven, my people, not me. And I -leave my friend with you, who did much more for you than I. Respect him -and obey him.' - -They raised with their thin trembling voices a loud _Eljén_! of homage -and promise, and she passed away from their sight into the evening -shadows on the wide river. - -Sabran accompanied her to the vessel, which was to take her to the town -of Mohacs, thence to make her journey home by railway. - -'I shall not leave until you bid me, even though you should forget to -call me all in my life!' he said, as the boat slipped through the dark -water. - -'Such oblivion would be a poor reward.' - -'I have had reward enough. You have called me your friend.' - -She was silent. The boat ran through the dusk and the rippling rays of -light streaming from the sides of the yacht, and they went on board. He -stood a moment with uncovered head before her on the deck, and she gave -him her hand. - -'You will come to the Holy Isle?' she said, as she did so. - -'If you bid me,' he said, as he bowed and kissed her hand. His lips -trembled as he did so, and by the lamplight she saw that he was very -pale. - -'I shall bid you,' she said, very softly, by-and-by. Farewell!' - -He bowed very low once more, then he dropped over the yacht's side into -the boat waiting below; the splash of the oars told her he was gone -back to Idrac. The yawl weighed anchor and began to go up the river, -a troublesome and tedious passage at all seasons. She sat on deck -watching the strong current of the Danube as it rolled on under the bow -of the schooner. For more than a league she could see the beacon that -burned by the water-gate of the fortress. When the curve of the stream -hid it from her eyes she felt a pang of painful separation, of wistful -attachment to the old dreary walls where she had seen so much suffering -and so much courage, and where she had learned to read her own heart -without any possibility of ignoring its secrets. A smile came on her -mouth and a moisture in her eyes as she sat alone in the dark autumn -night, while the schooner made her slow ascent through the swell that -accompanies the influx of the Drave. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -In two days' time Hohenszalras received its mistress home. - -She was not in any way harmed by the perils she had encountered, and -the chills and fever to which she had been exposed. On the contrary, -her eyes had a light and her face had a bloom which for many months had -not been there. - -The Princess heard a brief sketch of what had passed in almost -total silence. She had disapproved strongly, and she said that her -disapproval could not change, though a merciful heavenly host had -spared her the realisation of her worst fears. - -The name of Sabran was not spoken. Wanda was of a most truthful temper, -but she could not bring herself to speak of his presence at Idrac; the -facts would reveal themselves inevitably soon enough. - -She sent Greswold to the Danube laden with stores and medicines. -She received a letter every morning from her delegate; but he wrote -briefly, and with scrupulous care, the statements of facts connected -with the town and reports of what had been done. Her engineer had -arrived from the mines by Kremnitz, and the builders estimated that -the waters would have subsided and settled enough, if no fresh rising -took place, for them to begin the reconstruction of the town with the -beginning of the new month. Ague and fever were still very common, and -fresh cases were brought in every hour to the hospital in the fortress. -He wrote on the arrival of Herr Greswold, that, with her permission, he -himself would still stay on, for the people had grown used to him, and -having some knowledge of hydraulics he would be interested to see the -plans proposed by her engineers for preserving the town from similar -calamities. - -Three weeks passed; all that time she spoke but little either of him or -of any other subject. She took endless rides, and she sat many hours -doing nothing in the white room, absorbed in thought. The Princess, -who had learned what had passed, with admirable exercise of tact and -self-restraint made neither suggestion nor innuendo, and accepted the -presence of a French Marquis at a little obscure town in Sclavonia as -if it were the most natural circumstance in the world. - -'All the Szalras have been imperious, arrogant, and of complicated -character,' she thought; 'she has the same temper, though it is -mitigated in her by great natural nobility of disposition and strong -purity of motives. She will do as she chooses, let all the world do -what it may to change her. If I say a word either way it may take -effect in some wholly unforeseen manner that I should regret. It is -better to abstain. In doubt do nothing, is the soundest of axioms.' - -And Princess Ottilie, who on occasion had the wisdom of the serpent -with the sweetness of the dove, preserved a discreet silence, and -devoured her really absorbing curiosity in her own heart. - -At the end of the fourth week she heard that all was well at Idrac, -so far as it could be so in a place almost wholly destroyed. There -was no sign of renewed rising of the inland streams. The illness was -diminished, almost conquered; the people had begun to take heart and -hope, and, being aided, wished to aid themselves. The works for new -embankments, water-gates, and streets were already planned, though -they could not be begun until the spring. Meanwhile, strong wooden -houses were being erected on dry places, which which could shelter -_ad interim_ many hundreds of families; the farmers were gradually -venturing to return to their flooded lands. The town had suffered -grievously and in much irreparably, but it began to resume its trade -and its normal life. - -She hesitated a whole day when she heard this. Though Sabran did not -hint at any desire of his own to leave the place, she knew it, was -impossible to bid him remain longer, and that a moment of irrevocable -decision was come. She hesitated all the day, slept little all the -night, then sent him a brief telegram: 'Come to the Island.' - -Obey the summons as rapidly as he might, he could not travel by Vienna -and Salzburg more quickly than in some thirty hours or more. The time -passed to her in a curious confusion and anxiety. Outwardly she was -calm enough; she visited the schools, wrote some letters, and took her -usual long ride in the now leafless woods, but at heart she was unquiet -and ill at ease, troubled more than by anything else at the force of -the desire she felt to meet him once more. It was but a month since -they had parted on the deck, and it seemed ten years. She had known -what he had meant when he had said that he would come if she bade him; -she had known that she would only do the sheerest cruelty and treachery -if she called him thither only to dismiss him. It had not been a visit -of the moment, but all his life that she had consented to take when she -had written 'Come to the Island.' - -She would never have written it unless she had been prepared to fulfil -all to which it tacitly pledged her. She was incapable of wantonly -playing with any passion that moved another, least of all with his. The -very difference of their position would have made indecision or coyness -in her seem cruelty, humiliation. The decision hurt her curiously with -a sense of abdication, mortification, and almost shame. To a very proud -woman in whom the senses have never asserted their empire, there is -inevitably an emotion of almost shame, of self-surrender, of loss of -self-respect, in the first impulses of love. It made her abashed and -humiliated to feel the excitation that the mere touch of his hand, the -mere gaze of his eyes, had power to cause her. 'If this be love,' she -thought, 'no wonder the world is lost for it.' - -Do what she would, the time seemed very long; the two evenings that -passed were very tedious and oppressive. The Princess seemed to -observe nothing of what she was perfectly conscious of, and her -flute-like voice murmured on in an unending stream of commonplaces to -which her niece replied much at random. - -In the afternoon of the third day she stood on the terrace looking down -the lake and towards the Holy Isle, with an impatience of which she was -in turn impatient. She was dressed in white woollen stuff with silver -threads in it; she had about her throat an old necklace of the Golden -Fleece, of golden shells enamelled, which had been a gift from Charles -the Fifth to one of her house; over her shoulders, for the approach -of evening was cold, she had thrown a cloak of black Russian sables. -She made a figure beautiful, stately, patrician, in keeping with the -background of the great donjon tower, and the pinnacled roofs, and the -bronze warriors in their Gothic niches. - -When she had stood there a few minutes looking down the lake towards -the willows of the monastery island, a boat came out from the willow -thickets, and came over the mile-and-half of green shadowy water. There -was only one person in it. She recognised him whilst he was still far -off, and a smile came on her mouth that it was a pity he could not see. - -He was a bold man, but his heart stood still with awe of her, and his -soul trembled within him at this supreme moment of his fate. For he -believed that she would not have bidden him there unless her hand were -ready to hold out destiny to him--the destiny of his maddest, of his -sweetest, dreams. - -She came forward a few paces to meet him; her face was grave and pale, -but her eyes had a soft suppressed light. - -'I have much for which to thank you,' she said, as she held out her -hand to him. Her voice was tremulous though calm. - -He kissed her hand, then stood silent. It seemed to him that there was -nothing to say. She knew what he would have said if he had been king, -or hero, or meet mate for her. His pulses were beating feverishly, his -self-possession was gone, his eyes did not dare to meet hers. He felt -as if the green woods, the shining waters, the rain-burdened skies were -wheeling round him. That dumbness, that weakness, in a man so facile -of eloquence, so hardy and even cynical in courage, touched her to a -wondering pitifulness. - -'After all,' she thought once more, 'if we love one another what is it -to anyone else? We are both free.' - -If the gift she would give would be so great that the world would blame -him for accepting it, what would that matter so long as she knew him -blameless? - -They were both mute: he did not even look at her, and she might have -heard the beating of his heart. She looked at him and the colour came -back into her face, the smile back upon her mouth. - -'My friend,' she said very gently,'did never you think that I also----' - -She paused: it was very hard to her to say what she must say, and he -could not help her, dared not help her, to utter it. - -They stood thus another moment mute, with the sunset glow upon the -shining water, and upon the feudal majesty of the great castle. - -Then she looked at him with a straight, clear, noble glance, and with -the rich blood mounting in her face, stretched out her hand to him with -a royal gesture. - -'They robbed you of your ivy leaf, my cruel Prussian cousins. Will -you--take--this--instead?' - -Then Heaven itself opened to his eyes. He did not take her hand. He -fell at her feet and kissed them. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Is it wisest after all to be very unwise, dear mother mine?' she said a -little later, with a smile that was tender and happy. - -The Princess looked up quickly, and so looking understood. - -'Oh, my beloved, is it indeed so? Yes, you are wise to listen to your -heart; God speaks in it!' - -With tears in her eyes she stretched out her pretty hands in solemn -benediction. - -'Be His Spirit for ever with you,' she said with great emotion. 'I -shall be so content to know that I leave you not alone when our Father -calls me, for I think your very greatness and dominion, my dear, but -make you the more lonely, as sovereigns are, and it is not well to be -alone, Wanda; it is well to have human love close about us.' - -'It is to lean on a reed, perhaps,'murmured Wanda, in that persistent -misgiving which possessed her. 'And when the reed breaks, then though -it has been so weak before, it becomes of iron, barbed and poisoned.' - -'What gloomy thoughts! And you have made me so happy, and surely you -are happy yourself?' - -'Yes. My reed is in full flower, but--but--yes, I am happy; I hope that -Bela knows.' - -The Princess kissed her once again. - -'Ah! he loves you so well.' - -'That I am sure of; yet I might never have known it but for you.' - -'I did for the best.' - -'I will send him to you. I want to be alone a little. Dear mother, he -cares for you as tenderly as though he were your son.' - -'I have been his friend always,' said the Princess, with a smile, -whilst the tears still stood in her eyes. 'You cannot say so much, -Wanda; you were very harsh.' - -'I know it. I will atone to him.' - -The eyes of the Princess followed her tenderly.' - -'And she will make her atonement generously, grandly,' she thought. -'She is a woman of few protestations, but of fine impulses and of -unerring magnanimity. She will be incapable of reminding him that -their kingdom is hers. I have done this thing; may Heaven be with it! -If she had loved no one, life would have grown so pale, so chill, so -monotonous to her; she would have tired of herself, having nothing -but herself for contemplation. Solitude has been only grand to her -hitherto because she has been young, but as the years rolled on she -would have died without ever having lived; now she will live. She may -have to bear pains, griefs, infidelities, calamities that she would -have escaped; but even so, how much better the summer day, even with -the summer storm, than the dull, grey, quiet, windless weather! Of -course, if she could have found sanctuary in the Church----But her -faith is not absolute and unwavering enough for that; she has read too -many philosophies; she requires, too, open-air and vigorous life; the -cloister would have been to her a prison. She is one of those whose -religion lies in activity; she will worship God through her children.' - -Sabran entered as she mused, and knelt down before her. - -'You have been my good angel, always,' he murmured. 'How can I thank -you? I think she would never have let her eyes rest on me but for you.' - -The Princess smiled. - -'My friend, you are one of those on whom the eyes of women willingly -rest, perhaps too willingly. But you--you will have no eyes for any -other now? You must deserve my faith in you. Is it not so?' - -'Ah, madame,' he answered with deep emotion, 'all words seem so trite -and empty; any fool can make phrases, but when I say that my life -shall be consecrated to her, I mean it, in the uttermost royalty, the -uttermost gratitude.' - -'I believe you,' said the Princess, as she laid her hand lightly -on his bent head. 'Perhaps no man can understand entirely all that -she surrenders in admitting that she loves you; for a proud woman -to confess so much of weakness is very hard: but I think you will -comprehend her better than any other would. I think you will not force -her to pass the door of disillusion; and remember that though she will -leave you free as air--for she is not made of that poor stuff which -would enslave what it loves--she would not soon forgive too great abuse -of freedom. I mean if you were ever--ever unfaithful---- - -'For what do you take me?' he cried, with indignant passion. 'Is there -another woman in the world who could sit beside her, and not be -dwarfed, paled, killed, as a candle by the sun?' - -'You are only her betrothed,' said the Princess, with a little sigh. -'Men see their wives with different eyes; so I have been told, at -least. Familiarity is no courtier, and time is always cruel.' - -'Nay, time shall be our dearest friend,' said Sabran, with a tenderness -in his voice that spoke more constancy than a thousand oaths. 'She will -be beautiful when she is old, as you are; age will neither alarm nor -steal from her; her bodily beauty is like her spiritual, it is cast -in lines too pure and clear not to defy the years. Oh, mother mine! -(let me call you that) fear nothing; I will love her so well that, all -unworthy now, I will grow worthy her, and cause her no moment's pain -that human love can spare her.' - -'Her people shall be your people, and her God your God,' murmured the -Princess, with her hand still lying lightly on his head, obediently -bent. - -When late that night he went across the lake the monks were at their -midnight orisons; their voices murmured as one man's the Latin words of -praise and prayer, and made a sound like that of a great sea rolling -slowly on a lonely shore. - -He believed naught that they believed. Deity was but a phrase to him; -faith and a future life were empty syllables to him. Yet, in the -fulness of his joy and the humiliation of his spirit, he felt his heart -swell, his pride sink subdued. He knelt down in the hush and twilight -of that humble place of prayer, and for the first moment in many years -he also praised God. - -No one heeded him; he knelt behind them in the gloom unnoticed; he rose -refreshed as men in barren lands in drought are soothed by hearing the -glad fall of welcome rain. He had no place there, and in another hour -would have smiled at his own weakness; but now he remembered nothing -except that he, utterly beyond his deserts, was blessed. As the monks -rose to their feet and their loud chanting began to vibrate in the air, -he went out unheard, as he had entered, and stood on the narrow strip -of land that parted the chapel from the lake. The green waters were -rolling freshly in under a strong wind, the shadows of coming night -were stealing on; in the south-west a pale yellow moonlight stretched -broadly in a light serene as dawn, and against it there rose squarely -and darkly with its many turrets the great keep of Hohenszalras. - -He looked, but it was not of that great pile and all which it -represented and symbolised that he thought now. - -It was of the woman he loved as a woman, not as a great possessor of -wealth and lands. - -'Almost I wish that she were poor as the saints she resembles!' he -thought, with a tender passion that for the hour was true. It seemed -to him that had he seen her standing in her shift in the snow, like -our Lady of Hungary, discrowned and homeless, he would have been glad. -He was honest with the honesty of passion. It was not the mistress of -Hohenszalras that he loved, but his own wife. - -Such a marriage could not do otherwise than arouse by its announcement -the most angry amazement, the most indignant protests from all the -mighty houses with which for so many centuries the house of Szalras -had allied itself. In a few tranquil sentences she made known her -intentions to those of her relations whom she felt bound thus to -honour; but she gave them clearly to understand that it was a formula -of respect not an act of consultation. When they received her letters -they knew that her marriage was already quite as irrevocable as though -it had already taken place in the Hof-Kapelle of Vienna. - -All her relatives and all her order were opposed to her betrothal; -a cold sufferance was the uttermost which any of them extended to -Sabran. A foreigner and poor, and, with a troubled and uncertain -past behind him, he was bitterly unwelcome to the haughty Prussian, -Austrian, and Hungarian nobilities to which she belonged; neither his -ancient name nor his recent political brilliancy and military service -could place him on an equality with them in their eyes. Her trustees, -the Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe and the Cardinal Vàsàrhely, with her -cousin Kaulnitz, hurried in person as swiftly as special trains could -bring them to the Iselthal, but they were too late to avert the blow. - -'It is not a marriage for her,' said Kaulnitz, angrily. - -'Why not? It is a very old family,' said the Princess, with no less -irritation. - -'But quite decayed, long ruined,' he returned. 'This man was himself -born in exile.' - -'As they exile everybody twice in every ten years in France! - -'And there have been stories----' - -'Of whom are there not stories? Calumny is the parasite of character; -the stronger the character the closer to it clings the strangler.' - -'I never heard him accused of any strength, except of the wrist in -_l'escrime!_' - -'Do you know anything dishonourable of him? If you do you are bound to -say it.' - -'Dishonourable is a grave word. No, I cannot say that I do; the society -he frequents is a guarantee against that; but his life has been -indifferent, complicated, uncertain, not a life to be allied with that -of such a woman as Wanda. My dear Princess, it has been a life _dans le -milieu parisien_; what more would you have me say?' - -'Prince Archambaud's has been that. Yet three years since you earnestly -pressed his suit on Wanda.' - -'Archambaud! He is one of the first alliances in Europe; he is of blood -royal, and he has not been more vicious than other men.' - -'It would be better he should have been less so, since he lives so near -'the fierce light that beats upon the throne;' an electric light which -blackens while it illumines! My good Kaulnitz, you wander very far -afield. If you know anything serious against M. de Sabran it is your -duty to say it.' - -'He is a gambler.' - -'He has renounced gambling.' - -'He is a duellist.' - -'Society was of much better constitution when the duel was its habitual -phlebotomy.' - -'He has been the lover of many women.' - -'I am afraid that is nothing singular.' - -'He is hardly more than an adventurer.' - -'He counts his ancestry in unbroken succession from the clays of -Dagobert. - -'He has nothing but a _pignon sur rue_ in Paris, and a league or two of -rocks and sand in Brittany; yet, though so poor, he made money enough -by cards and speculation to be for three years the _amant en titre_ of -Cochonette.' - -Madame Ottilie rose with a little frown. - -'I think we will say no more, my dear Baron; the matter is, after all, -not yours or mine to decide. Wanda will assuredly do as she likes.' - -'But you have so much influence with her.' - -'I have none; no one has any: and I think you do not understand her in -the least. It may cost her very much to avow to him that she loves him, -but once having done that, it will cost her nothing at all to avow it -to the world. She is much too proud a woman to care for the world.' - -'He is _gentilhomme de race_, I grant,' admitted with reluctance the -Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe. - -'When has a noble of Brittany been otherwise?' asked the Princess -Ottilie. - -'I know,' said the Prince; 'but you will admit that he occupies a -difficult position--an invidious one.' - -'And he carries himself well through it. It is a difficult position -which is the test of breeding,' said the Princess, triumphantly, 'and -I deny entirely that it is what you call an invidious one. It is you -who have the idea of the crowd when you lay so much stress on the mere -absence of money.' - -'It is the idea of the crowd that dominates in this age.' - -'The more reason for us to resist it, if it be so.' - -'I think you are in love with him yourself, my sister!' - -'I should be were I forty years younger.' - -The Countess Brancka alone wrote with any sort of sympathy and pleasure -to congratulate them both. - -'I was sure that Parsifal would win soon or late,' she said. 'Only -remember that he is a Parsifal _doublé_ by a de Morny.' - -Wanda read that line with contracted brows. It angered her more than -the outspoken remonstrances of the Vàsàrhely, of the Lilienhöhe, of -the Kaulnitz, of the many great families to whom she was allied. -De Morny!--a bastard, an intriguer, a speculator, a debaucher! The -comparison had an evil insinuation, and displeased her! - -She was not a woman, however, likely either for insinuation or -remonstrance to change her decisions or abandon her wishes. She had -so much of the '_éternel féminin_' in her that she was only the more -resolved in her own course because others, by evil prophecy and -exaggerated fears, sought to turn her from it. What they said was -natural, she granted, but it was unjust and would be unjustified. All -the expostulation, diplomatically hinted or stoutly outspoken, of those -who considered that they had the right to make such remonstrances -produced not the smallest effect upon the mind of the woman whom, as -Baron Kaulnitz angrily expressed it, Sabran had magnetised. Once again -Love was a magician, against whom wisdom, prudence, and friendship had -no power of persuasion. - -The melancholy that she observed in him seemed to her only the more -graceful; there was no vulgar triumph in his own victory, such as -might have suggested that the material advantages of that triumph were -present to him. That he loved her greatly she could not doubt, and that -he had striven to conceal it from her she could not doubt either. The -sadness which at times overcame him was but natural in a proud man, -whose fortunes were unequal to his birth, and who was also sensible of -many brilliant gifts, intellectual, that he had wasted, which, had -they been fully utilised, would have justified his aspiration to her -hand. - -'Try and persuade him,' she said to Mdme. Ottilie, 'to think less of -this mere accident of difference between us. If it were difference of -birth it might be insurmountable or intolerably painful; but a mere -difference of riches matters no more than the colour of one's eyes, or -the inches of one's stature.' - -The Princess shook her head. - -'If he did not feel it as he does, he would not be the man that he -is. A marriage contract to which the lover brings nothing must always -be humiliating to himself. Besides, it seems to him that the world at -large must condemn him as a mere fortune-hunter.' - -'Since I am convinced of the honesty and purity of his motives, what -matters the opinion of others?' - -'How can he tell that the world may not some day induce you to doubt -those motives?' - -Wanda did not reply. - -'But he will cease to think of any disparity when all that is mine has -been his a year or two,' she thought. 'All the people shall look to him -as their lord, since he will be mine; even if I think differently to -him on any matter I will not say it, lest I should remind him that the -power lies with me; he shall be no prince consort, he shall be king.' - -As the generous resolve passed dreamily through her mind she was -listening to the Coronation Mass of Liszt, as he played it on the organ -within. It sounded to her like the hymn of the future; a chorus of -grave and glorious voices shouting welcome to the serene and joyous -years to come. - -When she was next alone with him she said to him very tenderly: - -'I want you to promise me one thing.' - -'I promise you all things. What is this one?' - -'It is this: you are troubled at the thought that I have one of those -great fortunes which form the _acte d'accusation_ of socialists against -society, and that you have lost all except the rocks and salt beach of -Romans. Now I want you to promise me never to think of this fact. It -is beneath you. Fortune is so precarious a thing, so easily destroyed -by war or revolution, that it is not worth contemplation as a serious -barrier between human beings. A treachery, a sin, even a lie, any one -of those may be a wall of adamant, but a mere fortune!--Promise me that -you will never think of mine, except inasmuch, my beloved, as it may -enhance my happiness by ministering to yours.' - -He had grown very pale as she spoke, and his lips had twice parted to -speak without words coming from them. When she had ceased he still -remained silent. - -'I do not like the world to come between us, even in a memory; it is -too much flattery to it,' she continued. 'Surely it is treason against -me to be troubled by what a few silly persons will or will not say in a -few salons? You have too little vanity, I think, where others have too -much!' - -He stooped and kissed her hand. - -'Could any man live and fail to be humble before you?' he said with -passionate tenderness. 'Yes, the world will say, and say rightly, that -I have done a base thing, and I cannot forget that the world will be -right; yet since you honour me with your divine pity, can I turn away -from it? Could a dying man refuse a draught of the water of life?' - -A great agitation mastered him for the moment. He hid his face upon her -hands as he held them clasped in his. - -'We will drink that wafer together, and as long as we are together it -will never be bitter, I think,' she said very softly. - -Her voice seemed to sink into his very soul, so much it said of faith, -so much it aroused of remorse. - -Then the great joy which had entered his life, like a great dazzling -flood of light suddenly let loose into a darkened chamber, so blinded -consumed, and intoxicated him, that he forgot all else; all else save -this one fact--she would be his, body and soul, night and day, in life -and in death for ever; his children borne by her, his life spent with -her, her whole existence surrendered to him. - -For some days after that she mused upon the possibility of rendering -him entirely independent of herself, without insulting him by a direct -offer of a share in her possessions. At last a solution occurred -to her. The whole of the fiefs of Idrac constituted a considerable -appanage apart; its title went with it. When it had come into the -Szalras family by marriage, as far back as the fifteenth century, it -had been a principality; it was still a seigneurie, and many curious -feudal privileges and distinctions went with it. - -It was Idrac now that she determined to abandon to her lover. - -'He will be seigneur of Idrac,' she thought, 'and I shall be so glad -for him to bear an Austrian name.' - -'She herself would always retain her own name, and would take no other. - -'We will go and revisit it together,' she thought, and though she -was all alone' at that moment, a soft warmth came into her face, and -a throb of emotion to her heart, as she remembered all that would lie -in that one word 'together,' all the tender and intimate union of the -years to come. - -Her trustees were furious, and sought the aid of the men of law to -enable them to step in and arrest her in what they deemed a course -of self-destruction, but the law could not give them so much power; -she was her own mistress, and as sole inheritrix had received her -possessions singularly untrammelled by restrictions. In vain Prince -Lilienhöhe spent his severe and chilly anger, Kaulnitz his fine -sarcasm and delicate insinuations, and the Cardinal his stately and -authoritative wrath. She was not to be altered in her decision. - -Austrian law allowed her to give away an estate to her husband if she -chose, and there was nothing in the private settlements of her property -to prevent her availing herself of the law. - -Strenuous opposition was encountered by her to this project, by every -one of her relatives, hardly excluding the Princess Ottilie; 'for,' -said that sagacious recluse, 'your horses may show you, my dear, the -dangers of a rein too loose.' - -'I want no rein at all,' said Wanda. 'You forget that, to my thinking, -marriage should never be bondage; two people with independent wills, -tastes, and habits should mutually concede a perfect independence of -action to each other. When one must yield, it must be the woman.' - -'Those are very fine theories,' the Princess remarked with caution. - -'I hope we shall put them in practice,' said Wanda, with unruffled good -humour. 'Dear mother, I am sure you can understand that I want him -to feel he is wholly independent of me. To what I love best on earth -shall I dole out a niggard largesse from my wealth? If I were capable -of doing so he would grow in time to hate me, and his hatred would be -justified.' - -'I never should have supposed you would become so romantic,' said the -Princess. - -'It will make him independent of you,' objected Prince Lilienhöhe. - -'That is what, beyond all, I desire him to be,' she answered. - -'It is an infatuation,' sighed Cardinal Vàsàrhely, out of her hearing, -'when Egon would have brought to her a fortune as large as her own.' - -'You think water should always run to the sea,' said Princess Ottilie; -'surely that is great waste sometimes?' - -'I think you are as infatuated as she is,' murmured the Cardinal. 'You -forget that had she not been inspired with this unhappy sentiment she -would have most probably left Hohenszalras to the Church.' - -'She would have done nothing of the kind. Your Eminence mistakes,' -answered Madame Ottilie, sharply. 'Hohenszalras and everything else, -had she died unmarried, would have certainly gone to the Habsburgs.' - -That would have been better than to an adventurer.' - -'How can you call a Breton noble ah adventurer? It is one of the purest -aristocracies of the world, if poor.' - -'_Ce que femme veut_,' sighed his Eminence, who knew how often even the -Church had been worsted by women. - -The Countess von Szalras had her way, and although when the -marriage-deeds were drawn up they all set aside completely any -possibility of authority or of interference on the part of her husband, -and maintained in the clearest and firmest manner her entire liberty of -action and enjoyment of inalienable properties and powers, she had the -deed of gift of Idrac locked up in her cabinet, and thought to herself, -as the long dreary preamble and provisions of the law were read aloud -to her, 'So will he be always his own master. What pleasure that your -hawk stays by you if you chain him to your wrist? If he love you he -will sail back uncalled from the longest flight. I think mine always -will. If not--if not--well, he must go!' - -One morning she came to him with a great roll of yellow parchment -emblazoned and with huge seals bearing heraldic arms and crowns. She -spread it out before him as they stood alone in the Rittersaal. He -looked scarcely at it, always at her. She wore a gown of old gold plush -that gleamed and glowed as she moved, and she had a knot of yellow -tea-roses at her breast, fastened in with a little dagger of sapphires. -She had never looked more truly a great lady, more like a châtelaine of -the Renaissance, as she spread out the great roll of parchment before -him on one of the tables of the knights' hall. - -'Look!' she said to him. 'I had the lawyers bring this over for you -to see. It is the deed by which Stephen, first Christian King of -Hungary, confirmed to the Counts of Idrac in the year 1001 all their -feudal rights to that town and district, as a fief. They had been -lords there long before. Look at it; here, farther down you see is the -reconfirmation of the charter under the Habsburg seal, when Hungary -passed to them; but you do not attend, where are your eyes?' - -'On you! Carolus Duran must paint you again in that dead gold with -those roses.' - -'They are only hothouse roses; who cares for them? I love no forced -flowers either in nature or humanity. Come, study this old parchment. -It must have some interest for you. It is what makes you lord of Idrac.' - -'What have I to do with Idrac? It is one of the many jewels of your -coronet, to which I can add none!' - -But to please her he bent over the crabbed black letter and the antique -blazonings of the great roll to which the great dead men had set their -sign and seal. She watched him as he read it, then after a little time -she put her hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. - -'My love, I can do just as I will with Idrac. The lawyers are agreed on -that, and the Kaiser will confirm whatever I do. Now I want to give you -Idrac, make you wholly lord of it; indeed, the thing is already done. I -have signed all the documents needful, and, as I say, the Emperor will -confirm any part of them that needs his assent. My Réné, you are a very -proud man, but you will not be too proud to take Idrac and its title -from your wife. But for that town who can say that our lives might not -have been passed for ever apart? Why do you look so grave? The Kaiser -and I both want you to be Austrian. When I transfer to you the fief of -Idrac you are its Count for evermore.' - -He drew a quick deep breath as if he had been struck a blow, and stood -gazing at her. He did not speak, his eyes darkened as with pain. For -the moment she was afraid that she had wounded him. With exquisite -softness of tone and touch she took his hand and said to him tenderly: - -'Why will you be so proud? After all, what are these things? Since -we love one another, what is mine is yours; a formula more or less -is no offence. It is my fancy that you should have the title and the -fief. The people know you there, and your heroic courage will be for -ever amongst their best traditions. Dear! once I read that it needs a -greater soul to take generously than to give. Be great so, now, for my -sake!' - -'Great!' he echoed the word hoarsely, and a smile of bitter irony -passed for a moment over his features. But he controlled the passionate -self-contempt that rose in him. He knew that whatever else he was, -he was her lover, and her hero in her sight. If the magnitude and -magnanimity of her gifts overwhelmed and oppressed him, he was recalled -to self-control by the sense of her absolute faith in him. He pressed -her hands against his heavily-beating heart. - -'All the greatness is with you, my beloved,' he said with effort. -'Since you delight to honour me, I can but strive my utmost to deserve -your honour. It is like your beautiful and lavish nature to be prodigal -of gifts. But when you give yourself, what need is there for aught -else?' - -'But Idrac is my caprice. You must gratify it.' - -'I will take the title gladly at your hands then. The revenues--No.' - -'You must take it all, the town and the title, and all they bring,' she -insisted. 'In truth, but for you there would possibly be no town at -all. Nay, my dear, you must do me this little pleasure; it will become -you so well that Countship of Idrac: it is as old a place as Vindobona -itself.' - -'Do you not understand?' she added, with a flush on her face. 'I want -you to feel that it is wholly yours; that if I die, or if you leave me, -it remains yours still. Oh, I do not doubt you; not for one moment. But -liberty is always good. And Idrac will make you an Austrian noble in -your own right. If you persist in refusing it I will assign it to the -Crown; you will pain me and mortify me.' - -'That is enough! Never wittingly in my life will I hurt you. But if you -wish me to be lord of Idrac, invest me with the title, my Empress. I -will take it and be proud of it; and as for the revenues--well, we will -not quarrel for them. They shall go to make new dykes and new bastions -for the town, or pile themselves one on another in waiting for your -children.' - -She smiled and her face grew warm as she turned aside and took up one -of the great swords with jewelled hilts and damascened scabbards, which -were ranged along the wall of the Rittersaal with other stands of arms. - -She drew the sword, and as he fell on his knee before her smote him -lightly on the shoulder with its blade. - -'Rise, Graf von Idrac!' she said, stooping and touching his forehead -with the bouquet that she wore at her breast. He loosened one of the -roses and held it to his lips. - -'I swear my fealty now and for ever,' he said with emotion, and his -face was paler and his tone was graver than the playfulness of the -moment seemed to call for in him. - -'Would to Heaven I had had no other name than this one you give me,' -he murmured as he rose. 'Oh, my love, my lady, my guardian angel! -Forget that ever I lived before, forget all my life when I was unworthy -you; let me live only from the day that will make me your vassal and -your----' - -'That will make you my lord!' she said softly; then she stooped, and -for the first time kissed him. - -What caused her the only pain that disturbed the tranquillity of these -cloudless days was the refusal of her cousin Egon to be present at -her marriage. He sent her, with some great jewels that had come from -Persia, a few words of sad and wistful affection. - -'My presence,' he added in conclusion, 'is no more needed for your -happiness than are these poor diamonds and pearls needed in your -crowded jewel-cases. You will spare me a trial, which it could be of no -benefit to you for me to suffer. I pray that the Marquis de Sabran may -all his life be worthy of the immense trust and honour which you have -seen fit to give to him. For myself, I have been very little always in -your life. Henceforth I shall be nothing. But if ever you call on me -for any service--which it is most unlikely you ever will do--I entreat -you to remember that there is no one living who will more gladly or -more humbly do your bidding at all cost than I, your cousin Egon.' - -The short letter brought tears to her eyes. She said nothing of it to -Sabran. He had understood from Mdme. Ottilie that Prince Vàsàrhely had -loved his cousin hopelessly for many years, and could not be expected -to be present at her marriage. - -In a week from that time their nuptials were celebrated in the Court -Chapel of the Hofburg at Vienna, with all the pomp and splendour that -a brilliant and ceremonious Court could lend to the espousal of one of -the greatest ladies of the old Duchy of Austria. - -Immediately after the ceremony they left the capital for Hohenszalras. - -At the signing of the contract on the previous night, when he had taken -up the pen he had grown very pale; he had hesitated a moment, and -glanced around him on the magnificent crowd, headed by the Emperor and -Empress, with a gleam of fear and of anxiety in his eyes, which Baron -Kaulnitz, who was intently watching him, had alone perceived. - -'There is something. What is it?' had mused the astute German. - -It was too late to seek to know. Sabran had bent down over the -parchment, and with a firm hand had signed his name and title. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -It was midsummer once more in the Iselthal, five years and a half after -the celebration at the Imperial palace of those nuptials which had been -so splendid that their magnificence had been noticeable even at that -magnificent Court. The time had seemed to her like one long, happy, -cloudless day, and if to him there had come any fatigue, any satiety, -any unrest, such as almost always come to the man in the fruition of -his passion, he suffered her to see none of them. - -It was one of those rare marriages in which no gall of a chain is felt, -but a quick and perfect sympathy insures that harmony which passion -alone is insufficient to sustain. He devoted himself with ardour to the -care of the immense properties that belonged to his wife; he brought -to their administration a judgment and a precision that none had looked -for in a man of pleasure; he entered cordially into all her schemes for -the well-being of her people dependent on her, and carried them out -with skill and firmness. The revenues of Idrac he never touched; he -left them to accumulate for his younger son, or expended them on the -township itself, where he was adored. - -If he were still the same man who had been the lover of Cochonette, -the terror of Monte Carlo, the hero of night-long baccara and frontier -duels, he had at least so banished the old Adam that it appeared wholly -dead. Nor was the death of it feigned. He had flung away the slough -of his old life with a firm hand, and the peace, the dignity of his -present existence were very precious to him. He was glad to steep -himself in them, as a tired and fevered wayfarer was glad to bathe his -dusty and heated limbs in the cool, clear waters of the Szalrassee. And -he loved his wife with a great love, in which reverence, and gratitude, -and passion were all blent. Possession had not dulled, nor familiarity -blunted it. She was still to him a sovereign, a saint, a half divine -creature, who had stooped to become mortal for his sake, and his -children's. - -The roses were all aglow on the long lawns and under the grey walls -and terraces; the sunbeams were dancing on the emerald surface of the -Szalrassee. - -'What a long spell of fair weather,' said Sabran, as they sat beneath -the great yews beside the keep. - -'It is like our life,' said his wife, who was doing nothing but -watching the clouds circle round the domes and peaks, which, white as -ivory, dazzling and clear, towered upward in the blue air like a mighty -amphitheatre. - -She had borne him three children in these happy years, the eldest of -whom, Bela, played amidst the daisies at her feet, a beautiful fair boy -with his father's features and his father's luminous blue eyes. The -other two, Gela and the little Ottilie, who had seen but a few months -of life, were asleep within doors in their carved ivory cots. They were -all handsome, vigorous, and of perfect promise. - -'Have I deserved to be so happy?' she would often think, she whom the -world called so proud. - -'Bela grows so like you!' she said now to his father, who stood near -her wicker chair. - -'Does he?' said Sabran, with a quick glance that had some pain in it, -at the little face of his son. 'Then if the other one be more like you -it will be he who will be dearest to me.' - -As he spoke he bowed his head down and kissed her hand. - -She smiled gravely and sweetly in his eyes. - -'That will be our only difference, I think! It is time, perhaps, that -we began to have one. Do you think there are two other people in all -the world who have passed five years and more together without once -disagreeing?' - -'In all the world there is not another Countess Wanda!' - -'Ah! that is your only defect; you will always avoid argument by -escaping through the side-door of compliment. It is true, to be sure, -that your flattery is a very high and subtle art.' - -'It is like all high art then, based on what is eternally true.' - -'You will always have the last word, and it is always so graceful a -one that it is impossible to quarrel with it. But, Réné, I want you -to speak without compliment to me for once. Tell me, are you indeed -never--never--a little weary of being here?' - -He hesitated a moment and a slight flush came on his face. - -She observed both signs, slight as they were, and sighed; it was the -first sigh she had ever breathed since her marriage. - -'Of course you are, of course you must be,' she said quickly. 'It has -been selfish and blameable of me never to think of it before. It is -paradise to me, but no doubt to you, used as you have been to the stir -of the world, there, must be some tedium, some dulness in this mountain -isolation. I ought to have remembered that before.' - -'You need do nothing of the kind, now,' he said. 'Who has been talking -to you? Who has brought this little snake into our Eden?' - -'No one; and it is not a snake at all, but a natural reflection. -Hohenszalras and you are the world to me, but I cannot expect that -Hohenszalras and I can be quite as much to yourself. It is always the -difference between the woman and the man. You have great talents; you -are ambitious.' - -'Were I as ambitious as Alexander, surely I have gained wherewithal to -be content!' - -'That is only compliment again, or if truth it is only a side of the -truth. Nay, love, I do not think for a moment you are tired of me; -I am too self-satisfied for that! But I think it is possible that -this solitude may have grown, or may grow, wearisome to you; that you -desire, perhaps without knowing it, to be more amidst the strife, -the movement, and the pleasures of men. Aunt Ottilie calls this -"confinement to a fortress;" now that is a mere pleasantry, but if ever -you should feel tempted to feel what she feels, have confidence enough -in my good sense and in my affection to say so to me, and then----.' - -'And then? We will suppose I have this ingratitude and bad taste, what -then?' - -'Why then, my own wishes should not stand for one instant in the way -of yours, or rather I would make yours mine. And do not use the word -ingratitude, my dearest; there can be no question of that betwixt you -and me.' - -'Yes,' said Sabran, as he stooped towards her and touched her hair -with his lips. 'When you gave me yourself, you made me your debtor -for all time; would have made me so had you been as poor as you are -rich. When I speak of gratitude it is of _that_ gift, I think, not of -Hohenszalras.' - -A warmth of pleasure flushed her cheek for a moment, and she smiled -happily. - -'You shall not beg the question so,' she said, with gentle insistence -after a moment's pause. 'I have not forgotten your eloquence in the -French Chamber.' You are that rare thing a born orator. You are -not perhaps fitted to be a statesman, for I doubt if you would have -the application or bear the tedium necessary, but you have every -qualification for a diplomatist, a foreign minister.' - -'I have not the first qualification, I have no country!' - -She looked at him, in surprise--he spoke with bitterness and -self-contempt; but in a moment he had added quickly:-- - -'France is nothing to me now, and though I am Austrian by all ties and -affections, I am not an Austrian before the law.' - -'That is hardly true,' she answered, satisfied with the explanation. -'Since France is little to you you could be naturalised here whenever -you chose, even if Idrac have not made you a Croat noble, as I believe -the lawyers would say it had; and the Emperor, who knows and admires -you, would, I think, at once give you gladly any mission you preferred; -you would make so graceful, so perfect, so envied an ambassador! -Diplomacy has indeed little force now, yet tact still tells wherever -it be found, and it is as rare as blue roses in the unweeded garden of -the world. I do not speak for myself, dear; that you know. Hohenszalras -is my beloved home, and it was enough for me before I knew you, and -nowhere else could life ever seem to me so true, so high, so simple, -and so near to God as here. But I do remember that men weary even of -happiness when it is unwitnessed, and require the press and stir of -emulation and excitation; and, if you feel that want, say so. Have -confidence enough in me to believe that your welfare will be ever my -highest law. Promise me this.' - -He changed colour slightly at her generous and trustful words, but he -answered without a moment's pause: - -'Whenever I am so thankless to fate I will confess it. No; the world -and I never valued one another much. I am far better here in the heart -of your mountains. Here only have I known peace and rest.' - -He spoke with a certain effort and emotion, and he stooped over his -little son and raised him on her knees. - -'These children shall grow up at Hohenszalras,' he continued, 'and you -shall teach them your love of the open air, the mountain solitudes, the -simple people, the forest creatures, the influences and the ways of -nature. You care for all those things, and they make up true wisdom, -true contentment. As for myself, if you always love me I shall ask no -more of fate.' - -'If! Can you be afraid?' - -'Sometimes. One always fears to lose what one has never merited.' - -'Ah, my love, do not be so humble! If you saw yourself as I see you, -you would be very proud.' - -She smiled as she spoke, and stretched her hand out to him over the -golden head of her child. - -He took it and held it against his heart, clasped in both his own. -Bela, impatient, slipped off his mother's lap to pursue his capture of -the daisies; the butterflies were forbidden joys, and he was obedient, -though in his own little way he was proud and imperious. But there -was a blue butterfly just in front of him, a Lycœna Adonis, like a -little bit of the sky come down and dancing about; he could not resist, -he darted at it. As he was about to seize it she caught his fingers. - -'I have told you, Bela, you are never to touch anything that flies or -moves. You are cruel.' - -He tried to get away, and his face grew very warm and passionate. - -'Bela will be cruel, if he like,' he said, knitting his pretty brows. - -Though he was not more than four years old he knew very well that he -was the Count Bela, to whom all the people gave homage, crowding to -kiss his tiny hand after Mass on holy-days. He was a very beautiful -child, and all the prettier for his air of pride and resolution; he had -been early put on a little mountain pony, and could ride fearlessly -down the forest glades with Otto. All the imperiousness of the great -race which had dealt out life and death so many centuries at their -caprice through the Hohe Tauern seemed to have been inherited by him, -coupled with a waywardness and a vanity that were not traits of the -house of Szalras. It was impossible, even though those immediately -about him were wise and prudent, to wholly prevent the effects of the -adulation with which the whole household was eager to wait on every -whim of the little heir. - -'Bela wishes it!' he would say, with an impatient frown, whenever his -desire was combated or crossed: he had already the full conviction that -to be Bela was to have full right to rule the world, including in it -his brother Gela, who was of a serious, mild, and yielding disposition, -and gave up to him in all things. As compensating qualities he was very -affectionate and sensitive, and easily moved to self-reproach. - -With a step Sabran reached him. 'You dare to disobey your mother?' he -said, sternly. 'Ask her forgiveness at once. Do you hear?' - -Bela, who had never heard his father speak in such a tone, was very -frightened, and lost all his colour; but he was resolute, and had been -four years old on Ascension Day. He remained silent and obstinate. - -Sabran put his hand heavily on the child's shoulder. - -'Do you hear me, sir? Ask her pardon this moment.' - -Bela was now fairly stunned into obedience. - -'Bela is sorry,' he murmured. 'Bela begs pardon.' - -Then he burst into tears. - -'You alarmed him rather too much. He is so very young,' she said to his -father, when the child, forgiven and consoled, had trotted off to his -nurse, who came for him. - -'He shall obey you, and find his law in your voice, or I will alarm him -more,' he said, with some harshness. 'If I thought he would ever give -you a moment's sorrow I should hate him!' - -It was not the first time that Sabran had seen his own more evil -qualities look at him from the beautiful little face of his elder son, -and at each of those times a sort of remorse came upon him. 'I was -unworthy to beget _her_ children,' he thought, with the self-reproach -that seldom left him, even amidst the deep tranquility of his -satisfied passions, and his perfect peace of life. Who could tell what -trials, what pains, what shame even, might not fall on her in the years -to come, with the errors that her offspring would have in them from his -blood? - -'It is foolish,' she murmured, 'he is but a baby; yet it hurts one to -see the human sin, the human wrath, look out from the infant eyes. It -hurts one to remember, to realise, that one's own angel, one's own -little flower, has the human curse born with it. I express myself ill; -do you know what I mean? No, you do not, dear; you are a man. He is -your son, and because he will be handsome and brave you will be proud -of him; but he is not a young angel, not a blossom from Eden to you.' - -'You are my religion,' he answered, 'you shall be his. When he grows -older he shall learn that to be born of such a mother as you is to -enter the kingdom of heaven by inheritance. Shall he be unworthy -that inheritance because he bears in him also the taint of my sorry -passions, of my degraded humanity?' - -'Dear! I too am only an erring creature. I am not perfect as you think -me.' - -'As I know you and as my children shall know you to be.' - -'You love me too well,' she said again; 'but it is a _beau défaut_, -and I would not have you lose it.' - -'I shall never lose it whilst I have life,' he said, with truth and -passion. 'I prize it more because most unworthy it.' - -She looked at him surprised, and vaguely troubled at the self-reproach -and the self-scorn of his passionate utterance. Seeing that surprise -and trouble in her glance, he controlled the emotion that for the -moment mastered him. - -'Ah, love!' he said quickly and truly, 'if you could but guess how -gross and base a man's life seems to him contrasted with the life of -a pure and noble woman! Being born of you, those children, I think, -should be as faultless and as soilless as those pearls that lie on your -breast. But then they are mine also; so already on that boy's face one -sees the sins of revolt, of self-will, of cruelty--being mine also, -your living pearls are dulled and stained!' - -A greater remorse than she dreamed of made his heart ache as he said -these words; but she heard in them only the utterance of that extreme -and unwavering devotion to her which he had shown in all his acts and -thoughts from the first hours of their union. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -The Princess Ottilie was scarcely less happy than they in the -realisation of her dreams and prophecies. Those who had been most -bitterly opposed to her alliance with him could find no fault in his -actions and his affections. - -'I always said that Wanda ought to marry, since she had plainly no -vocation for the cloister,' she said a hundred times a year. 'And I was -certain that M. de Sabran was the person above all others to attract -and to content her. She has much more imagination than she would be -willing to allow and he is capable at once of fascinating her fancy -and of satisfying her intellect. No one can be dull where he is; he is -one of those who make _la pluie et le beau temps_ by his absence or -presence; and, besides that, no commonplace affection would have ever -been enough for her. And he loves her like a poet, which he is at once -whenever he leaves the world for Beethoven and Bach. I cannot imagine -why you should have opposed the marriage, merely because he had not two -millions in the Bank of France.' - -'Not for that,' answered the Grand Duke; 'rather because he broke the -bank of Monte Carlo, and other similar reasons. A great player of -baccara is scarcely the person to endow with the wealth of the Szalras.' - -'The wealth is tied up tightly enough at the least, and you will admit -that he was yet more eager than you that it should be so.' - -'Oh, yes! he behaved very well. I never denied it. But she has placed -it in his power to make away with the whole of Idrac, if he should ever -choose. That was very unwise, but we had no power to oppose.' - -'You may be quite sure that Idrac will go intact to the second son, as -it has always done; and I believe but for his own exertions Idrac would -now be beneath the Danube waters. Perhaps you never heard all that -story of the flood?' - -'I only hope that if I have detractors you will defend me from them,' -said Prince Lilienhöhe, giving up argument. - -Fair weather is always especially fair in the eyes of those who have -foretold at sunset that the morrow would be fine; and so the married -life of Wanda von Szalras was especially delightful as an object of -contemplation, as a theme of exultation, to the Princess, who alone had -been clear-sighted enough to foresee the future. She really also loved -Sabran like a son, and took pride and pleasure in the filial tenderness -he showed her, and in his children, with the beautiful blue eyes that -had gleams of light in them like sapphires. The children themselves -adored her; and even the bold and wilful Bela was as quiet as a -startled fawn beside this lovely little lady, with her snow-white hair -and her delicate smile, whose cascades of lace always concealed such -wonderful bon-bon boxes, and gilded cosaques, and illuminated stories -of the saints. - -Almost all their time was spent at Hohenszalras. A few winter months -in Vienna was all they had ever passed away from it, except one visit -to Idrac and the Hungarian estates. The children never left it for -a day. He shared her affection for the place, and for the hardy and -frank mountain people around them. He seemed to her to entirely forget -Romaris, and beyond the transmission of moneys to its priest, he -took no heed of it. She hesitated to recall it to him, since to do -so might have seemed to remind him that it was she, not he, who was -suzerain in the Hohe Tauern. Romaris was but a bleak rock, a strip of -sea-swept sand; it was natural that it should have no great hold on his -affections, only recalling as it did all that its lords had lost. - -'I hate its name,' he said impetuously once; and seeing the surprise -upon her face, he added: 'I was very lonely and wretched there; I -tried to take interest in it because you bade me, but I failed; all -I saw, all I thought of, was yourself, and I believed you as far and -for ever removed from me as though you had dwelt in some other planet. -No! perhaps I am superstitious: I do not wish you to go to Romaris. I -believe it would bring us misfortune. The sea is full of treachery, the -sands are full of graves.' - -She smiled. - -'Superstition is a sort of parody of faith; I am sure you are not -superstitious. I do not care to go to Romaris; I like to cheat myself -into the belief that you were born and bred in the Iselthal. Otto said -to me the other day, "My lord must be a son of the soil, or how could -he know our mountains so well as he does, and how could he anywhere -have learned to shoot like that?"' - -'I am very glad that Otto does me so much honour. When he first met -me, he would have shot me like a fox, if you had given the word. Ah, my -love! how often I think of you that day, in your white serge, with your -girdle of gold, and your long gold-headed staff, and your little ivory -horn. You were truly a châtelaine of the old mystical German days. -You had some _Schlüsselblumen_ in your hand. They were indeed the key -flower to my soul, though, alas! treasures, I fear, you found none on -your entrance there.' - -'I shall not answer you, since to answer would be to flatter you, and -Aunt Ottilie already, does that more than is good for you,' she said -smiling, as she passed her fingers over the waves of his hair. 'By the -way, whom shall we invite to meet the Lilienhöhe? Will you make out a -list?' - -'The Grand Duke does not share Frau Ottilie's goodness for me.' - -'What would you? He has been made of buckram and parchment; besides -which; nothing that is not German has, to his mind, any right to exist. -By the way, Egon wrote to me this morning; he will be here at last.' - -He looked up quickly in unspoken alarm: 'Your cousin Egon? Here?' - -'Why are you so surprised? I was sure that sooner or later he would -conquer that feeling of being unable to meet you. I begged him to come -now; it is eight whole years since I have seen him. When once you have -met you will be friends--for my sake.' - -He was silent; a look of trouble and alarm was still upon his face. - -'Why should you suppose it any easier to him now than then?' he said at -length. 'Men who love _you_ do not change. There are women who compel -constancy, _sans le vouloir_. The meeting can but be painful to Prince -Vàsàrhely.' - -'Dear Réné,' she answered in some surprise, 'my nearest male relative -and I cannot go on for ever without seeing each other. Even these years -have done Egon a great deal of harm. He has been absent from the Court -for fear of meeting us. He has lived with his hussars, or voluntarily -confined to his estates, until he grows morose and solitary. I am -deeply attached to him. I do not wish to have the remorse upon me of -having caused the ruin of his gallant and brilliant life. When he -has been once here he will like you: men who are brave have always -a certain sympathy. When he has seen you here he will realise that -destiny is unchangeable, and grow reconciled to the knowledge that I am -your wife.' - -Sabran gave an impatient gesture of denial, and began to write the list -of invitations for the autumn circle of guests who were to meet the -Prince and Princess of Lilienhöhe. - -Once every summer and every autumn Hohenszalras was filled with a -brilliant house-party, for she sacrificed her own personal preferences -to what she believed to be for the good of her husband. She knew that -men cannot always live alone; that contact with the world is needful to -their minds and bracing for it. She had a great dread lest the ghost -_ennui_ should show his pale face over her husband's shoulder, for -she realised that from the life of the asphalte of the Champs-Élysées -to the life amidst the pine forests of the Iselthal was an abrupt -transition that might easily bring tedium in its train. And tedium is -the most terrible and the most powerful foe love ever encounters. - -Sabran completed the list, and when he had corrected it into due -accordance with all Lilienhöhe's personal and political sympathies and -antipathies, despatched the invitations, 'for eight days,' written on -cards that bore the joint arms of the Counts of Idrac and the Counts of -Szalras. He had adopted the armorial bearings of the countship of Idrac -as his own, and seemed disposed to abandon altogether those of the -Sabrans of Romaris. - -When they were written he went out by himself and rode long and fast -through the mists of a chilly afternoon, through dripping forest ways -and over roads where little water-courses spread in shining shallows. -The coming of Egon Vàsàrhely troubled him and alarmed him. He had -always dreaded his first meeting with the Magyar noble; and as the -years had dropped by one after another, and her cousin had failed -to find courage to see her again, he had begun to believe that they -and Vàsàrhely would remain always strangers. His wish had begotten -his thought. He knew that she wrote at intervals to her cousin, and -he to her; he knew that at the birth of each of their children some -magnificent gift, with a formal letter of felicitation, had come from -the Colonel of the White Hussars; but as time had gone on and Prince -Egon had avoided all possibility of meeting them, he had grown to -suppose that the wound given her rejected lover was too profound ever -to close; nor did he wonder that it was so: it seemed to him that any -man who loved her must do so for all eternity, if eternity there should -be. To learn suddenly that within another month Vàsàrhely would be his -guest, distressed and alarmed him in a manner she never dreamed. They -had been so happy. On their cloud less heaven there seemed to him to -rise a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, but bearing with it disaster -and a moonless night. - -'Perhaps he will have forgotten,' he thought, as he strove to shake off -his forebodings. 'We were so young then. He was not even as old as I!' - -And he rode fast and furiously homewards as the day drew in, and the -lighted windows of the great castle seemed to smile at him as lie saw -it high up above the darkness of the woods and of the evening mists, -his home, beloved, sacred, infinitely dear to him; dear as the soil of -the mother country which the wrecked mariner reaches after facing death -on the deep sea. - -'God save her from suffering by me!' he said, in an unconscious prayer, -as he drew rein before the terrace of Hohenszalras. Almost he believed -in God through her. - -When, after dressing, he went into, the Saxe room, the peace and -beauty of the scene had never struck him so strongly as it did now, -coming out of the shadows of the wet woods and the gloom of his own -anxieties; anxieties the heavier and the more wearing because they -could be shared by no one. The soft, full light of the wax candles fell -on the Louis Seize embroideries and the white woodwork of the panelling -and the china borders of the mirrors. The Princess Ottilie sat making -silk-netting for the children's balls; his wife was reading, and Bela -and Gela, who were there for their privileged half-hour before dinner, -were fitting together on a white bearskin, playing with the coloured -balls of the game of solitaire. The soft light from the chandeliers -and sconces of the Saxe Royale china fell on the golden heads and the -velvet frocks of the children, on the old laces and the tawny-coloured -plush of their mothers skirts, on the great masses of flowers in the -Saxe bowls, and on the sleeping forms of the big dogs Donau and Neva. -It was an interior that would have charmed Chardin, that would have -been worthy of Vandyck. - -As he looked at it he thought with a sort of ecstasy, 'All that is -mine;' and then his heartstrings tightened as he thought again, 'If she -knew----?' - -She looked up at his entrance with a welcome on her face that needed no -words. - -'Where have you been in the rain all this long afternoon?' You see we -have a fire, even though it is midsummer. Bela, rise, and make your -obeisance, and push that chair nearer the hearth.' - -The two little boys stood up and kissed his hand, one after another, -with the pretty formality; of greeting on which she always insisted; -then they went back to their coloured glass balls, and he sank into a -low chair beside his wife with a sigh half of fatigue, half of content. - -'Yes, I have been riding all the time,' he said to her. 'I am not sure -that Siegfried approved it. But it does one good sometimes, and after -the blackness and the wetness of that forest how charming it is to come -home!' - -She looked at him with wistfulness. - -'I wish you were not vexed that Egon is coming! I am sure you have been -thinking of it as you rode.' - -'Yes, I have; but I am ashamed of doing so. He is your cousin, that -shall be enough for me. I will do my best to make him welcome. Only -there is this difficulty; a welcome from me to him will seem in itself -an insult.' - -'An insult! when you are my husband? One would think you were my -_jägermeister._ Dear mother mine, help me to scold him.' - -'I am a stranger,' he said, under his breath. - -She smiled a little, but she said with a certain hauteur: - -'You are master of Hohenszalras, as your son will be when our places -shall know us no more. Do not let the phantom of Egon come between us, -I beseech you. His real presence never will do so, that is certain.' - -'Nothing shall come between us,' said Sabran, as his hand took and -closed upon hers. 'Forgive me if I have brought some gloomy _nix_ out -of the dark woods with me; he will flee away in, the light of this -beloved white-room. No evil spirits could dare stay by your hearth.' - -'There are _nixes_ in the forests,' said Bela in a whisper to his -brother. - -'Ja!' said Gela, not comprehending. - -'We will kill them all when we are big,' said Bela. - -'Ja! ja!' said Gela. - -Bela knew very well what a _nix_ was. Otto had told him all about -kobolds and sprites, as his pony trotted down the drives. - -'Or we will take them prisoners,' he added, remembering that his mother -never allowed anything to be killed, not even butterflies. - -'Ja!' said Gela again, rolling the pretty blue and pink and amber balls -about in the white fur of the bearskin. - -Gela's views of life were simplified by the disciple's law of -imitation; they were restricted to doing whatever Bela did, when that -was possible, when it was not possible he remained still adoring Bela, -with his little serious face as calm as a god's. - -She used to think that when they should grow up Bela would be a great -soldier like Wallenstein or Condé, and Gela would stay at home and -take care of his people here in the green, lone, happy Iselthal. - -Time ran on and the later summer made the blooming hay grow brown on -all the alpine meadows, and made the garden of Hohenszalras blossom -with a million autumnal glories; it brought also the season of the -first house-party. Egon Vàsàrhely was to arrive one day before the -Lilienhöhe and the other guests. - -'I want Egon so much to see Bela!' she said, with the thoughtless -cruelty of a happy mother forgetful of the pain of a rejected lover. - -'I fear Bela will find little favor in your cousin's eyes, since he is -mine too,' said Sabran. - -'Oh, Egon is content to be only our cousin by this----' - -'You think so? You do not know yourself if you imagine that.' - -'Egon is very loyal. He would not come here if he could not greet you -honestly.' - -Sabran's face flushed a little, and he turned away. He vaguely dreaded -the advent of Egon Vàsàrhely, and there were so many innocent words -uttered in the carelessness of intimate intercourse which stabbed him -to the quick; she had so wounded him all unconscious of her act. - -'Shall we have a game of billiards?' he asked her as they stood in the -Rittersaal, whilst the rain fell fast without. She played billiards -well, and could hold her own against him, though his game was one that -had often been watched by a crowded _galerie_ in Paris with eager -speculation and heavy wager. An hour afterwards they were still playing -when the clang of a great bell announced the approach of the carriage -which had been sent to Windisch-Matrey. - -'Come!' she said joyously, as she put back her cue in its rest; but -Sabran drew back. - -'Receive your cousin first alone,' he said. 'He must resent my presence -here. I will not force it on him on the threshold of your house.' - -'Of our house! Why will you use wrong pronouns? Believe me, dear, Egon -is too generous to bear you the animosity you think.' - -'Then he never loved you,' said Sabran, somewhat impatiently, as he -sent one ball against another with a sharp collision. 'I will come if -you wish it,' he added; 'but I think it is not in the best taste to so -assert myself.' - -'Egon is only my cousin and your guest. You are the master of -Hohenszalras. Come! you were not so difficult when you received the -Emperor.' - -'I had done the Emperor no wrong,' said Sabran, controlling the -impatience and the reluctance he still felt. - -'You have done Egon none. I should not have been his wife had I never -been yours.' - -'Who knows?' murmured Sabran, as he followed her into the entrance -hall. The stately figure of Egon Vàsàrhely enveloped in furs was just -passing through the arched doorway. - -She went towards him with a glad welcome and both hands outstretched. - -Prince Egon bowed to the ground: then took both her hands in his and -kissed her on the cheek. - -Sabran, who grew very pale, advanced and greeted him with ceremonious -grace. - -'My wife has bade me welcome you, Prince, but it would be presumptuous -in me, a stranger, to do that. All her kindred must be dear and sacred -here.' - -Egon Vàsàrhely, with an effort to which he had for years been vainly -schooling himself, stretched out his hand to take her husband's; but -as he did so, and his glance for the first time dwelt on Sabran, a -look surprised and indefinitely perplexed came on his own features. -Unconsciously he hesitated a moment; then, controlling himself, he -replied with a few fitting words of courtesy and friendship. That -there should be some embarrassment, some constraint, was almost -inevitable, and did not surprise her: she saw both, but she also saw -that both were hidden under the serenity of high breeding and worldly -habit. The most difficult moment had passed: they went together into -the Rittersaal, talked together a little on a few indifferent topics, -and in a little space Prince Egon withdrew to his own apartments to -change his travelling clothes. Sabran left him on the threshold of his -chamber. - -Vàsàrhely locked the doors, locking out even his servant, threw off -his furs and sat down, leaning his head on his hands. The meeting had -cost him even more than he had feared that it would do. For five years -he had dreaded this moment, and its pain was as sharp and as fresh to -him as though it had been unforeseen. To sleep under the same roof -with the husband of Wanda von Szalras! He had overrated his power of -self-control, underrated his power of suffering, when to please her he -had consented after five years to visit Hohenszalras. What were five -years?--half a century would not have changed him. - -Under the plea of fatigue, he, who had sat in his saddle eighteen hours -at a stretch, and was braced to every form of endurance in the forest -chase and in the tented field, sent excuses to his host for remaining -in his own rooms until the Ave Maria rung. When he at length went -down to the blue-room where she was, he had recovered, outwardly at -least, his tranquillity and his self-possession, though here, in this -familiar, once beloved chamber, where every object had been dear to him -from his boyhood, a keener trial than any he had passed through awaited -him, as she led forward to meet him a little boy clad in white velvet, -with a cloud of light golden hair above deep blue luminous eyes, and -said to him: - -'Egon, this is my Bela. You will love him a little, for my sake?' - -Vàsàrhely felt a chill run through him like the cold of death as he -stooped towards the child; but he smiled and touched the boy's forehead -with his lips. - -'May the spirit of our lost Bela be with him and dwell in his heart,' -he murmured; 'better I cannot wish him.' - -With an effort he turned to Sabran. - -'Your little son is a noble child; you may with reason be proud of him. -He is very like you in feature. I see no trace of the Szalras.' - -'The other boy is more like Wanda,' replied Sabran, sensible of a -certain tenacity of observation with which Vàsàrhely was gazing at -him. 'As for my daughter, she is too young for anyone to say whom she -will resemble. All I desire is that she should be like her mother, -physically and spiritually.' - -'Of course,' said the Prince, absently, still looking from Sabran to -the child, as if in the endeavour to follow some remembrance that -eluded-him. The little face of Bela was a miniature of his father's, -they were as alike as it is possible for a child and a man to be so, -and Egon Vàsàrhely perplexedly mused and wondered at vague memories -which rose up to him as he gazed on each. - -'And what do you like best to do, my little one?' he asked of Bela, who -was regarding him with curious and hostile eyes. - -'To ride,' answered Bela at once, in his pretty uncertain German. - -'There you are a true Szalras at least. And your brother Gela, can he -ride yet? Where is Gela, by the way?' - -'He is asleep,' said Bela, with some contempt. 'He is a little thing. -Yes; he rides, but it is in a chair-saddle. It is not real riding.' - -'I see. Well, when you come and see me you shall have some real riding, -on wild horses if you like;' and he told the child stories of the great -Magyar steppes, and the herds of young horses, and the infinite delight -of the unending gallop over the wide hushed plain; and all the while -his heart ached bitterly, and the sight of the child--who was her -child, yet had that stranger's face--was to him like a jagged steel -being turned and twisted inside a bleeding wound. Bela, however, was -captivated by the new visions that rose before him. - -'Bela will come to Hungary,' he said with condescension, and then with -an added thought, continued: 'I think Bela has great lands there. Otto -said so.' - -'Bela has nothing at all,' said Sabran, sternly. 'Bela talks great -nonsense sometimes, and it would be better he should go to sleep with -his brother.' - -Bela looked up shyly under his golden cloud of hair. 'Folko is Bela's,' -he said under his breath. Folko was his pony. - -'No,' said Sabran; 'Folko belongs to your mother. She only allows you -to have him so long as you are good to him.' - -'Bela is always good to him,' he said decidedly. - -'Bela is faultless in his own estimation,' said his mother, with a -smile. 'He is too little to be wise enough to see himself as he is.' - -This view made Bela's blue eyes open very wide and fill very -sorrowfully. It was humiliating. He longed to get back to Gela, who -always listened to him dutifully, and never said anything in answer -except an entirely acquiescent 'Ja! ja!' which was indeed about the -limitation of Gela's lingual powers. In a few moments, indeed, his -governess came for him and took him away, a little dainty figure in his -ivory velvet and his blue silk stockings, with his long golden curls -hanging to his waist. - -'It is so difficult to keep him from being spoilt,' she said, as the -door closed on him. 'The people make a little prince, a little god, of -him. He believes himself to be something wonderful. Gela, who is so -gentle and quiet, is left quite in the shade.' - -'I suppose Gela takes your title?' said Vàsàrhely to his host. 'It -is usual with the Austrian families for the second son to have some -distant appellation?' - -'They are babies,' said Sabran, impatiently. - -'It will be time enough to settle those matters when they are old -enough to be court-pages or cadets. They are Bela and Gela at present. -The only real republic is childhood.' - -'I am afraid Bela is the _tyrannus_ to which all republics succumb,' -said Wanda, with a smile. He is extremely autocratic in his notions, -and in his family. In all his "make believe" games he is crowned.' - -'He is a beautiful child,' said her cousin, and she answered, still -smiling: - -'Oh, yes: he is so like Réné!' - -Egon Vàsàrhely turned his face from her. The dinner was somewhat dull, -and the evening seemed tedious, despite the efforts of Sabran to -promote conversation, and the _écarté_ which he and his guest played -together. They, were all sensible that some chord was out of tune, and -glad that on the morrow a large house-party would be there to spare -them a continuation of this difficult intercourse. - -'Your cousin will never forgive me,' said Sabran to her when they were -alone. 'I think, beside his feeling that I stand for ever between you -and him there is an impatience of me as a stranger and one unworthy -you.' - -'You do yourself and him injustice,' she answered. 'I shall be unhappy -if you and he be not friends.' - -'Then unhappy you will be, my beloved. We both adore you.' - -'Do not say that. He would not be here if it were so.' - -'Ah! look at him when he looks at Bela!' - -She sighed; she had felt a strong emotion on the sight of her cousin, -for Egon Vàsàrhely was much changed by these years of pain. His grand -carriage and his martial beauty were unaltered, but all the fire and -the light of earlier years were gone out of his face, and a certain -gloom and austerity had come there. To all other women he would have -been the more attractive for the melancholy which was in such apt -contrast with the heroic adventures of his life, but to her the change -in him was a mute reproach which filled her with remorse though she had -done no wrong. - -Meantime Prince Egon, throwing open his window, leaned out into the -cold rainy night, as though a hand were at his throat and suffocating -him. And amidst all the tumult of his pain and revolt, one dim thought -was incessantly intruding itself; he was always thinking, as he -recalled the face of Sabran and of Sabran's little son, 'Where have I -seen those blue eyes, those level brows, those delicate curved lips?' - -They were so familiar, yet so strange to him. When he would have given -a name to them they receded into the shadows of some far away past of -his own, so far away he could not follow them. He sat up half the night -letting the wind beat and the rain fall on him. He could not sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -In the morrow thirty or forty people arrived, amongst them Baron -Kaulnitz _en congé_ from his embassy. - -'What think you of Sabran?' he asked of Egon Vàsàrhely, who answered: - -'He is a perfect gentleman. He is a charming companion. He plays -admirably at _écarté._ - -'_Écarté_! I spoke of his moral worth: what is your impression of that?' - -'If he had not satisfied her as to that, Wanda would not be his wife,' -answered the Prince gravely. 'He has given her beautiful children, and -it seems to me that he renders her perfectly happy. We should all be -grateful to him.' - -'The children are certainly very beautiful,' said Baron Kaulnitz, and -said no more. - -'The people all around are unfeignedly attached to him,' Vàsàrhely -continued with generous effort. 'I hear nothing but his praise. Nor do -I think it the conventional compliment which loyalty leads them to pay -the husband of their Countess; it is very genuine attachment. The men -of the old Archduchy are not easily won; it is only qualities of daring -and manliness which appeal to their sympathies. That he has gained -their affections is as great testimony to his character in one way as -that he has gained Wanda's is in another. At Idrac also the people -adore him, and Croats are usually slow to see merit in strangers.' - -'In short, he is a paragon,' said the ambassador, with a little dubious -smile. 'So much the better, since he is irrevocably connected with us.' - -Sabran was at no time seen to greater advantage than when he was -required to receive and entertain a large house-party. Always graceful, -easily witty, endowed with that winning tact which is to society as -cream is to the palate, the charm he possessed for women and the -ascendency he could, at times, exercise over men--even men who were -opposed to him--were never more admirably displayed than when he was -the master of Hohenszalras, with crowned heads, and princes, and -diplomatists, and beauties gathered beneath his roof. His mastery, -moreover, of all field sports, and his skill at all games that demanded -either intelligence or audacity, made him popular with a hardy and -brilliant nobility; his daring in a boar hunt at noon was equalled by -his science at whist in the evening. Strongly prejudiced against him at -the onset, the great nobles who were his guests had long ceased to feel -anything for him except respect and regard; whilst the women admired -him none the less for that unwavering devotion to his wife which made -even the conventionalities of ordinary flirtation wholly impossible to -him. With all his easy gallantry and his elegant homage to them, they -all knew that, at heart, he was as cold as the rocks to all women save -one. - -'It is really the knight's love for his lady,' said the Countess -Brancka once; and Sabran, overhearing, said: 'Yes, and, I think that if -there were more like my lady on earth, knighthood might revive on other -scenes than Wagner's.' - -Between him and the Countess Brancka there was a vague intangible -enmity, veiled under the perfection of courtesy. They could ill have -told why they disliked each other; but they did so. Beneath their -polite or trivial or careless speech they often aimed at each other's -feelings or foibles with accuracy and malice. She had stayed at -Hohenszalras more or less time each year in the course of her flight -between France and Vienna, and was there now. He admired his wife's -equanimity and patience under the trial of Mdme. Olga's frivolities, -but he did not himself forbear from as much sarcasm as was possible -in a man of the world to one who was his guest, and by marriage his -relative, and he was sensible of her enmity to himself, though she -paid him many compliments, and sometimes too assiduously sought his -companionship. '_Elle fait le ronron, mais gare à ses pattes!_' he said -once to his wife concerning her. - -Sabran appraised her indeed with unflattering accuracy. He knew -by heart all the wiles and wisdom of such a woman as she was. Her -affectations did not blind him to her real danger, and her exterior -frivolity did not conceal from him the keen and subtle self-interest -and the strong passions which laboured beneath it. - -She felt that she had an enemy in him, and partly in self-protection, -partly in malice, she set herself to convert a foe into a friend, -perhaps, without altogether confessing it to herself, into a lover as -well. - -The happiness that prevailed at Hohenszalrasburg annoyed her for -no other reason than that it wearied her to witness it. She did -not envy it, because she did not want happiness at all; she wanted -perpetual change, distraction, temptation, passion, triumph--in a word, -excitement, which becomes the drug most unobtainable to those who have -early exhausted all the experiences and varieties of pleasure. - -Mdme. Brancka had always an unacknowledged resentment against her -sister-in-law, for being the owner of all the vast possessions of the -Szalras. 'If Gela had lived!' she thought constantly. 'If I had only -had a son by him before he died, this woman would have had her dower -and nothing more.' That his sister should possess all, whilst she had -by her later marriage lost her right even to a share in that vast -wealth, was a perpetual bitterness to her. - -Stefan Brancka was indeed rich, but he was an insensate gambler. She -was extravagant to the last degree, with all the costly caprices of -a _cocodette_ who reigned in the two most brilliant capitals of the -world. They were often troubled by their own folly, and again and again -the generosity of his elder brother had rescued them from humiliating -embarrassments. At such moments she had almost hated Wanda von Szalras -for these large possessions, of which, according to her own views, -her sister-in-law made no use whatever. Meantime, she wished Egon -Vàsàrhely to die childless, and to that end had not been unwilling -for the woman he loved to marry anyone else. She had reasoned that the -Szalras estates would go to the Crown or the Church if Wanda did not -marry; whilst all the power and possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely must, if -he had no sons, pass in due course to his brother. She had the subtle -acuteness of her race, and she had the double power of being able at -once to wait very patiently and to spring with swift rage on what she -needed. To her sister-in-law she always appeared a mere flutterer on -the breath of fashion. The grave and candid nature of the one could not -follow or perceive the intricacies of the other. - -'She is a cruel woman and a perilous one,' Sabran said one day to his -wife's surprise. - -She answered him that Olga Brancka had always seemed to her a mere -frivolous _mondaine_, like so many others of their world. - -'No,' he persisted. 'You are wrong; she is not a butterfly. She has too -much energy. She is a profoundly immoral woman also. Look at her eyes.' - -'That is Stefan's affair,' she answered, 'not ours. He is indifferent.' - -'Or unsuspicious? Did your brother care for her?' - -'He was madly in love with her. She was only sixteen when he married -her. He fell at Solferino half a year later. When she married my -cousin it shocked and disgusted me. Perhaps I was foolish to take it -thus, but it seemed such a sin against Gela. To die _so_, and not to be -even remembered!' - -'Did your cousin Egon approve this second marriage?' - -'No,' he opposed it; he had our feeling about it. But Stefan, though -very young, was beyond any control. He had the fortune as he had the -title of his mother, the Countess Brancka, and Olga bewitched him as -she had done my brother.' - -'She _is_ a witch, a wicked witch,' said Sabran. - -The great autumn party was brilliant and agreeable. All things went -well, and the days were never monotonous. The people were well -assorted, and the social talent of their host made their outdoor sports -and their indoor pastimes constantly varied, whilst Hungarian musicians -and Viennese comedians played waltzes that would have made a statue -dance, and represented the little comedies for which he himself had -been famous at the Mirlitons. - -He was not conscious of it, but he was passionately eager for Egon -Vàsàrhely to be witness, not only of his entire happiness, but of his -social powers. To Vàsàrhely he seemed to put forward the perfection -of his life with almost insolence; with almost exaggeration to exhibit -the joys and the gifts with which nature and chance had so liberally -dowered him. The stately Magyar soldier, sitting silent and melancholy -apart, watched him with a curious pang, that in a lesser nature would -have been a consuming envy. Now and then, though Sabran and his wife -spoke rarely to each other in the presence of others, a glance, a -smile, a word passed between them that told of absolute unuttered -tenderness, profound and inexhaustible as the deep seas; in the very -sound of their laughter, in the mere accent of their voices, in a -careless caress to one of their children, in a light touch of the hand -to one another as they rode, or as they met in a room, there was the -expression of a perfect joy, of a perfect faith between them, which -pierced the heart of the watcher of it. Yet would he not have had it -otherwise at her cost. - -'Since she has chosen him as the companion of her life, it is well -that he should be what she can take pride in, and what all men can -praise,' he thought, and yet the happiness of this man seemed to him an -audacity, an insolence. What human lover could merit her? - -Between himself and Sabran there was the most perfect courtesy, but no -intimacy. They both knew that if for fifty years they met continually -they would never be friends. All her endeavours to produce sympathy -between them failed. Sabran was conscious of a constant observation of -him by her cousin, which seemed to him to have a hostile motive, and -which irritated him extremely, though he did not allow his irritation -any visible vent. Olga Brancka perceived, and with the objectless -malice of women of her temperament, amused herself with fanning, the -slumbering enmity, as children play at fire. - -'You cannot expect Egon to love you,' she said once to her host. 'You -know he was the betrothed of Wanda from her childhood--at least in his -own hopes, and in the future sketched for them by their families.' - -'I was quite aware of that before I married,' he answered her -indifferently. 'But those family arrangements are tranquil disposals of -destiny which, if they be disturbed, leave no great trace of trouble. -The Prince is young still, and a famous soldier as well as a great -noble. He has no lack of consolation if he need it, and I cannot -believe that he does.' - -Mdme. Olga laughed. - -'You know as well as I do that Egon adores the very stirrup your wife's -foot touches!' - -'I know he is her much beloved cousin,' said Sabran, in a tone which -admitted of no reply. - -To Vàsàrhely his sister-in-law said confidentially: - -'Dear Egon, why did you not stay on the _pusztas_ or remain with your -hussars? You make _le beau_ Sabran jealous.' - -'Jealous!' asked Vàsàrhely, with a bitter smile. 'He has much cause, -when she has neither eye nor ear, neither memory nor thought of any -kind for any living thing except himself and those children who are -all his very portraits! Why do you say these follies, Olga? You know -that my cousin Wanda chose her lord out of all the world, and loves -him as no one would have supposed she had it in her to love any mortal -creature.' - -He spoke imperiously, harshly, and she was silenced. - -'What do you think of him?' she said with hesitation. - -'Everyone asks me that question. I am not his keeper!' - -'But you must form some opinion. He is virtual lord of Hohenszalras, -and I believe she has made over to him all the appanages of Idrac, and -his children will have everything.' - -'Are they not her natural heirs? Who should inherit from her if not her -sons?' - -'Of course, of course they will inherit, only they inherit nothing -from him. It was certainly a great stroke of fortune for a landless -gentleman to make. Why does the _gentilhomme pauvre_ always so -captivate women?' - -'What do you mean to insinuate, Olga?' he asked her, with a stern -glance of his great black eyes.' - -'Oh, nothing; only his history was peculiar. I remember his arrival -in France, his first appearance in society; it is many years ago now. -All the Faubourg received him, but some said at the time that it was -too romantic to be true--those Mexican forests, that long exile of the -Sabran, the sudden appearance of this beautiful young marquis; you -will grant it was romantic. I suppose it was the romance that made -even Wanda's clear head turn a little. It is a _vin capiteux_ for many -women. And then such a life in Paris after it--duels, baccara, bonnes -fortunes, clever comedies, a touch like Liszt's, a sudden success in -the Chamber--it was all so romantic; it was bound to bring him at -last to his haven, the Prince Charmant of an enchanted castle! Only -enchanted castles sometimes grow dull, and Princes Charmants are not -always amusable by the same châtelaine!' - -Egon Vàsàrhely, with his eyes sombre under their long black lashes, -listened to the easy bantering phrases with the vague suspicion of an -honest and slow-witted man that a woman is trying to drop poison into -his ear which she wishes to pass as _eau sucrée._ He did not altogether -follow her insinuation, but he understood something of her drift. They -were alone in a corner of the ball-room, whilst the cotillon was at its -height, conducted by Sabran, who had been famous for its leadership in -Paris and Vienna. He stooped his head and looked her full in her eyes. - -'Look here, Olga. I am not sure what you mean, but I believe you are -tired of seeing my cousin's happiness, merely because it is something -with which you cannot interfere. For myself I would protect her -happiness as I would her honour if I thought either endangered. Whether -you or I like the Marquis de Sabran is wholly beyond the question. She -loves him, and she has made him one of us. His honour is now ours. -For myself I would defend him in his absence as though he were my own -brother. Not for his sake at all--for hers. I do not express myself -very well, but you know what I mean. Here is Max returning to claim -you.' - -Silenced and a little alarmed the Countess Brancka rose and went off to -her place in the cotillon. - -Vàsàrhely, sitting where she had left him, watched the mazes of the -cotillon, the rhythm of the tzigane musicians coming to his ear -freighted with a thousand familiar memories of the czardas danced madly -in the long Hungarian nights. Time had been when the throb of the -tzigane strings had stirred all his pulses like magic, but now all his -bold bright life seemed numb and frozen in him. - -His eyes rested on his cousin, where she stood conversing with a crown -prince, who was her chief guest, and passed from her to follow the -movements of Sabran, who with supreme ease and elegance was leading a -new intricate measure down the ball-room. - -She was happy, that he could not doubt. Every action, every word, every -glance said so with a meaning not to be doubted. He thought she had -never looked so handsome as she did to-night since that far away day -in her childhood when he had seen her with the red and white roses in -her lap and the crown upon her curls. She had the look of her childhood -in her eyes, that serene and glad light which had been dimmed by her -brothers' death, but now shone there again tranquil, radiant, and pure -as sunlight is. She wore white velvet and white brocade; her breast -was hidden in white roses; she wore her famous pearls and the ribbons -of the Starred Cross of Austria and of the Prussian Order of Merit; -she held in her hand a large painted fan which had belonged to Maria -Theresa. Every now and then, as she talked with her royal guest, her -glance strayed down the room to where her husband was, and lingered -there a moment with a little smile. - -Vàsàrhely watched her for awhile, then rose abruptly, and made his way -out of the ball-room and the state apartments down the corridors of the -old house he knew so well towards his own chamber. He thought he would -write to her and leave upon the morrow. What need was there for him to -stay on in this perpetual pain? He had done enough for the world, which -had seen him under the roof of Hohenszalras. - -As he took his way through the long passages, tapestry-hung or -oak-panelled, which led across the great building to his own set of -rooms in the clock tower, he passed an open door out of which a light -was streaming. As he glanced within he saw it was the children's -sleeping apartment, of which the door was open because the night was -warm, unusually warm for the heart of the Gross Glöckner mountains. An -impulse he could not have explained made him pause and enter. The three -little white beds of carved Indian work, with curtains of lace, looked -very snowy and peaceful in the pale light from a hanging lamp. The -children were all asleep; the one nearest the door was Bela. - -Vàsàrhely stood and looked at him. His head was thrown back on his -pillow and his arms were above his head. His golden hair, which was -cut straight and low over his forehead, had been pushed back in his -slumber; he looked more like his father than in his waking hours, -for as he dreamed there was a look of coldness and of scorn upon his -childish face, which made him so resemble Sabran that the man who -looked on him drew his breath hard with pain. - -The night-nurse rose from her seat, recognising Prince Egon, whom she -had known from his childhood. - -'The little Count is so like the Marquis,' she said, approaching; 'so -is Herr Gela. Ah, my Prince, you remember the noble gentlemen whose -names they bear? God send they may be like them in their lives and not -their deaths!' - -'An early death is good,' said Vàsàrhely, as he stood beside the -child's bed. He thought how good it would have been if he had fallen -at Sadowa or Königsgrätz, or earlier by the side of Gela and Victor, -charging with his White Hussars. - -The old nurse rambled on, full of praise and stories of the children's -beauty, and strength, and activity, and intelligence. Vàsàrhely did not -hear her; he stood lost in thought looking down on the sleeping figure -of Bela, who, as if conscious of strange eyes upon him, moved uneasily -in his slumber, and ruffled his golden hair with his hands, and thrust -off his coverings from his beautiful round white limbs. - -'Count Bela is not like our saint who died,' said the old nurse. 'He -is always masterful, and loves his own way. My lady is strict with -him, and wisely so, for he is a proud rebellious child. But he is very -generous, and has noble ways. Count Gela is a little angel; he will be -like the Heilige Graf.' - -Vàsàrhely did not hear anything she said. His gaze was bent on the -sleeping child, studying the lines of the delicate brows, of the -curving lips, of the long black lashes. It was so familiar, so -familiar! Suddenly as he gazed a light seemed to leap out of the -darkness of long forgotten years, and the memory which had haunted him -stood out clear before him. - -'He is like Vassia Kazán!' he cried, half aloud. The face of the child -had recalled what in the face of the man had for ever eluded his -remembrance. - -He thrust a gold coin in the nurse's hand, and hurried from the -chamber. A sudden inconceivable, impossible suspicion had leaped up -before him as he had gazed on the sleeping loveliness of Sabran's -little son. - -The old woman saw his sudden pallor, his uncertain gesture, and -thought, 'Poor gallant gentleman! He wishes these pretty boys were his -own. Well, it might have been better if he had been master here, though -there is nothing to say against the one who is so. Still, a stranger is -always a stranger, and foreign blood is bad.' - -Then she drew the coverings over Bela's naked little limbs, and passed -on to make sure that the little Ottilie, who had been born when the -primroses where first out in the Iselthal woods, was sleeping soundly, -and wanted nothing. - -Vàsàrhely made his way to his own chamber, and there sat down heavily, -mechanically, like a man waking out from a bad dream. - -His memory went back to twenty years before, when he, a little lad, had -accompanied his father on a summer visit to the house of a Russian, -Prince Paul Zabaroff. It was a house, gay, magnificent, full of idle -men and women of facile charm; it was not a house for youth; but -both the Prince Vàsàrhely and the Prince Zabaroff were men of easy -morals--_viveurs_, gamesters, and philosophers, who at fifteen years -old themselves had been lovers and men of the world. At that house -had been present a youth, some years older than he was, who was known -as Vassia Kazán: a youth whose beauty and wit made him the delight of -the women there, and whose skill at games and daring in sports won him -the admiration of the men. It was understood without even being said -openly that Vassia Kazán was a natural son of the Prince Zabaroff. The -little Hungarian prince, child as he was, had wit enough and enough -knowledge of life to understand that this brilliant companion, of his -was base-born. His kind heart moved him to pity, but his intense pride -curbed his pity with contempt. Vassia Kazán had resented the latter too -bitterly to even be conscious of the first. The gentlemen assembled had -diverted themselves by the unspoken feud that had soon risen between -the boys, and the natural intelligence of the little Magyar noble had -been no match for the subtle and cultured brain of the Parisian Lycéen. - -One day one of the lovely ladies there, who plundered Zabaroff and -caressed his son, amused herself with a war of words between the lads, -and so heated, stung, spurred and tormented the Hungarian boy that, -exasperated by the sallies and satires of his foe, and by the presence -of this lovely goddess of discord, he so far forgot his chivalry that -he turned on Vassia with a taunt. 'You would be a serf if you were in -Russia!' he said, with his great black eyes flashing the scorn of the -noble on the bastard. Without a word, Vassia, who had come in from -riding and had his whip in his hand, sprang on him, held him in a grip -of steel, and thrashed him. The fiery Magyar, writhing under the blows -of one who to him was as a slave, as a hound, freed his right arm, -snatched from a table near an oriental dagger lying there with other -things of value, and plunged it into the shoulder of his foe. The -cries of the lady, alarmed at her own work, brought the men in from -the adjoining room; the boys were forced apart and carried to their -chambers. - -Prince Vàsàrhely left the house that evening with his son, still -furious and unappeased. Vassia Kazán remained, made a hero of and -nursed by the lovely woman who had thrown the apple of strife. His -wound was healed in three weeks' time; soon after his father's -house-party was scattered, and he himself returned to his college. Not -a syllable passed between him and Zabaroff as to his quarrel with the -little Hungarian magnate. To the woman who had wrought the mischief -Zabaroff said: 'Almost I wish he were my lawful son. He is a true wolf -of the steppes. Paris has only combed his hide and given him a silken -coat; he is still a wolf, like all true Russians.' - -Looking on the sleeping child of Sabran, all that half-forgotten scene -had risen up before the eyes of Egon Vàsàrhely. He seemed to see the -beautiful fair face of Vassia Kazán, with the anger on the knitted -brows, and the ferocity on the delicate stern lips as he had raised his -arm to strike. Twenty years had gone by; he himself, whenever he had -remembered the scene, had long grown ashamed of the taunt he had cast, -not of the blow he had given, for the sole reproof his father had ever -made him was to say: 'A noble, only insults his equals. To insult an -inferior is ungenerous, it is derogatory; whom you offend you raise for -the hour to a level with yourself. Remember to choose your foes not -less carefully than you choose your friends.' - -Why with the regard, the voice, the air of Sabran had some vague -intangible remembrance always come before him?' - -Why, as he had gazed on the sleeping child had the vague uncertainty -suddenly resolved itself into distinct revelation? - -'He is Vassia Kazán! He is Vassia Kazán!' he said to himself a score -of times stupidly, persistently, as one speaks in a dream. Yet he knew -he must be a prey to delusion, to phantasy, to accidental resemblance. -He told himself so. He resisted his own folly, and all the while a -subtler inner consciousness seemed to be speaking in him, and saying to -him: - -'That man is Vassia Kazán. Surely he is Vassia Kazán.' - -And then the loyal soul of him strengthened itself and made him think: - -'Even if he be Vassia Kazán he is her husband. He is what she loves; he -is the father of those children that are hers.' - -He never went to his bed that night. When the music ceased at an hour -before dawn, and the great house grew silent, he still sat there by -the open casement, glad of the cold air that blew in from over the -Szalrassee, as with daybreak a fine film of rain began to come down the -mountain sides. - -Once he heard the voice of Sabran, who passed the door on his way to -his own apartment. Sabran was saying in German with a little laugh: - -'My lady!' I am jealous of your crown prince. When I left him now in -his chamber I was disposed to immortalise myself by regicide. He adores -you!' - -Then he heard Wanda laugh in answer, with some words that did not -reach his ear as they passed on further down the corridor. Vàsàrhely -shivered, and instinctively rose to his feet. He felt as if he must -seek him out and cry out to him: - -'Am I mad or is it true? Let me see your shoulder--have you the mark of -the wound that I gave? Your little child has the face of Vassia Kazán. -Are you Vassia Kazán? Are you the bastard of Zabaroff? Are you the wolf -of the steppes?' - -He had desired to go from Hohenszalras, where every hour was pain to -him, but now he felt an irresistible fascination in the vicinity of -Sabran. His mind was in that dual state which at once rejects a fact as -incredible, and believes in it absolutely. His reason told him that his -suspicion was a folly; his instinct told him that it was a truth. - -When in the forenoon the castle again became animated, and the guests -met to the mid-day breakfast in the hall of the knights, he descended, -moved by an eagerness that made him for the first time in his life -nervous. When Sabran addressed him he felt himself grow pale; he -followed the movements, he watched the features, he studied the tones -of his successful rival, with an intense absorption in them. Through -the hunting breakfast, at which only men were present, he was conscious -of nothing that was addressed to him; he only seemed to hear a voice in -his ear saying perpetually----'Yonder is Vassia Kazán.' - -The day was spent in sport, sport rough and real, that gave fair play -to the beasts and perilous exposure to the hunters. For the first time -in his life, Egon Vàsàrhely let a brown bear go by him untouched, -and missed more than one roebuck. His eyes were continually seeking -his host; a mile off down a forest glade the figure of Sabran seemed -to fill his vision, a figure full of grace and dignity, clad in a -hunting-dress of russet velvet, with a hunting-horn slung at his side -on a broad chain of gold, the gift of his wife in memory of the fateful -day when he had aimed at the _kuttengeier_ in her woods. - -Sabran of necessity devoted himself to the crown prince throughout -the day's sport; only in the twilight as they returned he spoke to -Vàsàrhely. - -'Wanda is so full of regret that you wish to leave us,' he said, with -graceful cordiality; 'if only I can persuade you to remain, I shall -take her the most welcome of all tidings from the forest. Stay at the -least another week, the weather has cleared.' - -As he spoke he thought that Vàsàrhely looked at him strangely; but -he knew that he could not be much loved by his wife's cousin, and -continued with good humour to persist in his request. Abruptly, the -other answered him at last. - -'Wanda wishes me to stay? Well, I will stay then. It seems strange to -hear a stranger invite _me_ to Hohenszalras.' - -Sabran coloured; he said with hauteur: - -'That I am a stranger to Prince Vàsàrhely is not my fault. That I have -the right to invite him to Hohenszalras is my happiness, due to his -cousin's goodness, which has been far beyond my merit.' - -Vàsàrhely's eyes dwelt on him gloomily; he was sensible of the dignity, -the self-command, and the delicacy of reproof which were blent in the -answer he had received; he felt humbled and convicted of ill-breeding. -He said after a pause: - -'I should ask your pardon. My cousin would be the first to condemn my -words; they sounded ill, but I meant them literally. Hohenszalras has -been one of my homes from boyhood; it will be your son's when we are -both dead. How like he is to you; he has nothing of his mother.' - -Sabran, somewhat surprised, smiled as he answered: - -'He is very like me. I regret it; but you know the poets and the -physiologists are for once agreed as to the cause of that. It is a -truth proved a million times: _l'enfant de l'amour ressemble toujours -au père._' - -Egon Vàsàrhely grew white under the olive hue of his sun-bronzed -cheek. The _riposte_ had been made with a thrust that went home. Otto -at that moment approached his master for orders for the morrow. They -were no more alone. They entered the house; the long and ceremonious -dinner succeeded. Vàsàrhely was silent and stern. Sabran was the most -brilliant of hosts, the happiest of men; all the women present were in -love with him, his wife the most of all. - -'Réné tells me you will stay, Egon. I am so very glad,' his cousin said -to him during the evening, and she added with a little hesitation, 'If -you would take time to know him well, you would find him so worthy of -your regard; he has all the qualities that most men esteem in each -other. It would make me so happy if you were friends at heart, not only -in mere courtesy.' - -'You know that can never be,' said Vàsàrhely, almost rudely. 'Even you -cannot work miracles. He is your husband. It is a reason that I should -respect him, but it is also a reason why I shall for ever hate him.' - -He said the last words in a tone scarcely audible, but low as it was, -there was a force in it that affected her painfully. - -'What you say there is quite unworthy of you,' she said with gentleness -but coldness. 'He has done you no wrong. Long ere I met him I told you -that what you wished was not what I wished, never would be so. You are -too great a gentleman, Egon, to nourish an injustice in your heart.' - -He looked down; every fibre in him thrilled and burned under the sound -of her voice, the sense of her presence. - -'I saw your children asleep last night,' he said abruptly. 'They have -nothing of you in them; they are his image.' - -'Is it so unusual for children to resemble their father?' she said with -a smile, whilst vaguely disquieted by his tone. - -'No, I suppose not; but the Szalras have always been of one type. How -came your husband by that face? I have seen it amongst the Circassians, -the Persians, the Georgians; but you say he is a Breton.' - -'The Sabrans of Romaris are Bretons; you have only to consult history. -Very beautiful faces like his have seldom much impress of nationality; -they always seem as though they followed the old Greek laws, and were -cast in the divine heroic mould of another time than ours.' - -'Who was his mother?' - -'A Spanish Mexican.' - -Vàsàrhely was silent. - -His cousin left him and went amongst her guests. A vague sense of -uneasiness went with her at her consciousness of his hostility to -Sabran. She wished she had not asked him to remain. - -'You have never offended Egon?' she asked Sabran anxiously that night. -'You have always been forbearing and patient with him?' - -'I have obeyed you in that as all things, my angel,', he answered her -lightly. 'What would you? He is in love with you still, and I have -married you! It is even a crime in his eyes that my children resemble -me! One can never argue with a passion that is unhappy. It is a kind of -frenzy.' - -She heard with some impatience. - -'He has no right to cherish such a resentment. He keeps it alive by -brooding on it. I had hoped that when he saw you here, saw how happy -you render me, saw your children too, he would grow calmer, wiser, more -reconciled to the inevitable.' - -'You did not know men, my love,' said Sabran, with a smile. - -To him the unhappiness and the ill-will of Egon Vàsàrhely were matters -of supreme indifference; in a manner they gratified him, they even -supplied that stimulant of rivalry which a man's passion needs to keep -at its height in the calm of safe possession. That Egon Vàsàrhely saw -his perfect happiness lent it pungency and a keener sense of victory. -When he kissed his wife's hand in the sight of her cousin, the sense -of the pain it dealt to the spectator gave the trivial action to him -all the sweetness and the ardour of the first caresses of his accepted -passion. - -Of that she knew nothing. It would have seemed to her ignoble, as so -much that makes up men's desire always does seem to a woman of her -temperament, even whilst it dominates and solicits her, and forces her -to share something of its own intoxication. - -'Egon is very unreasonable,' said Mdme. Ottilie. 'He believes that -if you had not met Réné you would have in time loved himself. It is -foolish. Love is a destiny. Had you married him you would not have -loved him. He would soon have perceived that and been miserable, much -more miserable than he is now, for he would have been unable to release -you. I think he should not have come here at all if he could not have -met M. de Sabran with at least equanimity.' - -'I think so, too,' said Wanda, and an impatience against her cousin -began to grow into anger; without being conscious of it, she had placed -Sabran so high in her own esteem that she could forgive none who did -not adore her own idol. It was a weakness in her that was lovely and -touching in a character that had had before hardly enough of the usual -foibles of humanity. Every error of love is lovable. - -Vàsàrhely could not dismiss from his mind the impression which haunted -him. - -'I conclude you knew the Marquis de Sabran well in France?' he said one -day to Baron Kaulnitz, who was still there. - -Kaulnitz demurred. - -'No, I cannot say that I did. I knew him by repute; that was not very -pure. However, the Faubourg always received and sustained him; the -Comte de Chambord did the same; they were the most interested. One -cannot presume to think they could be deceived.' - -'Deceived!' echoed Prince Egon. 'What a singular word to use. Do you -mean to imply the possibility of--of any falsity on his part--any -intrigue to appear what he is not?' - -'No,' said Kaulnitz, with hesitation. 'Honestly, I cannot say so much. -An impression was given me at the moment of his signing his marriage -contract that he concealed something; but it was a mere suspicion. As I -told you, the whole Legitimist world, the most difficult to enter, the -most incredulous of assumption, received him with open arms. All his -papers were of unimpeachable regularity. There was never a doubt hinted -by anyone, and yet I will confess to you, my dear Egon, since we are -speaking in confidence, that I have had always my own doubts as to his -marquisate of Sabran.' - -'_Grosser Gott!_' exclaimed Vàsàrhely, as he started from his seat. -'Why did you not stop the marriage?' - -'One does not stop a marriage by a mere baseless suspicion,' replied -Kaulnitz. 'I have not one shadow of reason for my probably quite -unwarranted conjecture. It merely came into my mind also at the -signing of the contracts. I had already done all I could to oppose -the marriage, but Wanda was inflexible--you are witness of the charm -he still possesses for her--and even the Princess was scarcely -less infatuated. Besides, it must be granted that few men are more -attractive in every way; and as he _is_ one of us, whatever else he be, -his honour is now our honour, as you said yourself the other day.' - -'One could always kill him,' muttered Vàsàrhely, 'and set her free so, -if one were sure.' - -'Sure of what?' said Kaulnitz, rather alarmed at the effect of his own -words. 'You Magyar gentlemen always think that every knot can be cut -with a sword. If he were a mere adventurer (which is hardly possible) -it would not mend matters for you to run him through the heart; there -are his children.' - -'Would the marriage be legal if his name were assumed?' - -'Oh, no! She could have it annulled, of course, both by Church and Law. -All those pretty children would have no rights and no name. But we are -talking very wildly and in a theatrical fashion. He is as certainly -Marquis de Sabran as I am Karl von Kaulnitz.' - -Vàsàrhely said nothing; his mind was in tumult, his heart oppressed by -a sense of secrecy and of a hope that was guilty and mean. - -He did not speak to his companion of Vassia Kazán, but his conjecture -seemed to hover before his sight like a black cloud which grew bigger -every hour. - -He remained at Hohenszalras throughout the autumnal festivities. He -felt as if he could not go away with that doubt still unsolved, that -suspicion either confirmed or uprooted. His cousin grew as uneasy at -his presence there as she had before been uneasy at his absence. Her -instinct told her that he was the foe of the one dearest to her on -earth. She felt that the gallant and generous temper of him had changed -and grown morose; he was taciturn, moody, solitary. - -He spent almost all his time out of doors, and devoted himself to the -hardy sport of the mountains and forests with a sort of rage. Guests -came and went at the castle; some were imperial, some royal people; -there was always a brilliant circle of notable persons there, and -Sabran played his part as their host, with admirable tact, talent, and -good humour. His wit, his amiability, his many accomplishments, and -his social charm were in striking contrast to the sombre indifference -of Vàsàrhely, whom men had no power to amuse and women no power to -interest. Prince Egon was like a magnificent picture by Rembrandt, -as he sat in his superb uniform in a corner of a ball-room with the -collars of his orders blazing with jewels, and his hands crossed on -the diamond-studded hilt of his sword; but he was so mute, so gloomy, -so austere, that the vainest, coquette there ceased to hope to please -him, and his most cordial friends found his curt contemptuous replies -destroy their desire for his companionship. - -Wanda, who was frankly and fondly attached to him, began to long for -his departure. The gaze of his black eyes, fixed in their fire and -gloom on the little gay figures of her children, filled her with a -vague apprehension. - -'If he would only find some one and be happy,' she thought, with anger -at this undesired and criminal love which clung to her so persistently. - -'Am I made of wax?' he said to her with scorn, when she ventured to -hint at her wishes. - -'How I wish I had not asked him to remain here!' she said to herself -many times. It was not possible for her to dismiss her cousin, who had -been from his infancy accustomed to look on the Hohenszalrasburg as his -second home. But as circle after circle of guests came, went, and were -replaced by others, and Egon Vàsàrhely still retained the rooms in the -west tower that had been his from boyhood, his continual presence grew -irksome and irritating to her. - -'He forgets that it is now my husband's house!' she thought. - -There was only one living creature in all the place to whom Vàsàrhely -unbent from his sullen and haughty reserve, and that one was the child -Bela. - -Bela was as beautiful as the morning, with his shower of golden hair, -and his eyes like sapphires, and his skin like a lily. With curious -self-torture Vàsàrhely would attract the child to him by tales of -daring and of sport, and would watch with intent eyes every line of -the small face, trying therein to read the secret of the man by whom -this child had been begotten. Bela, all unconscious, was proud of this -interest displayed in him by this mighty soldier, of whose deeds in war -Ulrich and Hubert and Otto told such Homeric tales. - -'Bela will fight with you when he is big,' he would say, trying to -inclose the jewelled hilt of Vàsàrhely's sword in his tiny fingers, or -trotting after him through the silence of the tapestried corridors. -When she saw them thus together she felt that she could understand the -superstitious fear of oriental women when their children are looked at -fixedly. - -'You are very good to my boy,' she said once to Vàsàrhely, when he had -let the child chatter by his side for hours. - -Vàsàrhely turned away abruptly. - -'There are times when I could kill your son, because he is his,' he -muttered, 'and there are times when I could worship him, because he is -yours.' - -'Do not talk so, Egon,'she said, gravely. 'If you will feel so, it is -best--I must say it--it is best that you should see neither my child -nor me.' - -He took no notice of her words. - -'The children would always be yours,' he muttered. 'You would never -leave him, never disgrace him for their sake; even if one knew--it -would be of no use.' - -'Dear Egon,' she said in real distress, 'what strange things are you -saying? Are you mad? Whose disgrace do you mean?' - -'Let us suppose an extreme case,' he said, with a hard laugh. 'Suppose -their father were base, or vile, or faithless, would you hate the -children? Surely you would.' - -'I have not imagination enough to suppose any such thing,'she said very -coldly. 'And you do not know what a mother's love is, my cousin.' - -He walked away, leaving her abruptly. - -'How strange he grows!' she thought. 'Surely his mind must be touched; -jealousy is a sort of madness.' - -She bade the children's attendants keep Count Bela more in the -nurseries; she told them that the child teased her guests, and must -not be allowed to run so often at his will and whim over the house.' -She never seriously feared that Egon would harm the child: his noble -and chivalrous nature could not have changed so cruelly as that; but -it hurt her to see his eyes fixed on the son of Sabran with such -persistent interrogation and so strange an intensity of observation. It -made her think of old Italian tales of the evil eye. - -She did not know that Vàsàrhely had come thither with a sincere and -devout intention to conquer his jealous hatred of her husband, and -to habituate himself to the sight of her in the new relations of her -life. She did not know that he would probably have honestly tried to -do his duty, and honestly striven to feel at least esteem for one so -near to her, if the suspicion which had become almost certainty in his -own mind had not made him believe that he saw in Sabran a traitor, -a bastard, and a criminal whose offences were the deepest of all -possible offences, and whose degradation was the lowest of all possible -degradation, in the sight of the haughty magnate of Hungary, steeped -to the lips in all the traditions and the convictions of an unsullied -nobility. If what he believed were, indeed, the truth, he would hold -Sabran lower than any beggar crouching at the gate of his palace in -Buda, than any gipsy wandering in the woods of his mountain fortress -of Taróc. If what he believed were the truth, no leper would seem to -him so loathsome as this brilliant and courtly gentleman to whom his -cousin had given her hand, her honour, and her life. - -'Doubt, like a raging tooth,' gnawed at his heart, and a hope, which -he knew was dishonourable to his chivalry, sprang up in him, vague, -timid, and ashamed. If, indeed, it were as he believed, would not such -crime, proven on the sinner, part him for ever from the pure, proud -life of Wanda von Szalras? And then, as he thought thus, he groaned in -spirit, remembering the children--the children with their father's face -and their father's taint in them, for ever living witnesses of their -mother's surrender to a lying hound. - -'Your cousin cannot be said to contribute to the gaiety of your -house parties, my love,' Sabran observed with a smile one day, when -they received the announcement of an intended visit from one of the -archdukes. Egon Vàsàrhely was still there, and even his cousin, much -as she longed for his departure, could not openly urge it upon him; -relationship and hospitality alike forbade. - -'He is sadly changed,' she answered. 'He was always silent, but he is -now morose. Perhaps he lives too much at Taróc, where all is very wild -and solitary.' - -'He lives too much in your memory,' said Sabran, with no compassion. -'Could he determine to forgive my marriage with you, there would be a -chance for him to recover his peace of mind. Only, my Wanda, it is not -possible for any man to be consoled for the loss of you.' - -'But that is nothing new,' she answered, with impatience. 'If he felt -so strongly against you, why did he come here? It was not like his -high, chivalrous honour.' - -'Perhaps he came with the frank will to be reconciled to his fate,' -said Sabran, not knowing how closely he struck the truth, 'and at the -sight of you, of all that he lost and that I gained, he cannot keep his -resolution.' - -'Then he should go away,' she said, with that indifference to all -others save the one beloved which all love begets. - -'I think he should. But who can tell him so?' - -'I did myself the other day. I shall tell him so more plainly, if -needful. Who cannot honour you shall be no friend of mine, no guest of -ours.' - -'Oh, my love!' said Sabran, whose conscience was touched. 'Do not have -feud with your relatives for my sake. They are worthier than I.' - -The Archduke, with his wife, arrived there on the following day, and -Hohenszalras was gorgeous in the September sun, with all the pomp with -which the lords of it had always welcomed their Imperial friends. -Vàsàrhely looked on as a spectator at a play when he watched its -present master receive the Imperial Prince with that supreme ease, -grace, and dignity which were so admirably blent in him. - -'Can he be but a marvellous comedian?' wondered the man, to whom a -bastard was less even than a peasant. - -There was nothing of vanity, of effort, of assumption visible in the -perfect manner of his host. He seemed to the backbone, in all the -difficult subtleties of society, as in the simple, frank intercourse -of man and man, that which even Kaulnitz had conceded that he was, -_gentilhomme de race._ Could he have been born a serf--bred from the -hour's caprice of a voluptuary for a serving-woman? - -Vàsàrhely sat mute, sunk so deeply in his own thoughts that all the -festivities round him went by like a pageantry on a stage, in which he -had no part. - -'He looks like the statue of the Commendatore,' said Olga Brancka, who -had returned for the archducal visit, as she glanced at the sombre, -stately figure of her brother-in-law, Sabran, to whom she spoke, -laughed with a little uneasiness. Would the hand of Egon Vàsàrhely ever -seize him and drag him downward like the hand of the statue in _Don -Giovanni?_ - -'What a pity that Wanda did not marry him, and that I did not marry -you!' said Mdme. Brancka, saucily, but with a certain significance of -meaning. - -'You do me infinite honour!' he answered. 'But, at the risk of seeming -most ungallant, I must confess the truth. I am grateful that the gods -arranged matters as they are. You are enchanting, Madame Olga, as a -guest, but as a wife--alas! who can drink _kümmel_ every day?' - -She smiled enchantingly, showing her pretty teeth, but she was bitterly -angered. She had wished for a compliment at the least. 'What can these -men see in Wanda?' she thought savagely. 'She is handsome, it is true; -but she has no coquetry, no animation, no passion. She is dressed by -Worth, and has a marvellous quantity of old jewels; but for that no one -would say anything of her except that she was much too tall and had a -German face!' And she persuaded herself that it was so; if the Venus -de Medici could be animated into life, women would only remark that her -waist was large. - -Mdme. Olga was still very lovely, and took care to be never seen except -at her loveliest. She always treated Sabran with a great familiarity, -which his wife was annoyed by, though she did not display her -annoyance. Mdme Brancka always called him _mon cousin_ or _beau cousin_ -in the language she usually used, and affected much more previous -knowledge of him than their acquaintance warranted, since it had been -merely such slight intimacy as results from moving in the same society. -She was small and slight, but of great spirit; she shot, fished, rode, -and played billiards with equal skill; she affected an adoration of -the most dangerous sports, and even made a point of sharing the bear -and the boar hunt. Wanda, who, though a person of much greater real -courage, abhorred all the cruelties and ferocities that perforce -accompany sport, saw her with some irritation go out with Sabran on -these expeditions. - -'Women are utterly out of place in such sport as that, Olga,' she urged -to her; 'and indeed are very apt to bring the men into peril, for of -course no man can take care of himself whilst he has the safety of a -woman to attend to; she must of necessity distract and trouble him.' - -But the Countess Stefan only laughed, and slipped with affectation her -jewelled hunting-knife into its place in her girdle. - -Throughout the Archduke's visit, and after the Prince's departure, -Vàsàrhely continued to stay on, whilst a succession of other guests -came and went, and the summer deepened into autumn. He felt that he -could not leave his cousin's house with that doubt unsolved; yet he -knew that he might stay on for ever with no more certainty to reward -him and confirm his suspicions than he possessed now. His presence -annoyed his host, but Sabran was too polished a gentleman to betray -his irritation; sometimes Vàsàrhely shunned his presence and his -conversation for days together, at other times he sought them and rode -with him, shot with him, and played cards with him, in the vain hope of -gathering from some chance admission or allusion some clue to Sabran's -early days. But a perfectly happy man is not given at any time to -retrospection, and Sabran less than most men loved his past. He would -gladly have forgotten everything that he had ever done or said before -his marriage at the Hofburg. - -The intellectual powers and accomplishments of Sabran dazzled Vàsàrhely -with a saddened sense of inferiority. Like most great soldiers he -had a genuine humility in his measurement of himself. He knew that he -had no talents except as a leader of cavalry. 'It is natural that she -never looked at me,' he thought, 'when she had once seen this man, with -his wit, his grace, his facility.' He could not even regard the skill -of Sabran in the arts, in the salon, in the theatre with the contempt -which the 'Wild Boar of Taróc' might have felt for a mere maker of -music, a squire of dames, a writer of sparkling little comedies, a -painter of screens, because he knew that both at Idrac and in France -Sabran had showed himself the possessor of those martial and virile -qualities, by the presence or the absence of which the Hungarian noble -measured all men. He himself could only love well and live well: he -reflected sadly that honesty and honour are not alone enough to draw -love in return. - -As the weeks passed on, his host grew so accustomed to his presence -there that it ceased to give him offence or cause him anxiety. - -'He is not amusing, and he is not always polite,' he said to his -wife, 'but if he likes to consume his soul in gazing at you, I am not -jealous, my Wanda; and so taciturn a rival would hardly ever be a -dangerous one.' - -'Do not jest about it,' she answered him, with some real pain. 'I -should be very vexed at his remaining here, were it not that I feel -sure he will in time learn to live down his regrets, and to esteem and -appreciate you.' - -'Who knows but his estimation of me may not be the right one?' said -Sabran, with a pang of sad self-knowledge. And although he did not -attach any significance to the prolonged sojourn of the lord of Taróc -and Mohacs, he began to desire once more that his guest would return -to the solitudes of the Carlowitz vineyards, or of the Karpathian -mountains and gorges of snow. - -When over seven weeks had passed by, Vàsàrhely himself began to think -that to stay in the Iselthal was useless and impossible, and he had -heard from Taróc tidings which annoyed him--that his brother Stefan -and his wife, availing themselves of his general permission to visit -any one of his places when they chose had so strained the meaning of -the permission that they had gone to his castle, with a score of their -Parisian friends, and were there keeping high holiday and festival, -to the scandal of his grave old stewards, and their own exceeding -diversion. Hospitable to excess as he was, the liberty displeased him, -especially as his, men wrote him word that his favourite horses; were -being ruined by over-driving, and in the list of the guests which they -sent him were the names of more than one too notorious lady, against -whose acquaintance he had repeatedly counselled Olga Brancka. He would -not have cared much what they had done at any other of his houses, but -at Taróc, his mother, whom he had adored, had lived and died, and the -place was sacred to him. - -He determined to tear himself away from Hohenszalras, and go and -scatter these gay unbidden revellers in the dusky Karpathian ravines. -'I cannot stay here for ever,' he thought, 'and I might be here for -years without acquiring any more certainty than my own conviction. -Either I am wrong, or he has nothing to conceal, or if I be right he is -too wary to betray himself. If only I could see his shoulder where I -struck the dagger--but I cannot go into his bath-room and say to him, -"You are Vassia Kazán!"' - -He resolved to leave on the day after the morrow. For the next day -there was organised on a large scale a hunting party, to which the -nobility of the Tauern had been bidden. There were only some half-dozen -men then staying in the Burg, most of them Austrian soldiers. The delay -gave him the chance he longed for, which but for an accident he might -never have had, though he had tarried there half a century. - -Early in the morning there was a great breakfast in the Rittersaal, -at which Wanda did not appear. Sabran received the nobles and gentry -of the province, and did the honours of his table with his habitual -courtliness and grace. He was not hospitable in Vàsàrhely's sense of -the word: he was too easily wearied by others, and too contemptuous of -ordinary humanity; but he was alive to the pleasure of being lord of -Hohenszalras, and sensible of the favour with which he was looked upon -by a nobility commonly so exclusive and intolerant of foreign invasion. - -Breakfast over, the whole party went out and up into the high woods. -The sport at Hohenszalras always gave fair play to beast and bird. In -deference to the wishes of his wife, Sabran would have none of those -battues which make of the covert or the forest a slaughterhouse. He -himself disdained that sort of sport, and liked danger and adventure -to mingle with his out-of-door pastimes. Game fairly found by the -spaniel or the pointer; the boar, the wolf, the bear, honestly started -and given its fair chance of escape or revenge; the steinbock stalked -in a long hard day with peril and effort--these were all delightful -to him on occasion; but for the crowded drive, the horde of beaters, -the terrified bewildered troop of forest denizens driven with sticks -on to the very barrels of the gunners, for this he had the boundless -contempt of a man who had chased the buffalo over the prairie, and -lassoed the wild horse and the wild bull leaning down from the saddle -of his mustang. The day passed off well, and his guests were all -content: he alone was not, because a large brown bear which he had -sighted and tired at twice had escaped him, and roused that blood-lust -in him which is in the hearts of all men. - -'Will you come out alone with me to-morrow and try for that grand -brute?' he said to Vàsàrhely, as the last of his guests took their -departure. - -Vàsàrhely hesitated. - -'I intended to leave to-morrow; I have been here too long. But since -you are so good, I will stay twenty-four hours longer.' - -He was ashamed in his own heart of the willingness with which he caught -at the excuse to remain within sight of his cousin and within watch of -Sabran. - -'I am charmed,' said his host, in himself regretful that he had -suggested a reason for delay; he had not known that the other had -intended to leave so soon. They remained together on the terrace giving -directions to the _jägermeister_ for the next day. - -Vàsàrhely looked at his successful rival and said to himself: 'It is -impossible. I must be mad to dream it. I am misled by a mere chance -resemblance, and even my own memory may have deceived me; I was but a -child. - -In the forenoon they both went out into the high hills again, where -the wild creatures had their lairs and were but seldom troubled by a -rifle-shot. They brought down some black grouse and hazel grouse and -mountain partridges on their upward way. The jägers were scattered in -the woods; the day was still and cloudy, a true sportsman's day, with -no gleam of sun to shine in their eyes and on the barrels of their -rifles. Sabran shooting to the right, Vàsàrhely to the left, they went -through the grassy drives that climbed upward and upward, and many a -mountain hare was rolled over in their path, and many a ptarmigan and -capercailzie. But when they reached the high pine forests where the big -game harboured, they ceased to shoot, and advanced silently, waiting -and reserving their fire for any large beast the jägers might start and -drive towards them from above. In the greyness of the day the upper -woods were almost dusky, so thickly, stood the cembras and the Siberian -pines. There was everywhere the sound of rushing waters, some above -some underground. - -'The first beast to you, the second to me,' said Sabran, in a whisper -to his companion, who demurred and declared that the first fire should -be his host's. - -'No,' said Sabran. 'I am at home. Permit me so small a courtesy to my -guest.' - -Vàsàrhely flushed darkly. In his very politeness this man seemed to him -to contrive to sting and wound him. - -Sabran, however, who had meant nothing more than he had said, did not -observe the displeasure he had caused, and paused at the spot agreed -upon with Otto, a grassy spot where four drives met. There they both -in absolute silence waited and watched for what the hunter's patron, -good S. Hubert, might vouchsafe to send them. They had so waited about -a quarter of an hour, when down one of the drives made dusky by the low -hanging arolla boughs, there came towards them a great dark beast, and -would have gone by them had not Vàsàrhely fired twice as it approached. -The bear rolled over, shot through the head and heart. - -'Well done,' cried Sabran, but scarcely were the words off his lips -when another bear burst through the boughs ahead of him by fifty yards. -He levelled his rifle and received its approach with two bullets in -rapid succession. But neither had entered a vital part, and the animal, -only rendered furious by pain, reared and came towards him with -deadliest intent, its great fangs grinning. He fired again, and this -shot struck home. The poor brute fell with a crash, the blood pouring -from its mouth. It was not dead and its agony was great. - -'I will give it the _coup de grâce_,' said Sabran, who, for his wife's -sake', was as humane as any hunter ever can be to the beasts he slew. - -'Take care,' said Vàsàrhely. 'It is dangerous to touch a wounded bear. -I have known one that looked stone dead rise up and kill a man.' - -Sabran did not heed. He went up to the poor, panting, groaning mass of -fur and flesh, and drew his hunting-knife to give it the only mercy -that it was now possible for it to receive. But as he stooped to -plunge the knife into its heart the bear verified the warning he had -been given. Gathering all its oozing strength in one dying effort to -avenge its murder, it leaped on him, dashed him to the earth, and clung -to him with claw and tooth fast in his flesh. He freed his right arm -from its ponderous weight, its horrible grip, and stabbed it with his -knife as it clung to and lacerated him where he lay upon the grass. -In an instant, Vàsàrhely and the jäger who was with them were by his -side, freed him from the animal, and raised him from the ground. He -was deluged with its blood and his own. Vàsàrhely, for one moment of -terrible joy, for which he loathed himself afterwards, thought, 'Is he -dead?' Men had died of lesser things than this. - -He stood erect and smiled, and said that it was nothing, but even as he -spoke a faintness came over him, and his lips turned grey. - -The jäger supported him tenderly, and would have had him sit down upon -a boulder of rock, but he resisted. - -'Let me get to that water, he said feebly, looking to a spot a few -yards off, where one of the many torrents of the Hohe Tauern tumbled -from the wooded cliff above through birch and beechwood, and rushing -underground left a clear round brown pool amongst the ferns. He took a -draught from the flask of brandy; tendered him by the lad, and leaning -on the youth, and struggling against the sinking swoon that was coming -on him, walked to the edge of the pool, and dropped down there on one -of the mossy stones which served as a rough chair. - -'Strip me, and wash the blood away, he said to the huntsman, whilst the -green wood and the daylight, and the face of the man grew dim to him, -and seemed to recede further and further in a misty darkness. The youth -obeyed, and cut away the velvet coat, the cambric shirt, till he was -naked to his waist; then, making sponges of handkerchiefs, the jäger -began to wash the blood from him and staunch it as best he could. - -Egon Vàsàrhely stood by, without offering any aid; his eyes were -fastened on the magnificent bust of Sabran, as the sunlight fell on the -fair blue-veined flesh, the firm muscles, the symmetrical throat, the -slender, yet sinewy arms, round one of which was clasped a bracelet of -fair hair. He had the chance he needed. - -He approached and told the lad roughly to leave the Marquis to him, -he was doing him more harm than good; he himself had seen many -battle-fields, and many men bleeding to death upon their mother earth. -By this time Sabran's eyes were closed; he was hardly conscious of -anything, a great numbness and infinite exhaustion had fallen upon him; -his lips moved feebly. 'Wanda!' he said once or twice,'Wanda!' - -The face of the man who leaned above him grew dark as night; he gnashed -his teeth as he begun his errand of mercy. - -Leave me with your lord,' he said to the young jäger. 'Go you to the -castle. Find Herr Greswold, bring him; do not alarm the Countess, and -say nothing to the household.' - -The huntsman went, fleet as a roe. Vàsàrhely remained alone with -Sabran, who only heard the sound of the rushing water magnified a -million times on his dulled ear. - -Vàsàrhely tore the shirt in shreds, and laved and bathed the wounds, -and then began to bind them with the skill of a soldier who had often -aided his own wounded troopers. But first of all, when he had washed -the blood away, he searched with keen and eager eyes for a scar on the -white skin--and found it. - -On the right shoulder was a small triangular mark; the mark of what, -to a soldier's eyes, told of an old wound. When he saw it he smiled a -cruel smile, and went on with his work of healing. - -Sabran leaned against the rock behind him; his eyes were still closed, -the pulsations of his heart were irregular. He had lost a great -quantity of blood, and the pool at his feet was red. They were but -flesh wounds, and there was no danger in them themselves, but great -veins had been severed, and the stream of life had hurried forth in -torrents. Vàsàrhely thrust the flask between his lips, but he could not -swallow. - -All had been done that could be for the immediate moment. The stillness -of the deep woods was around them; the body of the brown bear lay on -the soaked grass; a vulture scenting death, was circling above against -the blue sky. Over the mind of his foe swept at the sight of them one -of those hideous temptations which assail the noblest natures in an -hour of hatred. If he tore the bandages he had placed there off the -rent veins of the unconscious man whom he watched, the blood would -leap out again in floods, and so weaken the labouring heart that in -ten minutes more its powers would fall so low that all aid would be -useless. Never more would the lips of Sabran meet his wife! Never -more would his dreams be dreamed upon her breast! For the moment the -temptation seemed to curl about him like a flame; he shuddered, and -crossed himself. Was he a soldier to slay in cold blood by treachery a -powerless rival? - -He leaned over Sabran again, and again tried to force the mouthpiece -of his wine-flask through his teeth. A few drops passed them, and -he revived a little, and swallowed a few drops more. The blood was -arrested in its escape, and the pulsations of the heart were returning -to their normal measure; after a while he unclosed his eyes, and looked -up at the green leaves, at the blue sky. - -'Do not alarm Wanda,' he said feebly. 'It is a scratch; it will be -nothing. Take me home.' - -With his left hand he felt for the hair bracelet on his right arm, -between the shoulder and the wrist. It was stiff with his own blood. - -Then Vàsàrhely leaned over him and met his upward gaze, and said in his -ear, that seemed still filled with the rushing of many waters, 'You are -Vassia Kazán!' - -When a little later the huntsman returned, bringing the physician, whom -he had met a mile nearer the house in the woods, and some peasants -bearing a litter made out of pine branches and wood moss, they found -Sabran stretched insensible beside the water-pool; and Egon Vàsàrhely, -who stood erect beside him, said in a strange tone: - -'I have stanched the blood, and he has swooned, you see. I commit him -to your hands. I am not needed.' - -And, to their surprise, he turned and walked away with swift steps into -the green gloom of the dense forest. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Sabran was still insensible when he was carried to the house. - -When he regained consciousness he was on his own bed, and his wife was -bending over him. A convulsion of grief crossed his face as he lifted -his eyelids and looked at her. - -'Wanda,' he murmured feebly, 'Wanda, you will forgive----' - -She kissed him passionately, while her tears fell like rain upon his -forehead. She did not hear his words distinctly; she was only alive to -the intense joy of his recovered consciousness, of the sound of his -voice, of the sense of his safety. She kneeled by his bed, covering his -hands with caresses, prodigal of a thousand names of love, given up to -an abandonment of terror and of hope which broke down all the serenity -and self-command of her habitual temper. She was not even aware of the -presence of others. The over-mastering emotions of anguish and of joy -filled her soul, and made her seem deaf, indifferent to all living -things save one. - -Sabran lay motionless. He felt her lips, he heard her voice; he did not -look up again, nor did he speak again. He shut his eyes, and slowly -remembered all that had passed. Greswold approached him and held his -fingers on his wrist, and held a little glass to his mouth. Sabran put -it away. 'It is an opiate,' he said feebly; 'I will not have it.' - -He was resolute; he closed his teeth, he thrust the calming draught -away. - -He was thinking to himself: 'Sometimes in unconsciousness one speaks.' - -'You are not in great pain?' asked the physician. He made a negative -movement of his head. What were the fire and the smart of his lacerated -flesh, of his torn muscles, to the torments of his fears, to the agony -of his long stifled conscience? - -'Do not torment him, let him be still,' she said to the physician; she -held his hand in both her own and pressed it to her heart. His languid -eyes thanked her, then closed again. - -Herr Greswold withdrew to a little distance and waited. It seemed to -him strange that a man of the high courage and strong constitution of -Sabran should be thus utterly broken down by any wound that was not -mortal; should be thus sunk into dejection and apathy, making no effort -to raise himself, even to console and reassure his wife. It was not -like his careless and gallant temper, his virile and healthful strength. - -It was true, the doctor reflected, that he had lost a great amount of -blood. Such a loss he knew sometimes affects the heart and shatters the -nervous system in many unlooked-for ways. Yet, he thought, there was -something beyond this; the attitude and the regard of Egon Vàsàrhely -had been unnatural at such an hour of peril. 'When he said just now -"forgive," what did he mean?' reflected the old man, whose ear had -caught the word which had escaped that of Wanda, who had been only -alive to the voice she adored. - -The next four days were anxious and terrible. Sabran did not recover as -the physician expected that he would, seeing the nature of his wounds -and the naturally elastic and sanguine temperament he possessed. He -slept little, had considerable fever, woke from the little rest he -had, startled, alarmed, bathed in cold sweats; at other times he lay -still in an apathy almost comatose, from which all the caresses and -entreaties of his wife failed to rouse him. They began to fear that the -discharge from the arteries had in some subtle and dangerous manner -affected the action of the heart, the composition of the blood, and -produced aneurism or pyæmia. 'The hero of Idrac to be prostrated by a -mere flesh wound!' thought Herr Greswold in sore perplexity. He sent -for a great man of science from Vienna, who, when he came, declared the -treatment admirable, the wounds healthy, the heart in a normal state, -but added it was evident the nervous system had received a severe -shock, the effects of which still remained. - -'But it is that which I cannot understand,' said the old man in -despair. 'If you only knew the Marquis de Sabran as I know him; the -most courageous, the most gay, the most resolute of men! A man to laugh -at death in its face! A man absolutely without fear!' - -The other assented. - -'Every one knows what he did in the floods at Idrac,' he answered; 'but -he has a sensitive temperament for all that. If you did not tell me it -is impossible, I should say that he had had some mental shock, some -great grief. The prostration seems to me more of the mind than the -body. But you have assured me it is impossible?' - -'Impossible! There does not live on earth a man so happy, so fortunate, -so blessed in all the world as he.' - -'Men have a past that troubles them sometimes,' said the Vienna -physician. 'Nay, I mean nothing, but I believe that M. de Sabran was a -man of pleasure. The cup of pleasure sometimes has dregs that one must -drink long afterwards. I do not mean anything; I merely suggest. The -prostration has to my view its most probable origin in mental trouble; -but it would do him more harm than good to excite him by any effort to -certify this. To the Countess von Szalras I have merely said, that his -state is the result of the large loss of blood, and, indeed, after all -it may be so.' - -On the fifth day, Sabran, still lying in that almost comatose silence -which had been scarcely broken since his accident, said in a scarce -audible voice to his wife: - -'Is your cousin here?' - -She stooped towards him and answered: - -'Yes; he is here, love. All the others went immediately, but Egon -remained. I suppose he thought it looked kinder to do so. I have -scarcely seen him, of course.' - -The pallor of his face grew greyer; he turned his head away restlessly. - -'Why does he not go?' he muttered in his throat. 'Does he wait for my -death?' - -'Oh, Réné! hush, hush!' she said, with horror and amaze. 'My love, how -can you say such things? You are in no danger; the doctor assures me -so. In a week or two you will be well, you will be yourself.' - -'Send your cousin away.' - -She hesitated; troubled by his unreasoning, restless jealousy, which -seemed to be the only consciousness of life remaining with him. 'I will -obey you, love; you are lord here,' she said softly; 'but will it not -look strange? No guest can well be told to go.' - -'A guest!--he is an enemy!' - -She sighed, knowing how hopelessly reason can struggle against the -delusions of a sick bed. 'I will tell him to go to-morrow,' she said, -to soothe him. 'To-night it is too late.' - -'Write to him--do not leave me.' - -There was a childlike appeal in his voice, that from a man so strong -had a piteous pathos. Her eyes swam with tears as she heard. - -'Oh, my dearest, I will not leave you!' she said passionately, 'not for -one moment whilst I live; and oh, my beloved! what could death ever -change in _me_? Have you so little faith?' - -'You do not know,' he said, so low that his breath scarcely stirred the -air. - -She thought that he was tormented by a doubt that she would not be -faithful to him if he died. She stooped and kissed him. - -'My own, I would sooner be faithless to you in your life than after -death. Surely you know me well enough to know that at the least?' - -He was silent. A great sigh struggled from his breast and escaped his -pale lips like a parting breath. - -'Kiss me again,' he murmured; 'kiss me again, whilst----That gives me -life,' he said, as he drew her head down upon his bosom, where his -heart throbbed labouredly. A little while later he fell asleep. He -slept some hours. When he awoke he was consumed by a nameless fear. - -'Is your cousin gone?' he asked. - -She told him that it was one o'clock in the same night; she had not -written yet. - -'Let him stay,' he said feverishly. 'He shall not think I fear him. Do -you hear me? Let him stay.' - -The words seemed to her the causeless caprice of a jealousy magnified -and distorted by the weakness of fever. She strove to answer him -calmly. 'He shall go or stay as you please,' she assured him. 'What -does it matter, dear, what Egon does? You always speak of Egon. You -have never spoken of the children once.' - -She wanted to distract his thoughts. She was pained to think how deep, -though unspoken, his antagonism to her cousin must have been, that now -in his feebleness it--was the one paramount absorbing thought. - -A great sadness came upon his face as she spoke; his lips trembled a -little. - -'Ah! the children,' he repeated. 'Yes, bring them to me to-morrow. Bela -is too like me. Poor Bela, it will be his curse.' - -'It is my joy of joys,' she murmured, afraid to see how his mind seemed -astray. - -A shudder that was almost a spasm passed over him. He did not reply. He -turned his face away from her, and seemed to sleep. - -The day following he was somewhat calmer, somewhat stronger, though his -fever was high. - -The species of paralysis that had seemed to; fall on all his faculties -had in a great measure left him. 'You wish, me to recover,' he said to -her. 'I will do so, though perhaps it were, better not?' - -'He says strange things,' she said to Greswold. 'I cannot think why he -has such thoughts.' - -'It is not he, himself, that has them, it is his fever,' answered the -doctor. 'Why, in fever, do people often hate what they most adore when -they are in health?' - -She was reassured, but not contented. - -The children were brought to see him. Bela had with him an ivory -air-gun, with which he was accustomed to blow down his metal soldiers; -he looked at his father with awed, dilated eyes, and said that he would -go out with the gun and kill the brothers of the bear that had done the -harm. - -'The bear was quite right,' said Sabran. 'It was I who was wrong to -take a life not my own.' - -'That is beyond Bela,' said his wife. 'But I will translate it to him -into language he shall understand, though I fear very much, say what I -will, he will be a hunter and a soldier one day.' - -Bela looked from one to the other, knitting, his fair brows as he sat -on the edge of the bed. - -'Bela will be like Egon,' he said, 'with all gold and fur to dress up -in, and a big jewelled sword, and ten hundred men and horses, and Bela -will be a great killer of things!' - -Sabran smiled languidly, but she saw that he flinched at her cousin's -name. - -'I shall not love you, Bela, if you are a killer of things that are -God's dear creatures,' she said, as she sent the child away. - -His blue eyes grew dark with anger. - -'God only cares about Bela,' he said in innocent profanity, with -a profound sense of his own vastness in the sight of heaven, 'and -Gela,' he added, with the condescending tenderness wherewith he always -associated his brother and himself. - -'Where could he get all that overwhelming pride?' she said, as he was -led away. 'I have tried to rear him so simply. Do what I may he will -grow arrogant and selfish.' - -'My dear,' said Sabran, very bitterly, 'what avails that he was borne -in your bosom? He is my son!' - -'Gela is your son, and he is so different,' she answered, not seeking -to combat the self-censure to which she was accustomed in him, and -which she attributed to faults or follies of a past life, magnified by -a conscience too sensitive. - -'He is all yours then,' he said, with a wan smile. 'You have prevailed -over evil.' - -In a few days later his recovery had progressed so far that he had -regained his usual tone and look; his wounds were healing, and his -strength was returning. He seemed to the keen eyes of Greswold to have -made a supreme effort to conquer the moral depression into which he had -sunk, and to have thrust away his malady almost by force of will. As he -grew better he never spoke of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -On the fifteenth day from his accident he was restored enough to health -for apprehension to cease. He passed some hours seated at an open -window in his own room. He never asked if Vàsàrhely were still there or -not. - -Wanda, who never left him, wondered at that silence, but she forbore to -bring forward a name which had had such power to agitate him. She was -troubled at the nervousness which still remained to him. The opening of -a door, the sound of a step, the entrance of a servant made him start -and turn pale. When she spoke of it with anxiety to Herr Joachim, he -said vague sentences as to the nervousness which was consequent on -great loss of blood, and brought forward instances of soldiers who had -lost their nerve from the same cause. It did not satisfy her. She was -the descendant of a long line of warriors; she could not easily believe -that her husband's intrepid and careless courage could have been -shattered by a flesh wound. - -'Did you really mean,' he said abruptly to her that afternoon, as he -sat for the first time beside the open panes of the oriel; 'did you -really mean that were I to die you would never forget me for any other?' - -She rose quickly as if she had been stung, and her face flushed. - -'Do I merit that doubt from you? she said. 'I think not.' - -She spoke rather in sadness than in anger. He had hurt her, he could -not anger her. He felt the rebuke. - -'Even if I were dead, should I have all your life?' he murmured, in -wonder at that priceless gift. - -'You and your children,' she said gravely. 'Ah! what can death do -against great love? Make its bands stronger perhaps, its power purer. -Nothing else.' - -'I thank you,' he said very low, with great humility, with intense -emotion. For a moment he thought----should he tell her, should he trust -this deep tenderness which could brave death; and might brave even -shame unblenching? He looked at her from under his drooped eyelids, and -then--he dared not. He knew the pride which was in her better than she -did----her pride, which was inherited by her firstborn, and had been -the sign manual of all her imperious race. - -He looked at her where she stood with the light falling on her through -the amber hues of painted glass; worn, wan, and tired by so many days -and nights of anxious vigil, she yet looked a woman whom a nation -might salute with the _pro rege nostro!_ that Maria Theresa heard. All -that a great race possesses and rejoices in of valour, of tradition, -of dignity, of high honour, and of blameless truth were expressed in -her; every movement, attitude, and gesture spoke of the aristocracy of -blood. All that potent and subtle sense of patrician descent which had -most allured and intoxicated him in other days now awed and daunted -him. He dared not tell her of his treason. He dared not. He was as a -false conspirator before a great queen he has betrayed. - -'Are you faint, my love?' she asked him, alarmed to see the change upon -his face and the exhaustion with which he sunk, backward against the -cushions of his chair. - -'Mere weakness; it will pass,' he said, smiling as best he might, to -reassure her. He felt like a man who slides down a crevasse, and has -time and consciousness enough to see the treacherous ice go by him, -the black abyss yawning below him, the cold, dark death awaiting him -beyond, whilst on the heights the sun is shining. - -That night he entreated her to leave him and rest. He assured her he -felt well; he feigned a need of sleep. For fifteen nights she had not -herself lain down. To please him she obeyed, and the deep slumber of -tired nature soon fell upon her. When he thought she slept, he rose -noiselessly and threw on a long velvet coat, sable-lined, that was by -his bedside, and looked at his watch. It was midnight. - -He crossed the threshold of the open door into his wife's chamber and -stood beside her bed for a moment, gazing at her as she slept. She -seemed like the marble statue of some sleeping saint; she lay in the -attitude of S. Cecilia on her bier at Home. The faint lamplight made -her fair skin white as snow. Bound her arm was a bracelet of his hair -like the one which he wore of hers. He stood and gazed on her, then -slowly turned away. Great tears fell down his cheeks as he left her -chamber. He opened the door of his own room, the outer one which led -into the corridor, and walked down the long tapestry-hung gallery -leading to the guest-chambers. It was the first time that he had walked -without assistance; his limbs felt strange and broken, but he held on, -leaning now and then to rest against the arras. The whole house was -still. - -He took his way straight to the apartments set aside for guests. All -was dark. The little lamp he carried shed a circle of light about his -steps but none beyond him. When he reached the chamber which he knew -was Egon Vàsàrhely's he did not pause. He struck on its panels with a -firm hand. - -The voice of Vàsàrhely asked from within, 'Who is there? Is there -anything wrong?' - -'It is I! Open,' answered Sabran. - -In a moment more the door unclosed. Vàsàrhely stood within it; he was -not undressed. There were a dozen wax candles burning in silver sconces -on the table within. The tapestried figures on the walls grew pale and -colossal in their light. He did not speak, but waited. - -Sabran entered and closed the door behind him. His face was bloodless, -but he carried himself erect despite the sense of faintness which -assailed him. - -'You know who I am?' he said simply, without preface or supplication. - -Vàsàrhely gave a gesture of assent. - -'How did you know it?' - -'I remembered,' answered the other. - -There was a moment's silence. If Vàsàrhely could have withered to the -earth by a gaze of scorn the man before him, Sabran would have fallen -dead. As it was his eyes dropped beneath the look, but the courage and -the dignity of his attitude did not alter. He had played his part of -a great noble for so long that it had ceased to be assumption and had -become his nature. - -'You will tell her?' he said, and his voice did not tremble, though his -very soul seemed to swoon within him. - -'I shall not tell her!' - -Vàsàrhely spoke with effort; his words were hoarse and stern. - -'You will not?' - -An immense joy, unlooked for, undreamed of, sprang up in him, checked -as it rose by incredulity. - -'But you loved her!' he said, on an impulse which he regretted even -as the exclamation escaped him. Vàsàrhely threw his head back with a -gesture of fine anger. - -'If I loved' her what is that to you?' he said, with a restrained -violence vibrating in his words. 'It is, perhaps, because I once loved -her that your foul secret is safe with me now. I shall not tell her. I -waited to say this to you. I could not write it lest it should meet her -eyes. You came to ask me this? Be satisfied and go.' - -'I came to ask you this because, had you said otherwise, I would have -shot myself ere she could have heard.' - -Vàsàrhely said nothing; a great scorn was still set like the grimness -of death upon his face. He looked far away at the dim figures on the -tapestries; he shrunk from the sight of his boyhood's enemy as from -some loathly unclean thing he must not kill. - -'Suicide!' he thought, 'the Slav's courage, the serf's refuge! - -Before the sight of Sabran the room went round, the lights grew dull, -the figures on the walls became, fantastic and unreal. His heart beat -with painful effort, yet his ears, his throat, his brain seemed full -of blood. The nerves of his whole body seemed to shrink and thrill and -quiver, but the force of habit kept him composed and erect before this -man who was his foe, yet did for him what few friends would have done. - -'I do not thank you,' he said at last. 'I understand; you spare me for -her sake, not mine.' - -'But for her, I would treat you so.' - -As he spoke he broke in two a slender agate ruler which lay on the -writing-table at his elbow. - -'Go,' he added, 'you have had my word; though we live fifty years you -are safe from me, because----because----God forgive you! you are hers.' - -He made a gesture towards the door. Sabran shivered under the insult -which his conscience could not resent, his hand dared not avenge. - -Hearing this there fell away from him the arrogance that had been his -mask, the courage that had been his shield. He saw himself for the -first time as this man saw him, as all the world would see him if once -it knew his secret. For the first time his past offences rose up like -ghosts naked from their graves. The calmness, the indifference, the -cynicism, the pride which had been so long in his manner and in his -nature deserted him. He felt base-born before a noble, a liar before a -gentleman, a coward before a man of honour. - -Where he stood, leaning on a high caned chair to support himself -against the sickly weakness which still came on him from his scarce -healed wounds, he felt for the first time to cower and shrink before -this man who was his judge, and might become his accuser did he choose. -Something in the last words of Egon Vàsàrhely suddenly brought home -to him the enormity of his own sin, the immensity of the other's -forbearance. He suddenly realised all the offence to honour, all the -outrage to pride, all the ineffaceable indignity which he had brought -upon a great race: all that he had done, never to be undone by any -expiation of his own, in making Wanda von Szalras the mother of his -sons. Submissive, he turned without a word of gesture or of pleading, -and felt his way out of the chamber through the dusky mists of the -faintness stealing on him. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -He reached his own room unseen, feeling his way with his hands against -the tapestry of the wall, and had presence of mind enough to fling his -clothes off him and stagger to his bed, where he sank down insensible. - -She was still asleep. - -When dawn broke they found him ill, exhausted, with a return of fever. -He had once a fit of weeping like a child. He could not bear his wife a -moment from his sight. She reproached herself for having acceded to his -desire and left him unattended whilst she slept. - -But of that midnight interview she guessed nothing. - -Her cousin Egon sent her a few lines, saying that he had been summoned -to represent his monarch at the autumn manœuvres of Prussia, and had -left at daybreak without being able to make his farewell in person, -as he had previously to go to his castle of Taróc. She attached no -importance to it. When Sabran was told of his departure he said -nothing. He had recovered his power of self-control: the oriental -impassibility under emotion which was in his blood from his Persian -mother. If he betrayed himself he knew that it would be of little use -to have been spared by his enemy. The depression upon him his wife -attributed to his incapacity to move and lead his usual life; a trial -always so heavy to a strong man. As little by little his strength -returned, he became more like himself. In addressing her he had a -gentleness almost timid; and now and then she caught his gaze fastened -upon her with a strange appeal. - -One day, when he had persuaded her to ride in the forest, and he was -certain to be alone for two or three hours, he wrote the following -words to his foe and his judge: - -'Sir,----You will perhaps refuse to read anything written by me. Yet I -send you this letter, because I desire to say to you what the physical -weakness which was upon me the other night prevented my having time -or strength to explain. I desire also to put in your hands a proof -absolute against myself, with which you can do as you please, so that -the forbearance which you exercised, if it be your pleasure to continue -it, shall not be surprised from you by any momentary generosity, but -shall be your deliberate choice and decision. I have another course of -action to propose to you, to which I will come later. For the present -permit me to give you the outline of all the circumstances which have -governed my acts. I am not coward enough to throw the blame on fate or -chance; I am well aware that good men and great men combat and govern -both. Yet, something of course there lies in these, or, if not, excuse -at least explanation. You knew me (when you were a boy) as Vassia -Kazán, the natural son of the Prince Paul Ivanovitch Zabaroff. Up to -nine years old I dwelt with my grandmother, a Persian woman, on the -great plain between the Volga water and the Ural range. Thence I was -taken to the Lycée Clovis, a famous college. Prince Zabaroff I never -saw but one day in my Volga village, until, when I was fifteen years -old, I was sent to his house, Fleur de Roi, near Villerville, where I -remained two months, and where you insulted me and I chastised you, -and you gave me the wound that I have the mark of to this day. I then -returned to the Lycée, and stayed there two years unnoticed by him. -One day I was summoned by the principal, and told abruptly that the -Prince Zabaroff was dead--my protector, as they termed him--and that -I was penniless, with the world before me. I could not hope to make -you understand the passions that raged in me. You, who have always -been in the light of fortune, and always the head of a mighty family, -could comprehend nothing of the sombre hatreds, the futile revolts, -the bitter wrath against heaven and humanity which consumed me then, -thus left alone without even the remembrance of a word from my father. -I should have returned straightway to the Volga plains, and buried my -fevered griefs under their snows, had not I known that my grandmother -Maritza, the only living being I had ever loved, had died half a year -after I had been taken from her to be sent to the school in Paris. You -see, had I been left there I should have been a hunter of wild things -or a raftsman on the Volga all my years, and have done no harm. I had -a great passion in my childhood for an open-air, free life; my vices, -like my artificial tastes, were all learned in Paris. They, and the -love of pleasure they created, checked in me that socialistic spirit -which is the usual outcome of such â social anomaly as they had made of -me. I might have been a Nihilist but for that, and for the instinctive -tendency towards aristocratic and absolutist theories which were in -my blood. I was a true Russian noble, though a bastard one; and those -three months which I had passed at Fleur de Roi had intoxicated me -with the thirst for pleasure and enervated me with the longing to be -rich and idle. An actress whom I knew intimately also at that time did -me much harm. When Paul Zabaroff died he left me nothing, not even a -word. It is true that he died suddenly. I quitted the Lycée Clovis -with my clothes and my books; I had nothing else in the world. I sold -some of these and got to Havre. There I took a passage on a barque -going to Mexico with wine. The craft was unseaworthy; she went down -with all hands off the Pinos Island, and I, swimming for miles, alone -reached the shore. Women there were good to me. I got away in a canoe, -and rowed many miles and many days; the sea was calm, and I had bread, -fruit, and water enough to last two weeks. At the end of ten days I -neared a brig, which took me to Yucatan. My adventurous voyage made me -popular there. I gave a false name, of course, for I hated the name -of Vassia Kazán. War was going on at the time in Mexico, and I went -there and offered myself to the military adventurer who was at the -moment uppermost. I saw a good deal of guerilla warfare for a year. I -liked it: I fear I was cruel. The ruler of the hour, who was scarcely -more than a brigand, was defeated and assassinated. At the time of his -fall I was at the head of a few troopers far away in the interior. -Bands of Indians fell on us in great numbers. I was shot down and left -for dead. A stranger found me on the morning after, carried me to his -hut, and saved my life by his skill and care. This stranger was the -Marquis Xavier de Sabran, who had dwelt for nearly seventy years in the -solitude of those virgin forests, which nothing ever disturbed excepts -the hiss of an Indian's arrow or the roar of woods on fire. How he -lived there, and why, is all told in the monograph I have published of -him. He was a great and a good man. His life, lost under the shadows -of those virgin forests was the life of a saint and of a philosopher -in one. His influence upon me was the noblest that I had ever been -subject to; he did me nothing but good. His son had died early, having -wedded a Spanish Mexican ere he was twenty. His grandson had died -of snake-bite: he had been of my age. At times: he almost seemed to -think that this lad lived again in me. I spent eight years of my life -with him. His profound studies attracted me; his vast learning awed -me. The free life of the woods and sierras, the perilous sports, the -dangers from the Indian tribes, the researches into the lost history -of the perished nation, all these interested and occupied me. I was -glad to forget that I had ever lived another existence. Wholly unlike -as it was in climate, in scenery, in custom, the liberty of life on -the pampas and in the forests recalled to me my childhood on the -steppes of the Volga. I saw no European all those years. The only men -I came in contact with were Indians and half breeds; the only woman I -loved was an Indian girl; there was not even a Mexican _ranch_ near, -within hundreds of miles. The dense close-woven forest was between us -and the rest of the world; our only highway was a river, made almost -inaccessible by dense fields of reeds and banks of jungle and swamps -covered with huge lilies. It was a very simple existence, but in it -all the wants of nature were satisfied, all healthy desires could be -gratified, and it was elevated from brutishness by the lofty studies -which I prosecuted under the direction of the Marquis Xavier. Eight -whole years passed so. I was twenty-five years old when my protector -and friend died of sheer old age in one burning summer, against whose -heat he had no strength. He talked long and tenderly with me ere he -died; told me where to find all his papers, and gave me everything -he owned. It was not much. He made me one last request, that I would -collect his manuscripts, complete them, and publish them in France. -For some weeks after his death I could think of nothing but his loss. -I buried him myself, with the aid of an Indian who had loved him; and -his grave is there beside the ruins that he revered, beneath a grove of -cypress. I carved a cross in cedar wood, and raised it above the grave. -I found all his papers where he had indicated, underneath one of the -temple porticoes; his manuscripts I had already in my possession: all -those which had been brought with him from France by his Jesuit tutors, -and the certificates of his own and his father's births and marriages, -with those of his son, and of his grandson. There was also a paper -containing directions how to find other documents, with the orders and -patents of nobility of the Sabrans of Romaris, which had been hidden -in the oak wood upon their sea-shore in Finisterre. All these he had -desired me to seek and take. Now came upon me the temptation to a great -sin. The age of his grandson, the young Réné de Sabran, had been mine: -he also had perished from snake-bite, as I said, without any human -being knowing of it save his grandfather and a few natives. It seemed -to me that if I assumed his name I should do no one any wrong. It boots -not to dwell on the sophisms with which I persuaded myself that I had -the right to repair an injustice done to me by human law ere I was -born. Men less intelligent than I can always find a million plausible -reasons for doing that which they desire to do; and although the years -I had spent beside the Marquis Xavier had purified my character and -purged it of much of the vice and the cynicism I had learned in Paris, -yet I had little moral conscientiousness. I lived outside the law in -many ways, and was indifferent to those measures of right and wrong -which too often appeared to me mere puerilities. Do not suppose that -I ceased to be grateful to my benefactor; I adored his memory, but it -seemed to me I should do him no wrong whatever. Again and again he had -deplored to me that I was not his heir; he had loved me very truly, and -had given me all he held most dear----the fruits of his researches. -To be brief, I was sorely tempted, and I gave way to the temptation. -I had no difficulty in claiming recognition in the city of Mexico as -the Marquis de Sabran. The documents were there, and no creature knew -that they were not mine except a few wild Puebla Indians, who spoke -no tongue but their own, and never left their forest solitudes. I was -recognised by all the necessary authorities of that country. I returned -to France as the Marquis de Sabran. On my voyage I made acquaintance -with two Frenchmen of very high station, who proved true friends to -me, and had power enough to protect me from the consequences of not -having served a military term in France. On my arrival in Europe, I -went first to the Bay of Romaris: there I found at once all that had -been indicated to me as hidden in the oak wood above the sea. The -priest of Romaris, and the peasantry, at the first utterance of the -name, welcomed me with rapture; they had forgotten nothing----Bretons -never do forget. Vassia Kazán had been numbered with the drowned dead -men who had gone down when the _Estelle_ had foundered off the Pinos. -I had therefore no fear of recognition. I had grown and changed, so -much during my seven years' absence from Paris that I did not suppose -anyone would recognise the Russian collegian in the Marquis de Sabran. -And I was not in error. Even you, most probably, would never have known -me again had not your perceptions been abnormally quickened by hatred -of me as your cousin's husband; and had you even had suspicions you -could never have presumed to formulate them but for that accident in -the forest. It is always some such unforeseen trifle which breaks down -the wariest schemes. I will not linger on all the causes that made me -take the name I did. I can honestly say that had there been any fortune -involved, or any even distant heir to be wronged, I should not have -done it. As there was nothing save some insignia of knightly orders and -some acres of utterly unproductive sea-coast, I wronged no one. What -was left of the old manor I purchased with the little money I took over -with me. I repeat that I have wronged no one except your cousin, who is -my wife. The rest of my life you know. Society in Paris became gracious -and cordial to me. You will say that I must have had every moral sense -perverted before I could take such a course. But I did not regard it -as an immorality. Here was an empty title, like an empty shell, lying -ready for any occupant. Its usurpation harmed no one. I intended to -justify my assumption of it by a distinguished career, and I was aware -that my education had been beyond that of most gentlemen. It is true -that when I was fairly launched on a Parisian life pleasure governed -me more than ambition; and I found, which had not before occurred to -me, that the aristocratic creeds and the political loyalties which I -had perforce adopted with the name of the Sabrans de Romaris completely -closed all the portals of political ambition to me. Hence I became -almost by necessity a _fainéant_, and fate smiled upon me more than I -merited. I discharged my duty to the dead by the publication of all -his manuscripts. In this at least I was faithful. Paris applauded me. -I became in a manner celebrated. I need not say more, except that I -can declare to you the position I had entered upon soon became so -natural to me that I absolutely forgot it was assumed. Nature had made -me arrogant, contemptuous, courageous; it was quite natural to me to -act the part of a great noble. My want of fortune often hampered and -irritated me, but I had that instinct in public events which we call -_flair._ I made with slender means some audacious and happy ventures on -the Bourse. I was also, famous for _la main heureuse_ in all forms of -gambling. I led a selfish and perhaps even a vicious life, but I kept -always within those lines which the usages of the world has prescribed -to gentlemen even in their licence. I never did anything that degraded -the name I had taken, as men of the world read degradation. I should -not have satisfied severe moralists, but, my one crime apart, I was -a man of honour until----I loved your cousin. I do not attempt to -defend my marriage with her. It was a fraud, a crime; I am well aware -of that. If you had struck me the other night, I would not have denied -your perfect right to do so. I will say no more. You have loved her. -You know what my temptation was: my crime is one you cannot pardon. It -is a treason to your rank, to your relatives, to all the traditions -of your order. When you were a little lad you said a bitter truth to -me. I was born a serf in Russia. There are serfs no more in Russia, -but Alexander, who affranchised them, cannot affranchise me. I am -base-born. I am like those cross-bred hounds cursed by conflicting -elements in their blood: I am an aristocrat in temper and in taste and -mind. I am a bastard in class, the chance child of a peasant begotten -by a great lord's momentary _ennui_ and caprice! But if you will stoop -so far----if you will consider me ennobled by _her_ enough to meet -you as an equal would do----we can find with facility some pretext -of quarrel, and under cover and semblance of a duel you can kill me. -You will be only taking the just vengeance of a race of which you are -the only male champion--what her brothers would surely have taken had -they been living. She will mourn for me without shame, since you have -passed me your promise never to tell her of my past. I await your -commands. That my little sons will transmit the infamy of my blood to -their descendants will be disgrace to them for ever in your sight. Yet -you will not utterly hate them, for children are more their mother's -than their father's, and she will rear them in all noble ways.' - -Then he signed the letter with the name of Vassia Kazán, and addressed -it to Egon Vàsàrhely at his castle of Taróc, there to await the return -of Vàsàrhely from the Prussian camp. That done, he felt more at peace -with himself, more nearly a gentleman, less heavily weighted with his -own cowardice and shame. - -It was not until three weeks later that he received the reply of -Vàsàrhely written from the castle of Taróc. It was very brief:---- - -'I have read your letter and I have burned it. I cannot kill you, for -she would never pardon me. Live on in such peace as you may find. - -(Signed) 'PRINCE VÀSÀRHELY.' - -To his cousin Vàsàrhely wrote at the same time, and to her said: - -'Forgive me that I left you so abruptly. It was necessary, and I did -not rebel against necessity, for so I avoided some pain. The world has -seen me at Hohenszalras; let that suffice. Do not ask me to return. -It hurts me to refuse you anything, but residence there is only a -prolonged suffering to me and must cause irritation to your lord. I go -to my soldiers in Central Hungary, amongst whom I make my family. If -ever you need me you will know that I am at your service; but I hope -this will never be, since it will mean that some evil has befallen -you.' Rear your sons in the traditions of your race, and teach them to -be worthy of yourself: being so they will be also worthy of your name. -Adieu, my ever beloved Wanda! Show what I have said herein to your -husband, and give me a remembrance in your prayers. - -(Signed) 'EGON.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -The Countess Brancka meanwhile had been staying at Taróc for the autumn -shooting when her brother-in-law had returned there unexpectedly, and -to her chagrin, since she had filled the old castle with friends of -her own, such as Egon Vàsàrhely little favoured, and it amused her to -play the châtelaine there and organise all manner of extravagant and -eccentric pastimes. When he arrived she could no longer enjoy this -unchecked independence of folly, and he did not hesitate to make it -plain to her that the sooner Taróc should be cleared of its Parisian -world the better would he be pleased. Indeed she knew well that it -was only his sense of hospitality, as the first duty of a gentleman, -which restrained him from enforcing a rough and sudden exodus upon -her guests. He returned, moreover, unusually silent, reserved, and -what she termed ill-tempered. It was clear to her that his sojourn at -Hohenszalras had been painful to him; and whenever she spoke to him of -it he replied to her in a tone which forbade her further interrogation. -If she feared anyone in the world it was Egon, who had again and again -paid her debts to spare his brother annoyance, and who received her and -her caprices with a contemptuous unalterable disdain. - -'Wanda has ruined him!' she always thought angrily. 'He always expects -every other woman to have a soul above _chiffons_ and to bury herself -in the country with children and horses.' - -Her quick instincts perceived that the hold upon his thoughts which -his cousin always possessed had been only strengthened by his visit to -her, and she attributed the gloom which had settled down on him to the -pain which the happiness that reigned at Hohenszalras had given him. -Little souls always try to cram great ones into their own narrowed -measurements. As he did not absolutely dismiss her she continued to -entertain her own people at Taróc, ignoring his tacit disapproval, and -was still there when the letter of Sabran reached her brother-in-law. -She had very quick eyes; she was present when the letters, which only -came to Taróc once a week, being fetched over many leagues of wild -forest, and hill, and torrent, and ravine, were brought to Vàsàrhely, -and she noticed that his face changed as he took out a thick envelope, -which she, standing by his shoulder, with her hand outstretched for -her own correspondence from Paris and Petersburg, could see bore the -post-mark of Matrey. He threw it amongst a mass of other letters, and -soon after took all his papers away with him into the room which was -called a library, being full of Hungarian black-letter and monkish -literature, gathered in centuries gone by by great priests of the race -of Vàsàrhely. - -What was in that letter? - -She attended to none of her own, so absorbed was she in the impression -which gained upon her that the packet which had brought so much -surprise and even emotion upon his face came from the hand of Wanda. -'If even she should be no saint at all?' she thought, with a malicious -amusement. She did not see Egon Vàsàrhely for many hours, but she -did not lose her curiosity nor cease to cast about for a method of -gratifying it. At the close of the day when she came back from hunting -she went into the library, which was then empty. She did not seriously -expect to see anything that would reward her enterprise, but she knew -he read his letters there and wrote the few he was obliged to write: -like most soldiers he disliked using pen and ink. It was dusk, and -there were a few lights burning in the old silver sconces fixed upon -the horns of forest animals against the walls. With a quick, calm -touch, she moved all the litter of papers lying on the huge table -where he was wont to do such business as he was compelled to transact. -She found nothing that gratified her inquisitiveness. She was about -to leave the room in baffled impatience----impatience of she knew not -what----when her eyes fell upon a pile of charred paper lying on the -stove. - -It was one of those monumental polychrome stoves of fifteenth-century -work in which the country-houses of Central Europe are so rich; a -grand pile of fretted pottery, towering half way to the ceiling, with -the crown and arms of the Vàsàrhely princes on its summit. There was -no fire in it, for the weather was not cold, and Vàsàrhely, who alone -used the room, was an ascetic in such matters; but upon its jutting -step, which was guarded by lions of gilded bronze, there had been some -paper burned: the ashes lay there in a little heap. Almost all of -it was ash, but a few torn pieces were only blackened and coloured. -With the eager curiosity of a woman who is longing to find another -woman at fault, she kneeled down by the stove and patiently examined -these pieces. Only one was so little burned that it had a word or two -legible upon it; two of those words were Vassia Kazán. Nothing else was -traceable; she recognised the handwriting of Sabran. She attached no -importance to it, yet she slipped the little scrap, burnt and black as -it was, within one of her gauntlets; then, as quickly as she had come -there, she retreated and in another half hour, smiling and radiant, -covered with jewels, and with no trace of fatigue or of weather, she -descended the great banqueting-hall, clad as though the heart of the -Greater Karpathians was the centre of the Boulevard S. Germain. - -Who was Vassia Kazán? - -The question floated above all her thoughts all that evening. Who was -he, she, or it, and what could Sabran have to say of him, or her, or -it to Egon Vàsàrhely? A less wise woman might have asked straightway -what the unknown name might mean, but straight ways are not those -which commend themselves to temperaments like hers. The pleasure and -the purpose of her life was intrigue. In great things she deemed -it necessity; in trifles it was an amusement; without it life was -flavourless. - -The next day her brother-in-law abandoned Taróc, to join his hussars -and prepare for the autumn manœuvres in the plains, and left her and -Stefan in possession of the great place, half palace, half fortress, -which had withstood more than one siege of Ottoman armies, where it -stood across a deep gorge with the water foaming black below. But she -kept the charred, torn, triangular scrap of paper; and she treasured -in her memory the two words Vassia Kazán; and she said again and again -and again to herself: 'Why should he write to Egon? Why should Egon -burn what he writes?' Deep down in her mind there was always at work -a bitter jealousy of Wanda von Szalras; jealousy of her regular and -perfect beauty, of her vast possessions, of her influence at the Court, -of her serene and unspotted repute, and now of her ascendency over the -lives of Sabran and of Vàsàrhely. - -'Why should they both love that woman so much?' she thought very often. -'She is always alike. She has no temptations. She goes over life as if -it were frozen snow. She did one senseless thing, but then she was rich -enough to do it with impunity. She is so habitually fortunate that she -is utterly uninteresting; and yet they are both her slaves!' - -She went home and wrote to a cousin of her own who had been a member -of the famous Third Section at Petersburg. She said in her letter: 'Is -there anyone known in Russia as Vassia Kazán? I want you to learn for -me to what or to whom this name belongs. It is certainly Russian, and -appears to me to have been taken by some one who has been named _more -hebrœo_ from the city of Kazán. You, who know everything past, -present, and to come, will be able to know this.' - -In a few days she received an answer from Petersburg. Her cousin wrote: -'I cannot give you the information you desire. It must be a thing of -the past. But I will keep it in mind, and sooner or later you shall -have the knowledge you wish. You will do us the justice to admit that -we are not easily baffled.' - -She was not satisfied, but knew how to be patient. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Strangely enough the consciousness that one person lived who knew -his secret unnerved him. He had said truly that so much were all his -instincts and temper those of an aristocrat that he had long ceased to -remember that he was not the true Marquis de Sabran. The admiration men -frankly gave him, and the ascendency he exercised over women, had alike -concurred in fostering his self-delusion. Since his recognition by the -foe of his boyhood a vivid sense of his own shamefulness, however, had -come upon him; a morbid consciousness that he was not what he seemed, -and what all the world believed him, had returned to him. Egon would -never speak, but he himself could never forget. He said to himself in -his solitude, 'I am Vassia Kazán! and what he had done appeared to him -intolerable, infamous, beyond all expiation. - -It was like an impalpable but impassable wall built up between himself -and her. Nothing was changed except that one man knew his secret, but -this one fact seemed to change the face of the world. For the first -time all the deference, all the homage with which the people of the -Tauern treated him seemed to him a derision. Naturally of proud temper, -and of an intellect which gave him ascendency over others, he had from -the first moment he had assumed the marquisate of Sabran received -all the acknowledgments of his rank with an honest unconsciousness -of imposture. After all he had in his veins blood as patrician as -that of the Sabrans; but now that Egon Vàsàrhely knew the truth he -was perpetually conscious of not being what he seemed. The mere sense -that about the world there was another living being who knew what he -knew, shook down all the self-possession and philosophy which had so -long made him assure himself that the assumption of a name was an -immaterial circumstance, which, harming no one, could concern no one. -Egon Vàsàrhely seemed to have seized his sophisms in a rude grasp, and -shaken them down as blossoms fall in wind. He thought with bitter -self-contempt how true the cynic was who said that no sin exists so -long as it is not found out; that discovery is the sole form which -remorse takes. - -At times his remorse made him almost afraid of Wanda, almost shrink -from her, almost tremble at her regard; at other times it intensified -his passion and infused into his embraces a kind of ferocity of -triumph. He would show an almost brutal ardour in his caresses, and -would think with an almost cruel exultation, 'I was born a serf, and I -am her lover, her lord! Strangely enough, she began to lose something -of her high influence upon him, of her spiritual superiority in his -sight. She was so entirely, so perpetually his, that she became in a -manner tainted with his own degradation. She could no longer check him -with a word, calm him with a gesture of restraint. She was conscious of -a change in him which she could not explain to herself. His sweetness -of temper was broken by occasional irritability that she had never seen -before. He was at times melancholy and absorbed; he at times displayed -a jealousy which appeared unworthy of herself and him; at other moments -he adored her, submitted to her with too great a humility. They were -still happy, but their happiness was more uncertain, more disturbed by -passing shadows. She told herself that it was always so in marriage, -that in the old trite phrase nothing mortal was ever perfect long. But -this philosophy failed to reconcile her. She found herself continually -pondering on the alteration that she perceived in him, without being -able to explain it to herself in any satisfactory manner. - -One day he announced to her without preface that he had decided to -renounce the name of Sabran; that he preferred to any other the title -which she had given him in the Countship of Idrac. She was astonished, -but on reflection only saw, in his choice, devotion and deference to -herself. Perhaps, too, she reflected with a pang, he desired some -foreign mission such as she had once proposed to him; perhaps the life -at Hohenszalras was monotonous and too quiet for a man so long used -to the movement and excitation of Paris. She suggested the invitation -of a circle of guests more often, but he rejected the idea with some -impatience. He, who had previously amused himself so well with the -part of host to a brilliant society, now professed that he saw nothing -but trouble and _ennui_ in a house full of people, who changed every -week, and of royal personages who exacted ceremonious observances -that were tedious and burdensome. So they remained alone, for even -the Princess Ottilie had gone away to Lilienslust. For her own part -she asked nothing better. Her people, her lands, her occupations, her -responsibilities, were always interest enough. She loved the stately, -serene tread of Time in these mountain solitudes. Life always seemed -to her a purer, graver, more august thing when no echo of the world -without jarred on the solemnity of the woods and hills. She wanted her -children to grow up to love Hohenszalras, as she had always done, far -above all pomps and pleasures of courts and cities. - -The winter went by, and he spent most of the days out of doors in -violent exercise, sledging, skating, wolf hunting. In the evenings he -made music for her in the white room: beautiful, dreamy music, that -carried her soul from earth. He played for hours and hours far into the -night; he seemed more willing to do anything than to converse. When he -talked to her she was sensible of an effort of constraint; it was no -longer the careless, happy, spontaneous conversation of a man certain -of receiving sympathy in all his opinions, indulgence in all his -errors, comprehension in even his vaguest or most eccentric ideas: a -certain charm was gone out of their intercourse. She thought sometimes -humbly enough, was it because a man always wearies of a woman? Yet -she could scarcely think that, for his reverential deference to her -alternated with a passion that had lost nothing of its voluptuous -intensity. - -So the winter passed away. Madame Ottilie was in the South for her -health, with her relatives of Lilienhöhe; they invited no one, and so -no one could approach them. The children grew and throve. Bela and his -brother had a little sledge of their own, drawn by two Spanish donkeys, -white as the snows that wrapped the Iselthal in their serenity and -silence. In their little sable coats and their sable-lined hoods the -two little boys looked like rosebuds wrapped in brown moss. They were a -pretty spectacle upon the ice, with their stately Heiduck, wrapped in -his scarlet and black cloak, walking by the gilded shell-shaped sledge. - -'Bela loves the ice best. Bela wishes the summer never was!' said the -little heir of the Counts of Szalras one day, as he leaped out from -under the bearskin of his snow-carriage. His father heard him, and -smiled a little bitterly. - -'You have the snow in your blood,' he thought. 'I, too, know how I -loved the winter with all its privations, how I skimmed like a swallow -down the frozen Volga, how I breasted the wind of the North Sea, sad -with the dying cries of the swans! But I had an empty stomach and -naked limbs under my rough goatskin, and you ride there in your sables -and velvets, a proud little prince, and yet you are my son!' - -Was he almost angered against his own child for the great heirship to -which he was born, as kings are often of their dauphins? Bela looked up -at him a little timidly, always being in a certain awe of his father. - -'May Bela go with you some day with the big black horses, one day when -you go very far?' - -'Ask your mother,' said Sabran. - -'She will like it,' said the child. 'Yesterday she said you never do -think of Bela. She did not say it _to_ Bela, but he heard.' - -'I will think of him,' said Sabran, with some emotion: he had a certain -antagonism to the child, of which he was vaguely ashamed; he was sorry -that she should have noticed it. He disliked him because Bela so -visibly resembled himself that he was a perpetual reproach; a living -sign of how the blood of a Russian lord and of a Persian peasant had -been infused into the blood of the Austrian nobles. - -The next day he took the child with him on a drive of many leagues, -through the frozen highways winding through the frosted forests under -the huge snow-covered range of the Glöckner mountains. Bela was in -raptures; the grand black Russian horses, whose speed was as the wind, -were much more to his taste than the sedate and solemn Spanish asses. -When they returned, and Sabran lifted him out of the sledge in the -twilight, the child kissed his hand. - -'Bela loves you,' he said timidly. - -'Why do you?' said his father, surprised and touched. 'Because you are -your mother's child?' - -Bela did not understand. He said, after a moment of reflection: - -'Bela is afraid, when you are angry; very afraid. But Bela does love -you.' - -Sabran laid his hand on the child's shoulder. 'I shall never be angry -if Bela obey his mother, and never pain her. Remember that.' - -'He will remember,' said Bela. 'And may he go with the big black horses -very soon again?' - -'Your mother's horses are just as big, and just as black. Is it not the -same thing to go with her?' - -'No. Because she takes Bela often; you never.' - -'You are ungrateful,' said Sabran, in the tone which always alarmed and -awed the bold, bright spirit of his child. 'Your mother's love beside -mine is like the great mountain beside the speck of dust. Can you -understand? You will when you are a man. Obey her and adore her. So you -will best please me.' - -Bela looked at him with troubled suffused eyes; he went within doors a -little sadly, led away by Hubert, and when he reached his nursery and -had his furs taken from off him he was still serious, and for once he -did not tell his thoughts to Gela, for they were too many for him to -be able to master them in words. His father was a beautiful, august, -terrible, magnificent figure in his eyes; with the confused fancies -of a child's scarce-opened mind he blended together in his admiration -Sabran and the great marble form of S. Johann of Prague which stretched -its arm towards the lake from the doors of the great entrance, and, as -Bela always understood, controlled the waters and the storms at will. -Bela feared no one else in all the world, but he feared his father, -and for that reason loved him as he loved nothing else in his somewhat -selfish and imperious little life. - -'It is so good of you to have given Bela that pleasure,' his wife said -to him when he entered the white room. 'I know you cannot care to hear -a child chatter as I do. It can only be tiresome to you.' - -'I will drive him every day if it please _you_,' said Sabran. - -'No, no; that would be too much to exact from you. Besides, he would -soon despise his donkeys, and desert poor Gela. I take him but seldom -myself for that reason. He has an idea that he is immeasurably older -than Gela. It is true a year at their ages is more difference than are -ten years at ours.' - -'The child said something to me, as if he had heard you say I do not -care for him?' - -'You do not, very much. Surely you are inclined to be harsh to him?' - -'If I be so, it is only because I see so much of myself in him.' - -He looked at her, assailed once more by the longing which at times came -over him to tell her the truth of himself, to risk everything rather -than deceive her longer, to throw himself upon her mercy, and cut short -this life which had so much of duplicity, so much of concealment, that -every year added to it was a stone added to the mountain of his sins. -But when he looked at her he dared not. The very grace and serenity -of her daunted him; all the signs of nobility in her, from the repose -of her manner to the very beauty of her hands, with their great rings -gleaming on the long and slender fingers, seemed to awe him into -silence. She was so proud a woman, so great a lady, so patrician in -all her prejudices, her habits, her hereditary qualities, he dared not -tell her that he had betrayed her thus. An infidelity, a folly, even -any other crime he thought he could have summoned courage to confess -to her; but to say to her, the daughter of a line of princes: 'I, who -have made you the mother of my children, I was born a bastard and a -serf!' How could he dare say that? Anything else she might forgive, -he thought, since love is great, but never that. Nay, a cold sickness -stole over him as he thought again that she came of great lords who had -meted justice out over whole provinces for a thousand years; and he -had wronged her so deeply that the human tongue scarcely held any word -of infamy enough to name his crime. The law would set her free, if she -chose, from a man who had so betrayed her, and his children would be -bastards like himself. - -He had stretched himself on a great couch, covered with white -bear-skins. He was in shadow; she was in the light that came from the -fire on the wide hearth, and from the oriel window near, a red warm -dusky light, that fell on the jewels on her hands, the furs on her -skirts, the very pearls about her throat. - -She glanced at him anxiously, seeing how motionless he lay there, with -his head turned backward on the cushions. - -'I am afraid you are weak still from that wound,' she said, as she rose -and approached him. 'Greswold assures me it has left no trace, but I am -always afraid. And you look often so pale. Perhaps you exert yourself -too much? Let the wolves be. Perhaps it is too cold for you? Would you -like to go to the south? Do not think of me; my only happiness is to do -whatever you wish.' - -He kissed her hand with deep unfeigned emotion. 'I believe in angels -since I knew you,' he murmured. 'No; I will not take you away from the -winter and the people that you love. I am well enough. Greswold is -right. I could not master those horses if I were not strong; be sure of -that.' - -'But I always fear that it is dull here for you?' - -'Dull! with you? "Custom cannot stale her infinite variety." That was -written in prophecy of your charm for me.' - -'You will always flatter me! And I am not "various" at all; I am too -grave to be entertaining. I am just the German house-mother who cares -for the children and for you.' - -He laughed. - -'Is that your portrait of yourself? I think Carolus Duran's is truer, -my grand châtelaine. When you are at Court the whole circle seems to -fade to nothing before your presence. Though there are so many women -high-born and beautiful there, you eclipse them all.' - -'Only in your eyes! And you know I care nothing for courts. What I like -is the life here, where one quiet day is the pattern of all the other -days. If I were sure that you were content in it----' - -'Why should you think of that?' - -'My love, tell me honestly, do you never miss the world?' - -He rose and walked to the hearth. He, whose life was a long lie, never -lied to her if he could avoid it; and he knew very well that he did -miss the world with all its folly, stimulant, and sin. Sometimes the -moral air here seemed to him too pure, too clear. - -'Did I do so I should be thankless indeed--thankless as madmen are who -do not know the good done to them. I am like a ship that has anchored -in a fair haven after press of weather. I infinitely prefer to see -none but yourself: when others are here we are of necessity so much -apart. If the weather,' he added more lightly, 'did not so very often -wear Milton's grey sandals, there would be nothing one could ever -wish changed in the life here. For such great riders as we are, that -is a matter of regret. Wet saddles are too often our fate, but in -compensation our forests are so green.' - -She did not press the question. - -But the next day she wrote a letter to a relative who was a great -minister and had preponderating influence in the council chamber of the -Austrian Empire. She did not speak to Sabran of the letter that she -sent. - -She had not known any of that disillusion which befalls most women in -their love. Her husband had remained her lover, passionately, ardently, -jealously; and the sincerity of his devotion to her had spared her -all that terrible consciousness of the man's satiety which usually -confronts a woman in the earliest years of union. She shrank now with -horror from the fear which came to her that this passion might, like so -many others, alter and fade under the dulness of habit. She had high -courage and clear vision; she met half-way the evil that she dreaded. - -In the spring a Foreign Office despatch from Vienna came to him and -surprised and moved him strongly. With it in his hand he sought her at -once. - -'You did this!' he said quickly. 'They offer me the Russian mission.' - -She grew a little pale, but had courage to smile. She had seen by a -glance at his face the pleasure the offer gave him. - -'I only told my cousin Kunst that I thought you might be persuaded to -try public life, if he proposed it to you.' - -'When did you say that?' - -'One day in the winter, when I asked you if you did not miss the world.' - -'I never thought I betrayed that I did so.' - -'You were only over eager to deny it. And I know your generosity, my -love. You miss the world; we will go back to it for a little. It will -only make our life here dearer--I hope.' - -He was silent; emotion mastered him. 'You have the most unselfish -nature that was!' he said brokenly. 'It will be a cruel sacrifice to -you, and yet you urge it for my sake.' - -'Dear, will you not understand? What is for your sake is what is most -for mine. I see you long, despite yourself, to be amidst men once more, -and use your rare talents as you cannot use them here. It is only right -that you should have the power to do so. If our life here has taken -the hold on your heart then, I think you will come back to it all the -more gladly. And then I too have my vanity; I shall be proud for the -world to see how you can fill a great station, conduct a difficult -negotiation, distinguish yourself in every way. When they praise you, -I shall be repaid a thousand times for any sacrifice of my own tastes -that there may be.' - -He heard her with many conflicting emotions, of which a passionate -gratitude was the first and highest. - -'You make me ashamed,' he said in a low voice. 'No man can be worthy of -such goodness as yours; and I----' - -Once more the avowal of the truth rose to his lips, but stayed -unuttered. His want of courage took refuge in procrastination. - -'We need not decide for a day or two,' he added; 'they give me time; we -will think well. When do you think I must reply?' - -'Surely soon; your delay would seem disrespect. You know we Austrians -are very ceremonious.' - -'And if I accept, it will not make you unhappy?' - -'My love, no, a thousand times, no; your choice is always mine.' - -He stooped and kissed her hand. - -'You are ever the same,' he murmured. 'The noblest, the most -generous----' - -She smiled bravely. 'I am quite sure you have decided already. Go to my -table yonder, and write a graceful acceptance to my cousin Kunst. You -will be happier when it is posted.' - -'No, I will think a little. It is not a thing to be done in haste. It -will be irrevocable.' - -'Irrevocable? A diplomatic mission? You can throw it up when you -please. You are not bound to serve longer than you choose.' - -He was silent: what he had thought himself had been of the irrevocable -insult he would be held to have offered to the emperor, the nation, and -the world, if ever they knew. - -'It will not be liked if I accept for a mere caprice. One must never -treat a State as Bela treats his playthings,' he said as he rang, and -when the servant answered the summons ordered them to saddle his horse. - -'No; there is no haste. Glearemberg is not definitely recalled, I -think.' - -But as she spoke she knew very well that, unknown to himself, he had -already decided; that the joy and triumph the offer had brought to him -were both too great for him eventually to resist them. He sat down and -re-read the letter. - -She had said the truth to him, but she had not said all the truth. She -had a certain desire that he should justify her marriage in the eyes of -the world by some political career brilliantly followed; but this was -not her chief motive in wishing him to return to the life of cities. -She had seen that he was in a manner disquieted, discontented, and -attributed it to discontent at the even routine of their lives. The -change in his moods and tempers, the arbitrary violence of his love -for her, vaguely alarmed and troubled her; she seemed to see the germ -of much that might render their lives far less happy. She realised -that she had given herself to one who had the capacity of becoming a -tyrannical possessor, and retained, even after six years of marriage, -the irritable ardour of a lover. She knew that it was better for them -both that the distraction and the restraint of the life of the world -should occupy some of his thoughts, and check the over-indulgence of -a passion which in solitude grew feverish and morbid. She had not the -secret of the change in him, of which the result alone was apparent to -her, and she could only act according to her light. If he grew morose, -tyrannical, violent, all the joy of their life would be gone. She knew -that men alter curiously under the sense of possession. She felt that -her influence, though strong, was not paramount as it had been, and she -perceived that he no longer took much interest in the administration -of the estates, in which he had shown great ability in the first years -of their marriage. She had been forced to resume her old governance -of all those matters, and she knew that it was not good for him to -live without occupation. She feared that the sameness of the days, to -her so delightful, to him grew tiresome. To ride constantly, to hunt -sometimes, to make music in the evenings----this was scarcely enough to -fill up the life of a man who had been a _viveur_ on the bitumen of the -boulevards for so long. - -A woman of a lesser nature would have been too vain to doubt the -all-sufficiency of her own presence to enthral and to content him; but -she was without vanity, and had more wisdom than most women. It did -not even once occur to her, as it would have done incessantly to most, -that the magnificence of all her gifts to him were title-deeds to his -content for life. - -Public life would be her enemy, would take her from the solitudes she -loved, would change her plans for her children's education, would bring -the world continually betwixt herself and her husband; but since he -wished it that was all she thought of, all her law. - -'Surely he will accept?' said Mdme. Ottilie, who had returned from the -south of France. - -'Yes, he will accept,' said his wife. 'He does not know it, but he -will.' - -'I cannot imagine why he should affect to hesitate. It is the career -he is made for, with his talents, his social graces.' - -'He does not affect; he hesitates for my sake. He knows I am never -happy away from Hohenszalras.' - -'Why did you write then to Kunst?' - -'Because it will be better for him; he is neither a poet nor a -philosopher, to be able to live away from the world.' - -'Which are you?' - -'Neither; only a woman who loves the home she was born in, and the -people she----' - -'Reigns over,' added the Princess. 'Admit, my beloved, that a part of -your passion for Hohenszalras comes of the fact that you cannot be -quite as omnipotent in the world as you are here!' - -Wanda von Szalras smiled. 'Perhaps; the best motive is always mixed -with a baser. But I adore the country and country life. I abhor cities.' - -'Men are always like Horace,' said the Princess. 'They admire rural -life, but they remain for all that with Augustus.' - -At that moment they heard the hoofs of his horse galloping up the great -avenue. A quarter of an hour went by, for he changed his dress before -coming into his wife's presence. He would no more have gone to her with -the dust or the mud of the roads upon him than he would have gone in -such disarray into the inner circle of the Kaiserin. - -When he entered, she did not speak, but the Princess Ottilie said with -vivacity: - -'Well! you accept, of course? - -'I will neither accept nor decline. I will do what Wanda wishes.' - -The Princess gave an impatient movement of her little foot on the -carpet. - -'Wanda is a hermit,' she said; 'she should have dwelt in a cave, and -lived on berries with S. Scholastica. What is the use of leaving it to -her? She will say No. She loves her mountains.' - -'Then she shall stay amidst her mountains.' - -'And you will throw all your future away?' - -'Dear mother, I have no future----should have had none but for her.' - -'All that is very pretty, but after nearly six years of marriage it is -not necessary to _faire des madrigaux._' - -The Princess sat a little more erect, angrily, and continued to tap her -foot upon the floor. His wife was silent for a little while; then she -went over to her writing-table, and wrote with a firm hand a few lines -in German. She rose and gave the sheet to Sabran. - -'Copy that,' she said, 'or give it as many graces of style as you like.' - -His heart beat, his sight seemed dim as he read what she had written. - -It was an acceptance. - -'See, my dear Réné!' said the Princess, when she understood; -'never combat a woman on her own ground and with her own weapon-- -unselfishness! The man must always lose in a conflict of that sort.' - -The tears stood in his eyes as he answered her---- - -'Ah, madame! if I say what I think, you will accuse me again of -_faisant des madrigaux!_' - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -A week or two later Sabran arrived alone at their palace in Vienna, -and was cordially received by the great minister whom Wanda called -her cousin Kunst. He had also an audience of his Imperial master, who -showed him great kindness and esteem; he had been always popular and -welcome at the Hofburg. His new career awaited him under auspices the -most engaging; his intelligence, which was great, took pleasure at the -prospect of the field awaiting it; and his personal pride was gratified -and flattered at the personal success which he enjoyed. He was aware -that the brain he was gifted with would amply sustain all the demands -for _finesse_ and penetration that a high diplomatic mission would make -upon it, and he knew that the immense fortune he commanded through his -wife would enable him to fill his place with the social brilliancy and -splendour it required. - -He felt happier than he had done ever since the day in the forest when -the name of Vassia Kazán had been said in his ear; he had recovered his -nerve, his self-command, his _insouciance_; he was once more capable of -honestly forgetting that he was anything besides the great gentleman -he appeared. There was an additional pungency for him in the fact of -his mission being to Russia. He hated the country as a renegade hates -a religion he has abandoned. The undying hereditary enmity which must -always exist, _sub rosa_, betwixt Austria and Russia was in accordance -with the antagonism he himself felt for every rood of the soil, for -every syllable of the tongue, of the Muscovite. He knew that Paul -Zabaroff, his father's legitimate son, was a mighty prince, a keen -politician, a favourite courtier at the Court of St. Petersburg. The -prospect of himself appearing at that Court as the representative of -a great nation, with the occasion and the power to meet Paul Zabaroff -as an equal, and defeat his most cherished intrigues, his most subtle -projects, gave an intensity to his triumph such as no mere social -honours or gratified ambition could alone have given him. If the -minister had searched the whole of the Austrian empire through, in -all the ranks of men he could have found no one so eager to serve the -purpose and the interests of his Imperial master against the rivalry of -Russia, as he found in one who had been born a naked _moujik_ in the -_isba_ of a Persian peasant. - -Even though this distinction which was offered him would rest like -all else on a false basis, yet it intoxicated him, and would gratify -his desires to be something above and beyond the mere prince-consort -that he was. He knew that his talents were real, that his tact and -perception were unerring, that his power to analyse and influence men -was great. All these qualities he felt would enable him in a public -career to conquer admiration and eminence. He was not yet old enough to -be content to regard the future as a thing belonging to his sons, nor -had he enough philo-progenitiveness ever to do so at any age. - -'To return so to Russia!' he thought, with rapture. All the ambition -that had been in him in his college days at the Lycée Clovis, which -had never taken definite shape, partly from indolence and partly from -circumstance, and had not been satisfied even by the brilliancy of -his marriage, was often awakened and spurred by the greatness of the -social position of all those with whom he associated. In his better -moments be sometimes thought, 'I am only the husband of the Countess -von Szalras; I am only the father of the future lords of Hohenszalras;' -and the reflection that the world might regard him so made him restless -and ill at ease. - -He knew that, being what he was, he would add to his crime tenfold -by acceptance of the honour offered to him. He knew that the more -prominent he was in the sight of men, the deeper would be his fall if -ever the truth were told. What gauge had he that some old school-mate, -dowered with as long a memory as Vàsàrhely's, might not confront him -with the same charge and challenge? True, this danger had always seemed -to him so remote that never since he had landed at Romaris bay had he -been troubled by any apprehension of it. His own assured position, his -own hauteur of bearing, his own perfect presence of mind, would have -always enabled him to brave safely such an ordeal under the suspicion -of any other than Vàsàrhely; with any other he could have relied on his -own coolness and courage to have borne him with immunity through any -such recognition. Besides, he had always reckoned, and reckoned justly, -that no one would ever dare to insult the Marquis de Sabran with a -suspicion that could have no proof to sustain it. So he had always -reasoned, and events had justified his expectations and deductions. - -This month that he now passed in Vienna was the proudest of his life; -not perhaps the happiest, for beneath his contentment there was a -jarring remembrance that he was deceiving a great sovereign and his -ministers. But he thrust this sting of conscience aside whenever it -touched him, and abandoned himself with almost youthful gladness to the -felicitations he received, the arrangements he had to make, and the -contemplation of the future before him. The pleasures of the gay and -witty city surrounded him, and he was too handsome, too seductive, and -too popular not to be sought by women of all ranks, who rallied him on -his long devotion to his wife, and did their best to make him ashamed -of constancy. - -'What beasts we are!' he thought, as he left Damn's at the flush of -dawn, after a supper there which he had given, and which had nearly -degenerated into an orgie. 'Yet is it unfaithfulness to her? My soul is -always hers and my love.' - -Still his conscience smote him, and he felt ashamed as he thought of -her proud frank eyes, of her noble trust in him, of her pure and lofty -life led there under the show summits of her hills. - -He worshipped her, with all his life he worshipped her; a moment's -caprice, a mere fume and fever of senses surprised and astray, were not -infidelity to her. So he told himself, with such sophisms as men most -use when most they are at fault, as he walked home in the rose of the -daybreak to her great palace, which like all else of hers was his. - -As he ascended the grand staircase, with the escutcheon of the -Szalras repeated on the gilded bronze of its balustrade, a chill and -a depression stole upon him. He loved her with intensity and ardour -and truth, yet he had been disloyal to her; he had forgotten her, he -had been unworthy of her. What worth were all the women in the world -beside her? What did they seem to him now, those Delilahs who had -beguiled him? He loathed the memory of them; he wondered at himself. He -went through the great house slowly towards his own rooms, pausing now -and then, as though he had never seen them before, to glance at some -portrait, some stand of arms, some banner commemorative of battle, some -quiver, bow, and pussikan taken from the Turk. - -On his table he found a telegram sent from Lienz: - -'I am so glad you are amused and happy. We are all well here. - -(Signed) 'WANDA.' - -No torrents of rebuke, no scenes of rage, no passion of reproaches -could have carried reproach to him like those simple words of trustful -affection. - -'An angel of God should have descended to be worthy her!' he thought. - -The next evening there was a ball at the Hof. It was later in the -season than such things were usually, but the visit to the court of the -sovereign of a neighbouring nation had detained their majesties and -the nobility in Vienna. The ball was accompanied by all that pomp and -magnificence which characterise such festivities, and Sabran, present -at it, was the object of universal congratulation and much observation, -as the ambassador-designate to Russia. - -Court dress became him, and his great height and elegance of manner -made him noticeable even in that brilliant crowd of notables. All the -greatest ladies distinguished him with their smiles, but he gave them -no more than courtesy. He saw only before the 'eye of memory' his wife -as he had seen her at the last court ball, with the famous pearls about -her throat, and her train of silver tissue sown with pearls and looped -up with white lilac. - -'It is the flower I like best,' she had said to him. 'It brought me -your first love-message in Paris, do you remember? It said little; it -was very discreet, but it said enough!' - -'You are always thinking of Wanda!' said the Countess Brancka to him -now, with a tinge of impatience in her tone. - -He coloured a little, and said with that hauteur with which he always -repressed any passing jest at his love for his wife: - -'When both one's duty and joy point the same way it is easy to follow -them in thought.' - -'I hope you follow them in action too,' said Mdme. Brancka. - -'If I do not, I am at least only responsible to Wanda.' - -'Who would be a lenient judge you mean? said the Countess, with a -certain smile that displeased him. 'Do not be too sure; she is a von -Szalras. They are not agreeable persons when they are angered.' - -'I have not been so unhappy as to see her so,' said Sabran coldly, -with a vague sense of uneasiness. As much as it is possible for a man -to dislike a woman who is very lovely, and young enough to be still -charming in the eyes of the world, he disliked Olga Brancka. He had -known her for many years in Paris, not intimately, but by force of -being in the same society, and, like many men who do not lead very -decent lives themselves, he frankly detested _cocodettes._ - -'If we want these manners we have our _lionnes_,' he was wont to say, -at a time when Cochonette was seen every day behind his horses by the -Cascade, and it had been the height of the Countess Olga's ambition at -that time to be called like Cochonette. A certain resemblance there -was between the great lady and the wicked one; they had the same small -delicate sarcastic features, the same red gold curls, the same perfect -colourless complexion; but where Cochonette had eyes of the slightest -blue, the wife of Count Stefan had the luminous piercing black eyes of -the Muscovite physiognomy. Still the likeness was there, and it made -the sight of Mdme. Brancka distasteful to him, since his memories of -the other were far from welcome. It was for Cochonette that he had -broken the bank at Monte Carlo, and into her lap that he had thrown -all the gold rouleaux at a time when in his soul he had already adored -Wanda von Szalras, and had despised himself for returning to the slough -of his old pleasures. It was Cochonette who had sold his secrets to -the Prussians, and brought them down upon him in the farmhouse amongst -the orchards of the Orléannais, whilst she passed safely through, the -German lines and across the frontier, laden with her jewels and her -_valeurs_ of all kinds, saying in her teeth as she went: 'He will -never see that Austrian woman again!' That had been the end of all he -had known of Cochonette, and a presentiment of perfidy, of danger, of -animosity always came over him whenever he saw the _joli petit minois_ -which in profile was so like Cochonette's, looking up from under the -loose auburn curls that Mdme. Olga had copied from her. - -Olga Brancka now looked at him with some malice and with more -admiration; she was very pretty that night, blazing with diamonds; -and with her beautifully shaped person as bare as Court etiquette -would permit. In her red gold curls she had some butterflies in jewels -flashing all the colours of the rainbow and glowing like sunbeams. -There was such a butterfly, big as the great Emperor moth, between her -breasts, making their whiteness look like snow. - -Instinctively Sabran glanced away from her. He felt an _étourdissement_ -that irritated him. The movement did not escape her. She took his arm. - -'We will move about a little while,' she said. 'Let us talk of Wanda, -_mon beau_ cousin; since you can think of no one else. And so you are -really going to Russia?' - -'I believe so.' - -'It will be a great sacrifice to her; any other woman would be in -paradise in St. Petersburg, but she will be wretched.' - -'I hope not; if I thought so I would not go.' - -'You cannot but go now; you have made your choice. You will be happy -enough. You will play again enormously, and Wanda has so much money -that if you lose millions it will not ruin her.' - -'I shall certainly not play with my wife's money. I have never played -since my marriage.' - -'For all that you will play in St. Petersburg. It is in the air. A -saint could not help doing it, and you are not a saint by nature, -though you have become one since marriage. But you know conversions by -marriage do not last. They are like compulsory confessions. They mean -nothing.' - -'You are very malicious to-night, madame,' said Sabran, absently; he -was in no mood for banter, and was disinclined to take up her challenge. - -'Call me at least _cousinette_,' said Mdme. Olga; 'we are cousins, you -know, thanks to Wanda. Oh! she will be very unhappy in St. Petersburg; -she will not amuse herself, she never does. She is incapable of a -flirtation; she never touches a card. When she dances it is only -because she must, and then it is only a quadrille or a contre-dance. -She always reminds me of Marie Thérèse's "In our position nothing is a -trifle." You remember the Empress's letters to Versailles?' - -Sabran was very much angered, but he was afraid to express his anger -lest it should seem to make him absurd. - -'Madame,' he said, with ill-repressed irritation, 'I know you speak -only in jest, but I must take the liberty to tell you----however -bourgeois it appear----that I do not allow a jest even from you upon my -wife. Anything she does is perfect in my sight, and if she be imbued -with the old traditions of gentle blood, too many ladies desert them in -these days for me not to be grateful to her for her loyalty.' - -She listened, with her bright black eyes fixed on him; then she leaned -a little more closely on his arm. - -'Do you know that you said that very well? Most men are ridiculous -when they are in love with their wives, but it becomes you, Wanda is -perfect, we all know that; you are not alone in thinking so. Ask Egon!' - -The face of Sabran changed as he heard that name. As she saw the -change she thought: 'Can it be possible that he is jealous?' - -Aloud she said with a little laugh: 'I almost wonder Egon did not -run you through the heart before you married. Now, of course, he -is reconciled to the inevitable; or, if not reconciled, he has to -submit to it as we all have to do. He grows very _farouche_; he lives -between his troopers and his castle of Taróc, like a barbaric lord -of the Middle Ages. Were you ever at Taróc? It is worth seeing----a -huge fortress, old as the days of Ottokar, in the very heart of the -Karpathians. He leads a wild, fierce life enough there. If he keep the -memory of Wanda with him it is as some men keep an idolatry for what is -dead.' - -Sabran listened with a sombre irritation. 'Suppose we leave my wife's -name in peace,' he said coldly. 'The _grosser cotillon_ is about to -begin; may I aspire to the honour?' - -As he led her out, and the light fell on her red gold curls, on her -dazzling butterflies, her armour of diamonds, her snow-white skin, a -thousand memories of Cochonette came over him, though the scene around -him was the ball-room of the Hofburg, and the woman whose great bouquet -of _rêve d'or_ roses touched his hand was a great lady who had been the -wife of Gela von Szalras, and the daughter of the Prince Serriatine. -He distrusted her, he despised her, he disliked her so strongly that -he was almost ashamed of his own antagonism; and yet her contact, her -grace of movement, the mere scent of the bouquet of roses had a sort of -painful and unwilling intoxication for the moment for him. - -He was glad when the long and gorgeous figures of the cotillon had -tired out even her steel-like nerves, and he was free to leave the -palace and go home to sleep. He looked at a miniature of his wife as -he undressed; the face of it, with its tenderness and its nobility, -seemed to him, after the face of this other woman, like the pure high -air of the Iselthal after the heated and unhealthy atmosphere of a -gambling-room. - -The next day there was a review of troops in the Prater. His presence -was especially desired; he rode his favourite horse Siegfried, which -had been brought up from the Tauern for the occasion. The weather was -brilliant, the spectacle was grand; his spirits rose, his natural -gaiety of temper returned. He was addressed repeatedly by the -sovereigns present. Other men spoke of him, some with admiration, some -with envy, as one who would become a power at the court and in the -empire. - -As he rode homeward, when the manœuvres were over, making his way -slowly through the merry crowds of the good-humoured populace, through -the streets thronged with glittering troops and hung with banners, and -odorous with flowers, he thought to himself with a light heart: 'After -all, I may do her some honour before I die.' - -When he reached home and his horse was led away, a servant approached -him with a sealed letter lying on a gold salver. A courier, who said -that he had travelled with it without stopping from Taróc, had brought -it from the Most High the Prince Vàsàrhely. - -Sabran's heart stood still as he took the letter and passed up the -staircase to his own apartments. Once there he ordered his servants -away, locked the doors, and, then only, broke the seal. - -There were two lines written on the sheet inside. They said: - -'I forbid you to serve my Sovereign. If you persist, I must relate to -him, under secrecy, what I know.' - -They were fully signed----'Egon Vàsàrhely.' They had been sent by a -courier, to insure delivery and avoid the publicity of the telegraph. -They had been written as soon as the tidings of his appointment to the -Russian mission had become known at the mountain fortress of Taróc. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -As the carriage of the Countess Olga rolled home through the Graben -after the military spectacle, she stopped it suddenly, and signed to an -old man in the crowd who was waiting to cross the road until a regiment -of cuirassiers had rolled by. He was eyeing them critically, as only an -old soldier does look at troops. - -'Is it you, Georg?' said Madame Olga. 'What brings you here?' - -'I came from Taróc with a letter from the Prince, my master,' answered -the man, an old hussar who had carried Vàsàrhely in his arms off the -field of Königsgrätz, after dragging him from under a heap of dead men -and horses. - -'A letter! To whom?' asked Olga, who always was curious and persistent -in investigation of all her brother-in-law's movements and actions. - -Vàsàrhely had not laid any injunction as to secrecy, only as to speed, -upon his faithful servant; so that Georg replied, unwitting of harm, -'To the Markgraf von Sabran, my Countess.' - -'A letter that could not go by post--how strange! And from Egon to -Wanda's husband!' she thought, with her inquisitive eagerness awakened. -Aloud she bade the old trooper call at her palace for a packet for -Taróc, to make excuse for having stopped and questioned him, and drove -onward lost in thought. - -'Perhaps it is a challenge late in the day!' she thought, with a laugh; -but she was astonished and perplexed that any communication should take -place between these men; she perplexed her mind in vain in the effort -to imagine what tie could connect them, what mystery mutually affecting -them could lie beneath the secret of Vassia Kazán. - -When, on the morrow, she heard at Court that the Emperor was deeply -incensed at the caprice and disrespect of the Count von Idrac, as -he was called at Court, who, at the eleventh hour, had declined a -mission already accepted by him, and of which the offer had been in -itself an unprecedented mark of honour and confidence, her swift -sagacity instantly associated the action, apparently so excuseless and -inexcusable, with the letter sent up from Taróc. It was still as great -a mystery to her as it had been before what the contents of the letter -could have been, but she had no doubt that in some way or another it -had brought about the resignation of the appointment. It awakened a -still more intense curiosity in her, but she was too wise to whisper -her suspicion to anyone. To her friends at the Court she said, with -laughter: 'A night or two ago I chanced to tell Sabran that his wife -would be wretched at St. Petersburg. That is sure to have been enough -for him. He is such a devoted husband.' - -No one of course believed her, but they received the impression that -she knew the real cause of his resignation, though she could not be -induced to say it. - -What did it matter to her? Nothing, indeed. But the sense of a secret -withheld from her was to Mdme. Olga like the slot of the fox to a young -hound. She might have a thousand secrets of her own if it pleased her, -but she could not endure anyone else to guard one. Besides, in a vague, -feverish, angry way, she was almost in love with the man who was so -faithful to his wife that he had looked away from her as from some -unclean thing when she had wished to dazzle him. She had no perception -that the secret could concern him himself very nearly, but she thought -it was probably one which he and Egon Vàsàrhely, for reasons of their -own, chose to share and keep hidden. And if it were a secret that -prevented Sabran from going to the Court of Russia? Then, surely, it -was one worth knowing? And if she gained a knowledge of it, and his -wife had none?----what a superiority would be hers, what a weapon -always to hand! - -She did not intend any especial cruelty or compass any especial end: -she was actuated by a vague desire to interrupt a current of happiness -that flowed on smoothly without her, to interfere where she had no -earthly title or reason to do so, merely because she was disregarded -by persons content with each other. It is not always definite motives -which have the most influence; the subtlest poisons are those which -enter the system we know not how, and penetrate it ere we are aware. -The only thing which had ever held her back from any extremes of evil -had been the mere habit of good-breeding and an absolute egotism which -had saved her from all strong passions. Now something that was like -passion had touched her under the sting of Sabran's indifference, and -with it she became tenacious, malignant, and unsparing: adroit she had -always been. Instinct is seldom at fault when we are conscious of an -enemy, and Sabran's had not erred when it had warned him against the -wife of Stefan Brancka as the serpent who would bring woe and disaster -to his paradise. - -In some three months' time she received a more explicit answer from her -cousin in St. Petersburg. Giving the precise dates, he told her that -Vassia Kazán was the name given to the son of Count Paul Ivanovitch -Zabaroff by a wayside amour with one of his own serfs at a village -near the border line of Astrachan. He narrated the early history of -the youth, and said that he had been amongst the passengers on board a -Havre ship, which had foundered with all hands. So far the brief record -of Vassia Kazán was clear and complete. But it told her nothing. She -was unreasonably enraged, and looked at the little piece of burnt paper -as though she would wrench the secret out of it. - -'There must be so much more to know,' she thought. 'What would a mere -drowned boy be to either of those men----a boy dead too all these years -before?' - -She wrote insolently to her cousin, that the Third Section, with -its eyes of Argus and its limbs of Vishnoo, had always been but an -overgrown imbecile, and set her woman's wits to accomplish what the -Third Section had failed to do for her. So much she thought of it that -the name seemed forced into her very brain; she seemed to hear every -one saying----'Vassia Kazán.' It was a word to conjure with, at least: -she could at the least try the effect of its utterance any day upon -either of those who had made it the key of their correspondence. Russia -had written down Vassia Kazán as dead, and the mystery which enveloped -the name would not open to her. She knew her country too well not to -know that this bold statement might cover some political secret, some -story wholly unlike that which was given her. Vassia Kazán might have -lived and have incurred the suspicions of the police, and be dwelling -far away in the death in life of Siberian mines, or deep sunk in some -fortress, like a stone at the bottom of a well. The reply not only -did not beget her belief in it, but gave her range for the widest and -wildest conjectures of imagination. 'It is some fault, some folly, some -crime, who can tell? And Vassia Kazán is the victim or the associate, -or the confidant of it. But what is it? And how does Egon know of it?' - -She passed the summer in pleasures of all kinds, but the subject did -not lose its power over her, nor did she forget the face of Sabran as -he had turned it away from her in the ball-room of the Hofburg. - -He himself had left the capital, after affirming to the minister that -private reasons, which he could not enter into, had induced him to -entreat the Imperial pardon for so sudden a change of resolve, and to -solicit permission to decline the high honour that had been vouchsafed -to him. - -'What shall I say to Wanda?' he asked himself incessantly, as the -express train swung through the grand green country towards Salzburg. - -She was sitting on the lake terrace with the Princess, when a telegram -from her cousin Kunst was brought to her. Bela and Gela were playing -near with squadrons of painted cuirassiers, and the great dogs were -lying on the marble pavement at her feet. It was a golden close to a -sunless but fine day; the snow peaks were growing rosy as the sun shone -for an instant behind the Venediger range, and the lake was calm and -still and green, one little boat going noiselessly across it from the -Holy Isle to the further side. - -'What a pity to leave it all!' she thought as she took the telegram. - -The Minister's message was curt and angered: - -'Your husband has resigned; he makes himself and me ridiculous. Unable -to guess his motive, I am troubled and embarrassed beyond expression.' - -The other, from Sabran, said simply: 'I am coming home. I give up -Russia.' - -'Any bad news?' the Princess asked, seeing the seriousness of her face. -Her niece rose and gave her the papers. - -'Is Réné mad!' she exclaimed as she read. His wife, who was startled -and dismayed at the affront to her cousin and to her sovereign, yet had -been unable to repress a movement of personal gladness, hastened to say -in his defence: - -'Be sure he has some grave, good reason, dear mother. He knows the -world too well to commit a folly. Unexplained, it looks strange, -certainly; but he will be home to-night or in the early morning; then -we shall know; and be sure we shall find him right.' - -'Right!' echoed the Princess, lifting the little girl who was her -namesake off her knee, a child white as a snowdrop, with golden curls, -who looked as if she had come out of a band of Correggio's baby angels. - -'He is always right,' said his wife, with a gesture towards Bela, who -had paused in his play to listen, with a leaden cuirassier of the guard -suspended in the air. - -'You are an admirable wife, Wanda,' said the Princess, with extreme -displeasure on her delicate features. 'You defend your lord when -through him you are probably _brouillée_ with your Sovereign for life.' - -She added, her voice tremulous with astonishment and anger: 'It is a -caprice, an insolence, that no Sovereign and no minister could pardon. -I am most truly your husband's friend, but I can conceive no possible -excuse for such a change at the very last moment in a matter of such -vast importance.' - -'Let us wait, dear mother,' said Wanda softly. 'It is not you who would -condemn Réné unheard?' - -'But such a breach of etiquette! What explanation can ever annul it?' - -'Perhaps none. I know it is a very grave offence that he has committed, -and yet I cannot help being happy,' said his wife with a smile, as she -lifted up the little Ottilie, and murmured over the child's fair curls, -'Ah, my dear little dove! We are not going to Russia after all. You -little birds will not leave your nest!' - -'Bela is not going to the snow palace?' said he, whose ears were very -quick, and to whom his attendants had told marvellous narratives of an -utterly imaginary Russia. - -'No; are not you glad, my dear?' - -He thought very gravely for a moment. - -'Bela is not sure. Marc says Bela would have slaves in Russia, and -might beat them.' - -'Bela would be beaten himself if he did, and by my own hand, said his -mother very gravely. 'Oh, child! where did you get your cruelty?' - -'He is not cruel,' said the Princess. 'He is only masterful.' - -'Alas! it is the same thing.' - -She sent the children indoors, and remained after the sun-glow had all -faded, and Mdme. Ottilie had gone away to her own rooms, and paced -to and fro the length of the terrace, troubled by an anxiety which -she would have owned to no one. What could have happened to make -him so offend alike the State and the Court? She tormented herself -with wondering again and again whether she had used any incautious -expression in her letters which could have betrayed to him the poignant -regret the coming exile gave her. No! she was sure she had not done -so. She had only written twice, preferring telegrams as quicker, and, -to a man, less troublesome than letters. She knew courts and cabinets -too well not to know that the step her husband had taken was one which -would wholly ruin the favour he enjoyed with the former, and wholly -take away all chance of his being ever called again to serve the -latter. Personally she was indifferent to that kind of ambition; but -her attachment to the Imperial house was too strong, and her loyalty -to it too hereditary, for her not to be alarmed at the idea of losing -its good-will. Disquieted and afraid of all kinds of formless unknown -ills, she went with a heavy heart into the Rittersaal to a dinner for -which she could find no appetite. The Princess also, so talkative and -vivacious at other times, was silent and pre-occupied. The evening -passed tediously. He did not come. - -It was past midnight, and she had given up all hope of his arrival, -when she heard the returning trot of the horses, who had been sent over -to Matrey in the evening on the chance of his being there. She was in -her own chamber, having dismissed her women, and was trying in vain to -keep her thoughts to nightly prayer. At the sound of the horses' feet -without, she threw on a _négligé_ of white satin and lace, and went, -out on to the staircase to meet him. As he came up the broad stairs, -with Donau and Neva gladly leaping on him, he looked up and saw her -against the background of oak and tapestry and old armour, with the -light of a great Persian lamp in metal that swung above shed full upon -her. She had never looked more lovely to him than as she stood so, her -eyes eagerly searching the dim shadow for him, and the loose white -folds embroidered in silk with pale roses flowing downward from her -throat to her feet. He drew her within her chamber, and took her in his -arms with a passionate gesture. - -'Let us forget everything,' he murmured, 'except that we have been -parted nearly a month!' - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -In the morning, after breakfast in the little Saxe room, she said to -him with gentle firmness: 'Réné, you must tell me now--why have you -refused Russia?' - -He had known that the question must come, and all the way on his -homeward journey he had been revolving in his mind the answer he would -give to it. He was very pale, but otherwise he betrayed no agitation as -he turned and looked at her. - -'That is what I cannot tell you,' he replied. - -She could not believe she heard aright. - -'What do you mean?' she asked him. 'I have had a message from Kunst; -he is deeply angered. I understand that, after all was arranged, you -abruptly resigned the Russian mission. I ask your reasons. It is a very -grave step to have taken. I suppose your motives must be very strong -ones?' - -'They are so,' said Sabran; and he continued in the forced and measured -tone of one who recites what he has taught himself to say: 'It is quite -natural that your cousin Kunst should be offended; the Emperor also. -You perhaps will be the same when I say to you that I cannot tell you, -as I cannot tell them, the grounds of my withdrawal. Perhaps you, like -them, will not forgive it.' - -Her nostrils dilated and her breast heaved: she was startled, -mortified, amazed. 'You do not choose to tell _me_!' she said in -stupefaction. - -'I cannot tell you.' - -'She gazed at him with the first bitterness of wrath that he had ever -seen upon her face. She had been used to perfect submission of others -all her life. She had the blood in her of stern princes, who had meted -out rule and justice against which there had been no appeal. She was -accustomed even in him to deference, homage, consideration, to be -consulted always, deferred to often. His answer for the moment seemed -to her an unwarrantable insult. - -Her influence, her relatives, her sovereign, had given him one of the -highest honours conceivable, and he did not choose to even say why he -was thankless for it! Passionate and withering words rose to her lips, -but she restrained their utterance. Not even in that moment could she -bring herself to speak what might seem to rebuke him with the weight -of all his debt to her. She remained silent, but he understood all the -intense indignation that held her speechless there. He approached her -more nearly, and spoke with emotion, but with a certain sternness in -his voice---- - -'I know very well that I must offend and even outrage you. But I -cannot tell you my motives. It is the first time that I have ever -acted independently of you or failed to consult your wishes. I only -venture to remind you that marriage does give to the man the right to -do so, though I have never availed myself of it. Nay, even now, I owe -you too much to be ingrate enough to take refuge in my authority as -your husband. I prefer to owe more, as I have owed so much, to your -tenderness. I prefer to ask of you, by your love for me, not to press -me for an answer that I am not in a position to make; to be content -with what I say--that I have relinquished the Russian mission because I -have no choice but to do so.' - -He spoke firmly, because he spoke only the truth, although not all the -truth. - -A great anger rose up in her, the first that she had ever been moved to -by him. All the pride of her temper and all her dignity were outraged -by this refusal to have confidence in her. It seemed incredible -to her. She still thought herself the prey of some dream, of some -hallucination. Her lips parted to speak, but again she withheld the -words she was about to utter. Her strong justice compelled her to admit -that he was but within his rights, and her sense of duty was stronger -than her sense of self-love. - -She did not look at him, nor could she trust her voice. She turned -from him without a syllable, and left the room. She was afraid of the -violence of the anger that she felt. - -'If it had been only to myself I would pardon it,' she thought; 'but an -insult to my people, to my country, to my sovereign!--an insult without -excuse, or explanation, or apology----' - -She shut herself alone within her oratory and passed the most bitter -hour of her life. The imperious and violent temper of the Szalras -was dormant in her character, though she had chastened and tamed it, -and the natural sweetness and serenity of her disposition had been a -counterpoise to it so strong that the latter had become the only thing -visible in her. But all the wrath of her race was now aroused and in -arms against what she loved best on earth. - -'If it had been anything else,' she thought; 'but a public act like -this--an ingratitude to the Crown itself! A caprice for all the world -to chatter of and blame!' - -It would have been hard enough to bear, difficult enough to explain -away to others, if he had told her his reasons, however captious, -unwise, or selfish they might be; but to have the door of his soul -thus shut upon her, his thoughts thus closed to her, hurt her with -intolerable pain, and filled her with a deep and burning indignation. - -She passed all the early morning hours alone in her little temple of -prayer, striving in vain against the bitterness of her heart; above -her the great ivory Crucifixion, the work of Angermayer, beneath which -so many generations of the women of the House of Szalras had knelt in -their hours of tribulation or bereavement. - -When she left the oratory she had conquered herself. Though she could -not extinguish the human passions that smarted and throbbed within her, -she knew her duty well enough to know that it must lie in submission -and in silence. - -She sought for him at once. She found him in the library: he was -playing to himself a long dreamy concerto of Schubert's, to soothe the -irritation of his own nerves and pass away a time of keen suspense. He -rose as she came into the room, and awaited her approach with a timid -anxiety in his eyes, which she was too absorbed by her own emotions to -observe. He had assumed a boldness that he had not, and had used his -power to dominate her rather in desperation than in any sense of actual -mastery. In his heart it was he who feared her. - -'You were quite right,' she said simply to him. 'Of course, you are -master of your own actions, and owe no account of them to me. We will -say no more about it. For myself, you know I am content enough to -escape exile to any embassy.' - -He kissed her hand with an unfeigned reverence and humility. - -'You are as merciful as you are great,' he murmured. 'If I be silent it -is my misfortune.' He paused abruptly. - -A sudden thought came over her as he spoke. - -'It is some State secret that he knows and cannot speak of, and that -has made him unwilling to go. Why did I never think of that before?' - -An explanation that had its root in honour, a reticence that sprang -from conscience, were so welcome to her, and to her appeared so -natural, that they now consoled her at once, and healed the wounds to -her own pride. - -'Of course, if it be so, he is right not to speak even to me,' she -mused, and her only desire was now to save him from the insistence and -the indignation of the Princess, and the examination which these were -sure to entail upon him when he should meet her at the noon breakfast -now at hand. - -To that end she sought out her aunt in her own apartments, taking -with her the tiny Ottilie, who always disarmed all irritation in her -godmother by the mere presence of her little flower-like face. - -'Dear mother,' she said softly, when the child had made her morning -obeisance, 'I am come to ask of you a great favour and kindness to me. -Réné returned last night. He has done what he thought right. I do not -even ask his reasons. He has acted from _force majeure_ by dictate of -his own honour. Will you do as I mean to do? Will you spare him any -interrogation? I shall be so grateful to you, and so will he.' - -Mdme. Ottilie, opening her bonbonnière for her namesake, drew up her -fragile figure with a severity unusual to her. - -'Do I hear you aright? You do not even know the reasons of the insult -M. de Sabran has passed upon the Crown and Cabinet, and you do not even -mean to ask them?' - -'I do mean that; and what I do not ask I feel sure you will admit no -one else has any right to ask of him.' - -'No one certainly except His Majesty.' - -'I presume His Majesty has had all information due to him as our -Imperial master. All I entreat of you, dearest mother, is to do as -I have done; assume, as we are bound to assume, that Réné has acted -wisely and rightly, and not weary him with questions to which it will -be painful to him not to respond.' - -'Questions! I never yet indulged in anything so vulgar as curiosity, -that you should imagine I shall be capable of subjecting your husband -to a cross-examination. If you be satisfied, I can have no right to -be more exacting than yourself. The occurrence is to me lamentable, -inexcusable, unintelligible; but if explanation be not offered me you -may rest assured I shall not intrude my request for it.' - -'Of that I am sure; but I am not contented only with that. I want you -to feel no dissatisfaction, no doubt, no anger against him. You may be -sure that he has acted from conviction, because he was most desirous to -go to Russia, as you saw when you urged him to accept the mission.' - -'I have said the utmost that I can say,' replied the Princess, with a -chill light in her blue eyes. 'This little child is no more likely to -ask questions than I am, after what you have stated. But you must not -regard my silence as any condonation of what must always appear to me a -step disrespectful to the Crown, contrary to all usages of etiquette, -and injurious to his own future and that of his children. His scruples -of conscience came too late.' - -'I did not say they were exactly that. I believe he learned something -which made him consider that his honour required him to withdraw.' - -'That may be,' said the Princess, frigidly. 'As I observed, it came -lamentably late. You will excuse me if I breakfast in my own rooms this -morning.' - -Wanda left her, gave the child to a nurse who waited without, and -returned to the library. She had offended and pained Mdme. Ottilie, -but she had saved her husband from annoyance. She knew that though -the Princess was by no means as free from curiosity as she declared -herself, she was too high-bred and too proud to solicit a confidence -withheld from her. - -Sabran was seated at the piano where she had left him, but his forehead -rested on the woodwork of it, and his whole attitude was suggestive -of sad and absorbed thought and abandonment to regrets that were -unavailing. - -'It has cost him so much,' she reflected as she looked at him. 'Perhaps -it has been a self-sacrifice, a heroism even; and I, from mere wounded -feeling, have been angered against him and almost cruel!' - -With the exaggeration in self-censure of all generous natures, she was -full of remorse at having added any pain to the disappointment which -had been his portion; a disappointment none the less poignant, as she -saw, because it had been voluntarily, as she imagined, accepted. - -As he heard her approach he started and rose, and the expression of his -face startled her for a moment; it was so full of pain, of melancholy, -almost (could she have believed it) of despair. What could this matter -be to affect him thus, since being of the State it could be at its -worst only some painful and compromising secret of political life which -could have no personal meaning for him? It was surely impossible that -mere disappointment----a disappointment self-inflicted----could bring -upon him such suffering? But she threw these thoughts away. In her -great loyalty she had told herself that she must not even think of this -thing, lest she should let it come between them once again and tempt -her from her duty and obedience. Her trust in him was perfect. - -The abandonment of a coveted distinction was in itself a bitter -disappointment, but it seemed to him as nothing beside the sense of -submission and obedience compelled from him to Vàsàrhely. He felt as -though an iron hand, invisible, weighed on his life, and forced it into -subjection. When he had almost grown secure that his enemy's knowledge -was a buried harmless thing, it had risen and barred his way, speaking -with an authority which it was not possible to disobey. With all his -errors he was a man of high courage, who had always held his own with -all men. How the old forgotten humiliation of his earliest years -revived, and enforced from him the servile timidity of the Slav blood -which he had abjured. He had never for an instant conceived it possible -to disregard the mandate he received; that an apparently voluntary -resignation was permitted to him was, his conscience acknowledged, more -mercy than he could have expected. That Vàsàrhely would act thus had -not occurred to him; but before the act he could not do otherwise than -admit its justice and obey. - -But the consciousness of that superior will compelling him, left in him -a chill tremor of constant fear, of perpetual self-abasement. What was -natural to him was the reckless daring which many Russians, such as -Skobeleff, have shown in a thousand ways of peril. He was here forced -only to crouch and to submit; it was more galling, more cruel to him -than utter exposure would have been. The sense of coercion was always -upon him like a dragging chain. It produced on him a despondency, which -not even the presence of his wife or the elasticity of his own nature -could dispel. - -He had to play a part to her, and to do this was unfamiliar and hateful -to him. In all the years before he had concealed a fact from her, but -he had never been otherwise false. Though to his knowledge there had -been always between them the shadow of a secret untold, there had -never been any sense upon him of obligation to measure his words, to -feign sentiments he had not, to hide behind a carefully constructed -screen of untruth. Now, though he had indeed not lied with his lips, -he had to sustain a concealment which was a thousand times more trying -to him than that concealment of his birth and station to which he had -been so long accustomed that he hardly realised it as any error. The -very nobility with which she had accepted his silence, and given it, -unasked, a worthy construction, smote him with a deeper sense of shame -than even that which galled him when he remembered the yoke laid on him -by the will of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -He roused himself to meet her with composure. - -She rested her hand caressingly on his. - -'We will never speak of Russia any more. I should be sorry were the -Kaiser to think you capricious or disloyal, but you have too much -ability to have incurred this risk. Let it all be as though there had -never arisen any question of public life for you. I have explained -to Aunt Ottilie; she will not weary you with interrogation; she -understands that you have acted as your honour bade you. That is enough -for those who love you as do she and I.' - -Every word she spoke entered his very soul with the cruellest irony, -the sharpest reproach. But of these he let her see nothing. Yet he -was none the less abjectly ashamed, less passionately self-condemned, -because he had to consume his pain in silence, and had the self-control -to answer, still with a smile, as he touched a chord or two of music: - -'When the Israelites were free they hankered after the flesh-pots of -Egypt. They deserved eternal exile, eternal bondage. So do I, for -having ever been ingrate enough to dream of leaving Hohenszalras for -the world of men!' - -Then he turned wholly towards the Erard keyboard, and with splendour -and might there rolled forth under his touch the military march of -Rákóczi: he was glad of the majesty and passion of the music which -supplanted and silenced speech. - -'That is very grand,' she said, when the last notes had died away. -'One seems to hear the _Eljén!_ of the whole nation in it. But play me -something more tender, more pathetic----some _lieder_ half sorrow and -half gladness, you know so many of all countries.' - -He paused a moment; then his hands wandered lightly across the notes, -and called up the mournful folk-songs that he had heard so long, so -long, before; songs of the Russian peasants, of the maidens borne off -by the Tartar in war, of the blue-eyed children carried away to be -slaves, of the homeless villagers beholding their straw-roofed huts -licked up by the hungry hurrying flame lit by the Kossack or the Kurd; -songs of a people without joy, that he had heard in his childish days, -when the great rafts had drifted slowly down the Volga water, and -across the plains the lines of chained prisoners had crept as slowly -through the dust; or songs that he had sung to himself, not knowing -why, where the winter was white on all the land, and the bay of the -famished wolves afar off had blent with the shrill sad cry of the wild -swans dying of cold and of hunger and of thirst on the frozen rivers, -and the reeds were grown hard as spears of iron, and the waves were -changed to stone. - -The intense melancholy penetrated her very heart. She listened with -the tears in her eyes, and her whole being stirred and thrilled by a -pain not her own. A kind of consciousness came to her, borne on that -melancholy melody, of some unspoken sorrow which lived in this heart -which beat so near her own, and whose every throb she had thought she -knew. A sudden terror seized her lest all this while she who believed -his whole life hers was in truth a stranger to his deepest grief, his -dearest memories. - -When the last sigh of those plaintive songs without words had died -away, she signed to him to approach her. - -'Tell me,' she said very gently, 'tell me the truth. Réné, did you ever -care for any woman, dead or lost, more than, or as much as, you care -for me? I do not ask you if you loved others. I know all men have many -caprices, but was any one of them so dear to you that you regret her -still? Tell me the truth; I will be strong to bear it.' - -He, relieved beyond expression that she but asked him that on which his -conscience was clear and his answer could be wholly sincere, sat down -at her feet and leaned his head against her knee. - -'Never, so hear me God!' he said simply. 'I have loved no woman as I -love you.' - -'And there is not one that you regret?' - -'There is not one.' - -'Then what is it that you do regret? Something more weighs on you than -the mere loss of diplomatic life, which; after all, to you is no more -than the loss of a toy to Bela.' - -'If I do regret,' he said, with a smile, 'it is foolish and thankless. -The happiness you give me here is worth all the fret and fever of -the world's ambitions. You are so great and good to be so little -angered with me for my reticence. All my life, such as it is, shall be -dedicated to my gratitude.' - -Once more an impulse to tell her all passed over him----a sense that -he might trust her absolutely for all tenderness and all pity came -upon him; but with the weakness which so constantly holds back human -souls from their own deliverance, his courage once again failed him. -He once more looking at her thought: 'Nay! I dare not. She would never -understand, she would never pardon, she would never listen. At the -first word she would abhor me.' - -He did not dare; he bent his face down on her knees as any child might -have done. - -'What I ever must regret is not to be worthy of you!' he murmured; and -the subterfuge was also a truth. - -She looked down at him wistfully with doubt and confusion mingled. She -sighed, for she understood that buried in his heart there was some pain -he would not share, perchance some half involuntary unfaithfulness he -did not dare confess. She thrust this latter thought away quickly; it -hurt her as the touch of a hot iron hurts tender flesh; she would not -harbour it. It might well be, she knew. - -She was silent some little time, then she said calmly: - -'I think you worthy. Is not that enough? Never say to me what you do -not wish to say. But----but----if there be anything you believe that I -should blame, be sure of this, love: I am no fair weather friend. Try -me in deep water, in dark storm!' - -And still he did not speak. - -His evil angel held him back and said to him, 'Nay! she would never -forgive.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -One day in this winter time she sat alone in her octagon-room whilst he -was out driving in the teeth of a strong wind blowing from the north -and frequent bursts of snowstorm. Rapid exercise, eager movements, were -necessary to him at once as tonic and as anodyne, and the northern -blood that was in him made the bitter cold, the keen and angry air, the -conflict with the frantic horses tearing at their curbs welcome and -wholesome to him. Paul Zabaroff had many a day driven so over the hard -snows of Russian plains. - -She sat at home as the twilight drew on, her feet buried in the furs -before her chair, the fragrance shed about her from a basket of forced -narcissus and bowls full of orange flowers and of violets, the light -of the burning wood shining on the variegated and mellow hues of the -tiles of the hearth. The last poems of Coppée were on her lap, but -her thoughts had wandered away from those to Sabran, to her children, -to a thousand happy trifles connected with one or the other. She was -dreaming idly in that vague reverie which suits the last hour of the -reclining day in the grey still winter of a mountain-land. She was -almost sorry when Hubert entered and brought her the mail-bag, which -had just come through the gloomy defiles and the frosted woods which -stretched between them and Matrey. - -'It grows late,' she said to him. 'I fear it will be a stormy night. -Have you heard the Marquis return? - -He told her that Sabran had not yet driven in, and ventured to add -his hope that his master would not be out long; then he asked if she -desired the lamps lit, and on being told she did not, withdrew, leaving -the leather bag on a table close to one of the Saxe bowls of violets. -There was plenty of light from the fire, and even from the windows, to -read her letters by; she went first to one of the casements and looked -at the night, which was growing very wild and dark. Though day still -lingered, she could hear the wind go screaming down the lake, and -the rush of the swollen water swirling against the terrace buttresses -below. All beyond, woods, hills, mountains, were invisible under the -grey mist. - -'I hope he will not be late,' she thought, but she was too keen a -mountaineer to be apprehensive. Sabran now knew every road and path -through all the Tauern as well as she did. She returned to her seat and -unlocked the leather bag; there were several newspapers, two letters -for the Princess, three or four for Sabran, and one only for herself. -She laid his aside for him, sent those of the Princess to her room, -and opened her own. The writing of it she did not recognise; it was -anonymous, and was very brief. - - -'If you wish to know why the Marquis de Sabran did not go to Russia, -ask Egon Vàsàrhely.' - - -That was all: so asps are little. - -She sat quite still, and felt as if a bolt had fallen on her from the -leaden skies without. Vàsàrhely knew, the writer of the letter knew, -and she----_she----_ did not know! That was her first distinct thought. - -If Sabran had entered the room at that instant she would have held to -him this letter, and would have said, 'I ask you, not him.' He was -absent, and she sat motionless, keeping the unsigned note in her hand, -and staring down on it. Then she turned and looked at the post-mark. -It was 'Vienna,' A city of a million souls! What clue to the writer -was there? She read it again and again, as even the wisest will read -such poisonous things, as though by repeated study that mystery would -be compelled to stand out clearly revealed. It did not say enough to -have been the mere invention of the sender; it was not worded as an -insinuation, but as a fact. For that reason it took a hold upon her -mind which would at once have rejected a fouler or a darker suggestion. -Although free from any baseness of suspicion there was yet that in the -name of her cousin, in juxtaposition with her husband's, which could -not do otherwise than startle and carry with it a corroboration of the -statement made. A wave of the deep anger which had moved her on her -husband's first refusal swept over her again. Her hand clenched, her -eyes hashed, where she sat alone in the gathering shadows. - -There came a sound at the door of the room and a small golden head came -from behind the tapestry. - -'May we come in?' said Bela; it was the children's hour. - -She rose, and put him backward. - -'Not now, my darling; I am occupied. Go away for a little while.' - -The women who were with them took the children back to their -apartments. She sat down with the note still in her hand. What could -it mean? No good thing was ever said thus. She pondered long, and was -unable to imagine any sense or meaning it could have, though all the -while memories thronged upon, her of words, and looks, and many trifles -which had told her of the enmity that was existent between her cousin -and Sabran. That she saw; but there her knowledge ceased, her vision -failed. She could go no further, conjecture nothing more. - -'Ask Egon!' Did they think she would ask him or any living being that -which Sabran had refused to confide in her? Whoever wrote this knew her -little, she thought. Perhaps there were women who would have done so. -She was not one of them. - -With a sudden impulse of scorn she cast the sheet of paper into the -fire before her. Then she went to her writing-table and enclosed the -envelope in another, which she addressed to her lawyers in Salzburg. -She wrote with it: 'This is the cover to an anonymous letter which I -have received. Try your uttermost to discover the sender.' - -Then she sat down again and thought long, and wearily, and vainly. She -could make nothing of it. She could see no more than a wayfarer whom a -blank wall faces as he goes. The violets and orange blossoms were close -at her elbow; she never in after time smelt their perfume without a -sick memory of the stunned, stupefied bewilderment of that hour. - -The door unclosed again, a voice again spoke behind as a hand drew back -the folds of the tapestry. - -'What, are you in darkness here? I am very cold. Have you no tea for -me?' said Sabran, as he entered, his eyes brilliant; his cheeks warm, -from the long gallop against the wind. He had changed his clothes, and -wore a loose suit of velvet; the servants, entering behind him, lit the -candelabra, and brought in the lamps; warmth, and gladness, and light -seemed to come with him; she looked up and thought, 'Ah! what does any -thing matter? He is home in safety!' - -The impulse to ask of him what she had been bidden to ask of Egon -Vàsàrhely had passed with the intense surprise of the first moment. She -could not ask of him what she had promised never to seek to know; she -could not reopen a long-closed wound. But neither could she forget the -letter lying burnt there amongst the flames of the wood. He noticed -that her usual perfect calm was broken as she welcomed him, gave him -his letters, and bade the servants bring tea; but he thought it mere -anxiety, and his belated drive; and being tired with a pleasant fatigue -which made rest sweet, he stretched his limbs out on a low couch beside -the hearth, and gave himself up to that delicious dreamy sense of -_bien-être_ which a beautiful woman, a beautiful room, tempered warmth -and light, and welcome repose, bring to any man after some hours effort -and exposure in wild weather and intense cold and increasing darkness. - -'I almost began to think I should not see you to-night,' he said -happily, as he took from her hand the little cup of Frankenthal china -which sparkled like a jewel in the light. 'I had fairly lost my way, -and Josef knew it no better than I; the snow fell with incredible -rapidity, and it seemed to grow night in an instant. I let the horses -take their road, and they brought us home; but if there be any poor -pedlars or carriers on the hills to-night I fear they will go to their -last sleep.' - -She shuddered and looked at him with dim, fond eyes, 'He is here; he is -mine,' she thought; 'what else matters?' - -Sabran stretched out his fingers and took some of the violets from the -Saxe bowl and fastened them in his coat as he went on speaking of the -weather, of the perils of the roads whose tracks were obliterated, and -of the prowess and intelligence of his horses, who had found the way -home when he and his groom, a man born and bred in the Tauern, had both -been utterly at a loss. The octagon-room had never looked lovelier and -gayer to him, and his wife had never looked more beautiful than both -did now as he came to them out of the darkness and the snowstorm and -the anxiety of the last hour. - -'Do not run those risks,' she murmured. 'You know all that your life is -to me.' - -The letter which lay burnt in the fire, and the dusky night of ice -and wind without, had made him dearer to her than ever. And yet the -startled, shocked sense of some mystery, of some evil, was heavy upon -her, and did not leave her that evening nor for many a day after. - -'You are not well?' he said to her anxiously later, as they left the -dinner-table. She answered evasively. - -'You know I am not always quite well now. It is nothing. It will pass.' - -'I was wrong to alarm you by being out so late in such weather,' he -said with self-reproach. 'I will go out earlier in future.' - -'Do not wear those violets,' she said, with a trivial caprice wholly -unlike her, as she took them from his coat. 'They are Bonapartist -emblems--_fleurs de malheur_.' - -He smiled, but he was surprised, for he had never seen in her any one -of those fanciful whims and vagaries that are common to women. - -'Give me any others instead,' he said; 'I wear but your symbol, O my -lady!' - -She took some myrtle and lilies of the valley from one of the large -porcelain jars in the Rittersaal. - -'These are our flowers,' she said as she gave them to him. 'They mean -love and peace.' - -He turned from her slightly as he fastened them where the others had -been. - -All the evening she was pre-occupied and nervous. She could not forget -the intimation she had received. It was intolerable to her to have -anything of which she could not speak to her husband. Though they had -their own affairs apart one from the other, there had been nothing -of moment in hers that she had ever concealed from him. But here it -was impossible for her to speak to him, since she had pledged herself -never to seek to know the reason of an action which, however plausibly -she explained it to herself, remained practically inexplicable and -unintelligible. It was terrible to her, too, to feel that the lines -of a coward who dared not sign them had sunk so deeply into her mind -that she did not question their veracity. They had at once carried -conviction to her that Egon Vàsàrhely did know what they said he did. -She could not have told why this was, but it was so. It was what hurt -her most----others knew; she did not. - -She felt that if she could have spoken to Sabran of it, the matter -would have become wholly indifferent to her; but the obligation of -reticence, the sense of separation which it involved, oppressed her -greatly. She was also haunted by the memory of the enmity which existed -between these men, whose names were so strangely coupled in the -anonymous counsel given her. - -She stayed long in her oratory that night, seeking vainly for calmness -and patience under this temptation; seeking beyond all things for -strength to put the poison of it wholly from her mind. She dreaded lest -it should render her irritable and suspicious. She reproached herself -for having been guilty of even so much insinuation of rebuke to him -as her words with the flower had carried in them. She had ideas of -the duties of a woman to her husband widely different to those which -prevail in the world. She allowed herself neither irritation nor irony -against him. 'When the thoughts rebel, the acts soon revolt,' she was -wont to say to herself, and even in her thoughts she would never blame -him. - -Prayer, even if it have no other issue or effect, rarely fails to -tranquillise and fortify the heart which is lifted up ever so vaguely -in search of a superhuman aid. She left her oratory strengthened and -calmed, resolved in no way to allow such partial success to their -unknown foe as would be given if the treacherous warning brought any -suspicion or bitterness to her mind. She passed through the open -archway in the wall which divided his rooms from hers, and looked at -him where he lay already asleep upon his bed, early fatigued by the -long cold drive from which he had returned at nightfall. He was never -more handsome than sleeping calmly thus, with the mellow light of a -distant lamp reaching the fairness of his face. She looked at him with -all her heart in her eyes; then stooped and kissed him without awaking -him. - -'Ah! my love,' she thought, 'what should ever come between us? Hardly -even death, I think, for if I lost you I should not live long without -you.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -The Salzburg lawyers employed all the resources of the Viennese police -to discover the sender of the envelope, but vainly; nothing was -learned by all the efforts made. But the letter constantly haunted her -thoughts. It produced in her an uneasiness and an apprehensiveness -wholly foreign to her temper. The impossibility also of saying anything -about it increased the weight of it on her memory. Yet she never once -thought of asking Vàsàrhely. She wrote to him now and then, as she had -always done, to give him tidings of her health or of her movements, -but she never once alluded in the most distant terms to the anonymous -information she had received. If he had been there beside her she would -not have spoken of it. Of the two, she would sooner have reopened the -subject to her husband. But she never did so. She had promised him -to be silent, and to her creed a promise was inviolate, never to be -retracted, be the pressure or the desire to do so what it would. - -It was these grand lines on which her character and her habits were -cast that awed him, and made him afraid to tell her his true history. -Had he revered her less he would probably have deceived her less. Had -she been of a less noble temperament she would also probably have been -much less easy to deceive. - -Her health was at this time languid, and more uncertain than usual, -and the two lines of the letter were often present to her thoughts, -tormenting her with idle conjecture, painful doubt, none the less -painful because it could take no definite shape. Sometimes when she -was not well enough to accompany him out of doors or drive her own -sleigh through the keen clear winter air, she sat doing nothing, and -thinking only of this thing, in the same room, with the same smell of -violets about her, musing on what it might by any possibility mean. Any -secret was safe with Egon, but then since the anonymous writer was in -possession of it the secret was not only his. She wondered sometimes in -terror whether it could be anything that might in after years affect -her children's future, and then as rapidly discarded the bare thought -as so much dishonour to their father. 'It is only because I am now -nervous and impressionable,' she said to herself,'that this folly takes -such a hold upon me. When I am well again I shall not think of it. Who -is it says of anonymous letters that they are like "_les immondices des -rues: il faut boucher le nez, tourner la tête et passer outre?_"' - -But '_les immondices_' spoiled the odours of the new year violets to -her. - -In the early spring of the year she gave birth to another son. She -suffered more than she had ever done before, and recovered less -quickly. The child was like all the others, fair, vigorous, and full -of health. She wished to give him her husband's name, but Sabran so -strenuously opposed the idea that she yielded, and named him after her -brother Victor, who had fallen at Magenta. - -There were the usual rejoicings throughout the estates, rejoicings -that were the outcome of genuine affection and fealty to the race of -Szalras, whose hold on the people of the Tauern had resisted all the -revolutionary movements of the earlier part of the century, and had -fast root in the hearts of the staunch and conservative mountaineers. -But for the first time as she heard the hearty '_Hoch!_' of the -assembled peasantry echoing beneath her windows, and the salvos fired -from the old culverins on the keep, a certain fear mingled with her -maternal pride, and she thought: 'Will the people love them as well -twenty years hence, fifty years hence, when I shall be no more? Will my -memory be any shield to them? Will the traditions of our race outlast -the devouring changes of the world?' - -Meantime the Princess, happy and smiling, showed the little new-born -noble to the stalwart chamois hunters, the comely farmers and -fishermen, the clear-eyed stout-limbed shepherds and labourers gathered -bareheaded round the Schloss. - -Bela stood by contemplating the crowd he knew so well; he did not see -why they should cheer any other child beside himself. He stood with his -little velvet cap in his hand, because he was always told to do so, but -he felt very inclined to put it on; if his father had not been present -there he would have done so. - -'If I have ever so many brothers,' he said at last thoughtfully to -Greswold, who was by his side, 'it will not make any difference, will -it? I shall always be _the_ one?' - -'What do you mean?' asked the physician. - -'They will none of them be like me? They will none of them be as great -as I am? Not if I have twenty?' - -'You will be always the eldest son, of course,' said the old man, -repressing a smile. 'Yes; you will be their head, their chief, their -leading spirit; but for that reason you will have much more expected of -you than will be expected of them; you will have to learn much more, -and try to be always good. Do you follow me, Count Bela?' - -Bela's little rosy mouth shut itself up contemptuously. 'I shall be -always the eldest, and I shall do whatever I like. I do not see why -they want any others than me.' - -'You will not do always what you like, Count Bela.' - -'Who shall prevent me?' - -'The law, which you will have to obey like everyone else.' - -'I shall make the laws when I am a little older,' said Bela. 'And they -will be for my brothers and all the people, but not for me. I shall do -what I like.' - -'That will be very ungenerous,' said Greswold, quietly. 'Your mother, -the Countess, is very different. She is stern to herself, and indulgent -to all others. That is why she is beloved. If you will think of -yourself so much when you are grown up, you will be hated.' - -Bela flushed a little guiltily and angrily. - -'That will not matter,' he said sturdily. 'I shall please myself -always.' - -'And be unkind to your brothers?' - -'Not if they do what I tell them; I will be very kind if they are good. -Gela always does what I tell him,' he added after a little pause; 'I do -not want any but Gela.' - -'It is natural you should be fondest of Gela, as he is nearest your -age, but you must love all the brothers you may have, or you will -distress your mother very greatly.' - -'Why does she want any but me?' said Bela, clinging to his sense of -personal wrong. And he was not to be turned from that. - -'She wants others beside you,' said the physician, adroitly, 'because -to be happy she needs children who are tender-hearted, unselfish, and -obedient. You are none of those things, my Count Bela, so Heavens ends -her consolation.' - -Bela opened his blue eyes very wide, and he coloured with mortification. - -'She always loves me best!' he said haughtily. 'She always will!' - -'That will depend on yourself, my little lord,' said Greswold, with a -significance which was not lost on the quick intelligence of the child; -and he never forgot this day when his brother Victor was shown to the -people. - -'There will be no lack of heirs to Hohenszalras,' said the Princess -meanwhile to his father. - -He thought as he heard: - -'And if ever she know she can break her marriage like a rotten thread! -Those boys can all be made as nameless as I was! Would she do it? -Perhaps not, for the children's sake. God knows----she might change -even to them; she might hate them as she loves them now, because they -are mine.' - -Even as he sat beside her couch with her hand in his these thoughts -pursued and haunted him. Remorse and fear consumed him. When she looked -at the blue eyes of her new-born son, and said to him with a happy -smile: 'He will be just as much like you as the others are,' he could -only think with a burning sense of shame, 'Like me! like a traitor! -like a liar! like a thief!'----and the faces of these children seemed -to him like those of avenging angels. - -He thought with irrepressible agony of the fact that her country's -laws would divorce her from him if she chose, did ever the truth come -to her ear. He had always known this indeed, as he had known all the -other risks he ran in doing what he did. Put it had been far away, -indistinct, unasserted; whenever the memory of it had passed over him -he had thrust it away. Now when another knew his secret, he could -not do so. He had a strange sensation of having fallen from some -great height; of having all his life slide away like melting ice out -of his hands. He never once doubted for an instant the good faith of -Egon Vàsàrhely. He knew that his lips would no more unclose to tell -his secret than the glaciers yonder would find human voice. But the -consciousness that one man lived, moved, breathed, rose with each day, -and went amongst other men, bearing with him that fatal knowledge, -made it now impossible for himself ever to forget it. A dull remorse, -a sharp apprehension, were for ever his companions, and never left him -for long even in his sweetest hours. He did justice to the magnificent -generosity of the one who spared him. Egon Vàsàrhely knew, as he knew, -that she, hearing the truth, could annul the marriage if she chose. -His children would have no rights, no name, if their mother chose to -separate herself from him. The law would make her once more as free -as though she had never wedded him. He knew that, and the other man -who loved her knew it too. He could measure the force of Vàsàrhely's -temptation as that simple and heroic soldier could not stoop to measure -his. - -He was deeply unhappy, but he concealed it from her. Even when his -heart beat against hers it seemed to him always that there was an -invisible wall between himself and her. He longed to tell the whole -truth to her, but he was afraid; if the whole pain and shame had been -his own that the confession would have caused, he would have dared it; -but he had not the heart to inflict on her such suffering, not the -courage to destroy their happiness with his own hand. Egon Vàsàrhely -alone knew, and he for her sake would never speak. As for the reproach -of his own conscience, as for the remorse that the words of his -children might at any moment call up in him, these lie must bear. He -was a man of cool judgment and of ready resource, and though he had -never foreseen the sharp repentance which his better nature now felt, -he knew that he would be able to live it down as he had crushed out so -many other scruples. He vowed to himself that as far as in him lay he -would atone for his act. The moral influence of his wife had not been -without effect on him. Not altogether, but partially, he had grown to -believe in what she believed in, of the duty of human life to other -lives; he had not her sympathy for others, but he had admired it, and -in his own way followed it, though without her faith. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Life went on in its old pathways at Hohenszalras. Nothing more, was -said by him, or to him, as to his rejection of the Russian mission. She -was niggard in nothing, and when she offered her faith or pledged her -silence, gave both entirely and ungrudgingly. Sabran to her showed an -increase of devotion, an absolute adoration which would in themselves -have sufficed to console any woman; and if the most observant member -of their household, Greswold, perceived in him a preoccupation, a -languor, a gloom, which boded ill for their future peace, the old man -was too loyal in his attachment not to endeavour to shake off his own -suspicions and discredit his own penetration. - -The Princess had been favoured by a note from Olga Brancka, in which -that lady wrote: 'Have you discovered the nature of his refusal of -Russia? Myself, I believe that I was to blame. I hinted to him that -he would be tempted to his old sins in St. Petersburg, and that Wanda -would be very miserable there. It seems that this was enough for the -tender heart of this devoted lover, and too much for his wisdom and -his judgment; he rejected the mission after accepting it. I believe -the Court is furious. I am not _de service_ now, so that I have no -opportunity of endeavouring to restore him to favour; but I imagine the -Emperor will not quarrel for ever with the Hohenszalrasburg. - -The letter restored him at least to the favour of Mdme. Ottilie. -Exaggerated as such a scruple appeared it did not seem to her -impossible in a man whose devotion to his wife she daily witnessed, -shown in a hundred traits. She blamed him still severely in her own -thoughts for what she held an inexcusable disrespect to the Crown, but -she kept her word scrupulously and never spoke to him on the subject. - -'Where else in the wide world would any man have found such -forbearance?' he thought with gratitude, and he knew that nowhere -would such delicate sentiment have existed outside the pale of that -fine patrician dignity which is as incapable of the vulgarity of -inquisitiveness and interrogation as was the Spartan of lament. - -The months went by. They did not leave home; he seemed to have lost -all wish for any absence, and even repulsed the idea of inviting the -usual house parties of the year. She supposed that he was averse to -meeting people who might recur to his rejection of the post he had -once accepted. The summer passed and the autumn came; he spent his -time in occasional sport, the keen and perilous sport of the Austrian -mountains, and more often and more faithfully beguiled himself with -those arts of which he was a brilliant master, though he would call -himself no more than a mere amateur. From the administration of the -estates he had altogether withdrawn himself. - -'You are so much wiser than I,' he always said to her; and when she -would have referred to him, replied: 'You have your lawyers; they are -all honest men. Consult them rather than me.' - -With the affairs of Idrac only he continued to concern himself a -little, and was persistent in setting aside all its revenues to -accumulate for his second son. - -'I wish you cared more about all these things,' she said to him one -day, when she had in her hand the reports from the mines of Galicia. -He answered angrily, 'I have no right to them. They are not mine. If -you chose to give them all away to the Crown I should say nothing.' - -'Not even for the children's sake?' - -'No: you would be entirely justified if you liked to give the children -nothing.' - -'I really do not understand you,' she said in great surprise. - -'Everything is yours,' he said abruptly. - -'And the children too, surely!' she said, with a smile: but the -strangeness of the remark disquieted her. 'It is over-sensitiveness,' -she thought; 'he can never altogether forget that he was poor. It is -for that reason public life would have been so good for him; dignities -which he enjoyed of his own, honours that he arrived at through his own -attainments.' - -Chagrined to have lost, the opportunity of winning personal honours -in a field congenial to him, the sense that everything was hers could -hardly fail to gall him sometimes constantly, though she strove to -efface any remembrance or reminder that it was so. - -In the midsummer of that year, whilst they were quite alone, they were -surprised by another letter from Mdme. Brancka, in which she proposed -to take Hohenszalras on her way from France to Tsarköe Selo, where she -was about to pay a visit which could not be declined by her. - -When in the spring he had written with formality to her to announce the -birth of his son Victor, she had answered with a witty coquettish reply -such as might well have been provocative of further correspondence. -But he had not taken up the invitation. Mortified and irritated, she -had compared his writing with the piece of burnt paper, and been more -satisfied than ever that he had penned the name of Vassia Kazán. But -even were it so, what, she wondered, had it to do with Russia? He -and Egon Vàsàrhely were not friends so intimate that they had any -common interests one with the other. The mystery had interested her -intensely when her rapid intuition had connected the resignation of -Sabran's appointment with the messenger sent to him from Taróc. Her -impatience to be again in his presence grew intense. She imagined a -thousand stories, to cast each aside in derision as impossible. All her -suppositions were built upon no better basis than a fragment of charred -paper; but her shrewd intuition bore her into the region of truth, -though the actual truth of course never suggested itself to her even in -her most fantastic and dramatic visions. Finally she thus proposed to -visit Hohenszalras in the midsummer months. - -'Last year you had such a crowd about you,' she wrote, 'that I -positively saw nothing of you, _liebe_ Wanda. You are alone now, and -I venture to propose myself for a fortnight. You cannot exactly be -said to be in the way to anywhere, but I shall make you so. When one -is going to Russia, a matter of another five hundred miles or so is a -bagatelle.' - -'We must let her come,' said Wanda, as she gave the letter to Sabran, -who, having read it, said with much sincerity---- - -'For heaven's sake, do not. A fortnight of Madame Olga! as well -have----a century of "Madame Angot!"' - -'Can I prevent her?' - -'You can make some excuse. I do not like Mdme. Brancka.' - -'Why?' - -He hesitated; he could not tell her what he had felt at the ball of -the Hofburg. 'She reminds me of a woman who drew me into a thousand -follies, and to cap her good deeds betrayed me to the Prussians. If you -must let her come I will go away. I will go and see your haras on the -Pusztas.' - -'Are you serious?' - -'Quite serious. Were I not ashamed of such a weakness, I should use a -feminine expression. I should say "_elle me donne des nerfs._"' - -'I think she has a great admiration for you, and she does not conceal -it.' - -'Merely because she is sensible that I do not like her. Such women as -she are discontented if only one person fail to admit their charm. She -is accustomed to admiration, and she is not scrupulous as to how she -obtains it.' - -'My dear! pray remember that she is our guest, and doubly our relative.' - -'I will try and remember it; but, believe me, all honour is wholly -wasted upon Mdme. Olga. You offer her a coin of which the person and -the superscription are alike unknown to her.' - -'You are very severe,' said his wife. - -She looked at him, and perceived that he was not jesting, that he -was on the contrary disturbed and annoyed, and she remembered the -persistence with which Olga Brancka had sought his companionship and -accompanied him on his sport in the summer of her visit there. - -'If she had not married first my brother and then my cousin, she would -never have been an intimate friend of mine,' she continued. 'She is of -a world wholly opposed to all my tastes. For you to be absent, if she -came, would be too marked, I think; but we can both leave, if you like. -I am well enough for any movement now, and I can leave the child with -his nurse. Shall we make a tour in Hungary? The haras will interest -you. There are the mines, too, that one ought to visit.' - -He received her assent with gratitude and delight. He felt that he -would have gone to the uttermost ends of the earth rather than run the -risk of spending long lonely summer days in the excitation of Mdme. -Brancka's presence. He detested her, he would always detest her; and -yet when he shut his eyes he saw her so clearly, with the malicious -light in her dusky glance, and the jewelled butterfly trembling about -her breasts. - -'She shall never come under Wanda's roof if I can prevent it,' he -thought, remembering her as she had been that night. - -A few days later the Countess Brancka, much to her rage, had a note -from the Hohenszalrasburg, which said that they were on the point of -leaving for Hungary and Galicia, but that if she would come there in -their absence, the Princess Ottilie, who remained, would be charmed to -receive her. Of course she excused herself, and did not go. A visit to -the solitudes of the Iselthal, where she would, see no one but a lady -of eighty years old and four little children, had few attractions for -the adventurous and vivacious wife of Stefan Brancka. - -'It is only Wanda's jealousy,' she thought, and was furious; but she -looked at herself in the mirror, and was almost consoled as she thought -also, 'He avoids me. Therefore he is afraid of me!' - -She went to her god, _le monde_, and worshipped at all its shrines and -in all its fashions; but in the midst of the turmoil and the triumphs, -the worries and the intoxications of her life, she did not lose her -hold on her purpose, nor forget that he had slighted her. His beautiful -face, serene and scornful, was always before her. He might have been at -her feet, and he chose to dwell beside his wife under those solitary -forests, amongst those solitary mountains of the High Tauern! - -'With a woman he has lived with all these eight years!' she thought, -with furious impatience. 'With a woman who has grafted the Lady of La -Garaye on Libussa, who never gives him a moment's jealousy, who is -as flawless as an ivory statue or a marble throne, who suckles her -children and could spin their clothes if she wanted, who never cares -to go outside the hills of her own home----the Teuton _Hausfrau_ to -her finger-tips.' And she was all the more bitter and the more angered -because, always as she tried to think thus, the image of Wanda rose up -before her, as she had seen her so often at Vienna or Hohenszalras, -with the great pearls on her hair and on her breast. - -/$ -A planet at whose passing, lo! -All lesser stars recede, and night -Grows clear as day thus lighted up -By all her loveliness, which burns -With pure white flame of chastity; -And fires of fair thought.... -$/ - - -END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Ouida - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52136 *** diff --git a/old/52136-h/52136-h.htm b/old/52136-h/52136-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index e2681fa..0000000 --- a/old/52136-h/52136-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8240 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wanda, vol. 2, by Ouida. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -a:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -v:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: - 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52136 ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>WANDA</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>OUIDA</h2> - - -<p class="center"> -<i>'Doch!—alles was dazu mich trieb;</i><br /> -<i>Gott!—war so gut, ach, war so lieb!'</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 20%;">Goethe</span><br /> -</p> - - -<h4>IN THREE VOLUMES</h4> - -<h4>VOL. II.</h4> - - -<h5>London</h5> - -<h5>CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY</h5> - -<h5>1883</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<h3><a name="WANDA" id="WANDA">WANDA.</a></h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> - - -<p>On her return she spoke of her royal friends, of her cousins, of -society, of her fears for the peace of Europe, and her doubts as to -the strength of the empire; but she did not speak of the one person of -whom, beyond all others, Mdme. Ottilie was desirous to hear. When some -hours had passed, and still she had never alluded to the existence of, -the Princess could bear silence no longer, and casting prudence to the -winds, said boldly and with impatience:</p> - -<p>'And your late guest? Have you nothing to tell me? Surely you have seen -him?'</p> - -<p>'He called once,' she answered, 'and I heard him speak at the Chamber.'</p> - -<p>'And was that all?' cried the Princess, disappointed.</p> - -<p>'He speaks very well in public,' added Wanda, 'and he said many tender -and grateful things of you, and sent you many messages—such grateful -ones that my memory is too clumsy a tray to hold such eggshell china.'</p> - -<p>She was angered with herself as she spoke, but the fragrance of the -white lilac and the remembrance of its donor pursued her—angered -with herself, too, because Hohenszalras seemed for the moment sombre, -solitary, still, almost melancholy, wrapped in that winter whiteness -and stillness which she had always loved so well.</p> - -<p>The next morning she saw all her people, visited her schools and her -stables, and tried to persuade herself that she was as contented as -ever.</p> - -<p>The aurist came from Paris shortly after her, and consoled the Princess -by assuring her that the slight deafness she suffered from occasionally -was due to cold.</p> - -<p>'Of course!' she said, with some triumph. 'These mountains, all this -water, rain whenever there is not snow, snow whenever there is not -rain; it is a miracle, and the mercy of Heaven, if one saves any of -one's five senses uninjured in a residence here.'</p> - -<p>She had her satin hood trebly wadded, and pronounced the aurist a -charming person. Herr Greswold in an incautious moment had said to her -that deafness was one of the penalties of age and did not depend upon -climate. A Paris doctor would not have earned his fee of two hundred -napoleons if he had only produced so ungallant a truism. She heard a -little worse after his visit, perhaps, but if so, she said that was -caused by the additional wadding in her hood. He had told her to use a -rose-water syringe, and Herr Greswold was forbidden her presence for a -week because he averred that you might as well try to melt the glacier -with a lighted pastille.</p> - -<p>The aurist gone, life at Hohenszalras resumed its even tenor; and -except for, the post, the tea-cups, and the kind of dishes served at -dinner, hardly differed from what life had been there in the sixteenth -century, save that there were no saucy pages playing in the court, and -no destriers stamping in the stalls, and no culverins loaded on the -bastions.</p> - -<p>'It is like living between the illuminated leaves of one of the Hours,' -thought the Princess, and though her conscience told her that to dwell -so in a holy book like a pressed flower was the most desirable life -that could be granted by Heaven to erring mortality, still she felt it -was dull. A little gossip, a little movement, a little rolling of other -carriage-wheels than her own, had always seemed desirable to her.</p> - -<p>Life here was laid down on broad lines. It was stately, austere, -tranquil; one day was a mirror of all the rest. The Princess fretted -for some little <i>frou-frou</i> of the world to break its solemn silence.</p> - -<p>When Wanda returned from her ride one forenoon she said a little -abruptly to her aunt:</p> - -<p>'I suppose you will be glad to hear you have convinced me. I have -telegraphed to Ludwig to open and air the house in Vienna; we will go -there for three months. It is, perhaps, time I should be seen at Court.'</p> - -<p>'It is a very sudden decision!' said Madame Ottilie, doubting that she -could hear aright.</p> - -<p>'It is the fruit of your persuasions, dear mother mine! The only -advantage in having houses in half a dozen different places is to be -able to go to them without consideration. You think me obstinate, -whimsical, barbaric; the Kaiserin thinks so too. I will endeavour to -conquer my stubbornness. We will go to Vienna next week. You will see -all your old friends, and I all my old jewels.'</p> - -<p>The determination once made, she adhered to it. She had felt a vague -annoyance at the constancy and the persistency with which regret for -the lost society of Sabran recurred to her. She had attributed it to -the solitude in which she lived: that solitude which is the begetter -and the nurse of thought may also be the hotbed of unwise fancies. -It was indeed a solitude filled with grave duties, careful labours, -high desires and endeavours; but perhaps, she thought, the world for a -while, even in its folly, might be healthier, might preserve her from -the undue share which the memory of a stranger had in her musings.</p> - -<p>Her people, her lands, her animals, would none of them suffer by -a brief absence; and perhaps there were duties due as well to her -position as to her order. She was the only representative of the great -Counts of Szalras. With the whimsical ingratitude to fate common -to human nature, she thought she would sooner have been obscure, -unnoticed, free. Her rank began to drag on her with something like the -sense of a chain. She felt that she was growing irritable, fanciful, -thankless; so she ordered the huge old palace in the Herrengasse to be -got ready, and sought the world as others sought the cloister.</p> - -<p>In a week's time she was installed in Vienna, with a score of horses, -two score of servants, and all the stir and pomp that attend a great -establishment in the most aristocratic city of Europe, and she made her -first appearance at a ball at the Residenz covered with jewels from -head to foot; the wonderful old jewels that for many seasons had lain -unseen in their iron coffers—opals given by Rurik, sapphires taken -from Kara Mustafa, pearls worn by her people at the wedding of Mary of -Burgundy, diamonds that had been old when Maria Theresa had been young.</p> - -<p>She had three months of continual homage, of continual flattery, of -what others called pleasure, and what none could have denied was -splendour. Great nobles laid their heart and homage before her feet, -and all the city looked after her for her beauty as she drove her -horses round the Ringstrasse. It left her all very cold and unamused -and indifferent.</p> - -<p>She was impatient to be back at Hohenszalras, amidst the stillness of -the woods, the sound of the waters.</p> - -<p>'You cannot say now that I do not care for the world, because I have -forgotten what it was like,' she observed to her aunt.</p> - -<p>'I wish you cared more,' said the Princess. 'Position has its duties.'</p> - -<p>'I never dispute that; only I do not see that being wearied by society -constitutes one of them. I cannot understand why people are so afraid -of solitude; the routine of the world is quite as monotonous.'</p> - -<p>'If you only appreciated the homage that you receive——'</p> - -<p>'Surely one's mind is something like one's conscience: if one can be -not too utterly discontented with what it says one does not need the -verdict of others.'</p> - -<p>'That is only a more sublime form of vanity. Really, my love, with -your extraordinary and unnecessary humility in some things, and your -overweening arrogance in others, you would perplex wiser heads than the -one I possess.'</p> - -<p>'No; I am sure it is not vanity or arrogance at all; it may be -pride—the sort of pride of the "Rohan je suis." But it is surely -better than making one's barometer of the smiles of simpletons.'</p> - -<p>'They are not all simpletons.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, I know they are not; but the world in its aggregate is very -stupid. All crowds are mindless, the crowd of the Haupt-Allee as well -as of the Wurstel-Prater.'</p> - -<p>The Haupt-Allee indeed interested her still less than the -Wurstel-Prater, and she rejoiced when she set her face homeward and saw -the chill white peaks of the Glöckner arise out of the mists. Yet she -was angry with herself for the sense of something missing, something -wanting, which still remained with her. The world could not fill it up, -nor could all her philosophy or her pride do so either.</p> - -<p>The spring was opening in the Tauern, slow coming, veiled in rain, -and parting reluctantly with winter, but yet the spring, flinging -primroses broadcast through all the woods, and filling the shores of -the lakes with hepatica and gentian; the loosened snows were plunging -with a hollow thunder into the ravines and the rivers, and the grass -was growing green and long on the alps between the glaciers. A pale -sweet sunshine was gleaming on the grand old walls of Hohenszalras, -and turning to silver and gold all its innumerable casements as she -returned, and Donau and Neva leaped in rapture on her.</p> - -<p>'It is well to be at home,' she said, with a smile, to Herr Greswold, -as she passed through the smiling and delighted household down the -Rittersaal, which was filled with plants from the hothouses, gardenias -and gloxianas, palms and ericas, azaleas and camellias glowing between -the stern armoured figures of the knights and the time-darkened oak of -their stalls.</p> - -<p>'This came from Paris this morning for Her Excellency,' said Hubert, -as he showed his mistress a gilded boat-shaped basket, filled with -tea-roses and orchids; a small card was tied to its handle with -'<i>Willkommen</i>' written on it.</p> - -<p>She coloured a little as she recognised the handwriting of the single -word.</p> - -<p>How could he have known, she wondered, that she would return home that -day? And for the flowers to be so fresh, a messenger must have been -sent all the way with them by express speed, and Sabran was poor.</p> - -<p>'That is the Stanhopea tigrina,' said Herr Greswold, touching one with -reverent fingers; 'they are all very rare. It is a welcome worthy of -you, my lady.'</p> - -<p>'A very extravagant one,' said Wanda von Szalras, with a certain -displeasure that mingled with a softened emotion. 'Who brought it?'</p> - -<p>'The Marquis de Sabran, by <i>extra-poste</i>, himself this morning,' -answered Hubert—an answer she did not expect. 'But he would not wait; -he would not even take a glass of tokayer, or let his horses stay for a -feed of corn.'</p> - -<p>'What knight-errantry!' said the Princess well pleased.</p> - -<p>'What folly!' said Wanda, but she had the basket of orchids taken to -her own octagon room.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if he had divined how much of late she had thought of him. -She was touched, and yet she was angered a little.</p> - -<p>'Surely she will write to him,' thought the Princess wistfully very -often: but she did not write. To a very proud woman the dawning -consciousness of love is always an irritation, an offence, a failure, a -weakness: the mistress of Hohenszalras could not quickly pardon herself -for taking with pleasure the message of the orchids.</p> - -<p>A little while later she received a letter from Olga Brancka. In it she -wrote from Paris:</p> - -<p>'Parsifal is doing wonders in the Chamber, that is, he is making Paris -talk; his party will forbid him doing anything else. You certainly -worked a miracle. I hear he never plays, never looks at an actress, -never does anything wrong, and when a grand heiress was offered to -him by her people refused her hand blandly but firmly. What is one to -think? That he washed his soul white in the Szalrassee?'</p> - -<p>It was the subtlest flattery of all, the only flattery to which she -would have been accessible, this entire alteration in the current -of a man's whole life; this change in habit, inclination, temper, -and circumstance. If he had approached her its charm would have been -weakened, its motive suspected; but aloof and silent as he remained, -his abandonment of all old ways, his adoption of a sterner and worthier -career, moved her with its marked, mute homage of herself.</p> - -<p>When she read his discourses in the French papers she felt a glow -of triumph, as if she had achieved some personal success; she felt -a warmth at her heart as of something near and dear to her, which -was doing well and wisely in the sight of men. His cause did not, -indeed, as Olga Brancka had said, render tangible, practical, victory -impossible for him, but he had the victories of eloquence, of -patriotism, of high culture, of pure and noble language, and these -blameless laurels seemed to her half of her own gathering.</p> - -<p>'Will you never reward him?' the Princess ventured to say at last, -overcome by her own impatience to rashness. 'Never? Not even by a word?'</p> - -<p>'Hear mother,' said Wanda, with a smile which perplexed and baffled the -Princess, 'if your hero wanted reward he would not be the leader of a -lost cause. Pray do not suggest to me a doubt of his disinterestedness. -You will do him very ill service.'</p> - -<p>The Princess was mute, vaguely conscious that she had said something -ill-timed or ill-advised.</p> - -<p>Time passed on and brought beautiful weather in the month of June, -which here in the High Tauern means what April does in the south. -Millions of song-birds were shouting in the woods, and thousands of -nests were suspended on the high branches of the forest trees, or -hidden in the greenery of the undergrowth; water-birds perched and -swung in the tall reeds where the brimming streams tumbled; the purple, -the white, and the grey herons were all there, and the storks lately -flown home from Asia or Africa were settling in bands by the more -marshy grounds beside the northern shores of the Szalrassee.</p> - -<p>One afternoon she had been riding far and fast, and on her return a -telegram from Vienna had been brought to her, sent on from Lienz. -Having opened it, she approached her aunt and said with an unsteady -voice:</p> - -<p>'War is declared between France and Prussia!'</p> - -<p>'We expected it; we are ready for it,' said the Princess, with all -her Teutonic pride in her eyes. 'We shall show her that we cannot be -insulted with impunity.'</p> - -<p>'It is a terrible calamity for the world,' said Wanda, and her face was -very pale.</p> - -<p>The thought which was present to her was that Sabran would be foremost -amidst volunteers. She did not hear a word of all the political -exultation with which Princess Ottilie continued to make her militant -prophecies. She shivered as with cold in the warmth of the midsummer -sunset.</p> - -<p>'War is so hideous always,' she said, remembering what it had cost her -house.</p> - -<p>The Princess demurred.</p> - -<p>'It is not for me to say otherwise,' she objected; 'but without war all -the greater virtues would die out. Your race has been always martial. -You should be the last to breathe a syllable against what has been the -especial glory and distinction of your forefathers. We shall avenge -Jena. You should desire it, remembering Aspern and Wagram.'</p> - -<p>'And Sadowa?' said Wanda, bitterly.</p> - -<p>She did not reply further; she tore up the message, which had come from -her cousin Kaulnitz. She slept little that night.</p> - -<p>In two days the Princess had a brief letter from Sabran. He said: 'War -is declared. It is a blunder which will perhaps cause France the loss -of her existence as a nation, if the campaign be long. All the same I -shall offer myself. I am not wholly a tyro in military service. I saw -bloodshed in Mexico; and I fear the country will sorely need every -sword she has.'</p> - -<p>Wanda, herself, wrote back to him:</p> - -<p>'You will do right. When a country is invaded every living man on her -soil is bound to arm.'</p> - -<p>More than that she could not say, for many of her kindred on her -grandmother's side were soldiers of Germany.</p> - -<p>But the months which succeeded those months of the 'Terrible Year,' -written in letters of fire and iron on so many human hearts, were -filled with a harassing anxiety to her for the sake of one life that -was in perpetual peril. War had been often cruel to her house. As a -child she had suffered from the fall of those she loved in the Italian -campaign of Austria. Quite recently Sadowa and Königsgrätz had made -her heart bleed, beholding her relatives and friends opposed in mortal -conflict, and the empire she adored humbled and prostrated. Now she -became conscious of a suffering as personal and almost keener. She had -at the first, now and then, a hurried line from Sabran, written from -the saddle, from the ambulance, beside the bivouac fire, or in the -shelter of a barn. He had offered his services, and had been given the -command of a volunteer cavalry regiment, all civilians mounted on their -own horses, and fighting principally in the Orléannois. His command was -congenial to him; he wrote cheerfully of himself, though hopelessly of -his cause. The Prussians were gaining ground every day. Occasionally, -in printed correspondence from the scene of war, she saw his name -mentioned by some courageous action or some brilliant skirmish. That -was all.</p> - -<p>The autumn began to deepen into winter, and complete silence covered -all his life. She thought with a great remorse—if he were dead? -Perhaps he was dead? Why had she been always so cold to him? She -suffered intensely; all the more intensely because it was not a sorrow -which she could not confess even to herself. When she ceased altogether -to hear anything of or from him, she realised the hold which he had -taken on her life.</p> - -<p>These months of suspense did more to attach her to him than years -of assiduous and ardent homage could have done. She, a daughter of -soldiers, had always felt any man almost unmanly who had not received -the baptism of fire.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Ottilie talked of him constantly, wondered frequently if he were -wounded, slain, or in prison; she never spoke his name, and dreaded to -hear it.</p> - -<p>Greswold, who perceived an anxiety in her that, he did not dare to -allude to, ransacked every journal that was published in German to find -some trace of Sabran's name. At the first he saw often some mention of -the Cuirassiers d'Orléans, and of their intrepid Colonel Commandant: -some raid, skirmish, or charge in which they had been conspicuous for -reckless gallantry. But after the month of November he could find -nothing. The whole regiment seemed to have been obliterated from -existence.</p> - -<p>Winter settled down on Central Austria with cold silence, with roads -blocked and mountains impassable. The dumbness, the solitude around -her, which she had always loved so well, now grew to her intolerable. -It seemed like death.</p> - -<p>Paris capitulated. The news reached her at the hour of a violent -snowstorm; the postillion of her post-sledge bringing it had his feet -frozen.</p> - -<p>Though her cousins of Lilienhöhe were amongst those who entered the -city as conquerors, the fate of Paris smote her with a heavy blow. She -felt as if the cold of the outer world had chilled her very bones, her -very soul. The Princess, looking at her, was afraid to rejoice.</p> - -<p>On the following day she wrote to her cousin Hugo of Lilienhöhe, who -was in Paris with the Imperial Guard. She asked him to inquire for and -tell her the fate of a friend, the Marquis de Sabran.</p> - -<p>In due time Prince Hugo answered:</p> - -<p>'The gentleman you asked for was one of the most dangerous of our -enemies. He commanded a volunteer cavalry regiment, which was almost -cut to pieces by the Bavarian horse in an engagement before Orleans. -Two or three alone escaped; their Colonel was severely wounded in -the thigh, and had his charger shot dead under him. He was taken -prisoner by the Bavarians after a desperate resistance. Whilst he -lay on the ground he shot three of our men with his revolver. He was -sent to a fortress, I think Ehrenbreitstein, but I will inquire more -particularly. I am sorry to think that you have any French friends.</p> - -<p>By-and-by she heard that he had been confined not at Ehrenbreitstein -but at a more obscure and distant fortress on the Elbe; that his wounds -had been cured, and that he would shortly be set free like other -prisoners of war. In the month of March in effect she received a brief -letter from his own hand, gloomy and profoundly dejected.</p> - -<p>'Our plans were betrayed,' he wrote. 'We were surprised and surrounded -just as we had hobbled our horses and lain down to rest, after being -the whole day in the saddle. Bavarian cavalry, outnumbering us four to -one, attacked us almost ere we could mount our worn-out beasts. My -poor troopers were cut to pieces. They hunted me down when my charger -dropped, and I was made a prisoner. When they could they despatched -me to one of their places on the Elbe. I have been here December and -January. I am well. I suppose I must be very strong; nothing kills -me. They are now about to send me back to the frontier. My beautiful -Paris! What a fate! But I forget, I cannot hope for your sympathy; your -kinsmen are our conquerors. I know not whether the house I lived in -there exists, but if you will write me a word at Romaris, you will be -merciful, and show me that you do not utterly despise a lost cause and -a vanquished soldier.'</p> - -<p>She wrote to him at Romaris, and the paper she wrote on felt her tears. -In conclusion she said:</p> - -<p>'Whenever you will, come and make sure for yourself that both the -Princess Ottilie and I honour courage and heroism none the less because -it is companioned by misfortune.'</p> - -<p>But he did not come.</p> - -<p>She understood why he did not. An infinite pity for him overflowed her -heart. His public career interrupted, his country ruined, his future -empty, what remained to him? Sometimes she thought, with a blush on her -face, though she was all alone: 'I do.' But then, if he never came to -hear that?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The little hamlet of Romaris, on the coast of Finisterre, was very dull -and dark and silent. A few grave peasant women knitted as they walked -down the beach or sat at their doors; a few children did the same. Out -on the <i>landes</i> some cows were driven through the heather and broom; -out on the sea some fishing-boats with rough, red sails were rocking to -and fro. All was melancholy, silent, poor; life was hard at Romaris for -all. The weatherbeaten church looked grey and naked on a black rock; -the ruins of the old <i>manoir</i> faced it amidst sands and surfs; the only -thing of beauty was the bay, and that for the folk of Romaris had no -beauty; they had seen it kill so many.</p> - -<p>There was never any change at Romaris, unless it were a change in the -weather, a marriage, a birth, or a death. Therefore the women and -children who were knitting had lifted up their heads as a stranger, -accompanied by their priest, had come down over the black rocks, on -which the church stood, towards the narrow lane that parted the houses -where they clustered together face to face on the edge of the shore.</p> - -<p>Their priest, an old man much loved by them, came slowly towards them, -conversing in low tones with the stranger, who had been young and -handsome, and a welcome sight, since a traveller to Romaris always -needed a sailing-boat or a rowing-boat, a guide over the moors, or a -drive in an ox-waggon through the deep-cut lanes of the country.</p> - -<p>But they had ceased to think of such things as these when the curate, -with his hands extended as when he blessed them, had said in <i>bas</i> -Breton as he stood beside them:</p> - -<p>'My children, this is the last of the Sabrans of Romaris, come back to -us from the far west that lies in the setting of the sun. Salute him, -and show him that in Brittany we do not forget—nay, not in a hundred -years.'</p> - -<p>Many years had gone by since then, and of the last of the old race, -Romaris had scarcely seen more than when he had been hidden from -their sight on the other side of the heaving ocean. Sabran rarely came -thither. There was nothing to attract a man who loved the world and -who was sought by it, in the stormy sea coast, the strip of sea-lashed -oak forest, that one tall tower with its gaunt walls of stone which -was all that was left of what had once been the fortress of his race. -Now and then they saw him, chiefly when he had heard that there was -wild weather on the western coast, and at such times he would go out -in their boats to distressed vessels, or steer through churning waters -to reach a fishing-smack in trouble, with a wild courage and an almost -fierce energy which made him for the moment one of themselves. But -such times had been few, and all that Romaris really knew of the last -marquis was that he was a gay gentleman away there in distant Paris.</p> - -<p>He had been a mere name to them. Now and then he had sent fifty -napoleons, or a hundred, to the old priest for such as were poor or -sick amongst them. That was all. Now after the war he came hither. -Paris had become hateful to him; his political career was ended, at -all events for the time; the whole country groaned in anguish; the -vices and follies that had accompanied his past life disgusted him -in remembrance. He had been wounded and a prisoner; he had suffered -betrayal at unworthy hands; Cochonette had sold him to the Prussians, -in revenge of his desertion of her.</p> - -<p>He was further removed from the Countess von Szalras than ever. In the -crash with which the Second Empire had fallen and sunk out of sight for -evermore, his own hopes had gone down like a ship that sinks suddenly -in a dark night. All his old associations were broken, half his old -friends were dead or ruined; gay châteaux that he had ever been welcome -at were smoking ruins or melancholy hospitals; the past had been -felled to the ground like the poor avenues of the Bois. It affected -him profoundly. As far as he was capable of an impersonal sentiment -he loved France, which had been for so many years his home, and which -had always seemed to smile at him with indulgent kindness. Her vices, -her disgrace, her feebleness, her fall, hurt him with an intense pain -that was not altogether selfish, but had in it a nobler indignation, a -nobler regret.</p> - -<p>When he was released by the Prussians and sent across the frontier, he -went at once to this sad sea village of Romaris, to collect as best -he might the shattered fragments of his life, which seemed to him as -though it had been thrown down by an earthquake. He had resigned his -place as deputy when he had offered his sword to France; he had now no -career, no outlet for ambition, no occupation. Many of his old friends -were dead or ruined; although such moderate means as he possessed were -safe, they were too slender to give him any position adequate to his -rank. His old life in Paris, even if Paris arose from her tribulations, -gay and glorious once more, seemed to him altogether impossible. He had -lost taste for those pleasures and distractions which had before the -war—or before his sojourn on the Holy Isle—seemed to him the Alpha -and Omega of a man's existence. '<i>Que faire?</i>' he asked himself wearily -again and again. He did not even know whether his rooms in Paris had -been destroyed or spared; a few thousands of francs which he had -made by a successful speculation years before, and placed in foreign -funds, were all he had to live on. His keen sense told him that the -opportunity which might have replaced the Bourbon throne had been lost -through fatal hesitation. His own future appeared to him like a blank -dead wall that rose up in front of him barring all progress; he was no -longer young enough to select a career and commence it. With passionate -self-reproach he lamented all the lost irrevocable years that he had -wasted.</p> - -<p>Romaris was not a place to cheer a disappointed and dejected soldier -who had borne the burning pain of bodily wounds and the intolerable -shame of captivity in a hostile land. Its loneliness, its darkness, -its storms, its poverty, had nothing in them with which to restore his -spirit to hope or his sinews to ambition. In these cold, bleak, windy -days of a dreary and joyless spring-time, the dusky moors and the -gruesome sea were desolate, without compensating grandeur. The people -around him were all taciturn, dull, stupid; they had not suffered by -the war, but they understood that, poor as they were, they would have -to bear their share in the burden of the nation's ransom. They barred -their doors and counted their hoarded gains in the dark with throbbing -hearts, and stole out in the raw, wet, gusty dawns to kneel at the -bleeding feet of their Christ. He envied them their faith; he could not -comfort them, they could not comfort him; they were too far asunder.</p> - -<p>The only solace he had was the knowledge that he had done his duty by -France, and to the memory of those whose name he bore; that he had -rendered what service he could; that he had not fled from pain and -peril; that he had at least worn his sword well and blamelessly; that -he had not abandoned his discrowned city of pleasure in the day of -humiliation and martyrdom. The only solace he had was that he felt -Wanda von Szalras herself could have commanded him to do no more than -he had done in this the Année Terrible.</p> - -<p>But, though his character had been purified and strengthened by the -baptism of fire, and though his egotism had been destroyed by the -endless scenes of suffering and of heroism which he had witnessed, he -could not in a year change so greatly that he could be content with the -mere barren sense of duty done and honour redeemed. He was deeply and -restlessly miserable. He knew not where to turn, either for occupation -or for consolation. Time hung on his hands like a wearisome wallet of -stones.</p> - -<p>When all the habits of life are suddenly rent asunder, they are like a -rope cut in two. They may be knotted together clumsily, or they may be -thrown altogether aside and a new strand woven, but they will never be -the same thing again.</p> - -<p>Romaris, with its few wind-tortured trees and its leaden-hued dangerous -seas, seemed to him, indeed, a <i>champ des trépassés</i>, as it was called, -a field of death. The naked, ugly, half-ruined towers, which no ivy -shrouded and no broken marble ennobled, as one or the other would have -done had it been in England or in Italy, was a dreary residence for -a man who was used to all the elegant and luxurious habits of a man -of the world, who was also a lover of art and a collector of choice -trifles. His rooms had been the envy of his friends, with all their -eighteenth century furniture, and their innumerable and unclassified -treasures; when he had opened his eyes of a morning a pastel of La -Tour had smiled at him, rose-coloured windows had made even a grey -sky smile. Without, there had been the sound of wheels going down -the gay Boulevard Haussmann. All Paris had passed by, tripping and -talking, careless and mirthful, beneath his gilded balconies bright -with canariensis and volubilis; and on a little table, heaped in -their hundreds, had been cards that bade him to all the best and most -agreeable houses, whilst, betwixt them, slipped coyly in many an -amorous note, many an unlooked-for declaration, many an eagerly-desired -appointment.</p> - -<p>'<i>Quel beau temps!</i>' he thought, as he awoke in the chill, bare, -unlively chamber of the old tower by the sea; and it seemed to him -that he must be dreaming: that all the months of the war had been -a nightmare; that if he fully awakened he would find himself once -more with the April sunshine shining through the rose glass, and -the carriages rolling beneath over the asphalt road. But it was no -nightmare, it was a terrible, ghastly reality to him, as to so many -thousands. There were the scars on his breast and his loins where -the Prussian steel had hacked and the Prussian shot had pierced him; -there was his sword in a corner all dinted, notched, stained; there -was a crowd of hideous ineffaceable tumultuous memories; it was all -true enough, only too true, and he was alone at Romaris, with all his -dreams and ambitions faded into thin air, vanished like the blown burst -bubbles of a child's sport.</p> - -<p>In time to come he might recover power and nerve to recommence his -struggle for distinction, but at present it seemed to him that all was -over. His imprisonment had shaken and depressed him as nothing else -in the trials of war could have done. He had been shut up for months -alone, with his own desperation. To a man of high courage and impatient -appetite for action there is no injury so great and in its effect so -lasting as captivity. Joined to this he had the fever of a strong, and -now perfectly hopeless, passion.</p> - -<p>Pacing to and fro the brick floor of the tower looking down on the -sands and rocks of the coast, his thoughts were incessantly with Wanda -von Szalras in her stately ancient house, built so high up amidst the -mountains and walled in by the great forests and the ice slopes of the -glaciers. In the heat and stench of carnage he had longed for a breath -of that mountain breeze, for a glance from those serene eyes; he longed -for them still.</p> - -<p>As he passed to and fro in the wild wintry weather, his heart was sick -with hope deferred, with unavailing regret and repentance, with useless -longings.</p> - -<p>It was near noonday; there was no sun; a heavy wrack of cloud was -sweeping up from the west; on the air the odour of rotting fish and -of fish-oil, and of sewage trickling uncovered to the beach, were too -strong to be driven away by the pungency of the sea.</p> - -<p>The sea was high and moaning loud; the dusk was full of rain; the -wind-tormented trees groaned and seemed to sigh; their boughs were -still scarce in bud though May had come. He felt cold, weary, hopeless. -His walk brought no warmth to his veins, and his thoughts none to -his heart. The moisture of the air seemed to chill him to the bone, -and he went within and mounted the broken granite stairs to his -solitary chamber, bare of all save the simplest necessaries, gloomy -and cheerless with the winds and the bats beating together at the high -iron-barred casement. He wearily lighted a little oil lamp, and threw -a log or two of drift-wood on the hearth and set fire to them with a -faggot of dried ling.</p> - -<p>He dreaded his long lonely evening.</p> - -<p>He had set the lamp on a table while he had set fire to the wood; its -light fell palely on a small white square thing. It was a letter. He -took it up eagerly; he, who in Paris had often tossed aside, with a -passing glance, the social invitations of the highest personages and -the flattering words of the loveliest women.</p> - -<p>Here, any letter seemed a friend, and as he took up this his pulse -quickened; he saw that it was sealed with armorial bearings which he -knew—a shield bearing three vultures with two knights as supporters, -and with the motto '<i>Gott und mein Schwert</i>;' the same arms, the same -motto as were borne upon the great red and gold banner floating from -the keep on the north winds at the Hohenszalrasburg. He opened it with -a hand which shook a little and a quick throb of pleasure at his heart. -He had scarcely hoped that she would write again to him. The sight of -her writing filled him with a boundless joy, the purest he had ever -known called forth by the hand of woman.</p> - -<p>The letter was brief, grave, kind. As he read he seemed to hear the -calm harmonious voice of the lady of Hohenszalras speaking to him in -her mellowed and softened German tongue.</p> - -<p>She sent him words of consolation, of sympathy, of congratulation, on -the course of action he had taken in a time of tribulation, which had -been the touchstone of character to so many.</p> - -<p>'Tell me something of Romaris,' she said in conclusion. 'I am sure -you will grow to care for the place and the people, now that you seek -both in the hour of the martyrdom of France. Have you any friends near -you? Have you books? How do your days pass? How do you fill up time, -which must seem so dull and blank to you after the fierce excitations -and the rapid changes of war? Tell me all about your present life, and -remember that we at Hohenszalras know how to honour courage and heroic -misfortune.'</p> - -<p>He laid the letter down after twice reading it. Life seemed no longer -all over for him. He had earned her praise and her sympathy. It was -doubtful if years of the most brilliant political successes would have -done as much as his adversity, his misadventure, and his daring had -done for him in her esteem. She had the blood of twenty generations of -warriors in her, and nothing appealed so forcibly to her sympathies and -her instincts as the heroism of the sword. Those few lines too were -a permission to write to her. He replied at once, with a gratitude -somewhat guardedly expressed, and with details almost wholly impersonal.</p> - -<p>She was disappointed that he said so little of himself, but she did -justice to the delicacy of the carefully guarded words from a man -whose passion appealed to her by its silence, where it would only have -alienated her by any eloquence. Of Romaris he said nothing, save that, -had Dante ever been upon their coast, he would have added another canto -to the 'Purgatorio,' more desolate and more unrelieved in gloom than -any other.</p> - -<p>'Does he regret Cochonette?' she thought, with a jealous -contemptuousness of which she was ashamed as soon as she felt it.</p> - -<p>Having once written to her, however, he thought himself privileged -to write again, and did so several times. He wrote with ease, grace, -and elegance: he wrote as he spoke, which gives this charm to -correspondence, seem close at hand to the reader in intimate communion. -The high culture of his mind displayed itself without effort, and he -had that ability of polished expression which is in our day too often -a neglected one. His letters became welcome to her: she answered them -briefly, but she let him see that they were agreeable to her. There -was in them the note of a profound depression, of an unuttered, but -suggested hopelessness which touched her. If he had expressed it in -plain words, it would not have appealed to her one half so forcibly.</p> - -<p>They remained only the letters of a man of culture to a woman capable -of comprehending the intellectual movement of the time, but it -was because of this limitation that she allowed them. Any show of -tenderness would have both alarmed and alienated her. There was no -reason after all, she thought, why a frank friendship should not exist -between them.</p> - -<p>Sometimes she was surprised at herself for having conceded so much, -and angry that she had done so. Happily he had the good taste to take -no advantage of it. Interesting as his letters were they might have -been read from the housetops. With that inconsistency of her sex from -which hitherto she had always flattered herself she had been free, she -occasionally felt a passing disappointment that they were not more -personal as regarded himself. Reticence is a fine quality; it is the -marble of human nature. But sometimes it provokes the impatience that -the marble awoke in Pygmalion.</p> - -<p>Once only he spoke of his own aims. Then he wrote:</p> - -<p>'You bade me do good at Romaris. Candidly, I see no way to do it -except in saving a crew off a wreck, which is not an occasion that -presents itself every week. I cannot benefit these people materially, -since I am poor; I cannot benefit them morally, because I have not -their faith in the things unseen, and I have not their morality in the -things tangible. They are God-fearing, infinitely patient, faithful -in their daily lives, and they reproach no one for their hard lot, -cast on an iron shore and forced to win their scanty bread at risk -of their lives. They do not murmur either at duty or mankind. What -should I say to them? I, whose whole life is one restless impatience, -one petulant mutiny against circumstance? If I talk with them I only -take them what the world always takes into solitude—discontent. It -would be a cruel gift, yet my hand is incapable of holding out any -other. It is a homely saying that no blood comes out of a stone; so, -out of a life saturated with the ironies, the contempt, the disbelief, -the frivolous philosophies, the hopeless negations of what we call -society, there can be drawn no water of hope and charity, for the -well-head—belief—is dried up at its source. Some pretend, indeed, -to find in humanity what they deny to exist as deity, but I should -be incapable of the illogical exchange. It is to deny that the seed -sprang from a root; it is to replace a grand and illimitable theism by -a finite and vainglorious bathos. Of all the creeds that have debased -mankind, the new creed that would centre itself in man seems to me the -poorest and the most baseless of all. If humanity be but a <i>vibrion</i>, -a conglomeration of gases, a mere mould holding chemicals, a mere -bundle of phosphorus and carbon? how can it contain the elements of -worship; what matter when or how each bubble of it bursts? This is the -weakness of all materialism when it attempts to ally itself with duty. -It becomes ridiculous. The <i>carpe diem</i> of the classic sensualists, the -morality of the "Satyricon" or the "Decamerone," are its only natural -concomitants and outcome; but as yet it is not honest enough to say -this. It affects the soothsayer's long robe, the sacerdotal frown, and -is a hypocrite.'</p> - -<p>In answer she wrote back to him:</p> - -<p>'I do not urge you to have my faith: what is the use? Goethe was -right. It is a question between a man and his own heart. No one should -venture to intrude there. But taking life even as you do, it is surely -a casket of mysteries. May we not trust that at the bottom of it, as -at the bottom of Pandora's, there may be hope? I wish again to think -with Goethe that immortality is not an inheritance, but a greatness -to be achieved like any other greatness, by courage, self-denial, and -purity of purpose—a reward allotted to the just. This is fanciful, may -be, but it is not illogical. And without being either a Christian or a -Materialist, without beholding either majesty or divinity in humanity, -surely the best emotion that our natures know—pity—must be large -enough to draw us to console where we can, and sustain where we can, in -view of the endless suffering, the continual injustice, the appalling -contrasts, with which the world is full. Whether man be the <i>vibrion</i> -or the heir to immortality, the bundle of carbon or the care of angels, -one fact is indisputable: he suffers agonies, mental and physical, -that are wholly out of proportion to the brevity of his life, while he -is too often weighted from infancy with hereditary maladies, both of -body and of character. This is reason enough, I think, for us all to -help each other, even though we feel, as you feel, that we are as lost -children wandering in a great darkness, with no thread or clue to guide -us to the end.'</p> - -<p>When Sabran read this answer, he mused to himself:</p> - -<p>'Pity! how far would her pity reach? How great offences would it cover? -She has compassion for the evil-doers, but it is easy, since the evil -does not touch her. She sits on the high white throne of her honour and -purity, and surveys the world with beautiful but serene compassion. -If the mud of its miry labyrinths reached and soiled her, would her -theories prevail? They are noble, but they are the theories of one who -sits in safety behind a gate of ivory and jasper, whilst outside, far -below, the bitter tide of the human sea surges and moans too far off, -too low down, for its sound to reach within. <i>Tout comprendre, c'est -tout pardonner.</i> But since she would never understand, how could she -ever pardon? There are things that the nature must understand rather -than the mind; and her nature is as high, as calm, as pure as the snows -of her high hills.'</p> - -<p>And then the impulse came over him for a passing moment to tell her -what he had never told any living creature; to make confession to -her and abide her judgment, even though he should never see her face -again. But the impulse shrank and died away before the remembrance -of her clear, proud eyes. He could not humiliate himself before her. -He would have risked her anger; he could not brave her disdain. -Moreover, straight and open ways were hot natural to him, though he was -physically brave to folly. There was a subtlety and a reticence in him -which were the enemies of candour.</p> - -<p>To her he was more frank than to any other because her influence -was great on him, and a strong reverence was awakened in him that -was touched by a timid fear quite alien to a character naturally -contemptuously cynical and essentially proud. But even to her he could -not bring himself to be entirely truthful in revelation of his past. -Truthfulness is in much a habit, and he had never acquired its habit. -When he was most sincere there was always some reserve lying behind -it. This was perhaps one of the causes of the attraction he exercised -on all women. All women are allured by the shadows and the suggestions -of what is but imperfectly revealed. Even on the clear, strong nature -of Wanda von Szalras it had its unconscious and intangible charm. She -herself was like daylight, but the subtle vague charm of the shadows -had their seduction for her; Night holds dreams and passions that fade -and flee before the lucid noon, and who, at noonday wishes not for -night?</p> - -<p>For himself, the letters he received from her seemed the only things -that bound him to life at all.</p> - -<p>The betrayal of him by a base and mercenary woman had hurt him more -than it was worthy to do; it had stung his pride and saddened him in -this period of adversity with a sense of degradation. He had been sold -by a courtezan; it seemed to him to make him ridiculous as Samson was -ridiculous, and he had no gates of Gaza to pull down upon himself and -her. He could only be idle, and stare at an unoccupied and valueless -future. The summer went on, and he remained at Romaris. An old servant -had sent him word that all his possessions were safe in Paris, and his -apartments unharmed; but he felt no inclination to go there: he felt no -sympathy with Communists or Versaillists, with Gambetta or Gallifet. He -stayed on at the old storm-beaten sea-washed tower, counting his days -chiefly by the coming to him of any line from the castle by the lake.</p> - -<p>She seemed to understand that and pity it, for each week brought him -some tidings.</p> - -<p>At midsummer she wrote him word that she was about to be honoured again -by a two days' visit of her Imperial friends.</p> - -<p>'We shall have, perforce, a large house party,' she said. 'Will you -be inclined this time to join it? It is natural that you should -sorrow without hope for your country, but the fault of her disasters -lies not with you. It is, perhaps, time that you should enter the -world again; will you commence with what for two days only will be -worldly—Hohenszalras? Your old friends the monks will welcome you -willingly and lovingly on the Holy Isle?'</p> - -<p>He replied with gratitude, but he refused. He did not make any plea or -excuse; he thought it best to let the simple denial stand by itself. -She would understand it.</p> - -<p>'Do not think, however,' he wrote, 'that I am the less profoundly -touched by your admirable goodness to a worsted and disarmed combatant -in a lost cause.'</p> - -<p>'It is the causes that are lost which are generally the noble ones,' -she said in answer. 'I do not see why you should deem your life at an -end because a sham empire, which you always despised, has fallen to -pieces. If it had not perished by a blow from without, it would have -crumbled to pieces from its own internal putrefaction.'</p> - -<p>'The visit has passed off very well,' she continued. 'Every one was -content, which shows their kindness, for these things are all of -necessity so much alike that it is difficult to make them entertaining. -The weather was fortunately fine, and the old house looked bright. -You did rightly not to be present, if you felt festivity out of tone -with your thoughts. If, however, you are ever inclined for another -self-imprisonment upon the island, you know that your friends, both at -the monastery and at the burg, will be glad to see you, and the monks -bid me salute you with affection.'</p> - -<p>A message from Mdme. Ottilie, a little news of the horses, a few -phrases on the politics of the hour, and the letter was done. But, -simple as it was, it seemed to him to be like a ray of sunshine amidst -the gloom of his empty chamber.</p> - -<p>From her the permission to return to the monastery when he would -seemed to say so much. He wrote her back calm and grateful words of -congratulation and cordiality; he commenced with the German formality, -'Most High Lady,' and ended them with the equally formal 'devoted and -obedient servant;' but it seemed to him as if under that cover of -ceremony she must see his heart beating, his blood throbbing; she must -know very well, and if knowing, she suffered him to return to the Holy -Isle, why then—he was all alone, but he felt the colour rise to his -face.</p> - -<p>'And I must not go! I must not go!' he thought, and looked at his -pistols.</p> - -<p>He ought sooner to blow his brains out, and leave a written confession -for her.</p> - -<p>The hoarse sound of the sea surging amongst the rocks at the base of -the tower was all that stirred the stillness; evening was spreading -over all the monotonous inland country; a west wind was blowing and -rustling amidst the gorse; a woman led a cow between the dolmen, -stopping for it to crop grass here and there; the fishing-boats were -far out to sea, hidden under the vapours and the shadows. It was all -melancholy, sad-coloured, chill, lonesome. As he leaned against the -embrasure of the window and looked down, other familiar scenes, long -lost, rose up to his memory. He saw a wide green rolling river, long -lines of willows and of larches bending under a steel-hued sky, a vast -dim plain stretching away to touch blue mountains, a great solitude, -a silence filled at intervals with the pathetic song of the swans, -chanting sorrowfully because the nights grew cold, the ice began to -gather, the food became scanty, and they were many in number.</p> - -<p>'I must not go!' he said to himself; 'I must never see Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>And he lit his study lamp, and held her letter to it and burnt it. -It was his best way to do it honour, to keep it holy. He had the -letters of so many worthless women locked in his drawers and caskets -in his rooms in Paris. He held himself unworthy to retain hers. He -had burned each written by her as it had come to him, in that sort -of exaggeration of respect with which it seemed to him she was most -fittingly treated by him. There are less worthy offerings than the -first scruple of an unscrupulous life. It is like the first pure drops -that fall from a long turbid and dust-choked fountain.</p> - -<p>As he walked the next day upon the windblown, rock-strewn strip of sand -that parted the old oak wood from the sea, he thought restlessly of her -in those days of stately ceremony which suited her so well. What did he -do here, what chance had he to be remembered by her? He chafed at his -absence, yet it seemed to him impossible that he could ever go to her. -What had been at first keen calculation with him had now become a finer -instinct, was now due to a more delicate sentiment, a truer and loftier -emotion. What could he ever look to her if he sought her but a mere -base fortune-seeker, a mere liar, with no pride and no manhood in him? -And what else was he? he thought, with bitterness, as he paced to and -fro the rough strip of beach, with the dusky heaving waves trembling -under a cloudy sky, where a red glow told the place of the setting sun.</p> - -<p>There were few bolder men living than He, and he was cynical and -reckless before many things that most men reverence; but at the thought -of her possible scorn he felt himself tremble like a child. He thought -he would rather never see her face again than risk her disdain; there -was in him a vague romantic wishfulness rather to die, so that she -might think well of his memory, than live in her love through any -baseness that would be unworthy of her.</p> - -<p>Sin had always seemed a mere superstitious name to him, and if he had -abstained from its coarser forms it had been rather from the revolt -of the fine taste of a man of culture than from any principle or -persuasion of duty. Men he believed were but ephemera, sporting their -small hours, weaving their frail webs, and swept away by the great -broom of destiny as spiders by the housewife. In the spineless doctrine -of altruism he had had too robust a temperament, too clear a reason, -to seek a guide for conduct. He had lived for himself, and had seen -no cause to do otherwise. That he had not been more criminal had been -due partly to indolence, partly to pride. In his love for Wanda von -Szalras, a love with which considerable acrimony had mingled at the -first, he yet, through all the envy and the impatience which alloyed -it, reached a moral height which he had never touched before. Between -her and him a great gulf yawned. He abstained from any effort to pass -it. It was the sole act of self-denial of a selfish life, the sole -obedience to conscience in a character which obeyed no moral laws, but -was ruled by a divided tyranny of natural instinct and conventional -honour.</p> - -<p>The long silent hours of thought in the willow-shaded cloisters of -the Holy Isle had not been wholly without fruit. He desired, with -passion and sincerity, that she should think well of him, but he did -not dare to wish for more; love offered from him to her seemed to him -as if it would be a kind of blasphemy. He remembered in his far-off -childhood, which at times still seemed so near to him, nearer than all -that was around him, the vague, awed, wistful reverence with which -he had kneeled in solitary hours before the old dim picture of the -Madonna with the lamp burning above it, a little golden flame in the -midst of the gloom; he remembered so well how his fierce young soul and -his ignorant yearning child's heart had gone out in a half-conscious -supplication, how it had seemed to him that if he only knelt long -enough, prayed well enough, she would come down to him and lay her -hands on him. It was all so long ago, yet, when he thought of Wanda -von Szalras, something of that same emotion rose up in him, something -of the old instinctive worship awoke in him. In thought he prostrated -himself once more whenever the memory of her came to him. He had no -religion; she became one to him.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, he was constantly thinking restlessly to himself, 'Did I do -ill not to go?'</p> - -<p>His bodily life was at Romaris, but his mental life was at -Hohenszalras. He was always thinking of her as she would look in those -days of the Imperial visit; he could see the stately ceremonies of -welcome, the long magnificence of the banquets, the great Rittersaal -with cressets of light blazing on its pointed emblazoned roofs; he -could see her as she would move down the first quadrille which she -would dance with her Kaiser: she would wear her favourite ivory-white -velvet most probably, and her wonderful old jewels, and all her orders. -She would look as if she had stepped down off a canvas of Velasquez -or Vandyck, and she would be a little tired, a little contemptuous, a -little indifferent, despite her loyalty; she would be glad, he knew, -when the brilliant gathering was broken up, and the old house, and the -yew terrace, and the green lake were all once more quiet beneath the -rays of the watery moon. She was so unlike other women. She would not -care about a greatness, a compliment, a success more or less. Such -triumphs were for the people risen yesterday, not for a Countess von -Szalras.</p> - -<p>He knew the simplicity of her life and the pride of her temper, -and they moved him to the stronger admiration because he knew also -that those mere externals which she held in contempt had for him an -exaggerated value. He was scarcely conscious himself of how great a -share the splendour of her position, united to her great indifference -to it, had in the hold she had taken on his imagination and his -passions. He did know that there were so much greater nobilities in -her that he was vaguely ashamed of the ascendency which her mere rank -took in his thoughts of her. Yet he could not divest her of it, and -it seemed to enhance both her bodily and spiritual beauty, as the -golden calyx of the lily makes its whiteness seem the whiter by its -neighbourhood.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the Iselthal the summer was more brilliant and warm than usual. The -rains were less frequent, and the roses on the great sloping lawns -beneath the buttresses and terraces of Hohenszalras were blooming -freely.</p> - -<p>Their mistress did not for once give them much heed. She rode long and -fast through the still summer woods, and came back after nightfall. Her -men of business, during their interviews with her, found her attention -less perfect, her interest less keen. In stormy days she sat in the -library, and read Heine and Schiller often, and all the philosophers -and men of science rarely. A great teacher has said that the Humanities -must outweigh the Sciences at all times, and he is unquestionably -true, if it were only for the reason that in the sweet wise lore of -ages every human heart in pain and perplexity finds a refuge; whilst in -love or in sorrow the sciences seem the poorest and chilliest of mortal -vanities that ever strove to measure the universe with a foot-rule.</p> - -<p>The Princess watched her with wistful, inquisitive eyes, but dared -not name the person of whom they both thought most. Wanda was herself -intolerant of the sense of impatience with which she awaited the coming -of the sturdy pony that brought the post-bag from Windisch-Matrey. -He in his loneliness and emptiness of life on the barren sea-shore -of Romaris did not more anxiously await her letters than did the -châtelaine of Hohenszalras, amidst all her state, her wealth, and her -innumerable occupations, await his. She pitied him intensely; there was -something pathetic to her in the earnestness with which he had striven -to amend his ways of life, only to have his whole career shattered by -an insensate and unlooked-for national war. She understood that his -poverty stood in the path of his ambition, and she divined that his -unhappiness had broken that spring of manhood in him which would have -enabled him to construct a new career for himself out of the ruins of -the old. She understood why he was listless and exhausted.</p> - -<p>There were moments when she was inclined to send him some invitation -more cordial, some bidding more clear; but she hesitated to take a step -which would bind her in her own honour to so much more. She knew that -she ought not to suggest a hope to him to which she was not prepared -to give full fruition. And again, how could he respond? It would be -impossible for him to accept. She was one of the great alliances of -Europe, and he was without fortune, without career, without a future. -Even friendship was only possible whilst they were far asunder.</p> - -<p>Two years had gone by since he had come across from the monastery in -the green and gold of a summer afternoon. The monks had not forgotten -him; throughout the French war they had prayed for him. When their -Prior saw her, he said anxiously sometimes: 'And the Markgraf von -Sabran, will he never come to us again? Were we too dull for him? -Will your Excellency remember us to him, if ever you can?' And she -had answered with a strange emotion at her heart: 'His country is -in trouble, holy father; a good son cannot leave his land in her -adversity. No: I do not think he was dull with you; he was quite happy, -I believe. Perhaps he may come again some day, who knows? He shall be -told what you say.'</p> - -<p>Then a vision would rise up to her of herself and him, as they would -be perhaps when they should be quite old. Perhaps he would retire into -this holy retreat of the Augustines, and she would be a grave sombre -woman, not gay and pretty and witty, as the Princess was. The picture -was gloomy; she chased it away, and galloped her horse long and far -through the forests.</p> - -<p>The summer had been so brilliant that the autumn which followed was -cold and severe, earlier than usual, and heavy storms swept over the -Tauern, almost ere the wheat harvest could be reaped. Many days were -cheerless and filled only with the sound of incessant rains. In the -Pinzgau and the Salzkammergut floods were frequent. The Ache and the -Szalzach, with all their tributary streams and wide and lonely lakes, -were carrying desolation and terror into many parts of the land which -in summer they made beautiful. Almost every day brought her some -tidings of some misfortunes in the villages on the farms belonging to -her in the more distant parts of Austria; a mill washed away, a bridge -down, a dam burst, a road destroyed, a harvest swept into the water, -some damage or other done by the swollen river and torrents, she heard -of by nearly every communication that her stewards and her lawyers made -to her at this season.</p> - -<p>'Our foes the rivers are more insidious than your mighty enemy the -salt water,' she wrote to Romaris. 'The sea deals open blows, and men -know what they must expect if they go out on the vasty deep. But here -a little brook that laughed and chirped at noon-day as innocently as -a child may become at nightfall or dawn a roaring giant, devouring -all that surrounds him. We pay heavily for the glory of our mountain -waters.'</p> - -<p>These autumn weeks seemed very dreary to her. She visited her horses -chafing at inaction in their roomy stalls, and attended to her affairs, -and sat in the library or the octagon room hearing the rain beat -against the emblazoned leaded panes, and felt the days, and above all -the evenings, intolerably dull and melancholy. She had never heeded -rain before, or minded the change of season.</p> - -<p>One Sunday a messenger rode through the drenching storm, and brought -her a telegram from her lawyer in Salzburg. It said: 'Idrac flooded: -many lives lost: great distress: fear town wholly destroyed. Please -send instructions.'</p> - -<p>The call for action roused her as a trumpet sounding rouses a cavalry -charger.</p> - -<p>'Instructions!' she echoed as she read. 'They write as if I could bid -the Danube subside, or the Drave shrink in its bed!'</p> - -<p>She penned a hasty answer.</p> - -<p>'I will go to Idrac myself.'</p> - -<p>Then she sent a message also to S. Johann im Wald for a special train -to be got in readiness for her, and told one of her women and a trusty -servant to be ready to go with her to Vienna in an hour. It was still -early in the forenoon.</p> - -<p>'Are you mad?' cried Madame Ottilie, when she was informed of the -intended journey.</p> - -<p>Wanda kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'There is no madness in what I shall do, dear mother, and Bela surely -would have gone.'</p> - -<p>'Can you stay the torrents of heaven? Can you arrest a river in its -wrath?'</p> - -<p>'No; but lives are often lost because poor people lose their senses in -fright. I shall be calmer than anyone there. Besides, the place belongs -to us; we are bound to share its danger. If only Egon were not away -from Hungary!'</p> - -<p>'But he is away. You have driven him away.'</p> - -<p>'Do not dissuade me, dearest mother. It would be cowardice not to go.'</p> - -<p>'What can women do in such extremities?'</p> - -<p>'But we of Hohenszalras must not be mere women when we are wanted in -any danger. Remember Luitgarde von Szalras, the <i>kuttengeier.</i>'</p> - -<p>The Princess sighed, prayed, even wept, but Wanda was gently -inflexible. The Princess could not see why a precious life should be -endangered for the sake of a little half barbaric, half Jewish town, -which was remarkable for nothing except for shipping timber and selling -<i>salbling.</i> The population was scarcely Christian, so many Hebrews were -there, and so benighted were the Sclavonian poor, who between them made -up the two thousand odd souls that peopled Idrac. To send a special -messenger there, and to give any quantity of money that the distress -of the moment might demand, would be all right and proper; indeed, -an obligation on the owner of the little feudal river-side town. But -to go! A Countess von Szalras to go in person where not one out of a -hundred of the citizens had been properly baptized or confirmed! The -Princess could not view this Quixotism in any other light than that of -an absolute insanity.</p> - -<p>'Bela lost his life in just such a foolish manner!' she pleaded.</p> - -<p>'So did the saints, dear mother,' said his sister, gently.</p> - -<p>The Princess coloured and coughed.</p> - -<p>'Of course, I am aware that many holy lives have been—have been—what -appears to our finite senses wasted,' she said, with a little asperity. -'But I am also aware, Wanda, that the duties most neglected are those -which lie nearest home and have the least display; consideration for -<i>me</i> might be better, though less magnificent, than so much heroism for -Idrac.'</p> - -<p>'It pains me that you should put it in that light, dearest mother,' -said Wanda, with inexhaustible patience. 'Were you in any danger I -would stay by you first, of course; but you are in none. These poor, -forlorn, ignorant, cowardly creatures are in the very greatest. I -draw large revenues from the place; I am in honour bound to share -its troubles. Pray do not seek to dissuade me. It is a matter not of -caprice but of conscience. I shall be in no possible peril myself. I -shall go down the river in my own vessel, and I will telegraph to you -from every town at which I touch.'</p> - -<p>The Princess ceased not to lament, to oppose, to bemoan her own -powerlessness to check intolerable follies. Sitting in her easy chair -in her warm blue-room, sipping her chocolate, the woes of a distant -little place on the Danube, whose population was chiefly Semitic, were -very bearable and altogether failed to appeal to her.</p> - -<p>Wanda kissed her, asked her blessing humbly, and took her way in the -worst of a blinding storm along the unsafe and precipitous road which -went over the hills to Windisch-Matrey.</p> - -<p>'What false sentiment it all is!' thought the Princess, left alone. -'She has not seen this town since she was ten years old. She knows that -they are nearly all Jews, or quite heathenish Sclavonians. She can do -nothing at all—what should a woman do?—and yet she is so full of her -conscience that she goes almost to the Iron Gates in quest of a duty in -the wettest of weather, while she leaves a man like Egon and a man like -Sabran wretched for want of a word! I must say,' thought the Princess, -'false sentiment is almost worse than none at all!'</p> - -<p>The rains were pouring down from leaden skies, hiding all the sides of -the mountains and filling the valleys with masses of vapour. The road -was barely passable; the hill torrents dashed across it; the little -brooks were swollen to water-courses; the protecting wall on more than -one giddy height had been swept away; the gallop of the horses shook -the frail swaying galleries and hurled the loosened stones over the -precipice with loud resounding noise. The drive to Matrey and thence -with post-horses to S. Johann im Wald, the nearest railway station, was -in itself no little peril, but it was accomplished before the day had -closed in, and the special train she had ordered being in readiness -left at once for Vienna, running through the low portions of the -Pinzgau, which were for the most part under water.</p> - -<p>All the way was dim and watery, and full of the sound of running -or of falling water. The Ache and the Szalsach, both always deep -and turbulent rivers, were swollen and boisterous, and swirled and -thundered in their rocky beds; in the grand Pass of Lueg the gloom, -always great, was dense as at midnight, and when they reached Salzburg -the setting sun was bursting through ink-black clouds, and shed a -momentary glow as of fire upon the dark sides of the Untersberg, and -flamed behind the towers of the great castle on its rocky throne. All -travellers know the grandeur of that scene; familiar as it was to her -she looked upward at it with awe and pleasure commingled. Salzburg in -the evening light needs Salvator Rosa and Rembrandt together to portray -it.</p> - -<p>The train only paused to take in water; the station was crowded as -usual, set as it is between the frontiers of empire and kingdom, but in -the brief interval she saw one whom she recognised amongst the throng, -and she felt the colour come into her own face as she did so.</p> - -<p>She saw Sabran; he did not see her. Her train moved out of the station -rapidly, to make room for the express from Munich; the sun dropped down -into the ink-black clouds; the golden and crimson pomp of Untersberg -changed to black and grey; the ivory and amber and crystal of the -castle became stone and brick and iron, that frowned sombrely over a -city sunk in river-mists and in rain-vapours. She felt angrily that -there was an affinity between the landscape and herself; that so, at -sight of him, a light had come into her life which had no reality in -fact, prismatic colours baseless as a dream.</p> - -<p>She had longed to speak to him; to stretch out her hand to him; to -say at least how her thoughts and her sympathies had been with him -throughout the war. But her carriage was already in full onward -movement, and in another moment had passed at high speed out of the -station into that grand valley of the Szalzach where Hohensalzburg -seems to tower as though Friederich Barbarossa did indeed sleep there. -With a sigh she sank backward amongst her furs and cushions, and saw -the soaring fortress pass, into the clouds.</p> - -<p>The night had now closed in; the rain fell heavily. As the little -train, oscillating greatly from its lightness, swung over the iron -rails, there was a continual sound of splashing water audible above -the noise of the wheels and the throb of the engine. She had often -travelled at night and had always slept soundly; this evening she could -not sleep. She remained wide awake watching the swaying of the lamp, -listening to the shrill shriek of the wheels as they rushed through -water where some hillside brook had broken bounds and spread out in a -shallow lagoon. The skies were overcast in every direction; the rain -was everywhere unceasing; the night seemed to her very long.</p> - -<p>She pondered perpetually on his presence at Salzburg, and wondered if -he were going to the Holy Isle. Three months had gone by since she had -sent him the semi-invitation to her country.</p> - -<p>The train sped on; the day dawned; she began to get glimpses of the -grand blue river, now grey and ochre-coloured and thick with mud, its -turbid waves heaving sullenly under the stormy October skies. She had -always loved the great Donau; she knew its cradle well in the north -land of the Teutons. She had often watched the baby-stream rippling -over the stones, and felt the charm, as of some magical transformation, -as she thought of the same stream stretching broadly under the monastic -walls of Klosterneuberg, rolling in tempest by the Iron Gates, and -gathering its mighty volume higher and deeper to burst at last into -the sunlight of the eastern sea. Amidst the levelled monotony of -modern Europe the Danube keeps something of savage grandeur, something -of legendary power, something of oriental charm; it is still often -tameless, a half-barbaric thing, still a Tamerlane amidst rivers: and -yet yonder at its birthplace it is such a slender thread of rippling -water! She and Bela had crossed it with bare feet to get forget-me-nots -in Taunus, talking together of Chriemhilde and her pilgrimage to the -land of the Huns.</p> - -<p>The little train swung on steadily through the water above and below, -and after a night of no little danger came safely to Vienna as the dawn -broke. She went straight to her yacht, which was in readiness off the -Lobau and weighed anchor as the pale and watery morning broadened into -day above the shores that had seen Aspern and Wagram. The yacht was -a yawl, strongly built and drawing little water, made on purpose for -the ascent and descent of the Danube, from Passau up in the north to -as far south as the Bosphorus if needed. The voyage had been of the -greatest joys of hers and of Bela's childhood; they had read on deck -alternately the 'Nibelungen-Lied' and the 'Arabian Nights,' clinging -together in delighted awe as they passed through the darkness of the -defile of Kasan.</p> - -<p>Idrac was situated between Pesth and Peterwardein, lying low on marshy -ground that was covered with willows and intersected by small streams -flowing from the interior to the Danube.</p> - -<p>The little town gave its name and its seigneurie to the owner of its -burg; an ancient place built on a steep rock that rose sheer out of -the fast-running waves, and dominated the passage of the stream. The -Counts of Idrac had been exceeding powerful in the old times, when -they had stopped at their will the right of way of the river; and -their appanages with their title had come by marriage into the House -of Szalras some four centuries before, and although the dominion over -the river was gone, the fortress and the little town and all that -appertained thereto still formed a considerable possession; it had -usually been given with its Countship to the second son of the Szalras.</p> - -<p>Making the passage to Pesth in fourteen hours, the yacht dropped -anchor before the Franz Josef Quai as the first stars came out above -the Blocksburg, for by this time the skies had lightened and the rains -had ceased. Here she stayed the night perforce, as an accident had -occurred to the machinery of the vessel. She did not leave the yacht, -but sent into the inner city for stores of provisions and of the local -cordial, the <i>slibowitza</i>, to distribute to the half-drowned people -amongst whom she was about to go. It was noonday before the yawl got -under weigh and left the twin-towns behind her. A little way further -down the stream they passed a great castle, standing amidst beech woods -on a rock that rose up from fields covered with the Carlowitz vine. She -looked at it with a sigh: it was the fortress of Kohacs, one of the -many possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>The weather had now cleared, but the skies were overcast, and the -plains, which began to spread away monotonously from either shore, -were covered with white fog. Soon the fog spread also over the river, -and the yacht was compelled to advance cautiously and slowly, so that -the voyage was several hours longer than usual. When the light of the -next day broke they had come in sight of the flooded districts on their -right: the immense flat fields that bore the flax and grain which make -the commerce of Baja, of Neusatz, and of other riverain towns, were -all changed to shallow estuaries. The Theiss, the Drave, and many -minor streams, swollen by the long autumnal rains, had burst their -boundaries and laid all the country under water for hundreds of square -leagues. The granaries, freshly filled with the late abundant harvest, -had at many places been flooded or destroyed: thousands of stacks of -grain were floating like shapeless, dismasted vessels. Timber and the -thatched roofs of the one-storied houses were in many places drifting -too, like the flotsam and the hulls of wrecked ships.</p> - -<p>There are few scenes more dreary, more sad, more monotonous than those -of a flat country swamped by flood: the sky above them was leaden -and heavy, the Danube beneath them was turgid and discoloured; the -shrill winds whistled through the brakes of willow, the water-birds, -frightened, flew from their osier-beds on the islands, the bells of -churches and watch-towers tolled dismally.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon when she came within sight of her little -town on the Sclavonian shore, which Ernst von Szalras had fired on -August 29, 1526, to save it from the shame of violation by the Turks. -Though he had perished, and most of the soldiers and townsfolk with -him, the fortress, the <i>têtes du pont</i>, and the old water-gates and -walls had been too strong for the flames to devour, and the town had -been built up again by the Turks and subsequently by the Hungarians.</p> - -<p>The slender minarets of the Ottomans' two mosques still raised -themselves amidst the old Gothic architecture of the mediæval -buildings, and the straw-covered roofs and the white-plastered walls -of the modern houses. As they steamed near it the minarets and the -castle towers rose above what looked a world of waters, all else seemed -swallowed in the flood; the orchards, which had surrounded all save the -river-side of the town; were immersed almost to the summits of their -trees. The larger vessels could never approach Idrac in ordinary times, -the creek being too shallow on which it stood; but now the water was -so high that though it would be too imprudent to anchor there, the -yacht easily passed in, and hove-to underneath the water-walls, a pilot -taking careful soundings as they steered. It was about three in the -afternoon. The short, grey day was near its end; a shout of welcome -rose from some people on the walls as they recognised the build and the -ensign of the yawl. Some crowded boats were pulling away from the town, -laden with fugitives and their goods.</p> - -<p>'How soon people run away! They are like rats,' she thought. 'I would -sooner be like the stork, and not quit my nest if it were in flames.'</p> - -<p>She landed at the water-stairs of the castle. Men, women, and children -came scrambling along the walls, where they were huddled together out -of temporary reach of the flood, and threw themselves down at her -feet and kissed her skirts with abject servility. They were half mad -with terror, and amongst the population there were many hundreds of -Jews, the most cowardly people in all the world. The boats were quite -inadequate in number to the work they had to do; the great steamers -passing up and down did not pause to help them; the flood was so -general below Pesth that on the right shore of the river each separate -village and township was busy with its own case and had no help for -neighbours: the only aid came from those on the opposite shore, but -that was scanty and unwisely ministered. The chief citizens of Idrac -had lost their wits, as she had foreseen they would do. To ring the -bells madly night and day, and fire off the old culverins from the -water-gate, was all they seemed to know how to do. They told her that -many lives had been lost, as the inland waters had risen in the night, -and most of the houses were of only one storey. In the outlying -flax-farms it was supposed that whole households had perished. In the -town itself there were six feet of water everywhere, and many of the -inhabitants were huddled together in the two mosques, which were now -granaries, in the towers, and in the fortress itself; but several -families had been enabled to escape, and had climbed upon the roofs, -clinging to the chimneys for bare life.</p> - -<p>Her mere presence brought reviving hope and energy to the primitive -population. Their Lady had a romantic legendary reputation amongst -them, and they were ready to cling round the pennon of the yacht as -their ancestors had rallied round the standard of Ernst von Szalras.</p> - -<p>She ascended to the Rittersaal of the fortress, and assembled a few of -the men about her, who had the most influence and energy in the little -place. She soon introduced some kind of system and method into the -efforts made, promised largesse to those who should be the most active, -and had the provisions she had brought distributed amongst those who -most needed them. The boats of the yawl took many away to a temporary -refuge on the opposite shore. Many others were brought in to the -state-room of the castle for shelter. Houses were constantly falling, -undermined by the water, and there were dead and wounded to be attended -to, as well as the hungry and terrified living creatures. Once before, -Idrac had been thus devastated by flood, but it had been far away in -the previous century, and the example was too distant to have been a -warning to the present generation.</p> - -<p>She passed a fatiguing and anxious night. It was impossible to -think of sleep with so much misery around. The yacht was obliged to -descend, the river for safe anchorage, but the boats remained. She -went herself, now in one, now in another, to endeavour to inspire the -paralysed people with some courage and animation. A little wine, a -little bread, were all she took; food was very scarce. The victuals of -the yacht's provisioning did not last long amongst so many famishing -souls. She ordered her skipper at dawn to go down as far as Neusatz -and purchase largely. There were five thousand people, counting those -of the neighbourhood, or more, homeless and bereft of all shelter. The -telegraph was broken, the poles had been snapped by the force of the -water in many places.</p> - -<p>With dawn a furious storm gathered and broke, and renewed rains added -their quota to the inundation and their discomfort to the exposed -sufferers. The cold was great, and the chill that made them shudder -from head to foot was past all cure by cordials. She regretted not -to have brought Greswold with her. She was indifferent to danger, -indefatigable in exertion, and strong as Libussa, brave as Chriemhilde. -Because the place belonged to her in almost a feudal manner, she held -herself bound to give her life for it if need be. Bela would have done -what she was doing.</p> - -<p>Twice or thrice during the two following days she heard the people -speak of a stranger who had arrived fifteen hours before her, and had -wrought miracles of deliverance. Unless the stories told her were -greatly exaggerated, this foreigner had shown a courage and devotion -quite unequalled. He had thrown himself into the work at once on his -arrival there in a boat from Neusatz, and had toiled night and day, -enduring extreme fatigue and running almost every hour some dire peril -of his life. He had saved whole families of the poorest and most -wretched quarter; he had sprung on to roofs that were splitting and -sinking, on to walls that were trembling and tottering, and had borne -away in safety men, women, and children, the old, and the sick, and the -very animals; he had infused some of his own daring and devotedness -into the selfish and paralysed Hebrew population; priests and rabbis -were alike unanimous in his praise, and she, as she heard, felt that -he who had fought for France had been here for her sake. They told -her that he was now out amongst the more distant orchards and fields, -amidst the flooded farms where the danger was even greater than in the -town itself. Some Czechs said that he was S. John of Nepomuc himself. -She bade them bring him to her, that she might thank him, whenever he -should enter the town again, and then thought of him no more.</p> - -<p>Her whole mind and feeling were engrossed by the spectacle of a misery -that even all her wealth could not do very much to alleviate. The -waters as yet showed no sign of abatement. The crash of falling houses -sounded heavily ever and again through the gloom. The melancholy sight -of humble household things, of drowned cattle, of dead dogs, borne down -the discoloured flood out to the Danube renewed itself every hour. -The lamentations of the ruined people went up in an almost continuous -wail like the moaning of a winter wind. There was nothing grand, -nothing picturesque, nothing exciting to redeem the dreariness and the -desolation. It was all ugly, miserable, dull. It was more trying than -war, which even in its hideous senselessness lends a kind of brutal -intoxication to all whom it surrounds.</p> - -<p>She was incessantly occupied and greatly fatigued, so that the time -passed without her counting it. She sent a message each day to the -Princess at home, and promised to return as soon as the waters had -subsided and the peril passed. For the first time in her life she -experienced real discomfort, real privation; she had surrendered nearly -all the rooms in the burg to the sick people, and food ran short and -there was none of good quality, though she knew that supplies would -soon come from the steward at Kohacs and by the yacht.</p> - -<p>On the fourth day the waters had sunk an inch. As she heard the good -tidings she was looking out inland over the waste of grey and yellow -flood; a Jewish rabbi was beside her speaking of the exertions of the -stranger, in whom the superstitious of the townsfolk saw a saint from -heaven.</p> - -<p>'And does no one even know who he is?' she asked.</p> - -<p>'No one has asked,' answered the Jew. 'He has been always out where the -peril was greatest.'</p> - -<p>'How came he here?'</p> - -<p>'He came by one of the big steamers that go to Turkey. He pulled -himself here in a little boat that he had bought; the boat in which he -has done such good service.'</p> - -<p>'What is he like in appearance?'</p> - -<p>'He is very tall, very fair, and handsome; I should think he is -northern.'</p> - -<p>Her pulse beat quicker for a moment; then she rejected the idea as -absurd, though indeed, she reflected, she had seen him at Salzburg.</p> - -<p>'He must at least be a brave man,' she said quietly. 'If you see him -bring him to me that I may thank him. Is he in the town now?'</p> - -<p>'No; he is yonder, where the Rathwand farms are, or were; where your -Excellency sees those dark, long islands which are not islands at all, -but only the summits of cherry orchards. He has carried the people -away, carried them down to Peterwardein; and he is now about to try and -rescue some cattle which were driven up on to the roof of a tower, poor -beasts—that tower to the east there, very far away: it is five miles -as the crow flies.'</p> - -<p>'I suppose he will come into the town again?'</p> - -<p>'He was here last night; he had heard of your Excellency, and asked for -her health.'</p> - -<p>'Ah! I will see and thank him if he come again.'</p> - -<p>But no one that day saw the stranger in Idrac.</p> - -<p>The rains fell again and the waters again rose. The maladies which -come of damp and of bad exhalations spread amongst the people; they -could not all be taken to other villages or towns, for there was no -room for them. She had quinine, wines, good food ordered by the great -steamers, but they were not yet arrived. What could be got at Neusatz -or Peterwardein the yacht brought, but it was not enough for so many -sick and starving people. The air began to grow fœtid from the many -carcases of animals, though as they floated the vultures from the hills -fed on them. She had a vessel turned into a floating hospital, and -the most delicate of the sick folk carried to it, and had it anchored -off the nearest port. Her patience, her calmness, and her courage did -more to revive the sinking hearts of the homeless creatures than the -cordials and the food. She was all day long out in her boat, being -steered from one spot to another. At night she rested little and passed -from one sick bed to another. She had never been so near to hopeless -human misery before. At Hohenszalras no one was destitute.</p> - -<p>One twilight hour on the ninth day, as she was rowed back to the castle -stairs, she passed another boat in which were two lads and a man. The -man was rowing, a dusky shadow in the gloom of the wet evening and the -uncouthness of his waterproof pilot's dress; but she had a lantern -beside her, and she flashed its light full on the boat as it passed -her. When she reached the burg, she said to her servant Anton: 'Herr -von Sabran is in Idrac; go and say that I desire to see him.'</p> - -<p>Anton, who remembered him well, returned in an hour, and said he could -neither find him nor hear of him.</p> - -<p>All the night long, a cheerless tedious night, with the rain falling -without and the storm that was raging in the Bosphorus sending its -shrill echoes up the Danube, she sat by the beds of the sick women -or paced up and down the dimly-lit Rittersaal in an impatience which -it humiliated her to feel. It touched her that he should be here, -so silently, so sedulously avoiding her, and doing so much for the -people of Idrac, because they were her people. The old misgiving that -she had been ungenerous in her treatment of him returned to her. He -seemed always to have the finer part—the <i>beau rôle.</i> To her, royal -in giving, imperious in conduct, it brought a sense of failure, of -inferiority. As she read the psalms in Hungarian to the sick Magyar -women, her mind perpetually wandered away to him.</p> - -<p>She did not see Sabran again, but she heard often of him. The fair -stranger, as the people called him, was always conspicuous wherever -the greatest danger was to be encountered. There was always peril in -almost every movement where the undermined houses, the tottering walls, -the stagnant water, the fever-reeking marshes presented at every turn a -perpetual menace to life. 'He is not vainly <i>un fils des preux</i>,' she -thought, with a thrill of personal pride, as if someone near and dear -to her were praised, as she listened to the stories of his intrepidity -and his endurance. Whole nights spent in soaked clothes, in half -swamped boats; whole days lost in impotent conflict with the ignorance -or the poltroonery of an obstinate populace, continual risk encountered -without counting its cost to rescue some poor man's sick beast, or pull -a cripple from beneath falling beams, or a lad from choking mud; hour -on hour of steady laborious rowing, of passage to and fro the sullen -river with a freight of moaning, screaming peasantry—this was not -child's play, nor had it any of the animation and excitation which in -war or in adventure make of danger a strong wine that goes merrily and -voluptuously to the head. It was all dull, stupid, unlovely, and he -had come to it for her sake. For her sake certainly, though he never -approached her; though when Anton at last found and took her message -to him he excused himself from obedience to it by a plea that he was -at that moment wet and weary, and had come from a hut where typhoid -raged. She understood the excuse; she knew that he knew well she was no -more afraid than he of that contagion. She admired him the more for his -isolation; in these grey, rainy, tedious, melancholy days his figure -seemed to grow into a luminous heroic shape like one of the heroes of -the olden time. If he had once seemed to seek a guerdon for it the -spell would have been broken. But he never did. She began to believe -that such a knight deserved any recompense which she could give.</p> - -<p>'Egon himself could have done no more,' she said in her own thoughts, -and it was the highest praise that she could give to any man, for -her Magyar cousin was the embodiment of all martial daring, of all -chivalrous ardour, and had led his glittering hussars down on to the -French bayonets, as on to the Prussian Krupp guns, with a fury that -bore all before it, impetuous and irresistible as a stream of fired -naphtha.</p> - -<p>On the twelfth morning the river had sunk so much lower that the yacht -arriving with medicines and stores of food from Neusatz signalled that -she could not enter the creek on which Idrac stood, and waited orders. -It had ceased to rain, but the winds were still strong and the skies -heavy. She descended to her boat at the water-gate, and told the men to -take her out to the yacht. It was early, the sun behind the clouds had -barely climbed above the distant Wallachian woods, and the scene had -lost nothing of its melancholy. A man was standing on the water-stairs -as she descended them, and turned rapidly away, but she had seen him -and stretched out her long staff and touched him lightly.</p> - -<p>'Why do you avoid me?' she said, as he uncovered his head; 'my men -sought you in all directions; I wished to thank you.'</p> - -<p>He bowed low over the hand she held out to him. 'I ventured to be near -at hand to be of use,' he answered. 'I was afraid the exposure, and, -the damp, and all this pestilence would make you ill: you are not ill?'</p> - -<p>'No; I am quite well. I have heard of all your courage and endurance. -Idrac owes you a great debt.'</p> - -<p>'I only pay my debt to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>They were both silent; a certain constraint was upon them both.</p> - -<p>'How did you know of the inundation? It was unkind of you not to come -to me,' she said, and her voice was unsteady as she spoke. 'I want so -much to tell you, better than letters can do, all that we felt for you -throughout that awful war.'</p> - -<p>He turned away slightly with a shudder. 'You are too good. Thousands of -men much better than I suffered much more.'</p> - -<p>The tears rose to her eyes as she glanced at him. He was looking pale -and worn. He had lost the graceful <i>insouciance</i> of his earlier manner. -He looked grave, weary, melancholy, like a man who had passed through -dire disaster, unspeakable pain, and had seen his career snapped in -two like a broken wand. But there was about him instead something -soldierlike, proven, war-worn, which became him in her eyes, daughter -of a race of warriors as she was.</p> - -<p>'You have much to tell me, and I have much to hear,' she said, after -a pause. 'You should have come to the monastery to be cured of your -wounds. Why were you so mistrustful of our friendship?'</p> - -<p>He coloured and was silent.</p> - -<p>'Indeed,' she said gravely, 'we can honour brave men in the Tauern and -in Idrac too. You are very brave. I do not know how to thank you for my -people or for myself.'</p> - -<p>'Pray do not speak so,' he said, in a very low voice. 'To see you again -would be recompense for much worthier things than any I have done.'</p> - -<p>'But you might have seen me long ago,' she said, with a certain -nervousness new to her, 'had you only chosen to come to the Isle. I -asked you twice.'</p> - -<p>He looked at her with eyes of longing and pathetic appeal.</p> - -<p>'Do not tempt me,' he murmured. 'If I yielded, and if you despised -me——'</p> - -<p>'How could I despise one who has so nobly saved the lives of my people?'</p> - -<p>'You would do so.'</p> - -<p>He spoke very low: he was silent a little while, then he said very -softly:</p> - -<p>'One evening, when we spoke together on the terrace at Hohenszalras, -you leant your hand upon the ivy there. I plucked the leaf you touched; -you did not see. I had the leaf with me all through the war. It was -a talisman. It was like a holy thing. When your cousin's soldiers -stripped me in their ambulance, they took it from me.'</p> - -<p>His voice faltered. She listened and was moved to a profound emotion.</p> - -<p>'I will give you something better,' she said very gravely. He did not -ask her what she would give.</p> - -<p>She looked away from him awhile, and her face flushed a little. She was -thinking of what she would give him; a gift so great that the world -would deem her mad to bestow it, and perhaps would deem him dishonoured -to take it.</p> - -<p>'How did you hear of these floods along the Danube?' she asked him, -recovering her wonted composure.</p> - -<p>'I read about them in telegrams in Paris,' he made answer. 'I had -mustered courage to revisit my poor Paris; all I possess is there. -Nothing has been injured; a shell burst quite close by but did not -harm my apartments. I went to make arrangements for the sale of my -collections, and on the second day that I arrived there I saw the news -of the inundations of Idrac and the lower Danubian plains. I remembered -the name of the town; I remembered it was yours. I remembered your -saying once that where you had feudal rights you had feudal duties, so -I came on the chance of being of service.'</p> - -<p>'You have been most devoted to the people.'</p> - -<p>'The people! What should I care though the whole town perished? Do not -attribute to me a humanity that is not in my nature.'</p> - -<p>'Be as cynical as you like in words so long as you are heroic in -action. I am going out to the yacht; will you come with me?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated. 'I merely came to hear from the warder of your health. I -am going to catch the express steamer at Neusatz; all danger is over.'</p> - -<p>'The yacht can take you to Neusatz. Come with me.'</p> - -<p>He did not offer more opposition; he accompanied her to the boat and -entered it.</p> - -<p>The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing more, but she could not -forget that scores of her own people here had owed their lives to his -intrepidity and patience, and that he had never hesitated to throw his -life into the balance when needed. And it had been done for her sake -alone. The love of humanity might have been a nobler and purer motive, -but it would not have touched her so nearly as the self-abandonment of -a man by nature selfish and cold.</p> - -<p>In a few moments they were taken to the yawl. He ascended the deck with -her.</p> - -<p>The tidings the skipper brought, the examination of the stores, the -discussion of ways and means, the arrangements for the general relief, -were air dull, practical matters that claimed careful attention and -thought. She sat in the little cabin that was brave with marqueterie -work and blue satin and Dresden mirrors, and made memoranda and -calculations, and consulted him, and asked his advice on this, on -that. The government official, sent to make official estimates of the -losses in the township, had come on board to salute and take counsel -with her. The whole forenoon passed in these details. He wrote, and -calculated, and drew up reports for her. No more tender or personal -word was spoken between them; but there was a certain charm for them -both in this intimate intercourse, even though it took no other shape -than the study of how many boatloads of wheat were needed for so many -hundred people, of how many florins a day might be passed to the head -of each family, of how many of the flooded houses would still be -serviceable with restoration, of how many had been entirely destroyed, -of how the town would best be rebuilt, and of how the inland rivers -could best be restrained in the future.</p> - -<p>To rebuild it she estimated that she would have to surrender for five -years the revenues from her Galician and Hungarian mines, and she -resolved to do it altogether at her own cost. She had no wish to see -the town figure in public prints as the object of public subscription.</p> - -<p>'I am sure all my woman friends,' she said, 'would kindly make it -occasion for a fancy fair or a lottery (with new costumes) in Vienna, -but I do not care for that sort of thing, and I can very well do what -is needed alone.'</p> - -<p>He was silent. He had always known that her riches were great, but -he had never realised them as fully as he now did when she spoke of -rebuilding an entire town as she might have spoken of building a -carriage.</p> - -<p>'You would make a good prime minister,' she said, smiling; 'you have -the knowledge of a specialist on so many subjects.'</p> - -<p>At noon they served her a little plain breakfast of Danubian -<i>salbling</i>, with Carlowitzer wine and fruit sent by the steward of -Mohacs. She bade him join her in it.</p> - -<p>'Had Egon himself been here he could not have done more for Idrac than -you have done,' she said.</p> - -<p>'Is this Prince Egon's wine?' he said abruptly, and on hearing that it -was so, he set the glass down untasted.</p> - -<p>She looked surprised, but she did not ask him his reason, for she -divined it. There was an exaggeration in the unspoken hostility more -like the days of Arthur and Lancelot than their own, but it did not -displease her.</p> - -<p>They were both little disposed to converse during their meal; after the -dreary and terrible scenes they had been witness of, the atmosphere -of life seems grave and dark even to those whom the calamity had not -touched. The most careless spirit is oppressed by a sense of the -precariousness and the cruelty of existence.</p> - -<p>When they ascended to the deck the skies were lighter than they had -been for many weeks; the fog had cleared, so that, in the distance, the -towers of Neusatz and the fortress of Peterwardein were visible; vapour -still hung over the vast Hungarian plain, but the Danube was clear and -the affluents of it had sunk to their usual level.</p> - -<p>'You really go to-night?' she said, as they looked down the river.</p> - -<p>'There is no need for me to stay; the town is safe, and you are well, -you say. If there be anything I can still do, command me.'</p> - -<p>She smiled a little and let her eye meet his for a moment.</p> - -<p>'Well, if I command you to remain then, will you do so as my viceroy? -I want to return home; Aunt Ottilie grows daily more anxious, more -alarmed, but I cannot leave these poor souls all alone with their -priests, and their rabbi, who are all as timid as sheep and as stupid. -Will you stay in the castle and govern them, and help them till they -recover from their fright? It is much to ask, I know, but you have -already done so much for Idrac that I am bold to ask you to do more?'</p> - -<p>He coloured with a mingled emotion.</p> - -<p>'You could ask me nothing that I would not do,' he said in a low tone. -'I could wish you asked me something harder.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, it will be very hard,' she said, with an indifference she did not -feel. 'It will be very dull, and you will have no one to speak to that -knows anything save how to grow flax and cherries. You will have to -talk the Magyar tongue all day, and you will have nothing to eat save -<i>kartoffeln</i> and <i>salbling</i>; and I do not know that I am even right,' -she added, more gravely, 'to ask you to incur the risks that come from -all that soaked, ground, which will be damp so long.'</p> - -<p>'The risks that you have borne yourself! Pray do not wound me by any -such scruple as that. I shall be glad, I shall be proud, to be for ever -so short or so long a time as you command, your representative, your -servant.'</p> - -<p>'You are very good.'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>His eyes looked at hers with a quick flash, in which all the passion -he dared not express was spoken. She averted her glance and continued -calmly: 'You are very good indeed to Idrac. It will be a great -assistance and comfort to me to know that you are here. The poor people -already love you, and you will write to me and tell me all that may -need to be done. I will leave you the yacht and Anton. I shall return -by land with my woman; and when I reach home I will send you Herr -Greswold. He is a good companion, and has a great admiration for you, -though he wishes that you had not forsaken the science of botany.'</p> - -<p>'It is like all other dissection or vivisection; it spoils the artistic -appreciation of the whole. I am yet unsophisticated enough to feel the -charm of a bank of violets, of a cliff covered with alpen-roses. I may -write to you?'</p> - -<p>'You must write to me! It is you who will know all the needs of Idrac. -But are you sure that to remain here will not interfere with your own -projects, your own wishes, your own duties?'</p> - -<p>'I have none. If I had any I would throw them away, with pleasure, to -be of use to one of your dogs, to one of your birds.'</p> - -<p>She moved from his side a little.</p> - -<p>'Look how the sun has come out. I can see the sparkle of the brass on -the cannon down yonder at Neusatz. We had better go now. I must see my -sick people and then leave as soon as I can. The yacht must take me to -Mohacs; from there I will send her back to you.'</p> - -<p>'Do as you will. I can have no greater happiness than to obey you.'</p> - -<p>'I am sure that I thank you in the way that you like best, when I say -that I believe you.'</p> - -<p>She said the words in a very low tone, but so calmly that the calmness -of them checked any other words he might have uttered. It was a royal -acceptance of a loyal service; nothing more. The boat took them back -to the fortress. Whilst she was occupied in her farewell to the sick -people, and her instructions to those who attended on them, he, left -to himself in the apartment she had made her own, instinctively went -to an old harpsichord that stood there and touched the keys. It had a -beautiful case, rich with the varnish of the Martins. He played with -it awhile for its external beauty, and then let his fingers stray over -its limited keyboard. It had still sweetness in it, like the spinet -of Hohenszalras. It suited certain pathetic quaint old German airs he -knew, and which he half unconsciously reproduced upon it, singing them -as he did so in a low tone. The melody, very soft and subdued, suited -to the place where death had been so busy and nature so unsparing, and -where a resigned exhaustion had now succeeded to the madness of terror, -reached the ears of the sick women in the Rittersaal and of Wanda von -Szalras seated beside their beds.</p> - -<p>'It is like the saints in Heaven sighing in pity for us here,' said one -of the women who was very feeble and old, and she smiled as she heard. -The notes, tremulous from age but penetrating in their sweetness, came -in slow calm movements of harmony through the stillness of the chamber; -his voice, very low also, but clear, ascended with them. Wanda sat -quite still, and listened with a strange pleasure. 'He alone,' she -thought, 'can make the dumb strings speak.</p> - -<p>It was almost dusk when she descended to the room which she had made -her own. In the passages of the castle oil wicks were lighted in the -iron lamps and wall sconces, but here it was without any light, and -in the gloom she saw the dim outline of his form as he sat by the -harpsichord. He had ceased playing; his head was bent down and rested -on the instrument; he was lost in thought, and his whole attitude was -dejected. He did not hear her approach, and she looked at him some -moments, herself unseen. A great tenderness came over her: he was -unhappy, and he had been very brave, very generous, very loyal: she -felt almost ashamed. She went nearer, and he raised himself abruptly.</p> - -<p>'I am going,' she said to him. 'Will you come with me to the yacht?'</p> - -<p>He rose, and though it was dusk, and in this chamber so dark that his -face was indistinct to her, she was sure that tears had been in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>'Your old harpsichord has the vernis Martin,' he said, with effort. -'You should not leave it buried here. It has a melody in it too, faint -and simple and full of the past, like the smell of dead rose-leaves. -Yes, I will have the honour to come with you. I wish there were a full -moon. It will be a dark night on the Danube.'</p> - -<p>'My men know the soundings of the river well. As for the harpsichord, -you alone have found its voice. It shall go to your rooms in Paris.'</p> - -<p>'You are too good, but I would not take it. Let it go to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>'Why would you not take it?</p> - -<p>'I would take nothing from you.'</p> - -<p>He spoke abruptly, and with some sternness.</p> - -<p>'I think there is such a thing as being too proud? she said, with -hesitation.</p> - -<p>'Your ancestors would not say so,' he answered, with an effort; she -understood the meaning that underlay the words. He turned away and -closed the lid of the harpsichord, where little painted cupids wantoned -in a border of metal scroll-work.</p> - -<p>All the men and women well enough to stand crowded on the water-stairs -to see her departure; little children were held up in their mother's -arms and bidden remember her for evermore; all feeble creatures lifted -up their voices to praise her; Jew and Christian blessed her; the -water-gate was cumbered with sobbing people, trying to see her face, -to kiss her skirt for the last time. She could not be wholly unmoved -before that unaffected, irrepressible emotion. Their poor lives were -not worth much, but such as they were she, under Heaven, had saved them.</p> - -<p>'I will return and see you again,' she said to them, as she made a slow -way through the eager crowd. 'Thank Heaven, my people, not me. And I -leave my friend with you, who did much more for you than I. Respect him -and obey him.'</p> - -<p>They raised with their thin trembling voices a loud <i>Eljén</i>! of homage -and promise, and she passed away from their sight into the evening -shadows on the wide river.</p> - -<p>Sabran accompanied her to the vessel, which was to take her to the town -of Mohacs, thence to make her journey home by railway.</p> - -<p>'I shall not leave until you bid me, even though you should forget to -call me all in my life!' he said, as the boat slipped through the dark -water.</p> - -<p>'Such oblivion would be a poor reward.'</p> - -<p>'I have had reward enough. You have called me your friend.'</p> - -<p>She was silent. The boat ran through the dusk and the rippling rays of -light streaming from the sides of the yacht, and they went on board. He -stood a moment with uncovered head before her on the deck, and she gave -him her hand.</p> - -<p>'You will come to the Holy Isle?' she said, as she did so.</p> - -<p>'If you bid me,' he said, as he bowed and kissed her hand. His lips -trembled as he did so, and by the lamplight she saw that he was very -pale.</p> - -<p>'I shall bid you,' she said, very softly, by-and-by. Farewell!'</p> - -<p>He bowed very low once more, then he dropped over the yacht's side into -the boat waiting below; the splash of the oars told her he was gone -back to Idrac. The yawl weighed anchor and began to go up the river, -a troublesome and tedious passage at all seasons. She sat on deck -watching the strong current of the Danube as it rolled on under the bow -of the schooner. For more than a league she could see the beacon that -burned by the water-gate of the fortress. When the curve of the stream -hid it from her eyes she felt a pang of painful separation, of wistful -attachment to the old dreary walls where she had seen so much suffering -and so much courage, and where she had learned to read her own heart -without any possibility of ignoring its secrets. A smile came on her -mouth and a moisture in her eyes as she sat alone in the dark autumn -night, while the schooner made her slow ascent through the swell that -accompanies the influx of the Drave.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> - - -<p>In two days' time Hohenszalras received its mistress home.</p> - -<p>She was not in any way harmed by the perils she had encountered, and -the chills and fever to which she had been exposed. On the contrary, -her eyes had a light and her face had a bloom which for many months had -not been there.</p> - -<p>The Princess heard a brief sketch of what had passed in almost -total silence. She had disapproved strongly, and she said that her -disapproval could not change, though a merciful heavenly host had -spared her the realisation of her worst fears.</p> - -<p>The name of Sabran was not spoken. Wanda was of a most truthful temper, -but she could not bring herself to speak of his presence at Idrac; the -facts would reveal themselves inevitably soon enough.</p> - -<p>She sent Greswold to the Danube laden with stores and medicines. -She received a letter every morning from her delegate; but he wrote -briefly, and with scrupulous care, the statements of facts connected -with the town and reports of what had been done. Her engineer had -arrived from the mines by Kremnitz, and the builders estimated that -the waters would have subsided and settled enough, if no fresh rising -took place, for them to begin the reconstruction of the town with the -beginning of the new month. Ague and fever were still very common, and -fresh cases were brought in every hour to the hospital in the fortress. -He wrote on the arrival of Herr Greswold, that, with her permission, he -himself would still stay on, for the people had grown used to him, and -having some knowledge of hydraulics he would be interested to see the -plans proposed by her engineers for preserving the town from similar -calamities.</p> - -<p>Three weeks passed; all that time she spoke but little either of him or -of any other subject. She took endless rides, and she sat many hours -doing nothing in the white room, absorbed in thought. The Princess, -who had learned what had passed, with admirable exercise of tact and -self-restraint made neither suggestion nor innuendo, and accepted the -presence of a French Marquis at a little obscure town in Sclavonia as -if it were the most natural circumstance in the world.</p> - -<p>'All the Szalras have been imperious, arrogant, and of complicated -character,' she thought; 'she has the same temper, though it is -mitigated in her by great natural nobility of disposition and strong -purity of motives. She will do as she chooses, let all the world do -what it may to change her. If I say a word either way it may take -effect in some wholly unforeseen manner that I should regret. It is -better to abstain. In doubt do nothing, is the soundest of axioms.'</p> - -<p>And Princess Ottilie, who on occasion had the wisdom of the serpent -with the sweetness of the dove, preserved a discreet silence, and -devoured her really absorbing curiosity in her own heart.</p> - -<p>At the end of the fourth week she heard that all was well at Idrac, -so far as it could be so in a place almost wholly destroyed. There -was no sign of renewed rising of the inland streams. The illness was -diminished, almost conquered; the people had begun to take heart and -hope, and, being aided, wished to aid themselves. The works for new -embankments, water-gates, and streets were already planned, though -they could not be begun until the spring. Meanwhile, strong wooden -houses were being erected on dry places, which which could shelter -<i>ad interim</i> many hundreds of families; the farmers were gradually -venturing to return to their flooded lands. The town had suffered -grievously and in much irreparably, but it began to resume its trade -and its normal life.</p> - -<p>She hesitated a whole day when she heard this. Though Sabran did not -hint at any desire of his own to leave the place, she knew it, was -impossible to bid him remain longer, and that a moment of irrevocable -decision was come. She hesitated all the day, slept little all the -night, then sent him a brief telegram: 'Come to the Island.'</p> - -<p>Obey the summons as rapidly as he might, he could not travel by Vienna -and Salzburg more quickly than in some thirty hours or more. The time -passed to her in a curious confusion and anxiety. Outwardly she was -calm enough; she visited the schools, wrote some letters, and took her -usual long ride in the now leafless woods, but at heart she was unquiet -and ill at ease, troubled more than by anything else at the force of -the desire she felt to meet him once more. It was but a month since -they had parted on the deck, and it seemed ten years. She had known -what he had meant when he had said that he would come if she bade him; -she had known that she would only do the sheerest cruelty and treachery -if she called him thither only to dismiss him. It had not been a visit -of the moment, but all his life that she had consented to take when she -had written 'Come to the Island.'</p> - -<p>She would never have written it unless she had been prepared to fulfil -all to which it tacitly pledged her. She was incapable of wantonly -playing with any passion that moved another, least of all with his. The -very difference of their position would have made indecision or coyness -in her seem cruelty, humiliation. The decision hurt her curiously with -a sense of abdication, mortification, and almost shame. To a very proud -woman in whom the senses have never asserted their empire, there is -inevitably an emotion of almost shame, of self-surrender, of loss of -self-respect, in the first impulses of love. It made her abashed and -humiliated to feel the excitation that the mere touch of his hand, the -mere gaze of his eyes, had power to cause her. 'If this be love,' she -thought, 'no wonder the world is lost for it.'</p> - -<p>Do what she would, the time seemed very long; the two evenings that -passed were very tedious and oppressive. The Princess seemed to -observe nothing of what she was perfectly conscious of, and her -flute-like voice murmured on in an unending stream of commonplaces to -which her niece replied much at random.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon of the third day she stood on the terrace looking down -the lake and towards the Holy Isle, with an impatience of which she was -in turn impatient. She was dressed in white woollen stuff with silver -threads in it; she had about her throat an old necklace of the Golden -Fleece, of golden shells enamelled, which had been a gift from Charles -the Fifth to one of her house; over her shoulders, for the approach -of evening was cold, she had thrown a cloak of black Russian sables. -She made a figure beautiful, stately, patrician, in keeping with the -background of the great donjon tower, and the pinnacled roofs, and the -bronze warriors in their Gothic niches.</p> - -<p>When she had stood there a few minutes looking down the lake towards -the willows of the monastery island, a boat came out from the willow -thickets, and came over the mile-and-half of green shadowy water. There -was only one person in it. She recognised him whilst he was still far -off, and a smile came on her mouth that it was a pity he could not see.</p> - -<p>He was a bold man, but his heart stood still with awe of her, and his -soul trembled within him at this supreme moment of his fate. For he -believed that she would not have bidden him there unless her hand were -ready to hold out destiny to him—the destiny of his maddest, of his -sweetest, dreams.</p> - -<p>She came forward a few paces to meet him; her face was grave and pale, -but her eyes had a soft suppressed light.</p> - -<p>'I have much for which to thank you,' she said, as she held out her -hand to him. Her voice was tremulous though calm.</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand, then stood silent. It seemed to him that there was -nothing to say. She knew what he would have said if he had been king, -or hero, or meet mate for her. His pulses were beating feverishly, his -self-possession was gone, his eyes did not dare to meet hers. He felt -as if the green woods, the shining waters, the rain-burdened skies were -wheeling round him. That dumbness, that weakness, in a man so facile -of eloquence, so hardy and even cynical in courage, touched her to a -wondering pitifulness.</p> - -<p>'After all,' she thought once more, 'if we love one another what is it -to anyone else? We are both free.'</p> - -<p>If the gift she would give would be so great that the world would blame -him for accepting it, what would that matter so long as she knew him -blameless?</p> - -<p>They were both mute: he did not even look at her, and she might have -heard the beating of his heart. She looked at him and the colour came -back into her face, the smile back upon her mouth.</p> - -<p>'My friend,' she said very gently,'did never you think that I also——'</p> - -<p>She paused: it was very hard to her to say what she must say, and he -could not help her, dared not help her, to utter it.</p> - -<p>They stood thus another moment mute, with the sunset glow upon the -shining water, and upon the feudal majesty of the great castle.</p> - -<p>Then she looked at him with a straight, clear, noble glance, and with -the rich blood mounting in her face, stretched out her hand to him with -a royal gesture.</p> - -<p>'They robbed you of your ivy leaf, my cruel Prussian cousins. Will -you—take—this—instead?'</p> - -<p>Then Heaven itself opened to his eyes. He did not take her hand. He -fell at her feet and kissed them.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> - - -<p>Is it wisest after all to be very unwise, dear mother mine?' she said a -little later, with a smile that was tender and happy.</p> - -<p>The Princess looked up quickly, and so looking understood.</p> - -<p>'Oh, my beloved, is it indeed so? Yes, you are wise to listen to your -heart; God speaks in it!'</p> - -<p>With tears in her eyes she stretched out her pretty hands in solemn -benediction.</p> - -<p>'Be His Spirit for ever with you,' she said with great emotion. 'I -shall be so content to know that I leave you not alone when our Father -calls me, for I think your very greatness and dominion, my dear, but -make you the more lonely, as sovereigns are, and it is not well to be -alone, Wanda; it is well to have human love close about us.'</p> - -<p>'It is to lean on a reed, perhaps,'murmured Wanda, in that persistent -misgiving which possessed her. 'And when the reed breaks, then though -it has been so weak before, it becomes of iron, barbed and poisoned.'</p> - -<p>'What gloomy thoughts! And you have made me so happy, and surely you -are happy yourself?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. My reed is in full flower, but—but—yes, I am happy; I hope that -Bela knows.'</p> - -<p>The Princess kissed her once again.</p> - -<p>'Ah! he loves you so well.'</p> - -<p>'That I am sure of; yet I might never have known it but for you.'</p> - -<p>'I did for the best.'</p> - -<p>'I will send him to you. I want to be alone a little. Dear mother, he -cares for you as tenderly as though he were your son.'</p> - -<p>'I have been his friend always,' said the Princess, with a smile, -whilst the tears still stood in her eyes. 'You cannot say so much, -Wanda; you were very harsh.'</p> - -<p>'I know it. I will atone to him.'</p> - -<p>The eyes of the Princess followed her tenderly.'</p> - -<p>'And she will make her atonement generously, grandly,' she thought. -'She is a woman of few protestations, but of fine impulses and of -unerring magnanimity. She will be incapable of reminding him that -their kingdom is hers. I have done this thing; may Heaven be with it! -If she had loved no one, life would have grown so pale, so chill, so -monotonous to her; she would have tired of herself, having nothing -but herself for contemplation. Solitude has been only grand to her -hitherto because she has been young, but as the years rolled on she -would have died without ever having lived; now she will live. She may -have to bear pains, griefs, infidelities, calamities that she would -have escaped; but even so, how much better the summer day, even with -the summer storm, than the dull, grey, quiet, windless weather! Of -course, if she could have found sanctuary in the Church——But her -faith is not absolute and unwavering enough for that; she has read too -many philosophies; she requires, too, open-air and vigorous life; the -cloister would have been to her a prison. She is one of those whose -religion lies in activity; she will worship God through her children.'</p> - -<p>Sabran entered as she mused, and knelt down before her.</p> - -<p>'You have been my good angel, always,' he murmured. 'How can I thank -you? I think she would never have let her eyes rest on me but for you.'</p> - -<p>The Princess smiled.</p> - -<p>'My friend, you are one of those on whom the eyes of women willingly -rest, perhaps too willingly. But you—you will have no eyes for any -other now? You must deserve my faith in you. Is it not so?'</p> - -<p>'Ah, madame,' he answered with deep emotion, 'all words seem so trite -and empty; any fool can make phrases, but when I say that my life -shall be consecrated to her, I mean it, in the uttermost royalty, the -uttermost gratitude.'</p> - -<p>'I believe you,' said the Princess, as she laid her hand lightly -on his bent head. 'Perhaps no man can understand entirely all that -she surrenders in admitting that she loves you; for a proud woman -to confess so much of weakness is very hard: but I think you will -comprehend her better than any other would. I think you will not force -her to pass the door of disillusion; and remember that though she will -leave you free as air—for she is not made of that poor stuff which -would enslave what it loves—she would not soon forgive too great abuse -of freedom. I mean if you were ever—ever unfaithful——</p> - -<p>'For what do you take me?' he cried, with indignant passion. 'Is there -another woman in the world who could sit beside her, and not be -dwarfed, paled, killed, as a candle by the sun?'</p> - -<p>'You are only her betrothed,' said the Princess, with a little sigh. -'Men see their wives with different eyes; so I have been told, at -least. Familiarity is no courtier, and time is always cruel.'</p> - -<p>'Nay, time shall be our dearest friend,' said Sabran, with a tenderness -in his voice that spoke more constancy than a thousand oaths. 'She will -be beautiful when she is old, as you are; age will neither alarm nor -steal from her; her bodily beauty is like her spiritual, it is cast -in lines too pure and clear not to defy the years. Oh, mother mine! -(let me call you that) fear nothing; I will love her so well that, all -unworthy now, I will grow worthy her, and cause her no moment's pain -that human love can spare her.'</p> - -<p>'Her people shall be your people, and her God your God,' murmured the -Princess, with her hand still lying lightly on his head, obediently -bent.</p> - -<p>When late that night he went across the lake the monks were at their -midnight orisons; their voices murmured as one man's the Latin words of -praise and prayer, and made a sound like that of a great sea rolling -slowly on a lonely shore.</p> - -<p>He believed naught that they believed. Deity was but a phrase to him; -faith and a future life were empty syllables to him. Yet, in the -fulness of his joy and the humiliation of his spirit, he felt his heart -swell, his pride sink subdued. He knelt down in the hush and twilight -of that humble place of prayer, and for the first moment in many years -he also praised God.</p> - -<p>No one heeded him; he knelt behind them in the gloom unnoticed; he rose -refreshed as men in barren lands in drought are soothed by hearing the -glad fall of welcome rain. He had no place there, and in another hour -would have smiled at his own weakness; but now he remembered nothing -except that he, utterly beyond his deserts, was blessed. As the monks -rose to their feet and their loud chanting began to vibrate in the air, -he went out unheard, as he had entered, and stood on the narrow strip -of land that parted the chapel from the lake. The green waters were -rolling freshly in under a strong wind, the shadows of coming night -were stealing on; in the south-west a pale yellow moonlight stretched -broadly in a light serene as dawn, and against it there rose squarely -and darkly with its many turrets the great keep of Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>He looked, but it was not of that great pile and all which it -represented and symbolised that he thought now.</p> - -<p>It was of the woman he loved as a woman, not as a great possessor of -wealth and lands.</p> - -<p>'Almost I wish that she were poor as the saints she resembles!' he -thought, with a tender passion that for the hour was true. It seemed -to him that had he seen her standing in her shift in the snow, like -our Lady of Hungary, discrowned and homeless, he would have been glad. -He was honest with the honesty of passion. It was not the mistress of -Hohenszalras that he loved, but his own wife.</p> - -<p>Such a marriage could not do otherwise than arouse by its announcement -the most angry amazement, the most indignant protests from all the -mighty houses with which for so many centuries the house of Szalras -had allied itself. In a few tranquil sentences she made known her -intentions to those of her relations whom she felt bound thus to -honour; but she gave them clearly to understand that it was a formula -of respect not an act of consultation. When they received her letters -they knew that her marriage was already quite as irrevocable as though -it had already taken place in the Hof-Kapelle of Vienna.</p> - -<p>All her relatives and all her order were opposed to her betrothal; -a cold sufferance was the uttermost which any of them extended to -Sabran. A foreigner and poor, and, with a troubled and uncertain -past behind him, he was bitterly unwelcome to the haughty Prussian, -Austrian, and Hungarian nobilities to which she belonged; neither his -ancient name nor his recent political brilliancy and military service -could place him on an equality with them in their eyes. Her trustees, -the Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe and the Cardinal Vàsàrhely, with her -cousin Kaulnitz, hurried in person as swiftly as special trains could -bring them to the Iselthal, but they were too late to avert the blow.</p> - -<p>'It is not a marriage for her,' said Kaulnitz, angrily.</p> - -<p>'Why not? It is a very old family,' said the Princess, with no less -irritation.</p> - -<p>'But quite decayed, long ruined,' he returned. 'This man was himself -born in exile.'</p> - -<p>'As they exile everybody twice in every ten years in France!</p> - -<p>'And there have been stories——'</p> - -<p>'Of whom are there not stories? Calumny is the parasite of character; -the stronger the character the closer to it clings the strangler.'</p> - -<p>'I never heard him accused of any strength, except of the wrist in -<i>l'escrime!</i>'</p> - -<p>'Do you know anything dishonourable of him? If you do you are bound to -say it.'</p> - -<p>'Dishonourable is a grave word. No, I cannot say that I do; the society -he frequents is a guarantee against that; but his life has been -indifferent, complicated, uncertain, not a life to be allied with that -of such a woman as Wanda. My dear Princess, it has been a life <i>dans le -milieu parisien</i>; what more would you have me say?'</p> - -<p>'Prince Archambaud's has been that. Yet three years since you earnestly -pressed his suit on Wanda.'</p> - -<p>'Archambaud! He is one of the first alliances in Europe; he is of blood -royal, and he has not been more vicious than other men.'</p> - -<p>'It would be better he should have been less so, since he lives so near -'the fierce light that beats upon the throne;' an electric light which -blackens while it illumines! My good Kaulnitz, you wander very far -afield. If you know anything serious against M. de Sabran it is your -duty to say it.'</p> - -<p>'He is a gambler.'</p> - -<p>'He has renounced gambling.'</p> - -<p>'He is a duellist.'</p> - -<p>'Society was of much better constitution when the duel was its habitual -phlebotomy.'</p> - -<p>'He has been the lover of many women.'</p> - -<p>'I am afraid that is nothing singular.'</p> - -<p>'He is hardly more than an adventurer.'</p> - -<p>'He counts his ancestry in unbroken succession from the clays of -Dagobert.</p> - -<p>'He has nothing but a <i>pignon sur rue</i> in Paris, and a league or two of -rocks and sand in Brittany; yet, though so poor, he made money enough -by cards and speculation to be for three years the <i>amant en titre</i> of -Cochonette.'</p> - -<p>Madame Ottilie rose with a little frown.</p> - -<p>'I think we will say no more, my dear Baron; the matter is, after all, -not yours or mine to decide. Wanda will assuredly do as she likes.'</p> - -<p>'But you have so much influence with her.'</p> - -<p>'I have none; no one has any: and I think you do not understand her in -the least. It may cost her very much to avow to him that she loves him, -but once having done that, it will cost her nothing at all to avow it -to the world. She is much too proud a woman to care for the world.'</p> - -<p>'He is <i>gentilhomme de race</i>, I grant,' admitted with reluctance the -Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>'When has a noble of Brittany been otherwise?' asked the Princess -Ottilie.</p> - -<p>'I know,' said the Prince; 'but you will admit that he occupies a -difficult position—an invidious one.'</p> - -<p>'And he carries himself well through it. It is a difficult position -which is the test of breeding,' said the Princess, triumphantly, 'and -I deny entirely that it is what you call an invidious one. It is you -who have the idea of the crowd when you lay so much stress on the mere -absence of money.'</p> - -<p>'It is the idea of the crowd that dominates in this age.'</p> - -<p>'The more reason for us to resist it, if it be so.'</p> - -<p>'I think you are in love with him yourself, my sister!'</p> - -<p>'I should be were I forty years younger.'</p> - -<p>The Countess Brancka alone wrote with any sort of sympathy and pleasure -to congratulate them both.</p> - -<p>'I was sure that Parsifal would win soon or late,' she said. 'Only -remember that he is a Parsifal <i>doublé</i> by a de Morny.'</p> - -<p>Wanda read that line with contracted brows. It angered her more than -the outspoken remonstrances of the Vàsàrhely, of the Lilienhöhe, of -the Kaulnitz, of the many great families to whom she was allied. -De Morny!—a bastard, an intriguer, a speculator, a debaucher! The -comparison had an evil insinuation, and displeased her!</p> - -<p>She was not a woman, however, likely either for insinuation or -remonstrance to change her decisions or abandon her wishes. She had -so much of the '<i>éternel féminin</i>' in her that she was only the more -resolved in her own course because others, by evil prophecy and -exaggerated fears, sought to turn her from it. What they said was -natural, she granted, but it was unjust and would be unjustified. All -the expostulation, diplomatically hinted or stoutly outspoken, of those -who considered that they had the right to make such remonstrances -produced not the smallest effect upon the mind of the woman whom, as -Baron Kaulnitz angrily expressed it, Sabran had magnetised. Once again -Love was a magician, against whom wisdom, prudence, and friendship had -no power of persuasion.</p> - -<p>The melancholy that she observed in him seemed to her only the more -graceful; there was no vulgar triumph in his own victory, such as -might have suggested that the material advantages of that triumph were -present to him. That he loved her greatly she could not doubt, and that -he had striven to conceal it from her she could not doubt either. The -sadness which at times overcame him was but natural in a proud man, -whose fortunes were unequal to his birth, and who was also sensible of -many brilliant gifts, intellectual, that he had wasted, which, had -they been fully utilised, would have justified his aspiration to her -hand.</p> - -<p>'Try and persuade him,' she said to Mdme. Ottilie, 'to think less of -this mere accident of difference between us. If it were difference of -birth it might be insurmountable or intolerably painful; but a mere -difference of riches matters no more than the colour of one's eyes, or -the inches of one's stature.'</p> - -<p>The Princess shook her head.</p> - -<p>'If he did not feel it as he does, he would not be the man that he -is. A marriage contract to which the lover brings nothing must always -be humiliating to himself. Besides, it seems to him that the world at -large must condemn him as a mere fortune-hunter.'</p> - -<p>'Since I am convinced of the honesty and purity of his motives, what -matters the opinion of others?'</p> - -<p>'How can he tell that the world may not some day induce you to doubt -those motives?'</p> - -<p>Wanda did not reply.</p> - -<p>'But he will cease to think of any disparity when all that is mine has -been his a year or two,' she thought. 'All the people shall look to him -as their lord, since he will be mine; even if I think differently to -him on any matter I will not say it, lest I should remind him that the -power lies with me; he shall be no prince consort, he shall be king.'</p> - -<p>As the generous resolve passed dreamily through her mind she was -listening to the Coronation Mass of Liszt, as he played it on the organ -within. It sounded to her like the hymn of the future; a chorus of -grave and glorious voices shouting welcome to the serene and joyous -years to come.</p> - -<p>When she was next alone with him she said to him very tenderly:</p> - -<p>'I want you to promise me one thing.'</p> - -<p>'I promise you all things. What is this one?'</p> - -<p>'It is this: you are troubled at the thought that I have one of those -great fortunes which form the <i>acte d'accusation</i> of socialists against -society, and that you have lost all except the rocks and salt beach of -Romans. Now I want you to promise me never to think of this fact. It -is beneath you. Fortune is so precarious a thing, so easily destroyed -by war or revolution, that it is not worth contemplation as a serious -barrier between human beings. A treachery, a sin, even a lie, any one -of those may be a wall of adamant, but a mere fortune!—Promise me that -you will never think of mine, except inasmuch, my beloved, as it may -enhance my happiness by ministering to yours.'</p> - -<p>He had grown very pale as she spoke, and his lips had twice parted to -speak without words coming from them. When she had ceased he still -remained silent.</p> - -<p>'I do not like the world to come between us, even in a memory; it is -too much flattery to it,' she continued. 'Surely it is treason against -me to be troubled by what a few silly persons will or will not say in a -few salons? You have too little vanity, I think, where others have too -much!'</p> - -<p>He stooped and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'Could any man live and fail to be humble before you?' he said with -passionate tenderness. 'Yes, the world will say, and say rightly, that -I have done a base thing, and I cannot forget that the world will be -right; yet since you honour me with your divine pity, can I turn away -from it? Could a dying man refuse a draught of the water of life?'</p> - -<p>A great agitation mastered him for the moment. He hid his face upon her -hands as he held them clasped in his.</p> - -<p>'We will drink that wafer together, and as long as we are together it -will never be bitter, I think,' she said very softly.</p> - -<p>Her voice seemed to sink into his very soul, so much it said of faith, -so much it aroused of remorse.</p> - -<p>Then the great joy which had entered his life, like a great dazzling -flood of light suddenly let loose into a darkened chamber, so blinded -consumed, and intoxicated him, that he forgot all else; all else save -this one fact—she would be his, body and soul, night and day, in life -and in death for ever; his children borne by her, his life spent with -her, her whole existence surrendered to him.</p> - -<p>For some days after that she mused upon the possibility of rendering -him entirely independent of herself, without insulting him by a direct -offer of a share in her possessions. At last a solution occurred -to her. The whole of the fiefs of Idrac constituted a considerable -appanage apart; its title went with it. When it had come into the -Szalras family by marriage, as far back as the fifteenth century, it -had been a principality; it was still a seigneurie, and many curious -feudal privileges and distinctions went with it.</p> - -<p>It was Idrac now that she determined to abandon to her lover.</p> - -<p>'He will be seigneur of Idrac,' she thought, 'and I shall be so glad -for him to bear an Austrian name.'</p> - -<p>'She herself would always retain her own name, and would take no other.</p> - -<p>'We will go and revisit it together,' she thought, and though she -was all alone' at that moment, a soft warmth came into her face, and -a throb of emotion to her heart, as she remembered all that would lie -in that one word 'together,' all the tender and intimate union of the -years to come.</p> - -<p>Her trustees were furious, and sought the aid of the men of law to -enable them to step in and arrest her in what they deemed a course -of self-destruction, but the law could not give them so much power; -she was her own mistress, and as sole inheritrix had received her -possessions singularly untrammelled by restrictions. In vain Prince -Lilienhöhe spent his severe and chilly anger, Kaulnitz his fine -sarcasm and delicate insinuations, and the Cardinal his stately and -authoritative wrath. She was not to be altered in her decision.</p> - -<p>Austrian law allowed her to give away an estate to her husband if she -chose, and there was nothing in the private settlements of her property -to prevent her availing herself of the law.</p> - -<p>Strenuous opposition was encountered by her to this project, by every -one of her relatives, hardly excluding the Princess Ottilie; 'for,' -said that sagacious recluse, 'your horses may show you, my dear, the -dangers of a rein too loose.'</p> - -<p>'I want no rein at all,' said Wanda. 'You forget that, to my thinking, -marriage should never be bondage; two people with independent wills, -tastes, and habits should mutually concede a perfect independence of -action to each other. When one must yield, it must be the woman.'</p> - -<p>'Those are very fine theories,' the Princess remarked with caution.</p> - -<p>'I hope we shall put them in practice,' said Wanda, with unruffled good -humour. 'Dear mother, I am sure you can understand that I want him -to feel he is wholly independent of me. To what I love best on earth -shall I dole out a niggard largesse from my wealth? If I were capable -of doing so he would grow in time to hate me, and his hatred would be -justified.'</p> - -<p>'I never should have supposed you would become so romantic,' said the -Princess.</p> - -<p>'It will make him independent of you,' objected Prince Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>'That is what, beyond all, I desire him to be,' she answered.</p> - -<p>'It is an infatuation,' sighed Cardinal Vàsàrhely, out of her hearing, -'when Egon would have brought to her a fortune as large as her own.'</p> - -<p>'You think water should always run to the sea,' said Princess Ottilie; -'surely that is great waste sometimes?'</p> - -<p>'I think you are as infatuated as she is,' murmured the Cardinal. 'You -forget that had she not been inspired with this unhappy sentiment she -would have most probably left Hohenszalras to the Church.'</p> - -<p>'She would have done nothing of the kind. Your Eminence mistakes,' -answered Madame Ottilie, sharply. 'Hohenszalras and everything else, -had she died unmarried, would have certainly gone to the Habsburgs.'</p> - -<p>That would have been better than to an adventurer.'</p> - -<p>'How can you call a Breton noble ah adventurer? It is one of the purest -aristocracies of the world, if poor.'</p> - -<p>'<i>Ce que femme veut</i>,' sighed his Eminence, who knew how often even the -Church had been worsted by women.</p> - -<p>The Countess von Szalras had her way, and although when the -marriage-deeds were drawn up they all set aside completely any -possibility of authority or of interference on the part of her husband, -and maintained in the clearest and firmest manner her entire liberty of -action and enjoyment of inalienable properties and powers, she had the -deed of gift of Idrac locked up in her cabinet, and thought to herself, -as the long dreary preamble and provisions of the law were read aloud -to her, 'So will he be always his own master. What pleasure that your -hawk stays by you if you chain him to your wrist? If he love you he -will sail back uncalled from the longest flight. I think mine always -will. If not—if not—well, he must go!'</p> - -<p>One morning she came to him with a great roll of yellow parchment -emblazoned and with huge seals bearing heraldic arms and crowns. She -spread it out before him as they stood alone in the Rittersaal. He -looked scarcely at it, always at her. She wore a gown of old gold plush -that gleamed and glowed as she moved, and she had a knot of yellow -tea-roses at her breast, fastened in with a little dagger of sapphires. -She had never looked more truly a great lady, more like a châtelaine of -the Renaissance, as she spread out the great roll of parchment before -him on one of the tables of the knights' hall.</p> - -<p>'Look!' she said to him. 'I had the lawyers bring this over for you -to see. It is the deed by which Stephen, first Christian King of -Hungary, confirmed to the Counts of Idrac in the year 1001 all their -feudal rights to that town and district, as a fief. They had been -lords there long before. Look at it; here, farther down you see is the -reconfirmation of the charter under the Habsburg seal, when Hungary -passed to them; but you do not attend, where are your eyes?'</p> - -<p>'On you! Carolus Duran must paint you again in that dead gold with -those roses.'</p> - -<p>'They are only hothouse roses; who cares for them? I love no forced -flowers either in nature or humanity. Come, study this old parchment. -It must have some interest for you. It is what makes you lord of Idrac.'</p> - -<p>'What have I to do with Idrac? It is one of the many jewels of your -coronet, to which I can add none!'</p> - -<p>But to please her he bent over the crabbed black letter and the antique -blazonings of the great roll to which the great dead men had set their -sign and seal. She watched him as he read it, then after a little time -she put her hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>'My love, I can do just as I will with Idrac. The lawyers are agreed on -that, and the Kaiser will confirm whatever I do. Now I want to give you -Idrac, make you wholly lord of it; indeed, the thing is already done. I -have signed all the documents needful, and, as I say, the Emperor will -confirm any part of them that needs his assent. My Réné, you are a very -proud man, but you will not be too proud to take Idrac and its title -from your wife. But for that town who can say that our lives might not -have been passed for ever apart? Why do you look so grave? The Kaiser -and I both want you to be Austrian. When I transfer to you the fief of -Idrac you are its Count for evermore.'</p> - -<p>He drew a quick deep breath as if he had been struck a blow, and stood -gazing at her. He did not speak, his eyes darkened as with pain. For -the moment she was afraid that she had wounded him. With exquisite -softness of tone and touch she took his hand and said to him tenderly:</p> - -<p>'Why will you be so proud? After all, what are these things? Since -we love one another, what is mine is yours; a formula more or less -is no offence. It is my fancy that you should have the title and the -fief. The people know you there, and your heroic courage will be for -ever amongst their best traditions. Dear! once I read that it needs a -greater soul to take generously than to give. Be great so, now, for my -sake!'</p> - -<p>'Great!' he echoed the word hoarsely, and a smile of bitter irony -passed for a moment over his features. But he controlled the passionate -self-contempt that rose in him. He knew that whatever else he was, -he was her lover, and her hero in her sight. If the magnitude and -magnanimity of her gifts overwhelmed and oppressed him, he was recalled -to self-control by the sense of her absolute faith in him. He pressed -her hands against his heavily-beating heart.</p> - -<p>'All the greatness is with you, my beloved,' he said with effort. -'Since you delight to honour me, I can but strive my utmost to deserve -your honour. It is like your beautiful and lavish nature to be prodigal -of gifts. But when you give yourself, what need is there for aught -else?'</p> - -<p>'But Idrac is my caprice. You must gratify it.'</p> - -<p>'I will take the title gladly at your hands then. The revenues—No.'</p> - -<p>'You must take it all, the town and the title, and all they bring,' she -insisted. 'In truth, but for you there would possibly be no town at -all. Nay, my dear, you must do me this little pleasure; it will become -you so well that Countship of Idrac: it is as old a place as Vindobona -itself.'</p> - -<p>'Do you not understand?' she added, with a flush on her face. 'I want -you to feel that it is wholly yours; that if I die, or if you leave me, -it remains yours still. Oh, I do not doubt you; not for one moment. But -liberty is always good. And Idrac will make you an Austrian noble in -your own right. If you persist in refusing it I will assign it to the -Crown; you will pain me and mortify me.'</p> - -<p>'That is enough! Never wittingly in my life will I hurt you. But if you -wish me to be lord of Idrac, invest me with the title, my Empress. I -will take it and be proud of it; and as for the revenues—well, we will -not quarrel for them. They shall go to make new dykes and new bastions -for the town, or pile themselves one on another in waiting for your -children.'</p> - -<p>She smiled and her face grew warm as she turned aside and took up one -of the great swords with jewelled hilts and damascened scabbards, which -were ranged along the wall of the Rittersaal with other stands of arms.</p> - -<p>She drew the sword, and as he fell on his knee before her smote him -lightly on the shoulder with its blade.</p> - -<p>'Rise, Graf von Idrac!' she said, stooping and touching his forehead -with the bouquet that she wore at her breast. He loosened one of the -roses and held it to his lips.</p> - -<p>'I swear my fealty now and for ever,' he said with emotion, and his -face was paler and his tone was graver than the playfulness of the -moment seemed to call for in him.</p> - -<p>'Would to Heaven I had had no other name than this one you give me,' -he murmured as he rose. 'Oh, my love, my lady, my guardian angel! -Forget that ever I lived before, forget all my life when I was unworthy -you; let me live only from the day that will make me your vassal and -your——'</p> - -<p>'That will make you my lord!' she said softly; then she stooped, and -for the first time kissed him.</p> - -<p>What caused her the only pain that disturbed the tranquillity of these -cloudless days was the refusal of her cousin Egon to be present at -her marriage. He sent her, with some great jewels that had come from -Persia, a few words of sad and wistful affection.</p> - -<p>'My presence,' he added in conclusion, 'is no more needed for your -happiness than are these poor diamonds and pearls needed in your -crowded jewel-cases. You will spare me a trial, which it could be of no -benefit to you for me to suffer. I pray that the Marquis de Sabran may -all his life be worthy of the immense trust and honour which you have -seen fit to give to him. For myself, I have been very little always in -your life. Henceforth I shall be nothing. But if ever you call on me -for any service—which it is most unlikely you ever will do—I entreat -you to remember that there is no one living who will more gladly or -more humbly do your bidding at all cost than I, your cousin Egon.'</p> - -<p>The short letter brought tears to her eyes. She said nothing of it to -Sabran. He had understood from Mdme. Ottilie that Prince Vàsàrhely had -loved his cousin hopelessly for many years, and could not be expected -to be present at her marriage.</p> - -<p>In a week from that time their nuptials were celebrated in the Court -Chapel of the Hofburg at Vienna, with all the pomp and splendour that -a brilliant and ceremonious Court could lend to the espousal of one of -the greatest ladies of the old Duchy of Austria.</p> - -<p>Immediately after the ceremony they left the capital for Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>At the signing of the contract on the previous night, when he had taken -up the pen he had grown very pale; he had hesitated a moment, and -glanced around him on the magnificent crowd, headed by the Emperor and -Empress, with a gleam of fear and of anxiety in his eyes, which Baron -Kaulnitz, who was intently watching him, had alone perceived.</p> - -<p>'There is something. What is it?' had mused the astute German.</p> - -<p>It was too late to seek to know. Sabran had bent down over the -parchment, and with a firm hand had signed his name and title.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> - - -<p>It was midsummer once more in the Iselthal, five years and a half after -the celebration at the Imperial palace of those nuptials which had been -so splendid that their magnificence had been noticeable even at that -magnificent Court. The time had seemed to her like one long, happy, -cloudless day, and if to him there had come any fatigue, any satiety, -any unrest, such as almost always come to the man in the fruition of -his passion, he suffered her to see none of them.</p> - -<p>It was one of those rare marriages in which no gall of a chain is felt, -but a quick and perfect sympathy insures that harmony which passion -alone is insufficient to sustain. He devoted himself with ardour to the -care of the immense properties that belonged to his wife; he brought -to their administration a judgment and a precision that none had looked -for in a man of pleasure; he entered cordially into all her schemes for -the well-being of her people dependent on her, and carried them out -with skill and firmness. The revenues of Idrac he never touched; he -left them to accumulate for his younger son, or expended them on the -township itself, where he was adored.</p> - -<p>If he were still the same man who had been the lover of Cochonette, -the terror of Monte Carlo, the hero of night-long baccara and frontier -duels, he had at least so banished the old Adam that it appeared wholly -dead. Nor was the death of it feigned. He had flung away the slough -of his old life with a firm hand, and the peace, the dignity of his -present existence were very precious to him. He was glad to steep -himself in them, as a tired and fevered wayfarer was glad to bathe his -dusty and heated limbs in the cool, clear waters of the Szalrassee. And -he loved his wife with a great love, in which reverence, and gratitude, -and passion were all blent. Possession had not dulled, nor familiarity -blunted it. She was still to him a sovereign, a saint, a half divine -creature, who had stooped to become mortal for his sake, and his -children's.</p> - -<p>The roses were all aglow on the long lawns and under the grey walls -and terraces; the sunbeams were dancing on the emerald surface of the -Szalrassee.</p> - -<p>'What a long spell of fair weather,' said Sabran, as they sat beneath -the great yews beside the keep.</p> - -<p>'It is like our life,' said his wife, who was doing nothing but -watching the clouds circle round the domes and peaks, which, white as -ivory, dazzling and clear, towered upward in the blue air like a mighty -amphitheatre.</p> - -<p>She had borne him three children in these happy years, the eldest of -whom, Bela, played amidst the daisies at her feet, a beautiful fair boy -with his father's features and his father's luminous blue eyes. The -other two, Gela and the little Ottilie, who had seen but a few months -of life, were asleep within doors in their carved ivory cots. They were -all handsome, vigorous, and of perfect promise.</p> - -<p>'Have I deserved to be so happy?' she would often think, she whom the -world called so proud.</p> - -<p>'Bela grows so like you!' she said now to his father, who stood near -her wicker chair.</p> - -<p>'Does he?' said Sabran, with a quick glance that had some pain in it, -at the little face of his son. 'Then if the other one be more like you -it will be he who will be dearest to me.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he bowed his head down and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>She smiled gravely and sweetly in his eyes.</p> - -<p>'That will be our only difference, I think! It is time, perhaps, that -we began to have one. Do you think there are two other people in all -the world who have passed five years and more together without once -disagreeing?'</p> - -<p>'In all the world there is not another Countess Wanda!'</p> - -<p>'Ah! that is your only defect; you will always avoid argument by -escaping through the side-door of compliment. It is true, to be sure, -that your flattery is a very high and subtle art.'</p> - -<p>'It is like all high art then, based on what is eternally true.'</p> - -<p>'You will always have the last word, and it is always so graceful a -one that it is impossible to quarrel with it. But, Réné, I want you -to speak without compliment to me for once. Tell me, are you indeed -never—never—a little weary of being here?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated a moment and a slight flush came on his face.</p> - -<p>She observed both signs, slight as they were, and sighed; it was the -first sigh she had ever breathed since her marriage.</p> - -<p>'Of course you are, of course you must be,' she said quickly. 'It has -been selfish and blameable of me never to think of it before. It is -paradise to me, but no doubt to you, used as you have been to the stir -of the world, there, must be some tedium, some dulness in this mountain -isolation. I ought to have remembered that before.'</p> - -<p>'You need do nothing of the kind, now,' he said. 'Who has been talking -to you? Who has brought this little snake into our Eden?'</p> - -<p>'No one; and it is not a snake at all, but a natural reflection. -Hohenszalras and you are the world to me, but I cannot expect that -Hohenszalras and I can be quite as much to yourself. It is always the -difference between the woman and the man. You have great talents; you -are ambitious.'</p> - -<p>'Were I as ambitious as Alexander, surely I have gained wherewithal to -be content!'</p> - -<p>'That is only compliment again, or if truth it is only a side of the -truth. Nay, love, I do not think for a moment you are tired of me; -I am too self-satisfied for that! But I think it is possible that -this solitude may have grown, or may grow, wearisome to you; that you -desire, perhaps without knowing it, to be more amidst the strife, -the movement, and the pleasures of men. Aunt Ottilie calls this -"confinement to a fortress;" now that is a mere pleasantry, but if ever -you should feel tempted to feel what she feels, have confidence enough -in my good sense and in my affection to say so to me, and then——.'</p> - -<p>'And then? We will suppose I have this ingratitude and bad taste, what -then?'</p> - -<p>'Why then, my own wishes should not stand for one instant in the way -of yours, or rather I would make yours mine. And do not use the word -ingratitude, my dearest; there can be no question of that betwixt you -and me.'</p> - -<p>'Yes,' said Sabran, as he stooped towards her and touched her hair -with his lips. 'When you gave me yourself, you made me your debtor -for all time; would have made me so had you been as poor as you are -rich. When I speak of gratitude it is of <i>that</i> gift, I think, not of -Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>A warmth of pleasure flushed her cheek for a moment, and she smiled -happily.</p> - -<p>'You shall not beg the question so,' she said, with gentle insistence -after a moment's pause. 'I have not forgotten your eloquence in the -French Chamber.' You are that rare thing a born orator. You are -not perhaps fitted to be a statesman, for I doubt if you would have -the application or bear the tedium necessary, but you have every -qualification for a diplomatist, a foreign minister.'</p> - -<p>'I have not the first qualification, I have no country!'</p> - -<p>She looked at him, in surprise—he spoke with bitterness and -self-contempt; but in a moment he had added quickly:—</p> - -<p>'France is nothing to me now, and though I am Austrian by all ties and -affections, I am not an Austrian before the law.'</p> - -<p>'That is hardly true,' she answered, satisfied with the explanation. -'Since France is little to you you could be naturalised here whenever -you chose, even if Idrac have not made you a Croat noble, as I believe -the lawyers would say it had; and the Emperor, who knows and admires -you, would, I think, at once give you gladly any mission you preferred; -you would make so graceful, so perfect, so envied an ambassador! -Diplomacy has indeed little force now, yet tact still tells wherever -it be found, and it is as rare as blue roses in the unweeded garden of -the world. I do not speak for myself, dear; that you know. Hohenszalras -is my beloved home, and it was enough for me before I knew you, and -nowhere else could life ever seem to me so true, so high, so simple, -and so near to God as here. But I do remember that men weary even of -happiness when it is unwitnessed, and require the press and stir of -emulation and excitation; and, if you feel that want, say so. Have -confidence enough in me to believe that your welfare will be ever my -highest law. Promise me this.'</p> - -<p>He changed colour slightly at her generous and trustful words, but he -answered without a moment's pause:</p> - -<p>'Whenever I am so thankless to fate I will confess it. No; the world -and I never valued one another much. I am far better here in the heart -of your mountains. Here only have I known peace and rest.'</p> - -<p>He spoke with a certain effort and emotion, and he stooped over his -little son and raised him on her knees.</p> - -<p>'These children shall grow up at Hohenszalras,' he continued, 'and you -shall teach them your love of the open air, the mountain solitudes, the -simple people, the forest creatures, the influences and the ways of -nature. You care for all those things, and they make up true wisdom, -true contentment. As for myself, if you always love me I shall ask no -more of fate.'</p> - -<p>'If! Can you be afraid?'</p> - -<p>'Sometimes. One always fears to lose what one has never merited.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, my love, do not be so humble! If you saw yourself as I see you, -you would be very proud.'</p> - -<p>She smiled as she spoke, and stretched her hand out to him over the -golden head of her child.</p> - -<p>He took it and held it against his heart, clasped in both his own. -Bela, impatient, slipped off his mother's lap to pursue his capture of -the daisies; the butterflies were forbidden joys, and he was obedient, -though in his own little way he was proud and imperious. But there -was a blue butterfly just in front of him, a Lycœna Adonis, like a -little bit of the sky come down and dancing about; he could not resist, -he darted at it. As he was about to seize it she caught his fingers.</p> - -<p>'I have told you, Bela, you are never to touch anything that flies or -moves. You are cruel.'</p> - -<p>He tried to get away, and his face grew very warm and passionate.</p> - -<p>'Bela will be cruel, if he like,' he said, knitting his pretty brows.</p> - -<p>Though he was not more than four years old he knew very well that he -was the Count Bela, to whom all the people gave homage, crowding to -kiss his tiny hand after Mass on holy-days. He was a very beautiful -child, and all the prettier for his air of pride and resolution; he had -been early put on a little mountain pony, and could ride fearlessly -down the forest glades with Otto. All the imperiousness of the great -race which had dealt out life and death so many centuries at their -caprice through the Hohe Tauern seemed to have been inherited by him, -coupled with a waywardness and a vanity that were not traits of the -house of Szalras. It was impossible, even though those immediately -about him were wise and prudent, to wholly prevent the effects of the -adulation with which the whole household was eager to wait on every -whim of the little heir.</p> - -<p>'Bela wishes it!' he would say, with an impatient frown, whenever his -desire was combated or crossed: he had already the full conviction that -to be Bela was to have full right to rule the world, including in it -his brother Gela, who was of a serious, mild, and yielding disposition, -and gave up to him in all things. As compensating qualities he was very -affectionate and sensitive, and easily moved to self-reproach.</p> - -<p>With a step Sabran reached him. 'You dare to disobey your mother?' he -said, sternly. 'Ask her forgiveness at once. Do you hear?'</p> - -<p>Bela, who had never heard his father speak in such a tone, was very -frightened, and lost all his colour; but he was resolute, and had been -four years old on Ascension Day. He remained silent and obstinate.</p> - -<p>Sabran put his hand heavily on the child's shoulder.</p> - -<p>'Do you hear me, sir? Ask her pardon this moment.'</p> - -<p>Bela was now fairly stunned into obedience.</p> - -<p>'Bela is sorry,' he murmured. 'Bela begs pardon.'</p> - -<p>Then he burst into tears.</p> - -<p>'You alarmed him rather too much. He is so very young,' she said to his -father, when the child, forgiven and consoled, had trotted off to his -nurse, who came for him.</p> - -<p>'He shall obey you, and find his law in your voice, or I will alarm him -more,' he said, with some harshness. 'If I thought he would ever give -you a moment's sorrow I should hate him!'</p> - -<p>It was not the first time that Sabran had seen his own more evil -qualities look at him from the beautiful little face of his elder son, -and at each of those times a sort of remorse came upon him. 'I was -unworthy to beget <i>her</i> children,' he thought, with the self-reproach -that seldom left him, even amidst the deep tranquility of his -satisfied passions, and his perfect peace of life. Who could tell what -trials, what pains, what shame even, might not fall on her in the years -to come, with the errors that her offspring would have in them from his -blood?</p> - -<p>'It is foolish,' she murmured, 'he is but a baby; yet it hurts one to -see the human sin, the human wrath, look out from the infant eyes. It -hurts one to remember, to realise, that one's own angel, one's own -little flower, has the human curse born with it. I express myself ill; -do you know what I mean? No, you do not, dear; you are a man. He is -your son, and because he will be handsome and brave you will be proud -of him; but he is not a young angel, not a blossom from Eden to you.'</p> - -<p>'You are my religion,' he answered, 'you shall be his. When he grows -older he shall learn that to be born of such a mother as you is to -enter the kingdom of heaven by inheritance. Shall he be unworthy -that inheritance because he bears in him also the taint of my sorry -passions, of my degraded humanity?'</p> - -<p>'Dear! I too am only an erring creature. I am not perfect as you think -me.'</p> - -<p>'As I know you and as my children shall know you to be.'</p> - -<p>'You love me too well,' she said again; 'but it is a <i>beau défaut</i>, -and I would not have you lose it.'</p> - -<p>'I shall never lose it whilst I have life,' he said, with truth and -passion. 'I prize it more because most unworthy it.'</p> - -<p>She looked at him surprised, and vaguely troubled at the self-reproach -and the self-scorn of his passionate utterance. Seeing that surprise -and trouble in her glance, he controlled the emotion that for the -moment mastered him.</p> - -<p>'Ah, love!' he said quickly and truly, 'if you could but guess how -gross and base a man's life seems to him contrasted with the life of -a pure and noble woman! Being born of you, those children, I think, -should be as faultless and as soilless as those pearls that lie on your -breast. But then they are mine also; so already on that boy's face one -sees the sins of revolt, of self-will, of cruelty—being mine also, -your living pearls are dulled and stained!'</p> - -<p>A greater remorse than she dreamed of made his heart ache as he said -these words; but she heard in them only the utterance of that extreme -and unwavering devotion to her which he had shown in all his acts and -thoughts from the first hours of their union.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Princess Ottilie was scarcely less happy than they in the -realisation of her dreams and prophecies. Those who had been most -bitterly opposed to her alliance with him could find no fault in his -actions and his affections.</p> - -<p>'I always said that Wanda ought to marry, since she had plainly no -vocation for the cloister,' she said a hundred times a year. 'And I was -certain that M. de Sabran was the person above all others to attract -and to content her. She has much more imagination than she would be -willing to allow and he is capable at once of fascinating her fancy -and of satisfying her intellect. No one can be dull where he is; he is -one of those who make <i>la pluie et le beau temps</i> by his absence or -presence; and, besides that, no commonplace affection would have ever -been enough for her. And he loves her like a poet, which he is at once -whenever he leaves the world for Beethoven and Bach. I cannot imagine -why you should have opposed the marriage, merely because he had not two -millions in the Bank of France.'</p> - -<p>'Not for that,' answered the Grand Duke; 'rather because he broke the -bank of Monte Carlo, and other similar reasons. A great player of -baccara is scarcely the person to endow with the wealth of the Szalras.'</p> - -<p>'The wealth is tied up tightly enough at the least, and you will admit -that he was yet more eager than you that it should be so.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, yes! he behaved very well. I never denied it. But she has placed -it in his power to make away with the whole of Idrac, if he should ever -choose. That was very unwise, but we had no power to oppose.'</p> - -<p>'You may be quite sure that Idrac will go intact to the second son, as -it has always done; and I believe but for his own exertions Idrac would -now be beneath the Danube waters. Perhaps you never heard all that -story of the flood?'</p> - -<p>'I only hope that if I have detractors you will defend me from them,' -said Prince Lilienhöhe, giving up argument.</p> - -<p>Fair weather is always especially fair in the eyes of those who have -foretold at sunset that the morrow would be fine; and so the married -life of Wanda von Szalras was especially delightful as an object of -contemplation, as a theme of exultation, to the Princess, who alone had -been clear-sighted enough to foresee the future. She really also loved -Sabran like a son, and took pride and pleasure in the filial tenderness -he showed her, and in his children, with the beautiful blue eyes that -had gleams of light in them like sapphires. The children themselves -adored her; and even the bold and wilful Bela was as quiet as a -startled fawn beside this lovely little lady, with her snow-white hair -and her delicate smile, whose cascades of lace always concealed such -wonderful bon-bon boxes, and gilded cosaques, and illuminated stories -of the saints.</p> - -<p>Almost all their time was spent at Hohenszalras. A few winter months -in Vienna was all they had ever passed away from it, except one visit -to Idrac and the Hungarian estates. The children never left it for -a day. He shared her affection for the place, and for the hardy and -frank mountain people around them. He seemed to her to entirely forget -Romaris, and beyond the transmission of moneys to its priest, he -took no heed of it. She hesitated to recall it to him, since to do -so might have seemed to remind him that it was she, not he, who was -suzerain in the Hohe Tauern. Romaris was but a bleak rock, a strip of -sea-swept sand; it was natural that it should have no great hold on his -affections, only recalling as it did all that its lords had lost.</p> - -<p>'I hate its name,' he said impetuously once; and seeing the surprise -upon her face, he added: 'I was very lonely and wretched there; I -tried to take interest in it because you bade me, but I failed; all -I saw, all I thought of, was yourself, and I believed you as far and -for ever removed from me as though you had dwelt in some other planet. -No! perhaps I am superstitious: I do not wish you to go to Romaris. I -believe it would bring us misfortune. The sea is full of treachery, the -sands are full of graves.'</p> - -<p>She smiled.</p> - -<p>'Superstition is a sort of parody of faith; I am sure you are not -superstitious. I do not care to go to Romaris; I like to cheat myself -into the belief that you were born and bred in the Iselthal. Otto said -to me the other day, "My lord must be a son of the soil, or how could -he know our mountains so well as he does, and how could he anywhere -have learned to shoot like that?"'</p> - -<p>'I am very glad that Otto does me so much honour. When he first met -me, he would have shot me like a fox, if you had given the word. Ah, my -love! how often I think of you that day, in your white serge, with your -girdle of gold, and your long gold-headed staff, and your little ivory -horn. You were truly a châtelaine of the old mystical German days. -You had some <i>Schlüsselblumen</i> in your hand. They were indeed the key -flower to my soul, though, alas! treasures, I fear, you found none on -your entrance there.'</p> - -<p>'I shall not answer you, since to answer would be to flatter you, and -Aunt Ottilie already, does that more than is good for you,' she said -smiling, as she passed her fingers over the waves of his hair. 'By the -way, whom shall we invite to meet the Lilienhöhe? Will you make out a -list?'</p> - -<p>'The Grand Duke does not share Frau Ottilie's goodness for me.'</p> - -<p>'What would you? He has been made of buckram and parchment; besides -which; nothing that is not German has, to his mind, any right to exist. -By the way, Egon wrote to me this morning; he will be here at last.'</p> - -<p>He looked up quickly in unspoken alarm: 'Your cousin Egon? Here?'</p> - -<p>'Why are you so surprised? I was sure that sooner or later he would -conquer that feeling of being unable to meet you. I begged him to come -now; it is eight whole years since I have seen him. When once you have -met you will be friends—for my sake.'</p> - -<p>He was silent; a look of trouble and alarm was still upon his face.</p> - -<p>'Why should you suppose it any easier to him now than then?' he said at -length. 'Men who love <i>you</i> do not change. There are women who compel -constancy, <i>sans le vouloir</i>. The meeting can but be painful to Prince -Vàsàrhely.'</p> - -<p>'Dear Réné,' she answered in some surprise, 'my nearest male relative -and I cannot go on for ever without seeing each other. Even these years -have done Egon a great deal of harm. He has been absent from the Court -for fear of meeting us. He has lived with his hussars, or voluntarily -confined to his estates, until he grows morose and solitary. I am -deeply attached to him. I do not wish to have the remorse upon me of -having caused the ruin of his gallant and brilliant life. When he -has been once here he will like you: men who are brave have always -a certain sympathy. When he has seen you here he will realise that -destiny is unchangeable, and grow reconciled to the knowledge that I am -your wife.'</p> - -<p>Sabran gave an impatient gesture of denial, and began to write the list -of invitations for the autumn circle of guests who were to meet the -Prince and Princess of Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>Once every summer and every autumn Hohenszalras was filled with a -brilliant house-party, for she sacrificed her own personal preferences -to what she believed to be for the good of her husband. She knew that -men cannot always live alone; that contact with the world is needful to -their minds and bracing for it. She had a great dread lest the ghost -<i>ennui</i> should show his pale face over her husband's shoulder, for -she realised that from the life of the asphalte of the Champs-Élysées -to the life amidst the pine forests of the Iselthal was an abrupt -transition that might easily bring tedium in its train. And tedium is -the most terrible and the most powerful foe love ever encounters.</p> - -<p>Sabran completed the list, and when he had corrected it into due -accordance with all Lilienhöhe's personal and political sympathies and -antipathies, despatched the invitations, 'for eight days,' written on -cards that bore the joint arms of the Counts of Idrac and the Counts of -Szalras. He had adopted the armorial bearings of the countship of Idrac -as his own, and seemed disposed to abandon altogether those of the -Sabrans of Romaris.</p> - -<p>When they were written he went out by himself and rode long and fast -through the mists of a chilly afternoon, through dripping forest ways -and over roads where little water-courses spread in shining shallows. -The coming of Egon Vàsàrhely troubled him and alarmed him. He had -always dreaded his first meeting with the Magyar noble; and as the -years had dropped by one after another, and her cousin had failed -to find courage to see her again, he had begun to believe that they -and Vàsàrhely would remain always strangers. His wish had begotten -his thought. He knew that she wrote at intervals to her cousin, and -he to her; he knew that at the birth of each of their children some -magnificent gift, with a formal letter of felicitation, had come from -the Colonel of the White Hussars; but as time had gone on and Prince -Egon had avoided all possibility of meeting them, he had grown to -suppose that the wound given her rejected lover was too profound ever -to close; nor did he wonder that it was so: it seemed to him that any -man who loved her must do so for all eternity, if eternity there should -be. To learn suddenly that within another month Vàsàrhely would be his -guest, distressed and alarmed him in a manner she never dreamed. They -had been so happy. On their cloud less heaven there seemed to him to -rise a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, but bearing with it disaster -and a moonless night.</p> - -<p>'Perhaps he will have forgotten,' he thought, as he strove to shake off -his forebodings. 'We were so young then. He was not even as old as I!'</p> - -<p>And he rode fast and furiously homewards as the day drew in, and the -lighted windows of the great castle seemed to smile at him as lie saw -it high up above the darkness of the woods and of the evening mists, -his home, beloved, sacred, infinitely dear to him; dear as the soil of -the mother country which the wrecked mariner reaches after facing death -on the deep sea.</p> - -<p>'God save her from suffering by me!' he said, in an unconscious prayer, -as he drew rein before the terrace of Hohenszalras. Almost he believed -in God through her.</p> - -<p>When, after dressing, he went into, the Saxe room, the peace and -beauty of the scene had never struck him so strongly as it did now, -coming out of the shadows of the wet woods and the gloom of his own -anxieties; anxieties the heavier and the more wearing because they -could be shared by no one. The soft, full light of the wax candles fell -on the Louis Seize embroideries and the white woodwork of the panelling -and the china borders of the mirrors. The Princess Ottilie sat making -silk-netting for the children's balls; his wife was reading, and Bela -and Gela, who were there for their privileged half-hour before dinner, -were fitting together on a white bearskin, playing with the coloured -balls of the game of solitaire. The soft light from the chandeliers -and sconces of the Saxe Royale china fell on the golden heads and the -velvet frocks of the children, on the old laces and the tawny-coloured -plush of their mothers skirts, on the great masses of flowers in the -Saxe bowls, and on the sleeping forms of the big dogs Donau and Neva. -It was an interior that would have charmed Chardin, that would have -been worthy of Vandyck.</p> - -<p>As he looked at it he thought with a sort of ecstasy, 'All that is -mine;' and then his heartstrings tightened as he thought again, 'If she -knew——?'</p> - -<p>She looked up at his entrance with a welcome on her face that needed no -words.</p> - -<p>'Where have you been in the rain all this long afternoon?' You see we -have a fire, even though it is midsummer. Bela, rise, and make your -obeisance, and push that chair nearer the hearth.'</p> - -<p>The two little boys stood up and kissed his hand, one after another, -with the pretty formality; of greeting on which she always insisted; -then they went back to their coloured glass balls, and he sank into a -low chair beside his wife with a sigh half of fatigue, half of content.</p> - -<p>'Yes, I have been riding all the time,' he said to her. 'I am not sure -that Siegfried approved it. But it does one good sometimes, and after -the blackness and the wetness of that forest how charming it is to come -home!'</p> - -<p>She looked at him with wistfulness.</p> - -<p>'I wish you were not vexed that Egon is coming! I am sure you have been -thinking of it as you rode.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, I have; but I am ashamed of doing so. He is your cousin, that -shall be enough for me. I will do my best to make him welcome. Only -there is this difficulty; a welcome from me to him will seem in itself -an insult.'</p> - -<p>'An insult! when you are my husband? One would think you were my -<i>jägermeister.</i> Dear mother mine, help me to scold him.'</p> - -<p>'I am a stranger,' he said, under his breath.</p> - -<p>She smiled a little, but she said with a certain hauteur:</p> - -<p>'You are master of Hohenszalras, as your son will be when our places -shall know us no more. Do not let the phantom of Egon come between us, -I beseech you. His real presence never will do so, that is certain.'</p> - -<p>'Nothing shall come between us,' said Sabran, as his hand took and -closed upon hers. 'Forgive me if I have brought some gloomy <i>nix</i> out -of the dark woods with me; he will flee away in, the light of this -beloved white-room. No evil spirits could dare stay by your hearth.'</p> - -<p>'There are <i>nixes</i> in the forests,' said Bela in a whisper to his -brother.</p> - -<p>'Ja!' said Gela, not comprehending.</p> - -<p>'We will kill them all when we are big,' said Bela.</p> - -<p>'Ja! ja!' said Gela.</p> - -<p>Bela knew very well what a <i>nix</i> was. Otto had told him all about -kobolds and sprites, as his pony trotted down the drives.</p> - -<p>'Or we will take them prisoners,' he added, remembering that his mother -never allowed anything to be killed, not even butterflies.</p> - -<p>'Ja!' said Gela again, rolling the pretty blue and pink and amber balls -about in the white fur of the bearskin.</p> - -<p>Gela's views of life were simplified by the disciple's law of -imitation; they were restricted to doing whatever Bela did, when that -was possible, when it was not possible he remained still adoring Bela, -with his little serious face as calm as a god's.</p> - -<p>She used to think that when they should grow up Bela would be a great -soldier like Wallenstein or Condé, and Gela would stay at home and -take care of his people here in the green, lone, happy Iselthal.</p> - -<p>Time ran on and the later summer made the blooming hay grow brown on -all the alpine meadows, and made the garden of Hohenszalras blossom -with a million autumnal glories; it brought also the season of the -first house-party. Egon Vàsàrhely was to arrive one day before the -Lilienhöhe and the other guests.</p> - -<p>'I want Egon so much to see Bela!' she said, with the thoughtless -cruelty of a happy mother forgetful of the pain of a rejected lover.</p> - -<p>'I fear Bela will find little favor in your cousin's eyes, since he is -mine too,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Oh, Egon is content to be only our cousin by this——'</p> - -<p>'You think so? You do not know yourself if you imagine that.'</p> - -<p>'Egon is very loyal. He would not come here if he could not greet you -honestly.'</p> - -<p>Sabran's face flushed a little, and he turned away. He vaguely dreaded -the advent of Egon Vàsàrhely, and there were so many innocent words -uttered in the carelessness of intimate intercourse which stabbed him -to the quick; she had so wounded him all unconscious of her act.</p> - -<p>'Shall we have a game of billiards?' he asked her as they stood in the -Rittersaal, whilst the rain fell fast without. She played billiards -well, and could hold her own against him, though his game was one that -had often been watched by a crowded <i>galerie</i> in Paris with eager -speculation and heavy wager. An hour afterwards they were still playing -when the clang of a great bell announced the approach of the carriage -which had been sent to Windisch-Matrey.</p> - -<p>'Come!' she said joyously, as she put back her cue in its rest; but -Sabran drew back.</p> - -<p>'Receive your cousin first alone,' he said. 'He must resent my presence -here. I will not force it on him on the threshold of your house.'</p> - -<p>'Of our house! Why will you use wrong pronouns? Believe me, dear, Egon -is too generous to bear you the animosity you think.'</p> - -<p>'Then he never loved you,' said Sabran, somewhat impatiently, as he -sent one ball against another with a sharp collision. 'I will come if -you wish it,' he added; 'but I think it is not in the best taste to so -assert myself.'</p> - -<p>'Egon is only my cousin and your guest. You are the master of -Hohenszalras. Come! you were not so difficult when you received the -Emperor.'</p> - -<p>'I had done the Emperor no wrong,' said Sabran, controlling the -impatience and the reluctance he still felt.</p> - -<p>'You have done Egon none. I should not have been his wife had I never -been yours.'</p> - -<p>'Who knows?' murmured Sabran, as he followed her into the entrance -hall. The stately figure of Egon Vàsàrhely enveloped in furs was just -passing through the arched doorway.</p> - -<p>She went towards him with a glad welcome and both hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>Prince Egon bowed to the ground: then took both her hands in his and -kissed her on the cheek.</p> - -<p>Sabran, who grew very pale, advanced and greeted him with ceremonious -grace.</p> - -<p>'My wife has bade me welcome you, Prince, but it would be presumptuous -in me, a stranger, to do that. All her kindred must be dear and sacred -here.'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely, with an effort to which he had for years been vainly -schooling himself, stretched out his hand to take her husband's; but -as he did so, and his glance for the first time dwelt on Sabran, a -look surprised and indefinitely perplexed came on his own features. -Unconsciously he hesitated a moment; then, controlling himself, he -replied with a few fitting words of courtesy and friendship. That -there should be some embarrassment, some constraint, was almost -inevitable, and did not surprise her: she saw both, but she also saw -that both were hidden under the serenity of high breeding and worldly -habit. The most difficult moment had passed: they went together into -the Rittersaal, talked together a little on a few indifferent topics, -and in a little space Prince Egon withdrew to his own apartments to -change his travelling clothes. Sabran left him on the threshold of his -chamber.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely locked the doors, locking out even his servant, threw off -his furs and sat down, leaning his head on his hands. The meeting had -cost him even more than he had feared that it would do. For five years -he had dreaded this moment, and its pain was as sharp and as fresh to -him as though it had been unforeseen. To sleep under the same roof -with the husband of Wanda von Szalras! He had overrated his power of -self-control, underrated his power of suffering, when to please her he -had consented after five years to visit Hohenszalras. What were five -years?—half a century would not have changed him.</p> - -<p>Under the plea of fatigue, he, who had sat in his saddle eighteen hours -at a stretch, and was braced to every form of endurance in the forest -chase and in the tented field, sent excuses to his host for remaining -in his own rooms until the Ave Maria rung. When he at length went -down to the blue-room where she was, he had recovered, outwardly at -least, his tranquillity and his self-possession, though here, in this -familiar, once beloved chamber, where every object had been dear to him -from his boyhood, a keener trial than any he had passed through awaited -him, as she led forward to meet him a little boy clad in white velvet, -with a cloud of light golden hair above deep blue luminous eyes, and -said to him:</p> - -<p>'Egon, this is my Bela. You will love him a little, for my sake?'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely felt a chill run through him like the cold of death as he -stooped towards the child; but he smiled and touched the boy's forehead -with his lips.</p> - -<p>'May the spirit of our lost Bela be with him and dwell in his heart,' -he murmured; 'better I cannot wish him.'</p> - -<p>With an effort he turned to Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Your little son is a noble child; you may with reason be proud of him. -He is very like you in feature. I see no trace of the Szalras.'</p> - -<p>'The other boy is more like Wanda,' replied Sabran, sensible of a -certain tenacity of observation with which Vàsàrhely was gazing at -him. 'As for my daughter, she is too young for anyone to say whom she -will resemble. All I desire is that she should be like her mother, -physically and spiritually.'</p> - -<p>'Of course,' said the Prince, absently, still looking from Sabran to -the child, as if in the endeavour to follow some remembrance that -eluded-him. The little face of Bela was a miniature of his father's, -they were as alike as it is possible for a child and a man to be so, -and Egon Vàsàrhely perplexedly mused and wondered at vague memories -which rose up to him as he gazed on each.</p> - -<p>'And what do you like best to do, my little one?' he asked of Bela, who -was regarding him with curious and hostile eyes.</p> - -<p>'To ride,' answered Bela at once, in his pretty uncertain German.</p> - -<p>'There you are a true Szalras at least. And your brother Gela, can he -ride yet? Where is Gela, by the way?'</p> - -<p>'He is asleep,' said Bela, with some contempt. 'He is a little thing. -Yes; he rides, but it is in a chair-saddle. It is not real riding.'</p> - -<p>'I see. Well, when you come and see me you shall have some real riding, -on wild horses if you like;' and he told the child stories of the great -Magyar steppes, and the herds of young horses, and the infinite delight -of the unending gallop over the wide hushed plain; and all the while -his heart ached bitterly, and the sight of the child—who was her -child, yet had that stranger's face—was to him like a jagged steel -being turned and twisted inside a bleeding wound. Bela, however, was -captivated by the new visions that rose before him.</p> - -<p>'Bela will come to Hungary,' he said with condescension, and then with -an added thought, continued: 'I think Bela has great lands there. Otto -said so.'</p> - -<p>'Bela has nothing at all,' said Sabran, sternly. 'Bela talks great -nonsense sometimes, and it would be better he should go to sleep with -his brother.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked up shyly under his golden cloud of hair. 'Folko is Bela's,' -he said under his breath. Folko was his pony.</p> - -<p>'No,' said Sabran; 'Folko belongs to your mother. She only allows you -to have him so long as you are good to him.'</p> - -<p>'Bela is always good to him,' he said decidedly.</p> - -<p>'Bela is faultless in his own estimation,' said his mother, with a -smile. 'He is too little to be wise enough to see himself as he is.'</p> - -<p>This view made Bela's blue eyes open very wide and fill very -sorrowfully. It was humiliating. He longed to get back to Gela, who -always listened to him dutifully, and never said anything in answer -except an entirely acquiescent 'Ja! ja!' which was indeed about the -limitation of Gela's lingual powers. In a few moments, indeed, his -governess came for him and took him away, a little dainty figure in his -ivory velvet and his blue silk stockings, with his long golden curls -hanging to his waist.</p> - -<p>'It is so difficult to keep him from being spoilt,' she said, as the -door closed on him. 'The people make a little prince, a little god, of -him. He believes himself to be something wonderful. Gela, who is so -gentle and quiet, is left quite in the shade.'</p> - -<p>'I suppose Gela takes your title?' said Vàsàrhely to his host. 'It -is usual with the Austrian families for the second son to have some -distant appellation?'</p> - -<p>'They are babies,' said Sabran, impatiently.</p> - -<p>'It will be time enough to settle those matters when they are old -enough to be court-pages or cadets. They are Bela and Gela at present. -The only real republic is childhood.'</p> - -<p>'I am afraid Bela is the <i>tyrannus</i> to which all republics succumb,' -said Wanda, with a smile. He is extremely autocratic in his notions, -and in his family. In all his "make believe" games he is crowned.'</p> - -<p>'He is a beautiful child,' said her cousin, and she answered, still -smiling:</p> - -<p>'Oh, yes: he is so like Réné!'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely turned his face from her. The dinner was somewhat dull, -and the evening seemed tedious, despite the efforts of Sabran to -promote conversation, and the <i>écarté</i> which he and his guest played -together. They, were all sensible that some chord was out of tune, and -glad that on the morrow a large house-party would be there to spare -them a continuation of this difficult intercourse.</p> - -<p>'Your cousin will never forgive me,' said Sabran to her when they were -alone. 'I think, beside his feeling that I stand for ever between you -and him there is an impatience of me as a stranger and one unworthy -you.'</p> - -<p>'You do yourself and him injustice,' she answered. 'I shall be unhappy -if you and he be not friends.'</p> - -<p>'Then unhappy you will be, my beloved. We both adore you.'</p> - -<p>'Do not say that. He would not be here if it were so.'</p> - -<p>'Ah! look at him when he looks at Bela!'</p> - -<p>She sighed; she had felt a strong emotion on the sight of her cousin, -for Egon Vàsàrhely was much changed by these years of pain. His grand -carriage and his martial beauty were unaltered, but all the fire and -the light of earlier years were gone out of his face, and a certain -gloom and austerity had come there. To all other women he would have -been the more attractive for the melancholy which was in such apt -contrast with the heroic adventures of his life, but to her the change -in him was a mute reproach which filled her with remorse though she had -done no wrong.</p> - -<p>Meantime Prince Egon, throwing open his window, leaned out into the -cold rainy night, as though a hand were at his throat and suffocating -him. And amidst all the tumult of his pain and revolt, one dim thought -was incessantly intruding itself; he was always thinking, as he -recalled the face of Sabran and of Sabran's little son, 'Where have I -seen those blue eyes, those level brows, those delicate curved lips?'</p> - -<p>They were so familiar, yet so strange to him. When he would have given -a name to them they receded into the shadows of some far away past of -his own, so far away he could not follow them. He sat up half the night -letting the wind beat and the rain fall on him. He could not sleep.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the morrow thirty or forty people arrived, amongst them Baron -Kaulnitz <i>en congé</i> from his embassy.</p> - -<p>'What think you of Sabran?' he asked of Egon Vàsàrhely, who answered:</p> - -<p>'He is a perfect gentleman. He is a charming companion. He plays -admirably at <i>écarté.</i></p> - -<p>'<i>Écarté</i>! I spoke of his moral worth: what is your impression of that?'</p> - -<p>'If he had not satisfied her as to that, Wanda would not be his wife,' -answered the Prince gravely. 'He has given her beautiful children, and -it seems to me that he renders her perfectly happy. We should all be -grateful to him.'</p> - -<p>'The children are certainly very beautiful,' said Baron Kaulnitz, and -said no more.</p> - -<p>'The people all around are unfeignedly attached to him,' Vàsàrhely -continued with generous effort. 'I hear nothing but his praise. Nor do -I think it the conventional compliment which loyalty leads them to pay -the husband of their Countess; it is very genuine attachment. The men -of the old Archduchy are not easily won; it is only qualities of daring -and manliness which appeal to their sympathies. That he has gained -their affections is as great testimony to his character in one way as -that he has gained Wanda's is in another. At Idrac also the people -adore him, and Croats are usually slow to see merit in strangers.'</p> - -<p>'In short, he is a paragon,' said the ambassador, with a little dubious -smile. 'So much the better, since he is irrevocably connected with us.'</p> - -<p>Sabran was at no time seen to greater advantage than when he was -required to receive and entertain a large house-party. Always graceful, -easily witty, endowed with that winning tact which is to society as -cream is to the palate, the charm he possessed for women and the -ascendency he could, at times, exercise over men—even men who were -opposed to him—were never more admirably displayed than when he was -the master of Hohenszalras, with crowned heads, and princes, and -diplomatists, and beauties gathered beneath his roof. His mastery, -moreover, of all field sports, and his skill at all games that demanded -either intelligence or audacity, made him popular with a hardy and -brilliant nobility; his daring in a boar hunt at noon was equalled by -his science at whist in the evening. Strongly prejudiced against him at -the onset, the great nobles who were his guests had long ceased to feel -anything for him except respect and regard; whilst the women admired -him none the less for that unwavering devotion to his wife which made -even the conventionalities of ordinary flirtation wholly impossible to -him. With all his easy gallantry and his elegant homage to them, they -all knew that, at heart, he was as cold as the rocks to all women save -one.</p> - -<p>'It is really the knight's love for his lady,' said the Countess -Brancka once; and Sabran, overhearing, said: 'Yes, and, I think that if -there were more like my lady on earth, knighthood might revive on other -scenes than Wagner's.'</p> - -<p>Between him and the Countess Brancka there was a vague intangible -enmity, veiled under the perfection of courtesy. They could ill have -told why they disliked each other; but they did so. Beneath their -polite or trivial or careless speech they often aimed at each other's -feelings or foibles with accuracy and malice. She had stayed at -Hohenszalras more or less time each year in the course of her flight -between France and Vienna, and was there now. He admired his wife's -equanimity and patience under the trial of Mdme. Olga's frivolities, -but he did not himself forbear from as much sarcasm as was possible -in a man of the world to one who was his guest, and by marriage his -relative, and he was sensible of her enmity to himself, though she -paid him many compliments, and sometimes too assiduously sought his -companionship. '<i>Elle fait le ronron, mais gare à ses pattes!</i>' he said -once to his wife concerning her.</p> - -<p>Sabran appraised her indeed with unflattering accuracy. He knew -by heart all the wiles and wisdom of such a woman as she was. Her -affectations did not blind him to her real danger, and her exterior -frivolity did not conceal from him the keen and subtle self-interest -and the strong passions which laboured beneath it.</p> - -<p>She felt that she had an enemy in him, and partly in self-protection, -partly in malice, she set herself to convert a foe into a friend, -perhaps, without altogether confessing it to herself, into a lover as -well.</p> - -<p>The happiness that prevailed at Hohenszalrasburg annoyed her for -no other reason than that it wearied her to witness it. She did -not envy it, because she did not want happiness at all; she wanted -perpetual change, distraction, temptation, passion, triumph—in a word, -excitement, which becomes the drug most unobtainable to those who have -early exhausted all the experiences and varieties of pleasure.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Brancka had always an unacknowledged resentment against her -sister-in-law, for being the owner of all the vast possessions of the -Szalras. 'If Gela had lived!' she thought constantly. 'If I had only -had a son by him before he died, this woman would have had her dower -and nothing more.' That his sister should possess all, whilst she had -by her later marriage lost her right even to a share in that vast -wealth, was a perpetual bitterness to her.</p> - -<p>Stefan Brancka was indeed rich, but he was an insensate gambler. She -was extravagant to the last degree, with all the costly caprices of -a <i>cocodette</i> who reigned in the two most brilliant capitals of the -world. They were often troubled by their own folly, and again and again -the generosity of his elder brother had rescued them from humiliating -embarrassments. At such moments she had almost hated Wanda von Szalras -for these large possessions, of which, according to her own views, -her sister-in-law made no use whatever. Meantime, she wished Egon -Vàsàrhely to die childless, and to that end had not been unwilling -for the woman he loved to marry anyone else. She had reasoned that the -Szalras estates would go to the Crown or the Church if Wanda did not -marry; whilst all the power and possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely must, if -he had no sons, pass in due course to his brother. She had the subtle -acuteness of her race, and she had the double power of being able at -once to wait very patiently and to spring with swift rage on what she -needed. To her sister-in-law she always appeared a mere flutterer on -the breath of fashion. The grave and candid nature of the one could not -follow or perceive the intricacies of the other.</p> - -<p>'She is a cruel woman and a perilous one,' Sabran said one day to his -wife's surprise.</p> - -<p>She answered him that Olga Brancka had always seemed to her a mere -frivolous <i>mondaine</i>, like so many others of their world.</p> - -<p>'No,' he persisted. 'You are wrong; she is not a butterfly. She has too -much energy. She is a profoundly immoral woman also. Look at her eyes.'</p> - -<p>'That is Stefan's affair,' she answered, 'not ours. He is indifferent.'</p> - -<p>'Or unsuspicious? Did your brother care for her?'</p> - -<p>'He was madly in love with her. She was only sixteen when he married -her. He fell at Solferino half a year later. When she married my -cousin it shocked and disgusted me. Perhaps I was foolish to take it -thus, but it seemed such a sin against Gela. To die <i>so</i>, and not to be -even remembered!'</p> - -<p>'Did your cousin Egon approve this second marriage?'</p> - -<p>'No,' he opposed it; he had our feeling about it. But Stefan, though -very young, was beyond any control. He had the fortune as he had the -title of his mother, the Countess Brancka, and Olga bewitched him as -she had done my brother.'</p> - -<p>'She <i>is</i> a witch, a wicked witch,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>The great autumn party was brilliant and agreeable. All things went -well, and the days were never monotonous. The people were well -assorted, and the social talent of their host made their outdoor sports -and their indoor pastimes constantly varied, whilst Hungarian musicians -and Viennese comedians played waltzes that would have made a statue -dance, and represented the little comedies for which he himself had -been famous at the Mirlitons.</p> - -<p>He was not conscious of it, but he was passionately eager for Egon -Vàsàrhely to be witness, not only of his entire happiness, but of his -social powers. To Vàsàrhely he seemed to put forward the perfection -of his life with almost insolence; with almost exaggeration to exhibit -the joys and the gifts with which nature and chance had so liberally -dowered him. The stately Magyar soldier, sitting silent and melancholy -apart, watched him with a curious pang, that in a lesser nature would -have been a consuming envy. Now and then, though Sabran and his wife -spoke rarely to each other in the presence of others, a glance, a -smile, a word passed between them that told of absolute unuttered -tenderness, profound and inexhaustible as the deep seas; in the very -sound of their laughter, in the mere accent of their voices, in a -careless caress to one of their children, in a light touch of the hand -to one another as they rode, or as they met in a room, there was the -expression of a perfect joy, of a perfect faith between them, which -pierced the heart of the watcher of it. Yet would he not have had it -otherwise at her cost.</p> - -<p>'Since she has chosen him as the companion of her life, it is well -that he should be what she can take pride in, and what all men can -praise,' he thought, and yet the happiness of this man seemed to him an -audacity, an insolence. What human lover could merit her?</p> - -<p>Between himself and Sabran there was the most perfect courtesy, but no -intimacy. They both knew that if for fifty years they met continually -they would never be friends. All her endeavours to produce sympathy -between them failed. Sabran was conscious of a constant observation of -him by her cousin, which seemed to him to have a hostile motive, and -which irritated him extremely, though he did not allow his irritation -any visible vent. Olga Brancka perceived, and with the objectless -malice of women of her temperament, amused herself with fanning, the -slumbering enmity, as children play at fire.</p> - -<p>'You cannot expect Egon to love you,' she said once to her host. 'You -know he was the betrothed of Wanda from her childhood—at least in his -own hopes, and in the future sketched for them by their families.'</p> - -<p>'I was quite aware of that before I married,' he answered her -indifferently. 'But those family arrangements are tranquil disposals of -destiny which, if they be disturbed, leave no great trace of trouble. -The Prince is young still, and a famous soldier as well as a great -noble. He has no lack of consolation if he need it, and I cannot -believe that he does.'</p> - -<p>Mdme. Olga laughed.</p> - -<p>'You know as well as I do that Egon adores the very stirrup your wife's -foot touches!'</p> - -<p>'I know he is her much beloved cousin,' said Sabran, in a tone which -admitted of no reply.</p> - -<p>To Vàsàrhely his sister-in-law said confidentially:</p> - -<p>'Dear Egon, why did you not stay on the <i>pusztas</i> or remain with your -hussars? You make <i>le beau</i> Sabran jealous.'</p> - -<p>'Jealous!' asked Vàsàrhely, with a bitter smile. 'He has much cause, -when she has neither eye nor ear, neither memory nor thought of any -kind for any living thing except himself and those children who are -all his very portraits! Why do you say these follies, Olga? You know -that my cousin Wanda chose her lord out of all the world, and loves -him as no one would have supposed she had it in her to love any mortal -creature.'</p> - -<p>He spoke imperiously, harshly, and she was silenced.</p> - -<p>'What do you think of him?' she said with hesitation.</p> - -<p>'Everyone asks me that question. I am not his keeper!'</p> - -<p>'But you must form some opinion. He is virtual lord of Hohenszalras, -and I believe she has made over to him all the appanages of Idrac, and -his children will have everything.'</p> - -<p>'Are they not her natural heirs? Who should inherit from her if not her -sons?'</p> - -<p>'Of course, of course they will inherit, only they inherit nothing -from him. It was certainly a great stroke of fortune for a landless -gentleman to make. Why does the <i>gentilhomme pauvre</i> always so -captivate women?'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean to insinuate, Olga?' he asked her, with a stern -glance of his great black eyes.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, nothing; only his history was peculiar. I remember his arrival -in France, his first appearance in society; it is many years ago now. -All the Faubourg received him, but some said at the time that it was -too romantic to be true—those Mexican forests, that long exile of the -Sabran, the sudden appearance of this beautiful young marquis; you -will grant it was romantic. I suppose it was the romance that made -even Wanda's clear head turn a little. It is a <i>vin capiteux</i> for many -women. And then such a life in Paris after it—duels, baccara, bonnes -fortunes, clever comedies, a touch like Liszt's, a sudden success in -the Chamber—it was all so romantic; it was bound to bring him at -last to his haven, the Prince Charmant of an enchanted castle! Only -enchanted castles sometimes grow dull, and Princes Charmants are not -always amusable by the same châtelaine!'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely, with his eyes sombre under their long black lashes, -listened to the easy bantering phrases with the vague suspicion of an -honest and slow-witted man that a woman is trying to drop poison into -his ear which she wishes to pass as <i>eau sucrée.</i> He did not altogether -follow her insinuation, but he understood something of her drift. They -were alone in a corner of the ball-room, whilst the cotillon was at its -height, conducted by Sabran, who had been famous for its leadership in -Paris and Vienna. He stooped his head and looked her full in her eyes.</p> - -<p>'Look here, Olga. I am not sure what you mean, but I believe you are -tired of seeing my cousin's happiness, merely because it is something -with which you cannot interfere. For myself I would protect her -happiness as I would her honour if I thought either endangered. Whether -you or I like the Marquis de Sabran is wholly beyond the question. She -loves him, and she has made him one of us. His honour is now ours. -For myself I would defend him in his absence as though he were my own -brother. Not for his sake at all—for hers. I do not express myself -very well, but you know what I mean. Here is Max returning to claim -you.'</p> - -<p>Silenced and a little alarmed the Countess Brancka rose and went off to -her place in the cotillon.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely, sitting where she had left him, watched the mazes of the -cotillon, the rhythm of the tzigane musicians coming to his ear -freighted with a thousand familiar memories of the czardas danced madly -in the long Hungarian nights. Time had been when the throb of the -tzigane strings had stirred all his pulses like magic, but now all his -bold bright life seemed numb and frozen in him.</p> - -<p>His eyes rested on his cousin, where she stood conversing with a crown -prince, who was her chief guest, and passed from her to follow the -movements of Sabran, who with supreme ease and elegance was leading a -new intricate measure down the ball-room.</p> - -<p>She was happy, that he could not doubt. Every action, every word, every -glance said so with a meaning not to be doubted. He thought she had -never looked so handsome as she did to-night since that far away day -in her childhood when he had seen her with the red and white roses in -her lap and the crown upon her curls. She had the look of her childhood -in her eyes, that serene and glad light which had been dimmed by her -brothers' death, but now shone there again tranquil, radiant, and pure -as sunlight is. She wore white velvet and white brocade; her breast -was hidden in white roses; she wore her famous pearls and the ribbons -of the Starred Cross of Austria and of the Prussian Order of Merit; -she held in her hand a large painted fan which had belonged to Maria -Theresa. Every now and then, as she talked with her royal guest, her -glance strayed down the room to where her husband was, and lingered -there a moment with a little smile.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely watched her for awhile, then rose abruptly, and made his way -out of the ball-room and the state apartments down the corridors of the -old house he knew so well towards his own chamber. He thought he would -write to her and leave upon the morrow. What need was there for him to -stay on in this perpetual pain? He had done enough for the world, which -had seen him under the roof of Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>As he took his way through the long passages, tapestry-hung or -oak-panelled, which led across the great building to his own set of -rooms in the clock tower, he passed an open door out of which a light -was streaming. As he glanced within he saw it was the children's -sleeping apartment, of which the door was open because the night was -warm, unusually warm for the heart of the Gross Glöckner mountains. An -impulse he could not have explained made him pause and enter. The three -little white beds of carved Indian work, with curtains of lace, looked -very snowy and peaceful in the pale light from a hanging lamp. The -children were all asleep; the one nearest the door was Bela.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely stood and looked at him. His head was thrown back on his -pillow and his arms were above his head. His golden hair, which was -cut straight and low over his forehead, had been pushed back in his -slumber; he looked more like his father than in his waking hours, -for as he dreamed there was a look of coldness and of scorn upon his -childish face, which made him so resemble Sabran that the man who -looked on him drew his breath hard with pain.</p> - -<p>The night-nurse rose from her seat, recognising Prince Egon, whom she -had known from his childhood.</p> - -<p>'The little Count is so like the Marquis,' she said, approaching; 'so -is Herr Gela. Ah, my Prince, you remember the noble gentlemen whose -names they bear? God send they may be like them in their lives and not -their deaths!'</p> - -<p>'An early death is good,' said Vàsàrhely, as he stood beside the -child's bed. He thought how good it would have been if he had fallen -at Sadowa or Königsgrätz, or earlier by the side of Gela and Victor, -charging with his White Hussars.</p> - -<p>The old nurse rambled on, full of praise and stories of the children's -beauty, and strength, and activity, and intelligence. Vàsàrhely did not -hear her; he stood lost in thought looking down on the sleeping figure -of Bela, who, as if conscious of strange eyes upon him, moved uneasily -in his slumber, and ruffled his golden hair with his hands, and thrust -off his coverings from his beautiful round white limbs.</p> - -<p>'Count Bela is not like our saint who died,' said the old nurse. 'He -is always masterful, and loves his own way. My lady is strict with -him, and wisely so, for he is a proud rebellious child. But he is very -generous, and has noble ways. Count Gela is a little angel; he will be -like the Heilige Graf.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely did not hear anything she said. His gaze was bent on the -sleeping child, studying the lines of the delicate brows, of the -curving lips, of the long black lashes. It was so familiar, so -familiar! Suddenly as he gazed a light seemed to leap out of the -darkness of long forgotten years, and the memory which had haunted him -stood out clear before him.</p> - -<p>'He is like Vassia Kazán!' he cried, half aloud. The face of the child -had recalled what in the face of the man had for ever eluded his -remembrance.</p> - -<p>He thrust a gold coin in the nurse's hand, and hurried from the -chamber. A sudden inconceivable, impossible suspicion had leaped up -before him as he had gazed on the sleeping loveliness of Sabran's -little son.</p> - -<p>The old woman saw his sudden pallor, his uncertain gesture, and -thought, 'Poor gallant gentleman! He wishes these pretty boys were his -own. Well, it might have been better if he had been master here, though -there is nothing to say against the one who is so. Still, a stranger is -always a stranger, and foreign blood is bad.'</p> - -<p>Then she drew the coverings over Bela's naked little limbs, and passed -on to make sure that the little Ottilie, who had been born when the -primroses where first out in the Iselthal woods, was sleeping soundly, -and wanted nothing.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely made his way to his own chamber, and there sat down heavily, -mechanically, like a man waking out from a bad dream.</p> - -<p>His memory went back to twenty years before, when he, a little lad, had -accompanied his father on a summer visit to the house of a Russian, -Prince Paul Zabaroff. It was a house, gay, magnificent, full of idle -men and women of facile charm; it was not a house for youth; but -both the Prince Vàsàrhely and the Prince Zabaroff were men of easy -morals—<i>viveurs</i>, gamesters, and philosophers, who at fifteen years -old themselves had been lovers and men of the world. At that house -had been present a youth, some years older than he was, who was known -as Vassia Kazán: a youth whose beauty and wit made him the delight of -the women there, and whose skill at games and daring in sports won him -the admiration of the men. It was understood without even being said -openly that Vassia Kazán was a natural son of the Prince Zabaroff. The -little Hungarian prince, child as he was, had wit enough and enough -knowledge of life to understand that this brilliant companion, of his -was base-born. His kind heart moved him to pity, but his intense pride -curbed his pity with contempt. Vassia Kazán had resented the latter too -bitterly to even be conscious of the first. The gentlemen assembled had -diverted themselves by the unspoken feud that had soon risen between -the boys, and the natural intelligence of the little Magyar noble had -been no match for the subtle and cultured brain of the Parisian Lycéen.</p> - -<p>One day one of the lovely ladies there, who plundered Zabaroff and -caressed his son, amused herself with a war of words between the lads, -and so heated, stung, spurred and tormented the Hungarian boy that, -exasperated by the sallies and satires of his foe, and by the presence -of this lovely goddess of discord, he so far forgot his chivalry that -he turned on Vassia with a taunt. 'You would be a serf if you were in -Russia!' he said, with his great black eyes flashing the scorn of the -noble on the bastard. Without a word, Vassia, who had come in from -riding and had his whip in his hand, sprang on him, held him in a grip -of steel, and thrashed him. The fiery Magyar, writhing under the blows -of one who to him was as a slave, as a hound, freed his right arm, -snatched from a table near an oriental dagger lying there with other -things of value, and plunged it into the shoulder of his foe. The -cries of the lady, alarmed at her own work, brought the men in from -the adjoining room; the boys were forced apart and carried to their -chambers.</p> - -<p>Prince Vàsàrhely left the house that evening with his son, still -furious and unappeased. Vassia Kazán remained, made a hero of and -nursed by the lovely woman who had thrown the apple of strife. His -wound was healed in three weeks' time; soon after his father's -house-party was scattered, and he himself returned to his college. Not -a syllable passed between him and Zabaroff as to his quarrel with the -little Hungarian magnate. To the woman who had wrought the mischief -Zabaroff said: 'Almost I wish he were my lawful son. He is a true wolf -of the steppes. Paris has only combed his hide and given him a silken -coat; he is still a wolf, like all true Russians.'</p> - -<p>Looking on the sleeping child of Sabran, all that half-forgotten scene -had risen up before the eyes of Egon Vàsàrhely. He seemed to see the -beautiful fair face of Vassia Kazán, with the anger on the knitted -brows, and the ferocity on the delicate stern lips as he had raised his -arm to strike. Twenty years had gone by; he himself, whenever he had -remembered the scene, had long grown ashamed of the taunt he had cast, -not of the blow he had given, for the sole reproof his father had ever -made him was to say: 'A noble, only insults his equals. To insult an -inferior is ungenerous, it is derogatory; whom you offend you raise for -the hour to a level with yourself. Remember to choose your foes not -less carefully than you choose your friends.'</p> - -<p>Why with the regard, the voice, the air of Sabran had some vague -intangible remembrance always come before him?'</p> - -<p>Why, as he had gazed on the sleeping child had the vague uncertainty -suddenly resolved itself into distinct revelation?</p> - -<p>'He is Vassia Kazán! He is Vassia Kazán!' he said to himself a score -of times stupidly, persistently, as one speaks in a dream. Yet he knew -he must be a prey to delusion, to phantasy, to accidental resemblance. -He told himself so. He resisted his own folly, and all the while a -subtler inner consciousness seemed to be speaking in him, and saying to -him:</p> - -<p>'That man is Vassia Kazán. Surely he is Vassia Kazán.'</p> - -<p>And then the loyal soul of him strengthened itself and made him think:</p> - -<p>'Even if he be Vassia Kazán he is her husband. He is what she loves; he -is the father of those children that are hers.'</p> - -<p>He never went to his bed that night. When the music ceased at an hour -before dawn, and the great house grew silent, he still sat there by -the open casement, glad of the cold air that blew in from over the -Szalrassee, as with daybreak a fine film of rain began to come down the -mountain sides.</p> - -<p>Once he heard the voice of Sabran, who passed the door on his way to -his own apartment. Sabran was saying in German with a little laugh:</p> - -<p>'My lady!' I am jealous of your crown prince. When I left him now in -his chamber I was disposed to immortalise myself by regicide. He adores -you!'</p> - -<p>Then he heard Wanda laugh in answer, with some words that did not -reach his ear as they passed on further down the corridor. Vàsàrhely -shivered, and instinctively rose to his feet. He felt as if he must -seek him out and cry out to him:</p> - -<p>'Am I mad or is it true? Let me see your shoulder—have you the mark of -the wound that I gave? Your little child has the face of Vassia Kazán. -Are you Vassia Kazán? Are you the bastard of Zabaroff? Are you the wolf -of the steppes?'</p> - -<p>He had desired to go from Hohenszalras, where every hour was pain to -him, but now he felt an irresistible fascination in the vicinity of -Sabran. His mind was in that dual state which at once rejects a fact as -incredible, and believes in it absolutely. His reason told him that his -suspicion was a folly; his instinct told him that it was a truth.</p> - -<p>When in the forenoon the castle again became animated, and the guests -met to the mid-day breakfast in the hall of the knights, he descended, -moved by an eagerness that made him for the first time in his life -nervous. When Sabran addressed him he felt himself grow pale; he -followed the movements, he watched the features, he studied the tones -of his successful rival, with an intense absorption in them. Through -the hunting breakfast, at which only men were present, he was conscious -of nothing that was addressed to him; he only seemed to hear a voice in -his ear saying perpetually——'Yonder is Vassia Kazán.'</p> - -<p>The day was spent in sport, sport rough and real, that gave fair play -to the beasts and perilous exposure to the hunters. For the first time -in his life, Egon Vàsàrhely let a brown bear go by him untouched, -and missed more than one roebuck. His eyes were continually seeking -his host; a mile off down a forest glade the figure of Sabran seemed -to fill his vision, a figure full of grace and dignity, clad in a -hunting-dress of russet velvet, with a hunting-horn slung at his side -on a broad chain of gold, the gift of his wife in memory of the fateful -day when he had aimed at the <i>kuttengeier</i> in her woods.</p> - -<p>Sabran of necessity devoted himself to the crown prince throughout -the day's sport; only in the twilight as they returned he spoke to -Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>'Wanda is so full of regret that you wish to leave us,' he said, with -graceful cordiality; 'if only I can persuade you to remain, I shall -take her the most welcome of all tidings from the forest. Stay at the -least another week, the weather has cleared.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he thought that Vàsàrhely looked at him strangely; but -he knew that he could not be much loved by his wife's cousin, and -continued with good humour to persist in his request. Abruptly, the -other answered him at last.</p> - -<p>'Wanda wishes me to stay? Well, I will stay then. It seems strange to -hear a stranger invite <i>me</i> to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>Sabran coloured; he said with hauteur:</p> - -<p>'That I am a stranger to Prince Vàsàrhely is not my fault. That I have -the right to invite him to Hohenszalras is my happiness, due to his -cousin's goodness, which has been far beyond my merit.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely's eyes dwelt on him gloomily; he was sensible of the dignity, -the self-command, and the delicacy of reproof which were blent in the -answer he had received; he felt humbled and convicted of ill-breeding. -He said after a pause:</p> - -<p>'I should ask your pardon. My cousin would be the first to condemn my -words; they sounded ill, but I meant them literally. Hohenszalras has -been one of my homes from boyhood; it will be your son's when we are -both dead. How like he is to you; he has nothing of his mother.'</p> - -<p>Sabran, somewhat surprised, smiled as he answered:</p> - -<p>'He is very like me. I regret it; but you know the poets and the -physiologists are for once agreed as to the cause of that. It is a -truth proved a million times: <i>l'enfant de l'amour ressemble toujours -au père.</i>'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely grew white under the olive hue of his sun-bronzed -cheek. The <i>riposte</i> had been made with a thrust that went home. Otto -at that moment approached his master for orders for the morrow. They -were no more alone. They entered the house; the long and ceremonious -dinner succeeded. Vàsàrhely was silent and stern. Sabran was the most -brilliant of hosts, the happiest of men; all the women present were in -love with him, his wife the most of all.</p> - -<p>'Réné tells me you will stay, Egon. I am so very glad,' his cousin said -to him during the evening, and she added with a little hesitation, 'If -you would take time to know him well, you would find him so worthy of -your regard; he has all the qualities that most men esteem in each -other. It would make me so happy if you were friends at heart, not only -in mere courtesy.'</p> - -<p>'You know that can never be,' said Vàsàrhely, almost rudely. 'Even you -cannot work miracles. He is your husband. It is a reason that I should -respect him, but it is also a reason why I shall for ever hate him.'</p> - -<p>He said the last words in a tone scarcely audible, but low as it was, -there was a force in it that affected her painfully.</p> - -<p>'What you say there is quite unworthy of you,' she said with gentleness -but coldness. 'He has done you no wrong. Long ere I met him I told you -that what you wished was not what I wished, never would be so. You are -too great a gentleman, Egon, to nourish an injustice in your heart.'</p> - -<p>He looked down; every fibre in him thrilled and burned under the sound -of her voice, the sense of her presence.</p> - -<p>'I saw your children asleep last night,' he said abruptly. 'They have -nothing of you in them; they are his image.'</p> - -<p>'Is it so unusual for children to resemble their father?' she said with -a smile, whilst vaguely disquieted by his tone.</p> - -<p>'No, I suppose not; but the Szalras have always been of one type. How -came your husband by that face? I have seen it amongst the Circassians, -the Persians, the Georgians; but you say he is a Breton.'</p> - -<p>'The Sabrans of Romaris are Bretons; you have only to consult history. -Very beautiful faces like his have seldom much impress of nationality; -they always seem as though they followed the old Greek laws, and were -cast in the divine heroic mould of another time than ours.'</p> - -<p>'Who was his mother?'</p> - -<p>'A Spanish Mexican.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely was silent.</p> - -<p>His cousin left him and went amongst her guests. A vague sense of -uneasiness went with her at her consciousness of his hostility to -Sabran. She wished she had not asked him to remain.</p> - -<p>'You have never offended Egon?' she asked Sabran anxiously that night. -'You have always been forbearing and patient with him?'</p> - -<p>'I have obeyed you in that as all things, my angel,', he answered her -lightly. 'What would you? He is in love with you still, and I have -married you! It is even a crime in his eyes that my children resemble -me! One can never argue with a passion that is unhappy. It is a kind of -frenzy.'</p> - -<p>She heard with some impatience.</p> - -<p>'He has no right to cherish such a resentment. He keeps it alive by -brooding on it. I had hoped that when he saw you here, saw how happy -you render me, saw your children too, he would grow calmer, wiser, more -reconciled to the inevitable.'</p> - -<p>'You did not know men, my love,' said Sabran, with a smile.</p> - -<p>To him the unhappiness and the ill-will of Egon Vàsàrhely were matters -of supreme indifference; in a manner they gratified him, they even -supplied that stimulant of rivalry which a man's passion needs to keep -at its height in the calm of safe possession. That Egon Vàsàrhely saw -his perfect happiness lent it pungency and a keener sense of victory. -When he kissed his wife's hand in the sight of her cousin, the sense -of the pain it dealt to the spectator gave the trivial action to him -all the sweetness and the ardour of the first caresses of his accepted -passion.</p> - -<p>Of that she knew nothing. It would have seemed to her ignoble, as so -much that makes up men's desire always does seem to a woman of her -temperament, even whilst it dominates and solicits her, and forces her -to share something of its own intoxication.</p> - -<p>'Egon is very unreasonable,' said Mdme. Ottilie. 'He believes that -if you had not met Réné you would have in time loved himself. It is -foolish. Love is a destiny. Had you married him you would not have -loved him. He would soon have perceived that and been miserable, much -more miserable than he is now, for he would have been unable to release -you. I think he should not have come here at all if he could not have -met M. de Sabran with at least equanimity.'</p> - -<p>'I think so, too,' said Wanda, and an impatience against her cousin -began to grow into anger; without being conscious of it, she had placed -Sabran so high in her own esteem that she could forgive none who did -not adore her own idol. It was a weakness in her that was lovely and -touching in a character that had had before hardly enough of the usual -foibles of humanity. Every error of love is lovable.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely could not dismiss from his mind the impression which haunted -him.</p> - -<p>'I conclude you knew the Marquis de Sabran well in France?' he said one -day to Baron Kaulnitz, who was still there.</p> - -<p>Kaulnitz demurred.</p> - -<p>'No, I cannot say that I did. I knew him by repute; that was not very -pure. However, the Faubourg always received and sustained him; the -Comte de Chambord did the same; they were the most interested. One -cannot presume to think they could be deceived.'</p> - -<p>'Deceived!' echoed Prince Egon. 'What a singular word to use. Do you -mean to imply the possibility of—of any falsity on his part—any -intrigue to appear what he is not?'</p> - -<p>'No,' said Kaulnitz, with hesitation. 'Honestly, I cannot say so much. -An impression was given me at the moment of his signing his marriage -contract that he concealed something; but it was a mere suspicion. As I -told you, the whole Legitimist world, the most difficult to enter, the -most incredulous of assumption, received him with open arms. All his -papers were of unimpeachable regularity. There was never a doubt hinted -by anyone, and yet I will confess to you, my dear Egon, since we are -speaking in confidence, that I have had always my own doubts as to his -marquisate of Sabran.'</p> - -<p>'<i>Grosser Gott!</i>' exclaimed Vàsàrhely, as he started from his seat. -'Why did you not stop the marriage?'</p> - -<p>'One does not stop a marriage by a mere baseless suspicion,' replied -Kaulnitz. 'I have not one shadow of reason for my probably quite -unwarranted conjecture. It merely came into my mind also at the -signing of the contracts. I had already done all I could to oppose -the marriage, but Wanda was inflexible—you are witness of the charm -he still possesses for her—and even the Princess was scarcely -less infatuated. Besides, it must be granted that few men are more -attractive in every way; and as he <i>is</i> one of us, whatever else he be, -his honour is now our honour, as you said yourself the other day.'</p> - -<p>'One could always kill him,' muttered Vàsàrhely, 'and set her free so, -if one were sure.'</p> - -<p>'Sure of what?' said Kaulnitz, rather alarmed at the effect of his own -words. 'You Magyar gentlemen always think that every knot can be cut -with a sword. If he were a mere adventurer (which is hardly possible) -it would not mend matters for you to run him through the heart; there -are his children.'</p> - -<p>'Would the marriage be legal if his name were assumed?'</p> - -<p>'Oh, no! She could have it annulled, of course, both by Church and Law. -All those pretty children would have no rights and no name. But we are -talking very wildly and in a theatrical fashion. He is as certainly -Marquis de Sabran as I am Karl von Kaulnitz.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely said nothing; his mind was in tumult, his heart oppressed by -a sense of secrecy and of a hope that was guilty and mean.</p> - -<p>He did not speak to his companion of Vassia Kazán, but his conjecture -seemed to hover before his sight like a black cloud which grew bigger -every hour.</p> - -<p>He remained at Hohenszalras throughout the autumnal festivities. He -felt as if he could not go away with that doubt still unsolved, that -suspicion either confirmed or uprooted. His cousin grew as uneasy at -his presence there as she had before been uneasy at his absence. Her -instinct told her that he was the foe of the one dearest to her on -earth. She felt that the gallant and generous temper of him had changed -and grown morose; he was taciturn, moody, solitary.</p> - -<p>He spent almost all his time out of doors, and devoted himself to the -hardy sport of the mountains and forests with a sort of rage. Guests -came and went at the castle; some were imperial, some royal people; -there was always a brilliant circle of notable persons there, and -Sabran played his part as their host, with admirable tact, talent, and -good humour. His wit, his amiability, his many accomplishments, and -his social charm were in striking contrast to the sombre indifference -of Vàsàrhely, whom men had no power to amuse and women no power to -interest. Prince Egon was like a magnificent picture by Rembrandt, -as he sat in his superb uniform in a corner of a ball-room with the -collars of his orders blazing with jewels, and his hands crossed on -the diamond-studded hilt of his sword; but he was so mute, so gloomy, -so austere, that the vainest, coquette there ceased to hope to please -him, and his most cordial friends found his curt contemptuous replies -destroy their desire for his companionship.</p> - -<p>Wanda, who was frankly and fondly attached to him, began to long for -his departure. The gaze of his black eyes, fixed in their fire and -gloom on the little gay figures of her children, filled her with a -vague apprehension.</p> - -<p>'If he would only find some one and be happy,' she thought, with anger -at this undesired and criminal love which clung to her so persistently.</p> - -<p>'Am I made of wax?' he said to her with scorn, when she ventured to -hint at her wishes.</p> - -<p>'How I wish I had not asked him to remain here!' she said to herself -many times. It was not possible for her to dismiss her cousin, who had -been from his infancy accustomed to look on the Hohenszalrasburg as his -second home. But as circle after circle of guests came, went, and were -replaced by others, and Egon Vàsàrhely still retained the rooms in the -west tower that had been his from boyhood, his continual presence grew -irksome and irritating to her.</p> - -<p>'He forgets that it is now my husband's house!' she thought.</p> - -<p>There was only one living creature in all the place to whom Vàsàrhely -unbent from his sullen and haughty reserve, and that one was the child -Bela.</p> - -<p>Bela was as beautiful as the morning, with his shower of golden hair, -and his eyes like sapphires, and his skin like a lily. With curious -self-torture Vàsàrhely would attract the child to him by tales of -daring and of sport, and would watch with intent eyes every line of -the small face, trying therein to read the secret of the man by whom -this child had been begotten. Bela, all unconscious, was proud of this -interest displayed in him by this mighty soldier, of whose deeds in war -Ulrich and Hubert and Otto told such Homeric tales.</p> - -<p>'Bela will fight with you when he is big,' he would say, trying to -inclose the jewelled hilt of Vàsàrhely's sword in his tiny fingers, or -trotting after him through the silence of the tapestried corridors. -When she saw them thus together she felt that she could understand the -superstitious fear of oriental women when their children are looked at -fixedly.</p> - -<p>'You are very good to my boy,' she said once to Vàsàrhely, when he had -let the child chatter by his side for hours.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely turned away abruptly.</p> - -<p>'There are times when I could kill your son, because he is his,' he -muttered, 'and there are times when I could worship him, because he is -yours.'</p> - -<p>'Do not talk so, Egon,'she said, gravely. 'If you will feel so, it is -best—I must say it—it is best that you should see neither my child -nor me.'</p> - -<p>He took no notice of her words.</p> - -<p>'The children would always be yours,' he muttered. 'You would never -leave him, never disgrace him for their sake; even if one knew—it -would be of no use.'</p> - -<p>'Dear Egon,' she said in real distress, 'what strange things are you -saying? Are you mad? Whose disgrace do you mean?'</p> - -<p>'Let us suppose an extreme case,' he said, with a hard laugh. 'Suppose -their father were base, or vile, or faithless, would you hate the -children? Surely you would.'</p> - -<p>'I have not imagination enough to suppose any such thing,'she said very -coldly. 'And you do not know what a mother's love is, my cousin.'</p> - -<p>He walked away, leaving her abruptly.</p> - -<p>'How strange he grows!' she thought. 'Surely his mind must be touched; -jealousy is a sort of madness.'</p> - -<p>She bade the children's attendants keep Count Bela more in the -nurseries; she told them that the child teased her guests, and must -not be allowed to run so often at his will and whim over the house.' -She never seriously feared that Egon would harm the child: his noble -and chivalrous nature could not have changed so cruelly as that; but -it hurt her to see his eyes fixed on the son of Sabran with such -persistent interrogation and so strange an intensity of observation. It -made her think of old Italian tales of the evil eye.</p> - -<p>She did not know that Vàsàrhely had come thither with a sincere and -devout intention to conquer his jealous hatred of her husband, and -to habituate himself to the sight of her in the new relations of her -life. She did not know that he would probably have honestly tried to -do his duty, and honestly striven to feel at least esteem for one so -near to her, if the suspicion which had become almost certainty in his -own mind had not made him believe that he saw in Sabran a traitor, -a bastard, and a criminal whose offences were the deepest of all -possible offences, and whose degradation was the lowest of all possible -degradation, in the sight of the haughty magnate of Hungary, steeped -to the lips in all the traditions and the convictions of an unsullied -nobility. If what he believed were, indeed, the truth, he would hold -Sabran lower than any beggar crouching at the gate of his palace in -Buda, than any gipsy wandering in the woods of his mountain fortress -of Taróc. If what he believed were the truth, no leper would seem to -him so loathsome as this brilliant and courtly gentleman to whom his -cousin had given her hand, her honour, and her life.</p> - -<p>'Doubt, like a raging tooth,' gnawed at his heart, and a hope, which -he knew was dishonourable to his chivalry, sprang up in him, vague, -timid, and ashamed. If, indeed, it were as he believed, would not such -crime, proven on the sinner, part him for ever from the pure, proud -life of Wanda von Szalras? And then, as he thought thus, he groaned in -spirit, remembering the children—the children with their father's face -and their father's taint in them, for ever living witnesses of their -mother's surrender to a lying hound.</p> - -<p>'Your cousin cannot be said to contribute to the gaiety of your -house parties, my love,' Sabran observed with a smile one day, when -they received the announcement of an intended visit from one of the -archdukes. Egon Vàsàrhely was still there, and even his cousin, much -as she longed for his departure, could not openly urge it upon him; -relationship and hospitality alike forbade.</p> - -<p>'He is sadly changed,' she answered. 'He was always silent, but he is -now morose. Perhaps he lives too much at Taróc, where all is very wild -and solitary.'</p> - -<p>'He lives too much in your memory,' said Sabran, with no compassion. -'Could he determine to forgive my marriage with you, there would be a -chance for him to recover his peace of mind. Only, my Wanda, it is not -possible for any man to be consoled for the loss of you.'</p> - -<p>'But that is nothing new,' she answered, with impatience. 'If he felt -so strongly against you, why did he come here? It was not like his -high, chivalrous honour.'</p> - -<p>'Perhaps he came with the frank will to be reconciled to his fate,' -said Sabran, not knowing how closely he struck the truth, 'and at the -sight of you, of all that he lost and that I gained, he cannot keep his -resolution.'</p> - -<p>'Then he should go away,' she said, with that indifference to all -others save the one beloved which all love begets.</p> - -<p>'I think he should. But who can tell him so?'</p> - -<p>'I did myself the other day. I shall tell him so more plainly, if -needful. Who cannot honour you shall be no friend of mine, no guest of -ours.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, my love!' said Sabran, whose conscience was touched. 'Do not have -feud with your relatives for my sake. They are worthier than I.'</p> - -<p>The Archduke, with his wife, arrived there on the following day, and -Hohenszalras was gorgeous in the September sun, with all the pomp with -which the lords of it had always welcomed their Imperial friends. -Vàsàrhely looked on as a spectator at a play when he watched its -present master receive the Imperial Prince with that supreme ease, -grace, and dignity which were so admirably blent in him.</p> - -<p>'Can he be but a marvellous comedian?' wondered the man, to whom a -bastard was less even than a peasant.</p> - -<p>There was nothing of vanity, of effort, of assumption visible in the -perfect manner of his host. He seemed to the backbone, in all the -difficult subtleties of society, as in the simple, frank intercourse -of man and man, that which even Kaulnitz had conceded that he was, -<i>gentilhomme de race.</i> Could he have been born a serf—bred from the -hour's caprice of a voluptuary for a serving-woman?</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely sat mute, sunk so deeply in his own thoughts that all the -festivities round him went by like a pageantry on a stage, in which he -had no part.</p> - -<p>'He looks like the statue of the Commendatore,' said Olga Brancka, who -had returned for the archducal visit, as she glanced at the sombre, -stately figure of her brother-in-law, Sabran, to whom she spoke, -laughed with a little uneasiness. Would the hand of Egon Vàsàrhely ever -seize him and drag him downward like the hand of the statue in <i>Don -Giovanni?</i></p> - -<p>'What a pity that Wanda did not marry him, and that I did not marry -you!' said Mdme. Brancka, saucily, but with a certain significance of -meaning.</p> - -<p>'You do me infinite honour!' he answered. 'But, at the risk of seeming -most ungallant, I must confess the truth. I am grateful that the gods -arranged matters as they are. You are enchanting, Madame Olga, as a -guest, but as a wife—alas! who can drink <i>kümmel</i> every day?'</p> - -<p>She smiled enchantingly, showing her pretty teeth, but she was bitterly -angered. She had wished for a compliment at the least. 'What can these -men see in Wanda?' she thought savagely. 'She is handsome, it is true; -but she has no coquetry, no animation, no passion. She is dressed by -Worth, and has a marvellous quantity of old jewels; but for that no one -would say anything of her except that she was much too tall and had a -German face!' And she persuaded herself that it was so; if the Venus -de Medici could be animated into life, women would only remark that her -waist was large.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Olga was still very lovely, and took care to be never seen except -at her loveliest. She always treated Sabran with a great familiarity, -which his wife was annoyed by, though she did not display her -annoyance. Mdme Brancka always called him <i>mon cousin</i> or <i>beau cousin</i> -in the language she usually used, and affected much more previous -knowledge of him than their acquaintance warranted, since it had been -merely such slight intimacy as results from moving in the same society. -She was small and slight, but of great spirit; she shot, fished, rode, -and played billiards with equal skill; she affected an adoration of -the most dangerous sports, and even made a point of sharing the bear -and the boar hunt. Wanda, who, though a person of much greater real -courage, abhorred all the cruelties and ferocities that perforce -accompany sport, saw her with some irritation go out with Sabran on -these expeditions.</p> - -<p>'Women are utterly out of place in such sport as that, Olga,' she urged -to her; 'and indeed are very apt to bring the men into peril, for of -course no man can take care of himself whilst he has the safety of a -woman to attend to; she must of necessity distract and trouble him.'</p> - -<p>But the Countess Stefan only laughed, and slipped with affectation her -jewelled hunting-knife into its place in her girdle.</p> - -<p>Throughout the Archduke's visit, and after the Prince's departure, -Vàsàrhely continued to stay on, whilst a succession of other guests -came and went, and the summer deepened into autumn. He felt that he -could not leave his cousin's house with that doubt unsolved; yet he -knew that he might stay on for ever with no more certainty to reward -him and confirm his suspicions than he possessed now. His presence -annoyed his host, but Sabran was too polished a gentleman to betray -his irritation; sometimes Vàsàrhely shunned his presence and his -conversation for days together, at other times he sought them and rode -with him, shot with him, and played cards with him, in the vain hope of -gathering from some chance admission or allusion some clue to Sabran's -early days. But a perfectly happy man is not given at any time to -retrospection, and Sabran less than most men loved his past. He would -gladly have forgotten everything that he had ever done or said before -his marriage at the Hofburg.</p> - -<p>The intellectual powers and accomplishments of Sabran dazzled Vàsàrhely -with a saddened sense of inferiority. Like most great soldiers he -had a genuine humility in his measurement of himself. He knew that he -had no talents except as a leader of cavalry. 'It is natural that she -never looked at me,' he thought, 'when she had once seen this man, with -his wit, his grace, his facility.' He could not even regard the skill -of Sabran in the arts, in the salon, in the theatre with the contempt -which the 'Wild Boar of Taróc' might have felt for a mere maker of -music, a squire of dames, a writer of sparkling little comedies, a -painter of screens, because he knew that both at Idrac and in France -Sabran had showed himself the possessor of those martial and virile -qualities, by the presence or the absence of which the Hungarian noble -measured all men. He himself could only love well and live well: he -reflected sadly that honesty and honour are not alone enough to draw -love in return.</p> - -<p>As the weeks passed on, his host grew so accustomed to his presence -there that it ceased to give him offence or cause him anxiety.</p> - -<p>'He is not amusing, and he is not always polite,' he said to his -wife, 'but if he likes to consume his soul in gazing at you, I am not -jealous, my Wanda; and so taciturn a rival would hardly ever be a -dangerous one.'</p> - -<p>'Do not jest about it,' she answered him, with some real pain. 'I -should be very vexed at his remaining here, were it not that I feel -sure he will in time learn to live down his regrets, and to esteem and -appreciate you.'</p> - -<p>'Who knows but his estimation of me may not be the right one?' said -Sabran, with a pang of sad self-knowledge. And although he did not -attach any significance to the prolonged sojourn of the lord of Taróc -and Mohacs, he began to desire once more that his guest would return -to the solitudes of the Carlowitz vineyards, or of the Karpathian -mountains and gorges of snow.</p> - -<p>When over seven weeks had passed by, Vàsàrhely himself began to think -that to stay in the Iselthal was useless and impossible, and he had -heard from Taróc tidings which annoyed him—that his brother Stefan -and his wife, availing themselves of his general permission to visit -any one of his places when they chose had so strained the meaning of -the permission that they had gone to his castle, with a score of their -Parisian friends, and were there keeping high holiday and festival, -to the scandal of his grave old stewards, and their own exceeding -diversion. Hospitable to excess as he was, the liberty displeased him, -especially as his, men wrote him word that his favourite horses; were -being ruined by over-driving, and in the list of the guests which they -sent him were the names of more than one too notorious lady, against -whose acquaintance he had repeatedly counselled Olga Brancka. He would -not have cared much what they had done at any other of his houses, but -at Taróc, his mother, whom he had adored, had lived and died, and the -place was sacred to him.</p> - -<p>He determined to tear himself away from Hohenszalras, and go and -scatter these gay unbidden revellers in the dusky Karpathian ravines. -'I cannot stay here for ever,' he thought, 'and I might be here for -years without acquiring any more certainty than my own conviction. -Either I am wrong, or he has nothing to conceal, or if I be right he is -too wary to betray himself. If only I could see his shoulder where I -struck the dagger—but I cannot go into his bath-room and say to him, -"You are Vassia Kazán!"'</p> - -<p>He resolved to leave on the day after the morrow. For the next day -there was organised on a large scale a hunting party, to which the -nobility of the Tauern had been bidden. There were only some half-dozen -men then staying in the Burg, most of them Austrian soldiers. The delay -gave him the chance he longed for, which but for an accident he might -never have had, though he had tarried there half a century.</p> - -<p>Early in the morning there was a great breakfast in the Rittersaal, -at which Wanda did not appear. Sabran received the nobles and gentry -of the province, and did the honours of his table with his habitual -courtliness and grace. He was not hospitable in Vàsàrhely's sense of -the word: he was too easily wearied by others, and too contemptuous of -ordinary humanity; but he was alive to the pleasure of being lord of -Hohenszalras, and sensible of the favour with which he was looked upon -by a nobility commonly so exclusive and intolerant of foreign invasion.</p> - -<p>Breakfast over, the whole party went out and up into the high woods. -The sport at Hohenszalras always gave fair play to beast and bird. In -deference to the wishes of his wife, Sabran would have none of those -battues which make of the covert or the forest a slaughterhouse. He -himself disdained that sort of sport, and liked danger and adventure -to mingle with his out-of-door pastimes. Game fairly found by the -spaniel or the pointer; the boar, the wolf, the bear, honestly started -and given its fair chance of escape or revenge; the steinbock stalked -in a long hard day with peril and effort—these were all delightful -to him on occasion; but for the crowded drive, the horde of beaters, -the terrified bewildered troop of forest denizens driven with sticks -on to the very barrels of the gunners, for this he had the boundless -contempt of a man who had chased the buffalo over the prairie, and -lassoed the wild horse and the wild bull leaning down from the saddle -of his mustang. The day passed off well, and his guests were all -content: he alone was not, because a large brown bear which he had -sighted and tired at twice had escaped him, and roused that blood-lust -in him which is in the hearts of all men.</p> - -<p>'Will you come out alone with me to-morrow and try for that grand -brute?' he said to Vàsàrhely, as the last of his guests took their -departure.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely hesitated.</p> - -<p>'I intended to leave to-morrow; I have been here too long. But since -you are so good, I will stay twenty-four hours longer.'</p> - -<p>He was ashamed in his own heart of the willingness with which he caught -at the excuse to remain within sight of his cousin and within watch of -Sabran.</p> - -<p>'I am charmed,' said his host, in himself regretful that he had -suggested a reason for delay; he had not known that the other had -intended to leave so soon. They remained together on the terrace giving -directions to the <i>jägermeister</i> for the next day.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely looked at his successful rival and said to himself: 'It is -impossible. I must be mad to dream it. I am misled by a mere chance -resemblance, and even my own memory may have deceived me; I was but a -child.</p> - -<p>In the forenoon they both went out into the high hills again, where -the wild creatures had their lairs and were but seldom troubled by a -rifle-shot. They brought down some black grouse and hazel grouse and -mountain partridges on their upward way. The jägers were scattered in -the woods; the day was still and cloudy, a true sportsman's day, with -no gleam of sun to shine in their eyes and on the barrels of their -rifles. Sabran shooting to the right, Vàsàrhely to the left, they went -through the grassy drives that climbed upward and upward, and many a -mountain hare was rolled over in their path, and many a ptarmigan and -capercailzie. But when they reached the high pine forests where the big -game harboured, they ceased to shoot, and advanced silently, waiting -and reserving their fire for any large beast the jägers might start and -drive towards them from above. In the greyness of the day the upper -woods were almost dusky, so thickly, stood the cembras and the Siberian -pines. There was everywhere the sound of rushing waters, some above -some underground.</p> - -<p>'The first beast to you, the second to me,' said Sabran, in a whisper -to his companion, who demurred and declared that the first fire should -be his host's.</p> - -<p>'No,' said Sabran. 'I am at home. Permit me so small a courtesy to my -guest.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely flushed darkly. In his very politeness this man seemed to him -to contrive to sting and wound him.</p> - -<p>Sabran, however, who had meant nothing more than he had said, did not -observe the displeasure he had caused, and paused at the spot agreed -upon with Otto, a grassy spot where four drives met. There they both -in absolute silence waited and watched for what the hunter's patron, -good S. Hubert, might vouchsafe to send them. They had so waited about -a quarter of an hour, when down one of the drives made dusky by the low -hanging arolla boughs, there came towards them a great dark beast, and -would have gone by them had not Vàsàrhely fired twice as it approached. -The bear rolled over, shot through the head and heart.</p> - -<p>'Well done,' cried Sabran, but scarcely were the words off his lips -when another bear burst through the boughs ahead of him by fifty yards. -He levelled his rifle and received its approach with two bullets in -rapid succession. But neither had entered a vital part, and the animal, -only rendered furious by pain, reared and came towards him with -deadliest intent, its great fangs grinning. He fired again, and this -shot struck home. The poor brute fell with a crash, the blood pouring -from its mouth. It was not dead and its agony was great.</p> - -<p>'I will give it the <i>coup de grâce</i>,' said Sabran, who, for his wife's -sake', was as humane as any hunter ever can be to the beasts he slew.</p> - -<p>'Take care,' said Vàsàrhely. 'It is dangerous to touch a wounded bear. -I have known one that looked stone dead rise up and kill a man.'</p> - -<p>Sabran did not heed. He went up to the poor, panting, groaning mass of -fur and flesh, and drew his hunting-knife to give it the only mercy -that it was now possible for it to receive. But as he stooped to -plunge the knife into its heart the bear verified the warning he had -been given. Gathering all its oozing strength in one dying effort to -avenge its murder, it leaped on him, dashed him to the earth, and clung -to him with claw and tooth fast in his flesh. He freed his right arm -from its ponderous weight, its horrible grip, and stabbed it with his -knife as it clung to and lacerated him where he lay upon the grass. -In an instant, Vàsàrhely and the jäger who was with them were by his -side, freed him from the animal, and raised him from the ground. He -was deluged with its blood and his own. Vàsàrhely, for one moment of -terrible joy, for which he loathed himself afterwards, thought, 'Is he -dead?' Men had died of lesser things than this.</p> - -<p>He stood erect and smiled, and said that it was nothing, but even as he -spoke a faintness came over him, and his lips turned grey.</p> - -<p>The jäger supported him tenderly, and would have had him sit down upon -a boulder of rock, but he resisted.</p> - -<p>'Let me get to that water, he said feebly, looking to a spot a few -yards off, where one of the many torrents of the Hohe Tauern tumbled -from the wooded cliff above through birch and beechwood, and rushing -underground left a clear round brown pool amongst the ferns. He took a -draught from the flask of brandy; tendered him by the lad, and leaning -on the youth, and struggling against the sinking swoon that was coming -on him, walked to the edge of the pool, and dropped down there on one -of the mossy stones which served as a rough chair.</p> - -<p>'Strip me, and wash the blood away, he said to the huntsman, whilst the -green wood and the daylight, and the face of the man grew dim to him, -and seemed to recede further and further in a misty darkness. The youth -obeyed, and cut away the velvet coat, the cambric shirt, till he was -naked to his waist; then, making sponges of handkerchiefs, the jäger -began to wash the blood from him and staunch it as best he could.</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely stood by, without offering any aid; his eyes were -fastened on the magnificent bust of Sabran, as the sunlight fell on the -fair blue-veined flesh, the firm muscles, the symmetrical throat, the -slender, yet sinewy arms, round one of which was clasped a bracelet of -fair hair. He had the chance he needed.</p> - -<p>He approached and told the lad roughly to leave the Marquis to him, -he was doing him more harm than good; he himself had seen many -battle-fields, and many men bleeding to death upon their mother earth. -By this time Sabran's eyes were closed; he was hardly conscious of -anything, a great numbness and infinite exhaustion had fallen upon him; -his lips moved feebly. 'Wanda!' he said once or twice,'Wanda!'</p> - -<p>The face of the man who leaned above him grew dark as night; he gnashed -his teeth as he begun his errand of mercy.</p> - -<p>Leave me with your lord,' he said to the young jäger. 'Go you to the -castle. Find Herr Greswold, bring him; do not alarm the Countess, and -say nothing to the household.'</p> - -<p>The huntsman went, fleet as a roe. Vàsàrhely remained alone with -Sabran, who only heard the sound of the rushing water magnified a -million times on his dulled ear.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely tore the shirt in shreds, and laved and bathed the wounds, -and then began to bind them with the skill of a soldier who had often -aided his own wounded troopers. But first of all, when he had washed -the blood away, he searched with keen and eager eyes for a scar on the -white skin—and found it.</p> - -<p>On the right shoulder was a small triangular mark; the mark of what, -to a soldier's eyes, told of an old wound. When he saw it he smiled a -cruel smile, and went on with his work of healing.</p> - -<p>Sabran leaned against the rock behind him; his eyes were still closed, -the pulsations of his heart were irregular. He had lost a great -quantity of blood, and the pool at his feet was red. They were but -flesh wounds, and there was no danger in them themselves, but great -veins had been severed, and the stream of life had hurried forth in -torrents. Vàsàrhely thrust the flask between his lips, but he could not -swallow.</p> - -<p>All had been done that could be for the immediate moment. The stillness -of the deep woods was around them; the body of the brown bear lay on -the soaked grass; a vulture scenting death, was circling above against -the blue sky. Over the mind of his foe swept at the sight of them one -of those hideous temptations which assail the noblest natures in an -hour of hatred. If he tore the bandages he had placed there off the -rent veins of the unconscious man whom he watched, the blood would -leap out again in floods, and so weaken the labouring heart that in -ten minutes more its powers would fall so low that all aid would be -useless. Never more would the lips of Sabran meet his wife! Never -more would his dreams be dreamed upon her breast! For the moment the -temptation seemed to curl about him like a flame; he shuddered, and -crossed himself. Was he a soldier to slay in cold blood by treachery a -powerless rival?</p> - -<p>He leaned over Sabran again, and again tried to force the mouthpiece -of his wine-flask through his teeth. A few drops passed them, and -he revived a little, and swallowed a few drops more. The blood was -arrested in its escape, and the pulsations of the heart were returning -to their normal measure; after a while he unclosed his eyes, and looked -up at the green leaves, at the blue sky.</p> - -<p>'Do not alarm Wanda,' he said feebly. 'It is a scratch; it will be -nothing. Take me home.'</p> - -<p>With his left hand he felt for the hair bracelet on his right arm, -between the shoulder and the wrist. It was stiff with his own blood.</p> - -<p>Then Vàsàrhely leaned over him and met his upward gaze, and said in his -ear, that seemed still filled with the rushing of many waters, 'You are -Vassia Kazán!'</p> - -<p>When a little later the huntsman returned, bringing the physician, whom -he had met a mile nearer the house in the woods, and some peasants -bearing a litter made out of pine branches and wood moss, they found -Sabran stretched insensible beside the water-pool; and Egon Vàsàrhely, -who stood erect beside him, said in a strange tone:</p> - -<p>'I have stanched the blood, and he has swooned, you see. I commit him -to your hands. I am not needed.'</p> - -<p>And, to their surprise, he turned and walked away with swift steps into -the green gloom of the dense forest.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> - - -<p>Sabran was still insensible when he was carried to the house.</p> - -<p>When he regained consciousness he was on his own bed, and his wife was -bending over him. A convulsion of grief crossed his face as he lifted -his eyelids and looked at her.</p> - -<p>'Wanda,' he murmured feebly, 'Wanda, you will forgive——'</p> - -<p>She kissed him passionately, while her tears fell like rain upon his -forehead. She did not hear his words distinctly; she was only alive to -the intense joy of his recovered consciousness, of the sound of his -voice, of the sense of his safety. She kneeled by his bed, covering his -hands with caresses, prodigal of a thousand names of love, given up to -an abandonment of terror and of hope which broke down all the serenity -and self-command of her habitual temper. She was not even aware of the -presence of others. The over-mastering emotions of anguish and of joy -filled her soul, and made her seem deaf, indifferent to all living -things save one.</p> - -<p>Sabran lay motionless. He felt her lips, he heard her voice; he did not -look up again, nor did he speak again. He shut his eyes, and slowly -remembered all that had passed. Greswold approached him and held his -fingers on his wrist, and held a little glass to his mouth. Sabran put -it away. 'It is an opiate,' he said feebly; 'I will not have it.'</p> - -<p>He was resolute; he closed his teeth, he thrust the calming draught -away.</p> - -<p>He was thinking to himself: 'Sometimes in unconsciousness one speaks.'</p> - -<p>'You are not in great pain?' asked the physician. He made a negative -movement of his head. What were the fire and the smart of his lacerated -flesh, of his torn muscles, to the torments of his fears, to the agony -of his long stifled conscience?</p> - -<p>'Do not torment him, let him be still,' she said to the physician; she -held his hand in both her own and pressed it to her heart. His languid -eyes thanked her, then closed again.</p> - -<p>Herr Greswold withdrew to a little distance and waited. It seemed to -him strange that a man of the high courage and strong constitution of -Sabran should be thus utterly broken down by any wound that was not -mortal; should be thus sunk into dejection and apathy, making no effort -to raise himself, even to console and reassure his wife. It was not -like his careless and gallant temper, his virile and healthful strength.</p> - -<p>It was true, the doctor reflected, that he had lost a great amount of -blood. Such a loss he knew sometimes affects the heart and shatters the -nervous system in many unlooked-for ways. Yet, he thought, there was -something beyond this; the attitude and the regard of Egon Vàsàrhely -had been unnatural at such an hour of peril. 'When he said just now -"forgive," what did he mean?' reflected the old man, whose ear had -caught the word which had escaped that of Wanda, who had been only -alive to the voice she adored.</p> - -<p>The next four days were anxious and terrible. Sabran did not recover as -the physician expected that he would, seeing the nature of his wounds -and the naturally elastic and sanguine temperament he possessed. He -slept little, had considerable fever, woke from the little rest he -had, startled, alarmed, bathed in cold sweats; at other times he lay -still in an apathy almost comatose, from which all the caresses and -entreaties of his wife failed to rouse him. They began to fear that the -discharge from the arteries had in some subtle and dangerous manner -affected the action of the heart, the composition of the blood, and -produced aneurism or pyæmia. 'The hero of Idrac to be prostrated by a -mere flesh wound!' thought Herr Greswold in sore perplexity. He sent -for a great man of science from Vienna, who, when he came, declared the -treatment admirable, the wounds healthy, the heart in a normal state, -but added it was evident the nervous system had received a severe -shock, the effects of which still remained.</p> - -<p>'But it is that which I cannot understand,' said the old man in -despair. 'If you only knew the Marquis de Sabran as I know him; the -most courageous, the most gay, the most resolute of men! A man to laugh -at death in its face! A man absolutely without fear!'</p> - -<p>The other assented.</p> - -<p>'Every one knows what he did in the floods at Idrac,' he answered; 'but -he has a sensitive temperament for all that. If you did not tell me it -is impossible, I should say that he had had some mental shock, some -great grief. The prostration seems to me more of the mind than the -body. But you have assured me it is impossible?'</p> - -<p>'Impossible! There does not live on earth a man so happy, so fortunate, -so blessed in all the world as he.'</p> - -<p>'Men have a past that troubles them sometimes,' said the Vienna -physician. 'Nay, I mean nothing, but I believe that M. de Sabran was a -man of pleasure. The cup of pleasure sometimes has dregs that one must -drink long afterwards. I do not mean anything; I merely suggest. The -prostration has to my view its most probable origin in mental trouble; -but it would do him more harm than good to excite him by any effort to -certify this. To the Countess von Szalras I have merely said, that his -state is the result of the large loss of blood, and, indeed, after all -it may be so.'</p> - -<p>On the fifth day, Sabran, still lying in that almost comatose silence -which had been scarcely broken since his accident, said in a scarce -audible voice to his wife:</p> - -<p>'Is your cousin here?'</p> - -<p>She stooped towards him and answered:</p> - -<p>'Yes; he is here, love. All the others went immediately, but Egon -remained. I suppose he thought it looked kinder to do so. I have -scarcely seen him, of course.'</p> - -<p>The pallor of his face grew greyer; he turned his head away restlessly.</p> - -<p>'Why does he not go?' he muttered in his throat. 'Does he wait for my -death?'</p> - -<p>'Oh, Réné! hush, hush!' she said, with horror and amaze. 'My love, how -can you say such things? You are in no danger; the doctor assures me -so. In a week or two you will be well, you will be yourself.'</p> - -<p>'Send your cousin away.'</p> - -<p>She hesitated; troubled by his unreasoning, restless jealousy, which -seemed to be the only consciousness of life remaining with him. 'I will -obey you, love; you are lord here,' she said softly; 'but will it not -look strange? No guest can well be told to go.'</p> - -<p>'A guest!—he is an enemy!'</p> - -<p>She sighed, knowing how hopelessly reason can struggle against the -delusions of a sick bed. 'I will tell him to go to-morrow,' she said, -to soothe him. 'To-night it is too late.'</p> - -<p>'Write to him—do not leave me.'</p> - -<p>There was a childlike appeal in his voice, that from a man so strong -had a piteous pathos. Her eyes swam with tears as she heard.</p> - -<p>'Oh, my dearest, I will not leave you!' she said passionately, 'not for -one moment whilst I live; and oh, my beloved! what could death ever -change in <i>me</i>? Have you so little faith?'</p> - -<p>'You do not know,' he said, so low that his breath scarcely stirred the -air.</p> - -<p>She thought that he was tormented by a doubt that she would not be -faithful to him if he died. She stooped and kissed him.</p> - -<p>'My own, I would sooner be faithless to you in your life than after -death. Surely you know me well enough to know that at the least?'</p> - -<p>He was silent. A great sigh struggled from his breast and escaped his -pale lips like a parting breath.</p> - -<p>'Kiss me again,' he murmured; 'kiss me again, whilst——That gives me -life,' he said, as he drew her head down upon his bosom, where his -heart throbbed labouredly. A little while later he fell asleep. He -slept some hours. When he awoke he was consumed by a nameless fear.</p> - -<p>'Is your cousin gone?' he asked.</p> - -<p>She told him that it was one o'clock in the same night; she had not -written yet.</p> - -<p>'Let him stay,' he said feverishly. 'He shall not think I fear him. Do -you hear me? Let him stay.'</p> - -<p>The words seemed to her the causeless caprice of a jealousy magnified -and distorted by the weakness of fever. She strove to answer him -calmly. 'He shall go or stay as you please,' she assured him. 'What -does it matter, dear, what Egon does? You always speak of Egon. You -have never spoken of the children once.'</p> - -<p>She wanted to distract his thoughts. She was pained to think how deep, -though unspoken, his antagonism to her cousin must have been, that now -in his feebleness it—was the one paramount absorbing thought.</p> - -<p>A great sadness came upon his face as she spoke; his lips trembled a -little.</p> - -<p>'Ah! the children,' he repeated. 'Yes, bring them to me to-morrow. Bela -is too like me. Poor Bela, it will be his curse.'</p> - -<p>'It is my joy of joys,' she murmured, afraid to see how his mind seemed -astray.</p> - -<p>A shudder that was almost a spasm passed over him. He did not reply. He -turned his face away from her, and seemed to sleep.</p> - -<p>The day following he was somewhat calmer, somewhat stronger, though his -fever was high.</p> - -<p>The species of paralysis that had seemed to; fall on all his faculties -had in a great measure left him. 'You wish, me to recover,' he said to -her. 'I will do so, though perhaps it were, better not?'</p> - -<p>'He says strange things,' she said to Greswold. 'I cannot think why he -has such thoughts.'</p> - -<p>'It is not he, himself, that has them, it is his fever,' answered the -doctor. 'Why, in fever, do people often hate what they most adore when -they are in health?'</p> - -<p>She was reassured, but not contented.</p> - -<p>The children were brought to see him. Bela had with him an ivory -air-gun, with which he was accustomed to blow down his metal soldiers; -he looked at his father with awed, dilated eyes, and said that he would -go out with the gun and kill the brothers of the bear that had done the -harm.</p> - -<p>'The bear was quite right,' said Sabran. 'It was I who was wrong to -take a life not my own.'</p> - -<p>'That is beyond Bela,' said his wife. 'But I will translate it to him -into language he shall understand, though I fear very much, say what I -will, he will be a hunter and a soldier one day.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked from one to the other, knitting, his fair brows as he sat -on the edge of the bed.</p> - -<p>'Bela will be like Egon,' he said, 'with all gold and fur to dress up -in, and a big jewelled sword, and ten hundred men and horses, and Bela -will be a great killer of things!'</p> - -<p>Sabran smiled languidly, but she saw that he flinched at her cousin's -name.</p> - -<p>'I shall not love you, Bela, if you are a killer of things that are -God's dear creatures,' she said, as she sent the child away.</p> - -<p>His blue eyes grew dark with anger.</p> - -<p>'God only cares about Bela,' he said in innocent profanity, with -a profound sense of his own vastness in the sight of heaven, 'and -Gela,' he added, with the condescending tenderness wherewith he always -associated his brother and himself.</p> - -<p>'Where could he get all that overwhelming pride?' she said, as he was -led away. 'I have tried to rear him so simply. Do what I may he will -grow arrogant and selfish.'</p> - -<p>'My dear,' said Sabran, very bitterly, 'what avails that he was borne -in your bosom? He is my son!'</p> - -<p>'Gela is your son, and he is so different,' she answered, not seeking -to combat the self-censure to which she was accustomed in him, and -which she attributed to faults or follies of a past life, magnified by -a conscience too sensitive.</p> - -<p>'He is all yours then,' he said, with a wan smile. 'You have prevailed -over evil.'</p> - -<p>In a few days later his recovery had progressed so far that he had -regained his usual tone and look; his wounds were healing, and his -strength was returning. He seemed to the keen eyes of Greswold to have -made a supreme effort to conquer the moral depression into which he had -sunk, and to have thrust away his malady almost by force of will. As he -grew better he never spoke of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>On the fifteenth day from his accident he was restored enough to health -for apprehension to cease. He passed some hours seated at an open -window in his own room. He never asked if Vàsàrhely were still there or -not.</p> - -<p>Wanda, who never left him, wondered at that silence, but she forbore to -bring forward a name which had had such power to agitate him. She was -troubled at the nervousness which still remained to him. The opening of -a door, the sound of a step, the entrance of a servant made him start -and turn pale. When she spoke of it with anxiety to Herr Joachim, he -said vague sentences as to the nervousness which was consequent on -great loss of blood, and brought forward instances of soldiers who had -lost their nerve from the same cause. It did not satisfy her. She was -the descendant of a long line of warriors; she could not easily believe -that her husband's intrepid and careless courage could have been -shattered by a flesh wound.</p> - -<p>'Did you really mean,' he said abruptly to her that afternoon, as he -sat for the first time beside the open panes of the oriel; 'did you -really mean that were I to die you would never forget me for any other?'</p> - -<p>She rose quickly as if she had been stung, and her face flushed.</p> - -<p>'Do I merit that doubt from you? she said. 'I think not.'</p> - -<p>She spoke rather in sadness than in anger. He had hurt her, he could -not anger her. He felt the rebuke.</p> - -<p>'Even if I were dead, should I have all your life?' he murmured, in -wonder at that priceless gift.</p> - -<p>'You and your children,' she said gravely. 'Ah! what can death do -against great love? Make its bands stronger perhaps, its power purer. -Nothing else.'</p> - -<p>'I thank you,' he said very low, with great humility, with intense -emotion. For a moment he thought——should he tell her, should he trust -this deep tenderness which could brave death; and might brave even -shame unblenching? He looked at her from under his drooped eyelids, and -then—he dared not. He knew the pride which was in her better than she -did——her pride, which was inherited by her firstborn, and had been -the sign manual of all her imperious race.</p> - -<p>He looked at her where she stood with the light falling on her through -the amber hues of painted glass; worn, wan, and tired by so many days -and nights of anxious vigil, she yet looked a woman whom a nation -might salute with the <i>pro rege nostro!</i> that Maria Theresa heard. All -that a great race possesses and rejoices in of valour, of tradition, -of dignity, of high honour, and of blameless truth were expressed in -her; every movement, attitude, and gesture spoke of the aristocracy of -blood. All that potent and subtle sense of patrician descent which had -most allured and intoxicated him in other days now awed and daunted -him. He dared not tell her of his treason. He dared not. He was as a -false conspirator before a great queen he has betrayed.</p> - -<p>'Are you faint, my love?' she asked him, alarmed to see the change upon -his face and the exhaustion with which he sunk, backward against the -cushions of his chair.</p> - -<p>'Mere weakness; it will pass,' he said, smiling as best he might, to -reassure her. He felt like a man who slides down a crevasse, and has -time and consciousness enough to see the treacherous ice go by him, -the black abyss yawning below him, the cold, dark death awaiting him -beyond, whilst on the heights the sun is shining.</p> - -<p>That night he entreated her to leave him and rest. He assured her he -felt well; he feigned a need of sleep. For fifteen nights she had not -herself lain down. To please him she obeyed, and the deep slumber of -tired nature soon fell upon her. When he thought she slept, he rose -noiselessly and threw on a long velvet coat, sable-lined, that was by -his bedside, and looked at his watch. It was midnight.</p> - -<p>He crossed the threshold of the open door into his wife's chamber and -stood beside her bed for a moment, gazing at her as she slept. She -seemed like the marble statue of some sleeping saint; she lay in the -attitude of S. Cecilia on her bier at Home. The faint lamplight made -her fair skin white as snow. Bound her arm was a bracelet of his hair -like the one which he wore of hers. He stood and gazed on her, then -slowly turned away. Great tears fell down his cheeks as he left her -chamber. He opened the door of his own room, the outer one which led -into the corridor, and walked down the long tapestry-hung gallery -leading to the guest-chambers. It was the first time that he had walked -without assistance; his limbs felt strange and broken, but he held on, -leaning now and then to rest against the arras. The whole house was -still.</p> - -<p>He took his way straight to the apartments set aside for guests. All -was dark. The little lamp he carried shed a circle of light about his -steps but none beyond him. When he reached the chamber which he knew -was Egon Vàsàrhely's he did not pause. He struck on its panels with a -firm hand.</p> - -<p>The voice of Vàsàrhely asked from within, 'Who is there? Is there -anything wrong?'</p> - -<p>'It is I! Open,' answered Sabran.</p> - -<p>In a moment more the door unclosed. Vàsàrhely stood within it; he was -not undressed. There were a dozen wax candles burning in silver sconces -on the table within. The tapestried figures on the walls grew pale and -colossal in their light. He did not speak, but waited.</p> - -<p>Sabran entered and closed the door behind him. His face was bloodless, -but he carried himself erect despite the sense of faintness which -assailed him.</p> - -<p>'You know who I am?' he said simply, without preface or supplication.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely gave a gesture of assent.</p> - -<p>'How did you know it?'</p> - -<p>'I remembered,' answered the other.</p> - -<p>There was a moment's silence. If Vàsàrhely could have withered to the -earth by a gaze of scorn the man before him, Sabran would have fallen -dead. As it was his eyes dropped beneath the look, but the courage and -the dignity of his attitude did not alter. He had played his part of -a great noble for so long that it had ceased to be assumption and had -become his nature.</p> - -<p>'You will tell her?' he said, and his voice did not tremble, though his -very soul seemed to swoon within him.</p> - -<p>'I shall not tell her!'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely spoke with effort; his words were hoarse and stern.</p> - -<p>'You will not?'</p> - -<p>An immense joy, unlooked for, undreamed of, sprang up in him, checked -as it rose by incredulity.</p> - -<p>'But you loved her!' he said, on an impulse which he regretted even -as the exclamation escaped him. Vàsàrhely threw his head back with a -gesture of fine anger.</p> - -<p>'If I loved' her what is that to you?' he said, with a restrained -violence vibrating in his words. 'It is, perhaps, because I once loved -her that your foul secret is safe with me now. I shall not tell her. I -waited to say this to you. I could not write it lest it should meet her -eyes. You came to ask me this? Be satisfied and go.'</p> - -<p>'I came to ask you this because, had you said otherwise, I would have -shot myself ere she could have heard.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely said nothing; a great scorn was still set like the grimness -of death upon his face. He looked far away at the dim figures on the -tapestries; he shrunk from the sight of his boyhood's enemy as from -some loathly unclean thing he must not kill.</p> - -<p>'Suicide!' he thought, 'the Slav's courage, the serf's refuge!</p> - -<p>Before the sight of Sabran the room went round, the lights grew dull, -the figures on the walls became, fantastic and unreal. His heart beat -with painful effort, yet his ears, his throat, his brain seemed full -of blood. The nerves of his whole body seemed to shrink and thrill and -quiver, but the force of habit kept him composed and erect before this -man who was his foe, yet did for him what few friends would have done.</p> - -<p>'I do not thank you,' he said at last. 'I understand; you spare me for -her sake, not mine.'</p> - -<p>'But for her, I would treat you so.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he broke in two a slender agate ruler which lay on the -writing-table at his elbow.</p> - -<p>'Go,' he added, 'you have had my word; though we live fifty years you -are safe from me, because——because——God forgive you! you are hers.'</p> - -<p>He made a gesture towards the door. Sabran shivered under the insult -which his conscience could not resent, his hand dared not avenge.</p> - -<p>Hearing this there fell away from him the arrogance that had been his -mask, the courage that had been his shield. He saw himself for the -first time as this man saw him, as all the world would see him if once -it knew his secret. For the first time his past offences rose up like -ghosts naked from their graves. The calmness, the indifference, the -cynicism, the pride which had been so long in his manner and in his -nature deserted him. He felt base-born before a noble, a liar before a -gentleman, a coward before a man of honour.</p> - -<p>Where he stood, leaning on a high caned chair to support himself -against the sickly weakness which still came on him from his scarce -healed wounds, he felt for the first time to cower and shrink before -this man who was his judge, and might become his accuser did he choose. -Something in the last words of Egon Vàsàrhely suddenly brought home -to him the enormity of his own sin, the immensity of the other's -forbearance. He suddenly realised all the offence to honour, all the -outrage to pride, all the ineffaceable indignity which he had brought -upon a great race: all that he had done, never to be undone by any -expiation of his own, in making Wanda von Szalras the mother of his -sons. Submissive, he turned without a word of gesture or of pleading, -and felt his way out of the chamber through the dusky mists of the -faintness stealing on him.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> - - -<p>He reached his own room unseen, feeling his way with his hands against -the tapestry of the wall, and had presence of mind enough to fling his -clothes off him and stagger to his bed, where he sank down insensible.</p> - -<p>She was still asleep.</p> - -<p>When dawn broke they found him ill, exhausted, with a return of fever. -He had once a fit of weeping like a child. He could not bear his wife a -moment from his sight. She reproached herself for having acceded to his -desire and left him unattended whilst she slept.</p> - -<p>But of that midnight interview she guessed nothing.</p> - -<p>Her cousin Egon sent her a few lines, saying that he had been summoned -to represent his monarch at the autumn manœuvres of Prussia, and had -left at daybreak without being able to make his farewell in person, -as he had previously to go to his castle of Taróc. She attached no -importance to it. When Sabran was told of his departure he said -nothing. He had recovered his power of self-control: the oriental -impassibility under emotion which was in his blood from his Persian -mother. If he betrayed himself he knew that it would be of little use -to have been spared by his enemy. The depression upon him his wife -attributed to his incapacity to move and lead his usual life; a trial -always so heavy to a strong man. As little by little his strength -returned, he became more like himself. In addressing her he had a -gentleness almost timid; and now and then she caught his gaze fastened -upon her with a strange appeal.</p> - -<p>One day, when he had persuaded her to ride in the forest, and he was -certain to be alone for two or three hours, he wrote the following -words to his foe and his judge:</p> - -<p>'Sir,——You will perhaps refuse to read anything written by me. Yet I -send you this letter, because I desire to say to you what the physical -weakness which was upon me the other night prevented my having time -or strength to explain. I desire also to put in your hands a proof -absolute against myself, with which you can do as you please, so that -the forbearance which you exercised, if it be your pleasure to continue -it, shall not be surprised from you by any momentary generosity, but -shall be your deliberate choice and decision. I have another course of -action to propose to you, to which I will come later. For the present -permit me to give you the outline of all the circumstances which have -governed my acts. I am not coward enough to throw the blame on fate or -chance; I am well aware that good men and great men combat and govern -both. Yet, something of course there lies in these, or, if not, excuse -at least explanation. You knew me (when you were a boy) as Vassia -Kazán, the natural son of the Prince Paul Ivanovitch Zabaroff. Up to -nine years old I dwelt with my grandmother, a Persian woman, on the -great plain between the Volga water and the Ural range. Thence I was -taken to the Lycée Clovis, a famous college. Prince Zabaroff I never -saw but one day in my Volga village, until, when I was fifteen years -old, I was sent to his house, Fleur de Roi, near Villerville, where I -remained two months, and where you insulted me and I chastised you, -and you gave me the wound that I have the mark of to this day. I then -returned to the Lycée, and stayed there two years unnoticed by him. -One day I was summoned by the principal, and told abruptly that the -Prince Zabaroff was dead—my protector, as they termed him—and that -I was penniless, with the world before me. I could not hope to make -you understand the passions that raged in me. You, who have always -been in the light of fortune, and always the head of a mighty family, -could comprehend nothing of the sombre hatreds, the futile revolts, -the bitter wrath against heaven and humanity which consumed me then, -thus left alone without even the remembrance of a word from my father. -I should have returned straightway to the Volga plains, and buried my -fevered griefs under their snows, had not I known that my grandmother -Maritza, the only living being I had ever loved, had died half a year -after I had been taken from her to be sent to the school in Paris. You -see, had I been left there I should have been a hunter of wild things -or a raftsman on the Volga all my years, and have done no harm. I had -a great passion in my childhood for an open-air, free life; my vices, -like my artificial tastes, were all learned in Paris. They, and the -love of pleasure they created, checked in me that socialistic spirit -which is the usual outcome of such â social anomaly as they had made of -me. I might have been a Nihilist but for that, and for the instinctive -tendency towards aristocratic and absolutist theories which were in -my blood. I was a true Russian noble, though a bastard one; and those -three months which I had passed at Fleur de Roi had intoxicated me -with the thirst for pleasure and enervated me with the longing to be -rich and idle. An actress whom I knew intimately also at that time did -me much harm. When Paul Zabaroff died he left me nothing, not even a -word. It is true that he died suddenly. I quitted the Lycée Clovis -with my clothes and my books; I had nothing else in the world. I sold -some of these and got to Havre. There I took a passage on a barque -going to Mexico with wine. The craft was unseaworthy; she went down -with all hands off the Pinos Island, and I, swimming for miles, alone -reached the shore. Women there were good to me. I got away in a canoe, -and rowed many miles and many days; the sea was calm, and I had bread, -fruit, and water enough to last two weeks. At the end of ten days I -neared a brig, which took me to Yucatan. My adventurous voyage made me -popular there. I gave a false name, of course, for I hated the name -of Vassia Kazán. War was going on at the time in Mexico, and I went -there and offered myself to the military adventurer who was at the -moment uppermost. I saw a good deal of guerilla warfare for a year. I -liked it: I fear I was cruel. The ruler of the hour, who was scarcely -more than a brigand, was defeated and assassinated. At the time of his -fall I was at the head of a few troopers far away in the interior. -Bands of Indians fell on us in great numbers. I was shot down and left -for dead. A stranger found me on the morning after, carried me to his -hut, and saved my life by his skill and care. This stranger was the -Marquis Xavier de Sabran, who had dwelt for nearly seventy years in the -solitude of those virgin forests, which nothing ever disturbed excepts -the hiss of an Indian's arrow or the roar of woods on fire. How he -lived there, and why, is all told in the monograph I have published of -him. He was a great and a good man. His life, lost under the shadows -of those virgin forests was the life of a saint and of a philosopher -in one. His influence upon me was the noblest that I had ever been -subject to; he did me nothing but good. His son had died early, having -wedded a Spanish Mexican ere he was twenty. His grandson had died -of snake-bite: he had been of my age. At times: he almost seemed to -think that this lad lived again in me. I spent eight years of my life -with him. His profound studies attracted me; his vast learning awed -me. The free life of the woods and sierras, the perilous sports, the -dangers from the Indian tribes, the researches into the lost history -of the perished nation, all these interested and occupied me. I was -glad to forget that I had ever lived another existence. Wholly unlike -as it was in climate, in scenery, in custom, the liberty of life on -the pampas and in the forests recalled to me my childhood on the -steppes of the Volga. I saw no European all those years. The only men -I came in contact with were Indians and half breeds; the only woman I -loved was an Indian girl; there was not even a Mexican <i>ranch</i> near, -within hundreds of miles. The dense close-woven forest was between us -and the rest of the world; our only highway was a river, made almost -inaccessible by dense fields of reeds and banks of jungle and swamps -covered with huge lilies. It was a very simple existence, but in it -all the wants of nature were satisfied, all healthy desires could be -gratified, and it was elevated from brutishness by the lofty studies -which I prosecuted under the direction of the Marquis Xavier. Eight -whole years passed so. I was twenty-five years old when my protector -and friend died of sheer old age in one burning summer, against whose -heat he had no strength. He talked long and tenderly with me ere he -died; told me where to find all his papers, and gave me everything -he owned. It was not much. He made me one last request, that I would -collect his manuscripts, complete them, and publish them in France. -For some weeks after his death I could think of nothing but his loss. -I buried him myself, with the aid of an Indian who had loved him; and -his grave is there beside the ruins that he revered, beneath a grove of -cypress. I carved a cross in cedar wood, and raised it above the grave. -I found all his papers where he had indicated, underneath one of the -temple porticoes; his manuscripts I had already in my possession: all -those which had been brought with him from France by his Jesuit tutors, -and the certificates of his own and his father's births and marriages, -with those of his son, and of his grandson. There was also a paper -containing directions how to find other documents, with the orders and -patents of nobility of the Sabrans of Romaris, which had been hidden -in the oak wood upon their sea-shore in Finisterre. All these he had -desired me to seek and take. Now came upon me the temptation to a great -sin. The age of his grandson, the young Réné de Sabran, had been mine: -he also had perished from snake-bite, as I said, without any human -being knowing of it save his grandfather and a few natives. It seemed -to me that if I assumed his name I should do no one any wrong. It boots -not to dwell on the sophisms with which I persuaded myself that I had -the right to repair an injustice done to me by human law ere I was -born. Men less intelligent than I can always find a million plausible -reasons for doing that which they desire to do; and although the years -I had spent beside the Marquis Xavier had purified my character and -purged it of much of the vice and the cynicism I had learned in Paris, -yet I had little moral conscientiousness. I lived outside the law in -many ways, and was indifferent to those measures of right and wrong -which too often appeared to me mere puerilities. Do not suppose that -I ceased to be grateful to my benefactor; I adored his memory, but it -seemed to me I should do him no wrong whatever. Again and again he had -deplored to me that I was not his heir; he had loved me very truly, and -had given me all he held most dear——the fruits of his researches. -To be brief, I was sorely tempted, and I gave way to the temptation. -I had no difficulty in claiming recognition in the city of Mexico as -the Marquis de Sabran. The documents were there, and no creature knew -that they were not mine except a few wild Puebla Indians, who spoke -no tongue but their own, and never left their forest solitudes. I was -recognised by all the necessary authorities of that country. I returned -to France as the Marquis de Sabran. On my voyage I made acquaintance -with two Frenchmen of very high station, who proved true friends to -me, and had power enough to protect me from the consequences of not -having served a military term in France. On my arrival in Europe, I -went first to the Bay of Romaris: there I found at once all that had -been indicated to me as hidden in the oak wood above the sea. The -priest of Romaris, and the peasantry, at the first utterance of the -name, welcomed me with rapture; they had forgotten nothing——Bretons -never do forget. Vassia Kazán had been numbered with the drowned dead -men who had gone down when the <i>Estelle</i> had foundered off the Pinos. -I had therefore no fear of recognition. I had grown and changed, so -much during my seven years' absence from Paris that I did not suppose -anyone would recognise the Russian collegian in the Marquis de Sabran. -And I was not in error. Even you, most probably, would never have known -me again had not your perceptions been abnormally quickened by hatred -of me as your cousin's husband; and had you even had suspicions you -could never have presumed to formulate them but for that accident in -the forest. It is always some such unforeseen trifle which breaks down -the wariest schemes. I will not linger on all the causes that made me -take the name I did. I can honestly say that had there been any fortune -involved, or any even distant heir to be wronged, I should not have -done it. As there was nothing save some insignia of knightly orders and -some acres of utterly unproductive sea-coast, I wronged no one. What -was left of the old manor I purchased with the little money I took over -with me. I repeat that I have wronged no one except your cousin, who is -my wife. The rest of my life you know. Society in Paris became gracious -and cordial to me. You will say that I must have had every moral sense -perverted before I could take such a course. But I did not regard it -as an immorality. Here was an empty title, like an empty shell, lying -ready for any occupant. Its usurpation harmed no one. I intended to -justify my assumption of it by a distinguished career, and I was aware -that my education had been beyond that of most gentlemen. It is true -that when I was fairly launched on a Parisian life pleasure governed -me more than ambition; and I found, which had not before occurred to -me, that the aristocratic creeds and the political loyalties which I -had perforce adopted with the name of the Sabrans de Romaris completely -closed all the portals of political ambition to me. Hence I became -almost by necessity a <i>fainéant</i>, and fate smiled upon me more than I -merited. I discharged my duty to the dead by the publication of all -his manuscripts. In this at least I was faithful. Paris applauded me. -I became in a manner celebrated. I need not say more, except that I -can declare to you the position I had entered upon soon became so -natural to me that I absolutely forgot it was assumed. Nature had made -me arrogant, contemptuous, courageous; it was quite natural to me to -act the part of a great noble. My want of fortune often hampered and -irritated me, but I had that instinct in public events which we call -<i>flair.</i> I made with slender means some audacious and happy ventures on -the Bourse. I was also, famous for <i>la main heureuse</i> in all forms of -gambling. I led a selfish and perhaps even a vicious life, but I kept -always within those lines which the usages of the world has prescribed -to gentlemen even in their licence. I never did anything that degraded -the name I had taken, as men of the world read degradation. I should -not have satisfied severe moralists, but, my one crime apart, I was -a man of honour until——I loved your cousin. I do not attempt to -defend my marriage with her. It was a fraud, a crime; I am well aware -of that. If you had struck me the other night, I would not have denied -your perfect right to do so. I will say no more. You have loved her. -You know what my temptation was: my crime is one you cannot pardon. It -is a treason to your rank, to your relatives, to all the traditions -of your order. When you were a little lad you said a bitter truth to -me. I was born a serf in Russia. There are serfs no more in Russia, -but Alexander, who affranchised them, cannot affranchise me. I am -base-born. I am like those cross-bred hounds cursed by conflicting -elements in their blood: I am an aristocrat in temper and in taste and -mind. I am a bastard in class, the chance child of a peasant begotten -by a great lord's momentary <i>ennui</i> and caprice! But if you will stoop -so far——if you will consider me ennobled by <i>her</i> enough to meet -you as an equal would do——we can find with facility some pretext -of quarrel, and under cover and semblance of a duel you can kill me. -You will be only taking the just vengeance of a race of which you are -the only male champion—what her brothers would surely have taken had -they been living. She will mourn for me without shame, since you have -passed me your promise never to tell her of my past. I await your -commands. That my little sons will transmit the infamy of my blood to -their descendants will be disgrace to them for ever in your sight. Yet -you will not utterly hate them, for children are more their mother's -than their father's, and she will rear them in all noble ways.'</p> - -<p>Then he signed the letter with the name of Vassia Kazán, and addressed -it to Egon Vàsàrhely at his castle of Taróc, there to await the return -of Vàsàrhely from the Prussian camp. That done, he felt more at peace -with himself, more nearly a gentleman, less heavily weighted with his -own cowardice and shame.</p> - -<p>It was not until three weeks later that he received the reply of -Vàsàrhely written from the castle of Taróc. It was very brief:——</p> - -<p>'I have read your letter and I have burned it. I cannot kill you, for -she would never pardon me. Live on in such peace as you may find.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'PRINCE VÀSÀRHELY.'</p> - -<p>To his cousin Vàsàrhely wrote at the same time, and to her said:</p> - -<p>'Forgive me that I left you so abruptly. It was necessary, and I did -not rebel against necessity, for so I avoided some pain. The world has -seen me at Hohenszalras; let that suffice. Do not ask me to return. -It hurts me to refuse you anything, but residence there is only a -prolonged suffering to me and must cause irritation to your lord. I go -to my soldiers in Central Hungary, amongst whom I make my family. If -ever you need me you will know that I am at your service; but I hope -this will never be, since it will mean that some evil has befallen -you.' Rear your sons in the traditions of your race, and teach them to -be worthy of yourself: being so they will be also worthy of your name. -Adieu, my ever beloved Wanda! Show what I have said herein to your -husband, and give me a remembrance in your prayers.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'EGON.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Countess Brancka meanwhile had been staying at Taróc for the autumn -shooting when her brother-in-law had returned there unexpectedly, and -to her chagrin, since she had filled the old castle with friends of -her own, such as Egon Vàsàrhely little favoured, and it amused her to -play the châtelaine there and organise all manner of extravagant and -eccentric pastimes. When he arrived she could no longer enjoy this -unchecked independence of folly, and he did not hesitate to make it -plain to her that the sooner Taróc should be cleared of its Parisian -world the better would he be pleased. Indeed she knew well that it -was only his sense of hospitality, as the first duty of a gentleman, -which restrained him from enforcing a rough and sudden exodus upon -her guests. He returned, moreover, unusually silent, reserved, and -what she termed ill-tempered. It was clear to her that his sojourn at -Hohenszalras had been painful to him; and whenever she spoke to him of -it he replied to her in a tone which forbade her further interrogation. -If she feared anyone in the world it was Egon, who had again and again -paid her debts to spare his brother annoyance, and who received her and -her caprices with a contemptuous unalterable disdain.</p> - -<p>'Wanda has ruined him!' she always thought angrily. 'He always expects -every other woman to have a soul above <i>chiffons</i> and to bury herself -in the country with children and horses.'</p> - -<p>Her quick instincts perceived that the hold upon his thoughts which -his cousin always possessed had been only strengthened by his visit to -her, and she attributed the gloom which had settled down on him to the -pain which the happiness that reigned at Hohenszalras had given him. -Little souls always try to cram great ones into their own narrowed -measurements. As he did not absolutely dismiss her she continued to -entertain her own people at Taróc, ignoring his tacit disapproval, and -was still there when the letter of Sabran reached her brother-in-law. -She had very quick eyes; she was present when the letters, which only -came to Taróc once a week, being fetched over many leagues of wild -forest, and hill, and torrent, and ravine, were brought to Vàsàrhely, -and she noticed that his face changed as he took out a thick envelope, -which she, standing by his shoulder, with her hand outstretched for -her own correspondence from Paris and Petersburg, could see bore the -post-mark of Matrey. He threw it amongst a mass of other letters, and -soon after took all his papers away with him into the room which was -called a library, being full of Hungarian black-letter and monkish -literature, gathered in centuries gone by by great priests of the race -of Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>What was in that letter?</p> - -<p>She attended to none of her own, so absorbed was she in the impression -which gained upon her that the packet which had brought so much -surprise and even emotion upon his face came from the hand of Wanda. -'If even she should be no saint at all?' she thought, with a malicious -amusement. She did not see Egon Vàsàrhely for many hours, but she -did not lose her curiosity nor cease to cast about for a method of -gratifying it. At the close of the day when she came back from hunting -she went into the library, which was then empty. She did not seriously -expect to see anything that would reward her enterprise, but she knew -he read his letters there and wrote the few he was obliged to write: -like most soldiers he disliked using pen and ink. It was dusk, and -there were a few lights burning in the old silver sconces fixed upon -the horns of forest animals against the walls. With a quick, calm -touch, she moved all the litter of papers lying on the huge table -where he was wont to do such business as he was compelled to transact. -She found nothing that gratified her inquisitiveness. She was about -to leave the room in baffled impatience——impatience of she knew not -what——when her eyes fell upon a pile of charred paper lying on the -stove.</p> - -<p>It was one of those monumental polychrome stoves of fifteenth-century -work in which the country-houses of Central Europe are so rich; a -grand pile of fretted pottery, towering half way to the ceiling, with -the crown and arms of the Vàsàrhely princes on its summit. There was -no fire in it, for the weather was not cold, and Vàsàrhely, who alone -used the room, was an ascetic in such matters; but upon its jutting -step, which was guarded by lions of gilded bronze, there had been some -paper burned: the ashes lay there in a little heap. Almost all of -it was ash, but a few torn pieces were only blackened and coloured. -With the eager curiosity of a woman who is longing to find another -woman at fault, she kneeled down by the stove and patiently examined -these pieces. Only one was so little burned that it had a word or two -legible upon it; two of those words were Vassia Kazán. Nothing else was -traceable; she recognised the handwriting of Sabran. She attached no -importance to it, yet she slipped the little scrap, burnt and black as -it was, within one of her gauntlets; then, as quickly as she had come -there, she retreated and in another half hour, smiling and radiant, -covered with jewels, and with no trace of fatigue or of weather, she -descended the great banqueting-hall, clad as though the heart of the -Greater Karpathians was the centre of the Boulevard S. Germain.</p> - -<p>Who was Vassia Kazán?</p> - -<p>The question floated above all her thoughts all that evening. Who was -he, she, or it, and what could Sabran have to say of him, or her, or -it to Egon Vàsàrhely? A less wise woman might have asked straightway -what the unknown name might mean, but straight ways are not those -which commend themselves to temperaments like hers. The pleasure and -the purpose of her life was intrigue. In great things she deemed -it necessity; in trifles it was an amusement; without it life was -flavourless.</p> - -<p>The next day her brother-in-law abandoned Taróc, to join his hussars -and prepare for the autumn manœuvres in the plains, and left her and -Stefan in possession of the great place, half palace, half fortress, -which had withstood more than one siege of Ottoman armies, where it -stood across a deep gorge with the water foaming black below. But she -kept the charred, torn, triangular scrap of paper; and she treasured -in her memory the two words Vassia Kazán; and she said again and again -and again to herself: 'Why should he write to Egon? Why should Egon -burn what he writes?' Deep down in her mind there was always at work -a bitter jealousy of Wanda von Szalras; jealousy of her regular and -perfect beauty, of her vast possessions, of her influence at the Court, -of her serene and unspotted repute, and now of her ascendency over the -lives of Sabran and of Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>'Why should they both love that woman so much?' she thought very often. -'She is always alike. She has no temptations. She goes over life as if -it were frozen snow. She did one senseless thing, but then she was rich -enough to do it with impunity. She is so habitually fortunate that she -is utterly uninteresting; and yet they are both her slaves!'</p> - -<p>She went home and wrote to a cousin of her own who had been a member -of the famous Third Section at Petersburg. She said in her letter: 'Is -there anyone known in Russia as Vassia Kazán? I want you to learn for -me to what or to whom this name belongs. It is certainly Russian, and -appears to me to have been taken by some one who has been named <i>more -hebrœo</i> from the city of Kazán. You, who know everything past, -present, and to come, will be able to know this.'</p> - -<p>In a few days she received an answer from Petersburg. Her cousin wrote: -'I cannot give you the information you desire. It must be a thing of -the past. But I will keep it in mind, and sooner or later you shall -have the knowledge you wish. You will do us the justice to admit that -we are not easily baffled.'</p> - -<p>She was not satisfied, but knew how to be patient.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> - - -<p>Strangely enough the consciousness that one person lived who knew -his secret unnerved him. He had said truly that so much were all his -instincts and temper those of an aristocrat that he had long ceased to -remember that he was not the true Marquis de Sabran. The admiration men -frankly gave him, and the ascendency he exercised over women, had alike -concurred in fostering his self-delusion. Since his recognition by the -foe of his boyhood a vivid sense of his own shamefulness, however, had -come upon him; a morbid consciousness that he was not what he seemed, -and what all the world believed him, had returned to him. Egon would -never speak, but he himself could never forget. He said to himself in -his solitude, 'I am Vassia Kazán! and what he had done appeared to him -intolerable, infamous, beyond all expiation.</p> - -<p>It was like an impalpable but impassable wall built up between himself -and her. Nothing was changed except that one man knew his secret, but -this one fact seemed to change the face of the world. For the first -time all the deference, all the homage with which the people of the -Tauern treated him seemed to him a derision. Naturally of proud temper, -and of an intellect which gave him ascendency over others, he had from -the first moment he had assumed the marquisate of Sabran received -all the acknowledgments of his rank with an honest unconsciousness -of imposture. After all he had in his veins blood as patrician as -that of the Sabrans; but now that Egon Vàsàrhely knew the truth he -was perpetually conscious of not being what he seemed. The mere sense -that about the world there was another living being who knew what he -knew, shook down all the self-possession and philosophy which had so -long made him assure himself that the assumption of a name was an -immaterial circumstance, which, harming no one, could concern no one. -Egon Vàsàrhely seemed to have seized his sophisms in a rude grasp, and -shaken them down as blossoms fall in wind. He thought with bitter -self-contempt how true the cynic was who said that no sin exists so -long as it is not found out; that discovery is the sole form which -remorse takes.</p> - -<p>At times his remorse made him almost afraid of Wanda, almost shrink -from her, almost tremble at her regard; at other times it intensified -his passion and infused into his embraces a kind of ferocity of -triumph. He would show an almost brutal ardour in his caresses, and -would think with an almost cruel exultation, 'I was born a serf, and I -am her lover, her lord! Strangely enough, she began to lose something -of her high influence upon him, of her spiritual superiority in his -sight. She was so entirely, so perpetually his, that she became in a -manner tainted with his own degradation. She could no longer check him -with a word, calm him with a gesture of restraint. She was conscious of -a change in him which she could not explain to herself. His sweetness -of temper was broken by occasional irritability that she had never seen -before. He was at times melancholy and absorbed; he at times displayed -a jealousy which appeared unworthy of herself and him; at other moments -he adored her, submitted to her with too great a humility. They were -still happy, but their happiness was more uncertain, more disturbed by -passing shadows. She told herself that it was always so in marriage, -that in the old trite phrase nothing mortal was ever perfect long. But -this philosophy failed to reconcile her. She found herself continually -pondering on the alteration that she perceived in him, without being -able to explain it to herself in any satisfactory manner.</p> - -<p>One day he announced to her without preface that he had decided to -renounce the name of Sabran; that he preferred to any other the title -which she had given him in the Countship of Idrac. She was astonished, -but on reflection only saw, in his choice, devotion and deference to -herself. Perhaps, too, she reflected with a pang, he desired some -foreign mission such as she had once proposed to him; perhaps the life -at Hohenszalras was monotonous and too quiet for a man so long used -to the movement and excitation of Paris. She suggested the invitation -of a circle of guests more often, but he rejected the idea with some -impatience. He, who had previously amused himself so well with the -part of host to a brilliant society, now professed that he saw nothing -but trouble and <i>ennui</i> in a house full of people, who changed every -week, and of royal personages who exacted ceremonious observances -that were tedious and burdensome. So they remained alone, for even -the Princess Ottilie had gone away to Lilienslust. For her own part -she asked nothing better. Her people, her lands, her occupations, her -responsibilities, were always interest enough. She loved the stately, -serene tread of Time in these mountain solitudes. Life always seemed -to her a purer, graver, more august thing when no echo of the world -without jarred on the solemnity of the woods and hills. She wanted her -children to grow up to love Hohenszalras, as she had always done, far -above all pomps and pleasures of courts and cities.</p> - -<p>The winter went by, and he spent most of the days out of doors in -violent exercise, sledging, skating, wolf hunting. In the evenings he -made music for her in the white room: beautiful, dreamy music, that -carried her soul from earth. He played for hours and hours far into the -night; he seemed more willing to do anything than to converse. When he -talked to her she was sensible of an effort of constraint; it was no -longer the careless, happy, spontaneous conversation of a man certain -of receiving sympathy in all his opinions, indulgence in all his -errors, comprehension in even his vaguest or most eccentric ideas: a -certain charm was gone out of their intercourse. She thought sometimes -humbly enough, was it because a man always wearies of a woman? Yet -she could scarcely think that, for his reverential deference to her -alternated with a passion that had lost nothing of its voluptuous -intensity.</p> - -<p>So the winter passed away. Madame Ottilie was in the South for her -health, with her relatives of Lilienhöhe; they invited no one, and so -no one could approach them. The children grew and throve. Bela and his -brother had a little sledge of their own, drawn by two Spanish donkeys, -white as the snows that wrapped the Iselthal in their serenity and -silence. In their little sable coats and their sable-lined hoods the -two little boys looked like rosebuds wrapped in brown moss. They were a -pretty spectacle upon the ice, with their stately Heiduck, wrapped in -his scarlet and black cloak, walking by the gilded shell-shaped sledge.</p> - -<p>'Bela loves the ice best. Bela wishes the summer never was!' said the -little heir of the Counts of Szalras one day, as he leaped out from -under the bearskin of his snow-carriage. His father heard him, and -smiled a little bitterly.</p> - -<p>'You have the snow in your blood,' he thought. 'I, too, know how I -loved the winter with all its privations, how I skimmed like a swallow -down the frozen Volga, how I breasted the wind of the North Sea, sad -with the dying cries of the swans! But I had an empty stomach and -naked limbs under my rough goatskin, and you ride there in your sables -and velvets, a proud little prince, and yet you are my son!'</p> - -<p>Was he almost angered against his own child for the great heirship to -which he was born, as kings are often of their dauphins? Bela looked up -at him a little timidly, always being in a certain awe of his father.</p> - -<p>'May Bela go with you some day with the big black horses, one day when -you go very far?'</p> - -<p>'Ask your mother,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'She will like it,' said the child. 'Yesterday she said you never do -think of Bela. She did not say it <i>to</i> Bela, but he heard.'</p> - -<p>'I will think of him,' said Sabran, with some emotion: he had a certain -antagonism to the child, of which he was vaguely ashamed; he was sorry -that she should have noticed it. He disliked him because Bela so -visibly resembled himself that he was a perpetual reproach; a living -sign of how the blood of a Russian lord and of a Persian peasant had -been infused into the blood of the Austrian nobles.</p> - -<p>The next day he took the child with him on a drive of many leagues, -through the frozen highways winding through the frosted forests under -the huge snow-covered range of the Glöckner mountains. Bela was in -raptures; the grand black Russian horses, whose speed was as the wind, -were much more to his taste than the sedate and solemn Spanish asses. -When they returned, and Sabran lifted him out of the sledge in the -twilight, the child kissed his hand.</p> - -<p>'Bela loves you,' he said timidly.</p> - -<p>'Why do you?' said his father, surprised and touched. 'Because you are -your mother's child?'</p> - -<p>Bela did not understand. He said, after a moment of reflection:</p> - -<p>'Bela is afraid, when you are angry; very afraid. But Bela does love -you.'</p> - -<p>Sabran laid his hand on the child's shoulder. 'I shall never be angry -if Bela obey his mother, and never pain her. Remember that.'</p> - -<p>'He will remember,' said Bela. 'And may he go with the big black horses -very soon again?'</p> - -<p>'Your mother's horses are just as big, and just as black. Is it not the -same thing to go with her?'</p> - -<p>'No. Because she takes Bela often; you never.'</p> - -<p>'You are ungrateful,' said Sabran, in the tone which always alarmed and -awed the bold, bright spirit of his child. 'Your mother's love beside -mine is like the great mountain beside the speck of dust. Can you -understand? You will when you are a man. Obey her and adore her. So you -will best please me.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked at him with troubled suffused eyes; he went within doors a -little sadly, led away by Hubert, and when he reached his nursery and -had his furs taken from off him he was still serious, and for once he -did not tell his thoughts to Gela, for they were too many for him to -be able to master them in words. His father was a beautiful, august, -terrible, magnificent figure in his eyes; with the confused fancies -of a child's scarce-opened mind he blended together in his admiration -Sabran and the great marble form of S. Johann of Prague which stretched -its arm towards the lake from the doors of the great entrance, and, as -Bela always understood, controlled the waters and the storms at will. -Bela feared no one else in all the world, but he feared his father, -and for that reason loved him as he loved nothing else in his somewhat -selfish and imperious little life.</p> - -<p>'It is so good of you to have given Bela that pleasure,' his wife said -to him when he entered the white room. 'I know you cannot care to hear -a child chatter as I do. It can only be tiresome to you.'</p> - -<p>'I will drive him every day if it please <i>you</i>,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'No, no; that would be too much to exact from you. Besides, he would -soon despise his donkeys, and desert poor Gela. I take him but seldom -myself for that reason. He has an idea that he is immeasurably older -than Gela. It is true a year at their ages is more difference than are -ten years at ours.'</p> - -<p>'The child said something to me, as if he had heard you say I do not -care for him?'</p> - -<p>'You do not, very much. Surely you are inclined to be harsh to him?'</p> - -<p>'If I be so, it is only because I see so much of myself in him.'</p> - -<p>He looked at her, assailed once more by the longing which at times came -over him to tell her the truth of himself, to risk everything rather -than deceive her longer, to throw himself upon her mercy, and cut short -this life which had so much of duplicity, so much of concealment, that -every year added to it was a stone added to the mountain of his sins. -But when he looked at her he dared not. The very grace and serenity -of her daunted him; all the signs of nobility in her, from the repose -of her manner to the very beauty of her hands, with their great rings -gleaming on the long and slender fingers, seemed to awe him into -silence. She was so proud a woman, so great a lady, so patrician in -all her prejudices, her habits, her hereditary qualities, he dared not -tell her that he had betrayed her thus. An infidelity, a folly, even -any other crime he thought he could have summoned courage to confess -to her; but to say to her, the daughter of a line of princes: 'I, who -have made you the mother of my children, I was born a bastard and a -serf!' How could he dare say that? Anything else she might forgive, -he thought, since love is great, but never that. Nay, a cold sickness -stole over him as he thought again that she came of great lords who had -meted justice out over whole provinces for a thousand years; and he -had wronged her so deeply that the human tongue scarcely held any word -of infamy enough to name his crime. The law would set her free, if she -chose, from a man who had so betrayed her, and his children would be -bastards like himself.</p> - -<p>He had stretched himself on a great couch, covered with white -bear-skins. He was in shadow; she was in the light that came from the -fire on the wide hearth, and from the oriel window near, a red warm -dusky light, that fell on the jewels on her hands, the furs on her -skirts, the very pearls about her throat.</p> - -<p>She glanced at him anxiously, seeing how motionless he lay there, with -his head turned backward on the cushions.</p> - -<p>'I am afraid you are weak still from that wound,' she said, as she rose -and approached him. 'Greswold assures me it has left no trace, but I am -always afraid. And you look often so pale. Perhaps you exert yourself -too much? Let the wolves be. Perhaps it is too cold for you? Would you -like to go to the south? Do not think of me; my only happiness is to do -whatever you wish.'</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand with deep unfeigned emotion. 'I believe in angels -since I knew you,' he murmured. 'No; I will not take you away from the -winter and the people that you love. I am well enough. Greswold is -right. I could not master those horses if I were not strong; be sure of -that.'</p> - -<p>'But I always fear that it is dull here for you?'</p> - -<p>'Dull! with you? "Custom cannot stale her infinite variety." That was -written in prophecy of your charm for me.'</p> - -<p>'You will always flatter me! And I am not "various" at all; I am too -grave to be entertaining. I am just the German house-mother who cares -for the children and for you.'</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>'Is that your portrait of yourself? I think Carolus Duran's is truer, -my grand châtelaine. When you are at Court the whole circle seems to -fade to nothing before your presence. Though there are so many women -high-born and beautiful there, you eclipse them all.'</p> - -<p>'Only in your eyes! And you know I care nothing for courts. What I like -is the life here, where one quiet day is the pattern of all the other -days. If I were sure that you were content in it——'</p> - -<p>'Why should you think of that?'</p> - -<p>'My love, tell me honestly, do you never miss the world?'</p> - -<p>He rose and walked to the hearth. He, whose life was a long lie, never -lied to her if he could avoid it; and he knew very well that he did -miss the world with all its folly, stimulant, and sin. Sometimes the -moral air here seemed to him too pure, too clear.</p> - -<p>'Did I do so I should be thankless indeed—thankless as madmen are who -do not know the good done to them. I am like a ship that has anchored -in a fair haven after press of weather. I infinitely prefer to see -none but yourself: when others are here we are of necessity so much -apart. If the weather,' he added more lightly, 'did not so very often -wear Milton's grey sandals, there would be nothing one could ever -wish changed in the life here. For such great riders as we are, that -is a matter of regret. Wet saddles are too often our fate, but in -compensation our forests are so green.'</p> - -<p>She did not press the question.</p> - -<p>But the next day she wrote a letter to a relative who was a great -minister and had preponderating influence in the council chamber of the -Austrian Empire. She did not speak to Sabran of the letter that she -sent.</p> - -<p>She had not known any of that disillusion which befalls most women in -their love. Her husband had remained her lover, passionately, ardently, -jealously; and the sincerity of his devotion to her had spared her -all that terrible consciousness of the man's satiety which usually -confronts a woman in the earliest years of union. She shrank now with -horror from the fear which came to her that this passion might, like so -many others, alter and fade under the dulness of habit. She had high -courage and clear vision; she met half-way the evil that she dreaded.</p> - -<p>In the spring a Foreign Office despatch from Vienna came to him and -surprised and moved him strongly. With it in his hand he sought her at -once.</p> - -<p>'You did this!' he said quickly. 'They offer me the Russian mission.'</p> - -<p>She grew a little pale, but had courage to smile. She had seen by a -glance at his face the pleasure the offer gave him.</p> - -<p>'I only told my cousin Kunst that I thought you might be persuaded to -try public life, if he proposed it to you.'</p> - -<p>'When did you say that?'</p> - -<p>'One day in the winter, when I asked you if you did not miss the world.'</p> - -<p>'I never thought I betrayed that I did so.'</p> - -<p>'You were only over eager to deny it. And I know your generosity, my -love. You miss the world; we will go back to it for a little. It will -only make our life here dearer—I hope.'</p> - -<p>He was silent; emotion mastered him. 'You have the most unselfish -nature that was!' he said brokenly. 'It will be a cruel sacrifice to -you, and yet you urge it for my sake.'</p> - -<p>'Dear, will you not understand? What is for your sake is what is most -for mine. I see you long, despite yourself, to be amidst men once more, -and use your rare talents as you cannot use them here. It is only right -that you should have the power to do so. If our life here has taken -the hold on your heart then, I think you will come back to it all the -more gladly. And then I too have my vanity; I shall be proud for the -world to see how you can fill a great station, conduct a difficult -negotiation, distinguish yourself in every way. When they praise you, -I shall be repaid a thousand times for any sacrifice of my own tastes -that there may be.'</p> - -<p>He heard her with many conflicting emotions, of which a passionate -gratitude was the first and highest.</p> - -<p>'You make me ashamed,' he said in a low voice. 'No man can be worthy of -such goodness as yours; and I——'</p> - -<p>Once more the avowal of the truth rose to his lips, but stayed -unuttered. His want of courage took refuge in procrastination.</p> - -<p>'We need not decide for a day or two,' he added; 'they give me time; we -will think well. When do you think I must reply?'</p> - -<p>'Surely soon; your delay would seem disrespect. You know we Austrians -are very ceremonious.'</p> - -<p>'And if I accept, it will not make you unhappy?'</p> - -<p>'My love, no, a thousand times, no; your choice is always mine.'</p> - -<p>He stooped and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'You are ever the same,' he murmured. 'The noblest, the most -generous——'</p> - -<p>She smiled bravely. 'I am quite sure you have decided already. Go to my -table yonder, and write a graceful acceptance to my cousin Kunst. You -will be happier when it is posted.'</p> - -<p>'No, I will think a little. It is not a thing to be done in haste. It -will be irrevocable.'</p> - -<p>'Irrevocable? A diplomatic mission? You can throw it up when you -please. You are not bound to serve longer than you choose.'</p> - -<p>He was silent: what he had thought himself had been of the irrevocable -insult he would be held to have offered to the emperor, the nation, and -the world, if ever they knew.</p> - -<p>'It will not be liked if I accept for a mere caprice. One must never -treat a State as Bela treats his playthings,' he said as he rang, and -when the servant answered the summons ordered them to saddle his horse.</p> - -<p>'No; there is no haste. Glearemberg is not definitely recalled, I -think.'</p> - -<p>But as she spoke she knew very well that, unknown to himself, he had -already decided; that the joy and triumph the offer had brought to him -were both too great for him eventually to resist them. He sat down and -re-read the letter.</p> - -<p>She had said the truth to him, but she had not said all the truth. She -had a certain desire that he should justify her marriage in the eyes of -the world by some political career brilliantly followed; but this was -not her chief motive in wishing him to return to the life of cities. -She had seen that he was in a manner disquieted, discontented, and -attributed it to discontent at the even routine of their lives. The -change in his moods and tempers, the arbitrary violence of his love -for her, vaguely alarmed and troubled her; she seemed to see the germ -of much that might render their lives far less happy. She realised -that she had given herself to one who had the capacity of becoming a -tyrannical possessor, and retained, even after six years of marriage, -the irritable ardour of a lover. She knew that it was better for them -both that the distraction and the restraint of the life of the world -should occupy some of his thoughts, and check the over-indulgence of -a passion which in solitude grew feverish and morbid. She had not the -secret of the change in him, of which the result alone was apparent to -her, and she could only act according to her light. If he grew morose, -tyrannical, violent, all the joy of their life would be gone. She knew -that men alter curiously under the sense of possession. She felt that -her influence, though strong, was not paramount as it had been, and she -perceived that he no longer took much interest in the administration -of the estates, in which he had shown great ability in the first years -of their marriage. She had been forced to resume her old governance -of all those matters, and she knew that it was not good for him to -live without occupation. She feared that the sameness of the days, to -her so delightful, to him grew tiresome. To ride constantly, to hunt -sometimes, to make music in the evenings——this was scarcely enough to -fill up the life of a man who had been a <i>viveur</i> on the bitumen of the -boulevards for so long.</p> - -<p>A woman of a lesser nature would have been too vain to doubt the -all-sufficiency of her own presence to enthral and to content him; but -she was without vanity, and had more wisdom than most women. It did -not even once occur to her, as it would have done incessantly to most, -that the magnificence of all her gifts to him were title-deeds to his -content for life.</p> - -<p>Public life would be her enemy, would take her from the solitudes she -loved, would change her plans for her children's education, would bring -the world continually betwixt herself and her husband; but since he -wished it that was all she thought of, all her law.</p> - -<p>'Surely he will accept?' said Mdme. Ottilie, who had returned from the -south of France.</p> - -<p>'Yes, he will accept,' said his wife. 'He does not know it, but he -will.'</p> - -<p>'I cannot imagine why he should affect to hesitate. It is the career -he is made for, with his talents, his social graces.'</p> - -<p>'He does not affect; he hesitates for my sake. He knows I am never -happy away from Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>'Why did you write then to Kunst?'</p> - -<p>'Because it will be better for him; he is neither a poet nor a -philosopher, to be able to live away from the world.'</p> - -<p>'Which are you?'</p> - -<p>'Neither; only a woman who loves the home she was born in, and the -people she——'</p> - -<p>'Reigns over,' added the Princess. 'Admit, my beloved, that a part of -your passion for Hohenszalras comes of the fact that you cannot be -quite as omnipotent in the world as you are here!'</p> - -<p>Wanda von Szalras smiled. 'Perhaps; the best motive is always mixed -with a baser. But I adore the country and country life. I abhor cities.'</p> - -<p>'Men are always like Horace,' said the Princess. 'They admire rural -life, but they remain for all that with Augustus.'</p> - -<p>At that moment they heard the hoofs of his horse galloping up the great -avenue. A quarter of an hour went by, for he changed his dress before -coming into his wife's presence. He would no more have gone to her with -the dust or the mud of the roads upon him than he would have gone in -such disarray into the inner circle of the Kaiserin.</p> - -<p>When he entered, she did not speak, but the Princess Ottilie said with -vivacity:</p> - -<p>'Well! you accept, of course?</p> - -<p>'I will neither accept nor decline. I will do what Wanda wishes.'</p> - -<p>The Princess gave an impatient movement of her little foot on the -carpet.</p> - -<p>'Wanda is a hermit,' she said; 'she should have dwelt in a cave, and -lived on berries with S. Scholastica. What is the use of leaving it to -her? She will say No. She loves her mountains.'</p> - -<p>'Then she shall stay amidst her mountains.'</p> - -<p>'And you will throw all your future away?'</p> - -<p>'Dear mother, I have no future——should have had none but for her.'</p> - -<p>'All that is very pretty, but after nearly six years of marriage it is -not necessary to <i>faire des madrigaux.</i>'</p> - -<p>The Princess sat a little more erect, angrily, and continued to tap her -foot upon the floor. His wife was silent for a little while; then she -went over to her writing-table, and wrote with a firm hand a few lines -in German. She rose and gave the sheet to Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Copy that,' she said, 'or give it as many graces of style as you like.'</p> - -<p>His heart beat, his sight seemed dim as he read what she had written.</p> - -<p>It was an acceptance.</p> - -<p>'See, my dear Réné!' said the Princess, when she understood; -'never combat a woman on her own ground and with her own weapon— -unselfishness! The man must always lose in a conflict of that sort.'</p> - -<p>The tears stood in his eyes as he answered her——</p> - -<p>'Ah, madame! if I say what I think, you will accuse me again of -<i>faisant des madrigaux!</i>'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>A week or two later Sabran arrived alone at their palace in Vienna, -and was cordially received by the great minister whom Wanda called -her cousin Kunst. He had also an audience of his Imperial master, who -showed him great kindness and esteem; he had been always popular and -welcome at the Hofburg. His new career awaited him under auspices the -most engaging; his intelligence, which was great, took pleasure at the -prospect of the field awaiting it; and his personal pride was gratified -and flattered at the personal success which he enjoyed. He was aware -that the brain he was gifted with would amply sustain all the demands -for <i>finesse</i> and penetration that a high diplomatic mission would make -upon it, and he knew that the immense fortune he commanded through his -wife would enable him to fill his place with the social brilliancy and -splendour it required.</p> - -<p>He felt happier than he had done ever since the day in the forest when -the name of Vassia Kazán had been said in his ear; he had recovered his -nerve, his self-command, his <i>insouciance</i>; he was once more capable of -honestly forgetting that he was anything besides the great gentleman -he appeared. There was an additional pungency for him in the fact of -his mission being to Russia. He hated the country as a renegade hates -a religion he has abandoned. The undying hereditary enmity which must -always exist, <i>sub rosa</i>, betwixt Austria and Russia was in accordance -with the antagonism he himself felt for every rood of the soil, for -every syllable of the tongue, of the Muscovite. He knew that Paul -Zabaroff, his father's legitimate son, was a mighty prince, a keen -politician, a favourite courtier at the Court of St. Petersburg. The -prospect of himself appearing at that Court as the representative of -a great nation, with the occasion and the power to meet Paul Zabaroff -as an equal, and defeat his most cherished intrigues, his most subtle -projects, gave an intensity to his triumph such as no mere social -honours or gratified ambition could alone have given him. If the -minister had searched the whole of the Austrian empire through, in -all the ranks of men he could have found no one so eager to serve the -purpose and the interests of his Imperial master against the rivalry of -Russia, as he found in one who had been born a naked <i>moujik</i> in the -<i>isba</i> of a Persian peasant.</p> - -<p>Even though this distinction which was offered him would rest like -all else on a false basis, yet it intoxicated him, and would gratify -his desires to be something above and beyond the mere prince-consort -that he was. He knew that his talents were real, that his tact and -perception were unerring, that his power to analyse and influence men -was great. All these qualities he felt would enable him in a public -career to conquer admiration and eminence. He was not yet old enough to -be content to regard the future as a thing belonging to his sons, nor -had he enough philo-progenitiveness ever to do so at any age.</p> - -<p>'To return so to Russia!' he thought, with rapture. All the ambition -that had been in him in his college days at the Lycée Clovis, which -had never taken definite shape, partly from indolence and partly from -circumstance, and had not been satisfied even by the brilliancy of -his marriage, was often awakened and spurred by the greatness of the -social position of all those with whom he associated. In his better -moments be sometimes thought, 'I am only the husband of the Countess -von Szalras; I am only the father of the future lords of Hohenszalras;' -and the reflection that the world might regard him so made him restless -and ill at ease.</p> - -<p>He knew that, being what he was, he would add to his crime tenfold -by acceptance of the honour offered to him. He knew that the more -prominent he was in the sight of men, the deeper would be his fall if -ever the truth were told. What gauge had he that some old school-mate, -dowered with as long a memory as Vàsàrhely's, might not confront him -with the same charge and challenge? True, this danger had always seemed -to him so remote that never since he had landed at Romaris bay had he -been troubled by any apprehension of it. His own assured position, his -own hauteur of bearing, his own perfect presence of mind, would have -always enabled him to brave safely such an ordeal under the suspicion -of any other than Vàsàrhely; with any other he could have relied on his -own coolness and courage to have borne him with immunity through any -such recognition. Besides, he had always reckoned, and reckoned justly, -that no one would ever dare to insult the Marquis de Sabran with a -suspicion that could have no proof to sustain it. So he had always -reasoned, and events had justified his expectations and deductions.</p> - -<p>This month that he now passed in Vienna was the proudest of his life; -not perhaps the happiest, for beneath his contentment there was a -jarring remembrance that he was deceiving a great sovereign and his -ministers. But he thrust this sting of conscience aside whenever it -touched him, and abandoned himself with almost youthful gladness to the -felicitations he received, the arrangements he had to make, and the -contemplation of the future before him. The pleasures of the gay and -witty city surrounded him, and he was too handsome, too seductive, and -too popular not to be sought by women of all ranks, who rallied him on -his long devotion to his wife, and did their best to make him ashamed -of constancy.</p> - -<p>'What beasts we are!' he thought, as he left Damn's at the flush of -dawn, after a supper there which he had given, and which had nearly -degenerated into an orgie. 'Yet is it unfaithfulness to her? My soul is -always hers and my love.'</p> - -<p>Still his conscience smote him, and he felt ashamed as he thought of -her proud frank eyes, of her noble trust in him, of her pure and lofty -life led there under the show summits of her hills.</p> - -<p>He worshipped her, with all his life he worshipped her; a moment's -caprice, a mere fume and fever of senses surprised and astray, were not -infidelity to her. So he told himself, with such sophisms as men most -use when most they are at fault, as he walked home in the rose of the -daybreak to her great palace, which like all else of hers was his.</p> - -<p>As he ascended the grand staircase, with the escutcheon of the -Szalras repeated on the gilded bronze of its balustrade, a chill and -a depression stole upon him. He loved her with intensity and ardour -and truth, yet he had been disloyal to her; he had forgotten her, he -had been unworthy of her. What worth were all the women in the world -beside her? What did they seem to him now, those Delilahs who had -beguiled him? He loathed the memory of them; he wondered at himself. He -went through the great house slowly towards his own rooms, pausing now -and then, as though he had never seen them before, to glance at some -portrait, some stand of arms, some banner commemorative of battle, some -quiver, bow, and pussikan taken from the Turk.</p> - -<p>On his table he found a telegram sent from Lienz:</p> - -<p>'I am so glad you are amused and happy. We are all well here.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'WANDA.'</p> - -<p>No torrents of rebuke, no scenes of rage, no passion of reproaches -could have carried reproach to him like those simple words of trustful -affection.</p> - -<p>'An angel of God should have descended to be worthy her!' he thought.</p> - -<p>The next evening there was a ball at the Hof. It was later in the -season than such things were usually, but the visit to the court of the -sovereign of a neighbouring nation had detained their majesties and -the nobility in Vienna. The ball was accompanied by all that pomp and -magnificence which characterise such festivities, and Sabran, present -at it, was the object of universal congratulation and much observation, -as the ambassador-designate to Russia.</p> - -<p>Court dress became him, and his great height and elegance of manner -made him noticeable even in that brilliant crowd of notables. All the -greatest ladies distinguished him with their smiles, but he gave them -no more than courtesy. He saw only before the 'eye of memory' his wife -as he had seen her at the last court ball, with the famous pearls about -her throat, and her train of silver tissue sown with pearls and looped -up with white lilac.</p> - -<p>'It is the flower I like best,' she had said to him. 'It brought me -your first love-message in Paris, do you remember? It said little; it -was very discreet, but it said enough!'</p> - -<p>'You are always thinking of Wanda!' said the Countess Brancka to him -now, with a tinge of impatience in her tone.</p> - -<p>He coloured a little, and said with that hauteur with which he always -repressed any passing jest at his love for his wife:</p> - -<p>'When both one's duty and joy point the same way it is easy to follow -them in thought.'</p> - -<p>'I hope you follow them in action too,' said Mdme. Brancka.</p> - -<p>'If I do not, I am at least only responsible to Wanda.'</p> - -<p>'Who would be a lenient judge you mean? said the Countess, with a -certain smile that displeased him. 'Do not be too sure; she is a von -Szalras. They are not agreeable persons when they are angered.'</p> - -<p>'I have not been so unhappy as to see her so,' said Sabran coldly, -with a vague sense of uneasiness. As much as it is possible for a man -to dislike a woman who is very lovely, and young enough to be still -charming in the eyes of the world, he disliked Olga Brancka. He had -known her for many years in Paris, not intimately, but by force of -being in the same society, and, like many men who do not lead very -decent lives themselves, he frankly detested <i>cocodettes.</i></p> - -<p>'If we want these manners we have our <i>lionnes</i>,' he was wont to say, -at a time when Cochonette was seen every day behind his horses by the -Cascade, and it had been the height of the Countess Olga's ambition at -that time to be called like Cochonette. A certain resemblance there -was between the great lady and the wicked one; they had the same small -delicate sarcastic features, the same red gold curls, the same perfect -colourless complexion; but where Cochonette had eyes of the slightest -blue, the wife of Count Stefan had the luminous piercing black eyes of -the Muscovite physiognomy. Still the likeness was there, and it made -the sight of Mdme. Brancka distasteful to him, since his memories of -the other were far from welcome. It was for Cochonette that he had -broken the bank at Monte Carlo, and into her lap that he had thrown -all the gold rouleaux at a time when in his soul he had already adored -Wanda von Szalras, and had despised himself for returning to the slough -of his old pleasures. It was Cochonette who had sold his secrets to -the Prussians, and brought them down upon him in the farmhouse amongst -the orchards of the Orléannais, whilst she passed safely through, the -German lines and across the frontier, laden with her jewels and her -<i>valeurs</i> of all kinds, saying in her teeth as she went: 'He will -never see that Austrian woman again!' That had been the end of all he -had known of Cochonette, and a presentiment of perfidy, of danger, of -animosity always came over him whenever he saw the <i>joli petit minois</i> -which in profile was so like Cochonette's, looking up from under the -loose auburn curls that Mdme. Olga had copied from her.</p> - -<p>Olga Brancka now looked at him with some malice and with more -admiration; she was very pretty that night, blazing with diamonds; -and with her beautifully shaped person as bare as Court etiquette -would permit. In her red gold curls she had some butterflies in jewels -flashing all the colours of the rainbow and glowing like sunbeams. -There was such a butterfly, big as the great Emperor moth, between her -breasts, making their whiteness look like snow.</p> - -<p>Instinctively Sabran glanced away from her. He felt an <i>étourdissement</i> -that irritated him. The movement did not escape her. She took his arm.</p> - -<p>'We will move about a little while,' she said. 'Let us talk of Wanda, -<i>mon beau</i> cousin; since you can think of no one else. And so you are -really going to Russia?'</p> - -<p>'I believe so.'</p> - -<p>'It will be a great sacrifice to her; any other woman would be in -paradise in St. Petersburg, but she will be wretched.'</p> - -<p>'I hope not; if I thought so I would not go.'</p> - -<p>'You cannot but go now; you have made your choice. You will be happy -enough. You will play again enormously, and Wanda has so much money -that if you lose millions it will not ruin her.'</p> - -<p>'I shall certainly not play with my wife's money. I have never played -since my marriage.'</p> - -<p>'For all that you will play in St. Petersburg. It is in the air. A -saint could not help doing it, and you are not a saint by nature, -though you have become one since marriage. But you know conversions by -marriage do not last. They are like compulsory confessions. They mean -nothing.'</p> - -<p>'You are very malicious to-night, madame,' said Sabran, absently; he -was in no mood for banter, and was disinclined to take up her challenge.</p> - -<p>'Call me at least <i>cousinette</i>,' said Mdme. Olga; 'we are cousins, you -know, thanks to Wanda. Oh! she will be very unhappy in St. Petersburg; -she will not amuse herself, she never does. She is incapable of a -flirtation; she never touches a card. When she dances it is only -because she must, and then it is only a quadrille or a contre-dance. -She always reminds me of Marie Thérèse's "In our position nothing is a -trifle." You remember the Empress's letters to Versailles?'</p> - -<p>Sabran was very much angered, but he was afraid to express his anger -lest it should seem to make him absurd.</p> - -<p>'Madame,' he said, with ill-repressed irritation, 'I know you speak -only in jest, but I must take the liberty to tell you——however -bourgeois it appear——that I do not allow a jest even from you upon my -wife. Anything she does is perfect in my sight, and if she be imbued -with the old traditions of gentle blood, too many ladies desert them in -these days for me not to be grateful to her for her loyalty.'</p> - -<p>She listened, with her bright black eyes fixed on him; then she leaned -a little more closely on his arm.</p> - -<p>'Do you know that you said that very well? Most men are ridiculous -when they are in love with their wives, but it becomes you, Wanda is -perfect, we all know that; you are not alone in thinking so. Ask Egon!'</p> - -<p>The face of Sabran changed as he heard that name. As she saw the -change she thought: 'Can it be possible that he is jealous?'</p> - -<p>Aloud she said with a little laugh: 'I almost wonder Egon did not -run you through the heart before you married. Now, of course, he -is reconciled to the inevitable; or, if not reconciled, he has to -submit to it as we all have to do. He grows very <i>farouche</i>; he lives -between his troopers and his castle of Taróc, like a barbaric lord -of the Middle Ages. Were you ever at Taróc? It is worth seeing——a -huge fortress, old as the days of Ottokar, in the very heart of the -Karpathians. He leads a wild, fierce life enough there. If he keep the -memory of Wanda with him it is as some men keep an idolatry for what is -dead.'</p> - -<p>Sabran listened with a sombre irritation. 'Suppose we leave my wife's -name in peace,' he said coldly. 'The <i>grosser cotillon</i> is about to -begin; may I aspire to the honour?'</p> - -<p>As he led her out, and the light fell on her red gold curls, on her -dazzling butterflies, her armour of diamonds, her snow-white skin, a -thousand memories of Cochonette came over him, though the scene around -him was the ball-room of the Hofburg, and the woman whose great bouquet -of <i>rêve d'or</i> roses touched his hand was a great lady who had been the -wife of Gela von Szalras, and the daughter of the Prince Serriatine. -He distrusted her, he despised her, he disliked her so strongly that -he was almost ashamed of his own antagonism; and yet her contact, her -grace of movement, the mere scent of the bouquet of roses had a sort of -painful and unwilling intoxication for the moment for him.</p> - -<p>He was glad when the long and gorgeous figures of the cotillon had -tired out even her steel-like nerves, and he was free to leave the -palace and go home to sleep. He looked at a miniature of his wife as -he undressed; the face of it, with its tenderness and its nobility, -seemed to him, after the face of this other woman, like the pure high -air of the Iselthal after the heated and unhealthy atmosphere of a -gambling-room.</p> - -<p>The next day there was a review of troops in the Prater. His presence -was especially desired; he rode his favourite horse Siegfried, which -had been brought up from the Tauern for the occasion. The weather was -brilliant, the spectacle was grand; his spirits rose, his natural -gaiety of temper returned. He was addressed repeatedly by the -sovereigns present. Other men spoke of him, some with admiration, some -with envy, as one who would become a power at the court and in the -empire.</p> - -<p>As he rode homeward, when the manœuvres were over, making his way -slowly through the merry crowds of the good-humoured populace, through -the streets thronged with glittering troops and hung with banners, and -odorous with flowers, he thought to himself with a light heart: 'After -all, I may do her some honour before I die.'</p> - -<p>When he reached home and his horse was led away, a servant approached -him with a sealed letter lying on a gold salver. A courier, who said -that he had travelled with it without stopping from Taróc, had brought -it from the Most High the Prince Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>Sabran's heart stood still as he took the letter and passed up the -staircase to his own apartments. Once there he ordered his servants -away, locked the doors, and, then only, broke the seal.</p> - -<p>There were two lines written on the sheet inside. They said:</p> - -<p>'I forbid you to serve my Sovereign. If you persist, I must relate to -him, under secrecy, what I know.'</p> - -<p>They were fully signed——'Egon Vàsàrhely.' They had been sent by a -courier, to insure delivery and avoid the publicity of the telegraph. -They had been written as soon as the tidings of his appointment to the -Russian mission had become known at the mountain fortress of Taróc.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> - - -<p>As the carriage of the Countess Olga rolled home through the Graben -after the military spectacle, she stopped it suddenly, and signed to an -old man in the crowd who was waiting to cross the road until a regiment -of cuirassiers had rolled by. He was eyeing them critically, as only an -old soldier does look at troops.</p> - -<p>'Is it you, Georg?' said Madame Olga. 'What brings you here?'</p> - -<p>'I came from Taróc with a letter from the Prince, my master,' answered -the man, an old hussar who had carried Vàsàrhely in his arms off the -field of Königsgrätz, after dragging him from under a heap of dead men -and horses.</p> - -<p>'A letter! To whom?' asked Olga, who always was curious and persistent -in investigation of all her brother-in-law's movements and actions.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely had not laid any injunction as to secrecy, only as to speed, -upon his faithful servant; so that Georg replied, unwitting of harm, -'To the Markgraf von Sabran, my Countess.'</p> - -<p>'A letter that could not go by post—how strange! And from Egon to -Wanda's husband!' she thought, with her inquisitive eagerness awakened. -Aloud she bade the old trooper call at her palace for a packet for -Taróc, to make excuse for having stopped and questioned him, and drove -onward lost in thought.</p> - -<p>'Perhaps it is a challenge late in the day!' she thought, with a laugh; -but she was astonished and perplexed that any communication should take -place between these men; she perplexed her mind in vain in the effort -to imagine what tie could connect them, what mystery mutually affecting -them could lie beneath the secret of Vassia Kazán.</p> - -<p>When, on the morrow, she heard at Court that the Emperor was deeply -incensed at the caprice and disrespect of the Count von Idrac, as -he was called at Court, who, at the eleventh hour, had declined a -mission already accepted by him, and of which the offer had been in -itself an unprecedented mark of honour and confidence, her swift -sagacity instantly associated the action, apparently so excuseless and -inexcusable, with the letter sent up from Taróc. It was still as great -a mystery to her as it had been before what the contents of the letter -could have been, but she had no doubt that in some way or another it -had brought about the resignation of the appointment. It awakened a -still more intense curiosity in her, but she was too wise to whisper -her suspicion to anyone. To her friends at the Court she said, with -laughter: 'A night or two ago I chanced to tell Sabran that his wife -would be wretched at St. Petersburg. That is sure to have been enough -for him. He is such a devoted husband.'</p> - -<p>No one of course believed her, but they received the impression that -she knew the real cause of his resignation, though she could not be -induced to say it.</p> - -<p>What did it matter to her? Nothing, indeed. But the sense of a secret -withheld from her was to Mdme. Olga like the slot of the fox to a young -hound. She might have a thousand secrets of her own if it pleased her, -but she could not endure anyone else to guard one. Besides, in a vague, -feverish, angry way, she was almost in love with the man who was so -faithful to his wife that he had looked away from her as from some -unclean thing when she had wished to dazzle him. She had no perception -that the secret could concern him himself very nearly, but she thought -it was probably one which he and Egon Vàsàrhely, for reasons of their -own, chose to share and keep hidden. And if it were a secret that -prevented Sabran from going to the Court of Russia? Then, surely, it -was one worth knowing? And if she gained a knowledge of it, and his -wife had none?——what a superiority would be hers, what a weapon -always to hand!</p> - -<p>She did not intend any especial cruelty or compass any especial end: -she was actuated by a vague desire to interrupt a current of happiness -that flowed on smoothly without her, to interfere where she had no -earthly title or reason to do so, merely because she was disregarded -by persons content with each other. It is not always definite motives -which have the most influence; the subtlest poisons are those which -enter the system we know not how, and penetrate it ere we are aware. -The only thing which had ever held her back from any extremes of evil -had been the mere habit of good-breeding and an absolute egotism which -had saved her from all strong passions. Now something that was like -passion had touched her under the sting of Sabran's indifference, and -with it she became tenacious, malignant, and unsparing: adroit she had -always been. Instinct is seldom at fault when we are conscious of an -enemy, and Sabran's had not erred when it had warned him against the -wife of Stefan Brancka as the serpent who would bring woe and disaster -to his paradise.</p> - -<p>In some three months' time she received a more explicit answer from her -cousin in St. Petersburg. Giving the precise dates, he told her that -Vassia Kazán was the name given to the son of Count Paul Ivanovitch -Zabaroff by a wayside amour with one of his own serfs at a village -near the border line of Astrachan. He narrated the early history of -the youth, and said that he had been amongst the passengers on board a -Havre ship, which had foundered with all hands. So far the brief record -of Vassia Kazán was clear and complete. But it told her nothing. She -was unreasonably enraged, and looked at the little piece of burnt paper -as though she would wrench the secret out of it.</p> - -<p>'There must be so much more to know,' she thought. 'What would a mere -drowned boy be to either of those men——a boy dead too all these years -before?'</p> - -<p>She wrote insolently to her cousin, that the Third Section, with -its eyes of Argus and its limbs of Vishnoo, had always been but an -overgrown imbecile, and set her woman's wits to accomplish what the -Third Section had failed to do for her. So much she thought of it that -the name seemed forced into her very brain; she seemed to hear every -one saying——'Vassia Kazán.' It was a word to conjure with, at least: -she could at the least try the effect of its utterance any day upon -either of those who had made it the key of their correspondence. Russia -had written down Vassia Kazán as dead, and the mystery which enveloped -the name would not open to her. She knew her country too well not to -know that this bold statement might cover some political secret, some -story wholly unlike that which was given her. Vassia Kazán might have -lived and have incurred the suspicions of the police, and be dwelling -far away in the death in life of Siberian mines, or deep sunk in some -fortress, like a stone at the bottom of a well. The reply not only -did not beget her belief in it, but gave her range for the widest and -wildest conjectures of imagination. 'It is some fault, some folly, some -crime, who can tell? And Vassia Kazán is the victim or the associate, -or the confidant of it. But what is it? And how does Egon know of it?'</p> - -<p>She passed the summer in pleasures of all kinds, but the subject did -not lose its power over her, nor did she forget the face of Sabran as -he had turned it away from her in the ball-room of the Hofburg.</p> - -<p>He himself had left the capital, after affirming to the minister that -private reasons, which he could not enter into, had induced him to -entreat the Imperial pardon for so sudden a change of resolve, and to -solicit permission to decline the high honour that had been vouchsafed -to him.</p> - -<p>'What shall I say to Wanda?' he asked himself incessantly, as the -express train swung through the grand green country towards Salzburg.</p> - -<p>She was sitting on the lake terrace with the Princess, when a telegram -from her cousin Kunst was brought to her. Bela and Gela were playing -near with squadrons of painted cuirassiers, and the great dogs were -lying on the marble pavement at her feet. It was a golden close to a -sunless but fine day; the snow peaks were growing rosy as the sun shone -for an instant behind the Venediger range, and the lake was calm and -still and green, one little boat going noiselessly across it from the -Holy Isle to the further side.</p> - -<p>'What a pity to leave it all!' she thought as she took the telegram.</p> - -<p>The Minister's message was curt and angered:</p> - -<p>'Your husband has resigned; he makes himself and me ridiculous. Unable -to guess his motive, I am troubled and embarrassed beyond expression.'</p> - -<p>The other, from Sabran, said simply: 'I am coming home. I give up -Russia.'</p> - -<p>'Any bad news?' the Princess asked, seeing the seriousness of her face. -Her niece rose and gave her the papers.</p> - -<p>'Is Réné mad!' she exclaimed as she read. His wife, who was startled -and dismayed at the affront to her cousin and to her sovereign, yet had -been unable to repress a movement of personal gladness, hastened to say -in his defence:</p> - -<p>'Be sure he has some grave, good reason, dear mother. He knows the -world too well to commit a folly. Unexplained, it looks strange, -certainly; but he will be home to-night or in the early morning; then -we shall know; and be sure we shall find him right.'</p> - -<p>'Right!' echoed the Princess, lifting the little girl who was her -namesake off her knee, a child white as a snowdrop, with golden curls, -who looked as if she had come out of a band of Correggio's baby angels.</p> - -<p>'He is always right,' said his wife, with a gesture towards Bela, who -had paused in his play to listen, with a leaden cuirassier of the guard -suspended in the air.</p> - -<p>'You are an admirable wife, Wanda,' said the Princess, with extreme -displeasure on her delicate features. 'You defend your lord when -through him you are probably <i>brouillée</i> with your Sovereign for life.'</p> - -<p>She added, her voice tremulous with astonishment and anger: 'It is a -caprice, an insolence, that no Sovereign and no minister could pardon. -I am most truly your husband's friend, but I can conceive no possible -excuse for such a change at the very last moment in a matter of such -vast importance.'</p> - -<p>'Let us wait, dear mother,' said Wanda softly. 'It is not you who would -condemn Réné unheard?'</p> - -<p>'But such a breach of etiquette! What explanation can ever annul it?'</p> - -<p>'Perhaps none. I know it is a very grave offence that he has committed, -and yet I cannot help being happy,' said his wife with a smile, as she -lifted up the little Ottilie, and murmured over the child's fair curls, -'Ah, my dear little dove! We are not going to Russia after all. You -little birds will not leave your nest!'</p> - -<p>'Bela is not going to the snow palace?' said he, whose ears were very -quick, and to whom his attendants had told marvellous narratives of an -utterly imaginary Russia.</p> - -<p>'No; are not you glad, my dear?'</p> - -<p>He thought very gravely for a moment.</p> - -<p>'Bela is not sure. Marc says Bela would have slaves in Russia, and -might beat them.'</p> - -<p>'Bela would be beaten himself if he did, and by my own hand, said his -mother very gravely. 'Oh, child! where did you get your cruelty?'</p> - -<p>'He is not cruel,' said the Princess. 'He is only masterful.'</p> - -<p>'Alas! it is the same thing.'</p> - -<p>She sent the children indoors, and remained after the sun-glow had all -faded, and Mdme. Ottilie had gone away to her own rooms, and paced -to and fro the length of the terrace, troubled by an anxiety which -she would have owned to no one. What could have happened to make -him so offend alike the State and the Court? She tormented herself -with wondering again and again whether she had used any incautious -expression in her letters which could have betrayed to him the poignant -regret the coming exile gave her. No! she was sure she had not done -so. She had only written twice, preferring telegrams as quicker, and, -to a man, less troublesome than letters. She knew courts and cabinets -too well not to know that the step her husband had taken was one which -would wholly ruin the favour he enjoyed with the former, and wholly -take away all chance of his being ever called again to serve the -latter. Personally she was indifferent to that kind of ambition; but -her attachment to the Imperial house was too strong, and her loyalty -to it too hereditary, for her not to be alarmed at the idea of losing -its good-will. Disquieted and afraid of all kinds of formless unknown -ills, she went with a heavy heart into the Rittersaal to a dinner for -which she could find no appetite. The Princess also, so talkative and -vivacious at other times, was silent and pre-occupied. The evening -passed tediously. He did not come.</p> - -<p>It was past midnight, and she had given up all hope of his arrival, -when she heard the returning trot of the horses, who had been sent over -to Matrey in the evening on the chance of his being there. She was in -her own chamber, having dismissed her women, and was trying in vain to -keep her thoughts to nightly prayer. At the sound of the horses' feet -without, she threw on a <i>négligé</i> of white satin and lace, and went, -out on to the staircase to meet him. As he came up the broad stairs, -with Donau and Neva gladly leaping on him, he looked up and saw her -against the background of oak and tapestry and old armour, with the -light of a great Persian lamp in metal that swung above shed full upon -her. She had never looked more lovely to him than as she stood so, her -eyes eagerly searching the dim shadow for him, and the loose white -folds embroidered in silk with pale roses flowing downward from her -throat to her feet. He drew her within her chamber, and took her in his -arms with a passionate gesture.</p> - -<p>'Let us forget everything,' he murmured, 'except that we have been -parted nearly a month!'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the morning, after breakfast in the little Saxe room, she said to -him with gentle firmness: 'Réné, you must tell me now—why have you -refused Russia?'</p> - -<p>He had known that the question must come, and all the way on his -homeward journey he had been revolving in his mind the answer he would -give to it. He was very pale, but otherwise he betrayed no agitation as -he turned and looked at her.</p> - -<p>'That is what I cannot tell you,' he replied.</p> - -<p>She could not believe she heard aright.</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?' she asked him. 'I have had a message from Kunst; -he is deeply angered. I understand that, after all was arranged, you -abruptly resigned the Russian mission. I ask your reasons. It is a very -grave step to have taken. I suppose your motives must be very strong -ones?'</p> - -<p>'They are so,' said Sabran; and he continued in the forced and measured -tone of one who recites what he has taught himself to say: 'It is quite -natural that your cousin Kunst should be offended; the Emperor also. -You perhaps will be the same when I say to you that I cannot tell you, -as I cannot tell them, the grounds of my withdrawal. Perhaps you, like -them, will not forgive it.'</p> - -<p>Her nostrils dilated and her breast heaved: she was startled, -mortified, amazed. 'You do not choose to tell <i>me</i>!' she said in -stupefaction.</p> - -<p>'I cannot tell you.'</p> - -<p>'She gazed at him with the first bitterness of wrath that he had ever -seen upon her face. She had been used to perfect submission of others -all her life. She had the blood in her of stern princes, who had meted -out rule and justice against which there had been no appeal. She was -accustomed even in him to deference, homage, consideration, to be -consulted always, deferred to often. His answer for the moment seemed -to her an unwarrantable insult.</p> - -<p>Her influence, her relatives, her sovereign, had given him one of the -highest honours conceivable, and he did not choose to even say why he -was thankless for it! Passionate and withering words rose to her lips, -but she restrained their utterance. Not even in that moment could she -bring herself to speak what might seem to rebuke him with the weight -of all his debt to her. She remained silent, but he understood all the -intense indignation that held her speechless there. He approached her -more nearly, and spoke with emotion, but with a certain sternness in -his voice——</p> - -<p>'I know very well that I must offend and even outrage you. But I -cannot tell you my motives. It is the first time that I have ever -acted independently of you or failed to consult your wishes. I only -venture to remind you that marriage does give to the man the right to -do so, though I have never availed myself of it. Nay, even now, I owe -you too much to be ingrate enough to take refuge in my authority as -your husband. I prefer to owe more, as I have owed so much, to your -tenderness. I prefer to ask of you, by your love for me, not to press -me for an answer that I am not in a position to make; to be content -with what I say—that I have relinquished the Russian mission because I -have no choice but to do so.'</p> - -<p>He spoke firmly, because he spoke only the truth, although not all the -truth.</p> - -<p>A great anger rose up in her, the first that she had ever been moved to -by him. All the pride of her temper and all her dignity were outraged -by this refusal to have confidence in her. It seemed incredible -to her. She still thought herself the prey of some dream, of some -hallucination. Her lips parted to speak, but again she withheld the -words she was about to utter. Her strong justice compelled her to admit -that he was but within his rights, and her sense of duty was stronger -than her sense of self-love.</p> - -<p>She did not look at him, nor could she trust her voice. She turned -from him without a syllable, and left the room. She was afraid of the -violence of the anger that she felt.</p> - -<p>'If it had been only to myself I would pardon it,' she thought; 'but an -insult to my people, to my country, to my sovereign!—an insult without -excuse, or explanation, or apology——'</p> - -<p>She shut herself alone within her oratory and passed the most bitter -hour of her life. The imperious and violent temper of the Szalras -was dormant in her character, though she had chastened and tamed it, -and the natural sweetness and serenity of her disposition had been a -counterpoise to it so strong that the latter had become the only thing -visible in her. But all the wrath of her race was now aroused and in -arms against what she loved best on earth.</p> - -<p>'If it had been anything else,' she thought; 'but a public act like -this—an ingratitude to the Crown itself! A caprice for all the world -to chatter of and blame!'</p> - -<p>It would have been hard enough to bear, difficult enough to explain -away to others, if he had told her his reasons, however captious, -unwise, or selfish they might be; but to have the door of his soul -thus shut upon her, his thoughts thus closed to her, hurt her with -intolerable pain, and filled her with a deep and burning indignation.</p> - -<p>She passed all the early morning hours alone in her little temple of -prayer, striving in vain against the bitterness of her heart; above -her the great ivory Crucifixion, the work of Angermayer, beneath which -so many generations of the women of the House of Szalras had knelt in -their hours of tribulation or bereavement.</p> - -<p>When she left the oratory she had conquered herself. Though she could -not extinguish the human passions that smarted and throbbed within her, -she knew her duty well enough to know that it must lie in submission -and in silence.</p> - -<p>She sought for him at once. She found him in the library: he was -playing to himself a long dreamy concerto of Schubert's, to soothe the -irritation of his own nerves and pass away a time of keen suspense. He -rose as she came into the room, and awaited her approach with a timid -anxiety in his eyes, which she was too absorbed by her own emotions to -observe. He had assumed a boldness that he had not, and had used his -power to dominate her rather in desperation than in any sense of actual -mastery. In his heart it was he who feared her.</p> - -<p>'You were quite right,' she said simply to him. 'Of course, you are -master of your own actions, and owe no account of them to me. We will -say no more about it. For myself, you know I am content enough to -escape exile to any embassy.'</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand with an unfeigned reverence and humility.</p> - -<p>'You are as merciful as you are great,' he murmured. 'If I be silent it -is my misfortune.' He paused abruptly.</p> - -<p>A sudden thought came over her as he spoke.</p> - -<p>'It is some State secret that he knows and cannot speak of, and that -has made him unwilling to go. Why did I never think of that before?'</p> - -<p>An explanation that had its root in honour, a reticence that sprang -from conscience, were so welcome to her, and to her appeared so -natural, that they now consoled her at once, and healed the wounds to -her own pride.</p> - -<p>'Of course, if it be so, he is right not to speak even to me,' she -mused, and her only desire was now to save him from the insistence and -the indignation of the Princess, and the examination which these were -sure to entail upon him when he should meet her at the noon breakfast -now at hand.</p> - -<p>To that end she sought out her aunt in her own apartments, taking -with her the tiny Ottilie, who always disarmed all irritation in her -godmother by the mere presence of her little flower-like face.</p> - -<p>'Dear mother,' she said softly, when the child had made her morning -obeisance, 'I am come to ask of you a great favour and kindness to me. -Réné returned last night. He has done what he thought right. I do not -even ask his reasons. He has acted from <i>force majeure</i> by dictate of -his own honour. Will you do as I mean to do? Will you spare him any -interrogation? I shall be so grateful to you, and so will he.'</p> - -<p>Mdme. Ottilie, opening her bonbonnière for her namesake, drew up her -fragile figure with a severity unusual to her.</p> - -<p>'Do I hear you aright? You do not even know the reasons of the insult -M. de Sabran has passed upon the Crown and Cabinet, and you do not even -mean to ask them?'</p> - -<p>'I do mean that; and what I do not ask I feel sure you will admit no -one else has any right to ask of him.'</p> - -<p>'No one certainly except His Majesty.'</p> - -<p>'I presume His Majesty has had all information due to him as our -Imperial master. All I entreat of you, dearest mother, is to do as -I have done; assume, as we are bound to assume, that Réné has acted -wisely and rightly, and not weary him with questions to which it will -be painful to him not to respond.'</p> - -<p>'Questions! I never yet indulged in anything so vulgar as curiosity, -that you should imagine I shall be capable of subjecting your husband -to a cross-examination. If you be satisfied, I can have no right to -be more exacting than yourself. The occurrence is to me lamentable, -inexcusable, unintelligible; but if explanation be not offered me you -may rest assured I shall not intrude my request for it.'</p> - -<p>'Of that I am sure; but I am not contented only with that. I want you -to feel no dissatisfaction, no doubt, no anger against him. You may be -sure that he has acted from conviction, because he was most desirous to -go to Russia, as you saw when you urged him to accept the mission.'</p> - -<p>'I have said the utmost that I can say,' replied the Princess, with a -chill light in her blue eyes. 'This little child is no more likely to -ask questions than I am, after what you have stated. But you must not -regard my silence as any condonation of what must always appear to me a -step disrespectful to the Crown, contrary to all usages of etiquette, -and injurious to his own future and that of his children. His scruples -of conscience came too late.'</p> - -<p>'I did not say they were exactly that. I believe he learned something -which made him consider that his honour required him to withdraw.'</p> - -<p>'That may be,' said the Princess, frigidly. 'As I observed, it came -lamentably late. You will excuse me if I breakfast in my own rooms this -morning.'</p> - -<p>Wanda left her, gave the child to a nurse who waited without, and -returned to the library. She had offended and pained Mdme. Ottilie, -but she had saved her husband from annoyance. She knew that though -the Princess was by no means as free from curiosity as she declared -herself, she was too high-bred and too proud to solicit a confidence -withheld from her.</p> - -<p>Sabran was seated at the piano where she had left him, but his forehead -rested on the woodwork of it, and his whole attitude was suggestive -of sad and absorbed thought and abandonment to regrets that were -unavailing.</p> - -<p>'It has cost him so much,' she reflected as she looked at him. 'Perhaps -it has been a self-sacrifice, a heroism even; and I, from mere wounded -feeling, have been angered against him and almost cruel!'</p> - -<p>With the exaggeration in self-censure of all generous natures, she was -full of remorse at having added any pain to the disappointment which -had been his portion; a disappointment none the less poignant, as she -saw, because it had been voluntarily, as she imagined, accepted.</p> - -<p>As he heard her approach he started and rose, and the expression of his -face startled her for a moment; it was so full of pain, of melancholy, -almost (could she have believed it) of despair. What could this matter -be to affect him thus, since being of the State it could be at its -worst only some painful and compromising secret of political life which -could have no personal meaning for him? It was surely impossible that -mere disappointment——a disappointment self-inflicted——could bring -upon him such suffering? But she threw these thoughts away. In her -great loyalty she had told herself that she must not even think of this -thing, lest she should let it come between them once again and tempt -her from her duty and obedience. Her trust in him was perfect.</p> - -<p>The abandonment of a coveted distinction was in itself a bitter -disappointment, but it seemed to him as nothing beside the sense of -submission and obedience compelled from him to Vàsàrhely. He felt as -though an iron hand, invisible, weighed on his life, and forced it into -subjection. When he had almost grown secure that his enemy's knowledge -was a buried harmless thing, it had risen and barred his way, speaking -with an authority which it was not possible to disobey. With all his -errors he was a man of high courage, who had always held his own with -all men. How the old forgotten humiliation of his earliest years -revived, and enforced from him the servile timidity of the Slav blood -which he had abjured. He had never for an instant conceived it possible -to disregard the mandate he received; that an apparently voluntary -resignation was permitted to him was, his conscience acknowledged, more -mercy than he could have expected. That Vàsàrhely would act thus had -not occurred to him; but before the act he could not do otherwise than -admit its justice and obey.</p> - -<p>But the consciousness of that superior will compelling him, left in him -a chill tremor of constant fear, of perpetual self-abasement. What was -natural to him was the reckless daring which many Russians, such as -Skobeleff, have shown in a thousand ways of peril. He was here forced -only to crouch and to submit; it was more galling, more cruel to him -than utter exposure would have been. The sense of coercion was always -upon him like a dragging chain. It produced on him a despondency, which -not even the presence of his wife or the elasticity of his own nature -could dispel.</p> - -<p>He had to play a part to her, and to do this was unfamiliar and hateful -to him. In all the years before he had concealed a fact from her, but -he had never been otherwise false. Though to his knowledge there had -been always between them the shadow of a secret untold, there had -never been any sense upon him of obligation to measure his words, to -feign sentiments he had not, to hide behind a carefully constructed -screen of untruth. Now, though he had indeed not lied with his lips, -he had to sustain a concealment which was a thousand times more trying -to him than that concealment of his birth and station to which he had -been so long accustomed that he hardly realised it as any error. The -very nobility with which she had accepted his silence, and given it, -unasked, a worthy construction, smote him with a deeper sense of shame -than even that which galled him when he remembered the yoke laid on him -by the will of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>He roused himself to meet her with composure.</p> - -<p>She rested her hand caressingly on his.</p> - -<p>'We will never speak of Russia any more. I should be sorry were the -Kaiser to think you capricious or disloyal, but you have too much -ability to have incurred this risk. Let it all be as though there had -never arisen any question of public life for you. I have explained -to Aunt Ottilie; she will not weary you with interrogation; she -understands that you have acted as your honour bade you. That is enough -for those who love you as do she and I.'</p> - -<p>Every word she spoke entered his very soul with the cruellest irony, -the sharpest reproach. But of these he let her see nothing. Yet he -was none the less abjectly ashamed, less passionately self-condemned, -because he had to consume his pain in silence, and had the self-control -to answer, still with a smile, as he touched a chord or two of music:</p> - -<p>'When the Israelites were free they hankered after the flesh-pots of -Egypt. They deserved eternal exile, eternal bondage. So do I, for -having ever been ingrate enough to dream of leaving Hohenszalras for -the world of men!'</p> - -<p>Then he turned wholly towards the Erard keyboard, and with splendour -and might there rolled forth under his touch the military march of -Rákóczi: he was glad of the majesty and passion of the music which -supplanted and silenced speech.</p> - -<p>'That is very grand,' she said, when the last notes had died away. -'One seems to hear the <i>Eljén!</i> of the whole nation in it. But play me -something more tender, more pathetic——some <i>lieder</i> half sorrow and -half gladness, you know so many of all countries.'</p> - -<p>He paused a moment; then his hands wandered lightly across the notes, -and called up the mournful folk-songs that he had heard so long, so -long, before; songs of the Russian peasants, of the maidens borne off -by the Tartar in war, of the blue-eyed children carried away to be -slaves, of the homeless villagers beholding their straw-roofed huts -licked up by the hungry hurrying flame lit by the Kossack or the Kurd; -songs of a people without joy, that he had heard in his childish days, -when the great rafts had drifted slowly down the Volga water, and -across the plains the lines of chained prisoners had crept as slowly -through the dust; or songs that he had sung to himself, not knowing -why, where the winter was white on all the land, and the bay of the -famished wolves afar off had blent with the shrill sad cry of the wild -swans dying of cold and of hunger and of thirst on the frozen rivers, -and the reeds were grown hard as spears of iron, and the waves were -changed to stone.</p> - -<p>The intense melancholy penetrated her very heart. She listened with -the tears in her eyes, and her whole being stirred and thrilled by a -pain not her own. A kind of consciousness came to her, borne on that -melancholy melody, of some unspoken sorrow which lived in this heart -which beat so near her own, and whose every throb she had thought she -knew. A sudden terror seized her lest all this while she who believed -his whole life hers was in truth a stranger to his deepest grief, his -dearest memories.</p> - -<p>When the last sigh of those plaintive songs without words had died -away, she signed to him to approach her.</p> - -<p>'Tell me,' she said very gently, 'tell me the truth. Réné, did you ever -care for any woman, dead or lost, more than, or as much as, you care -for me? I do not ask you if you loved others. I know all men have many -caprices, but was any one of them so dear to you that you regret her -still? Tell me the truth; I will be strong to bear it.'</p> - -<p>He, relieved beyond expression that she but asked him that on which his -conscience was clear and his answer could be wholly sincere, sat down -at her feet and leaned his head against her knee.</p> - -<p>'Never, so hear me God!' he said simply. 'I have loved no woman as I -love you.'</p> - -<p>'And there is not one that you regret?'</p> - -<p>'There is not one.'</p> - -<p>'Then what is it that you do regret? Something more weighs on you than -the mere loss of diplomatic life, which; after all, to you is no more -than the loss of a toy to Bela.'</p> - -<p>'If I do regret,' he said, with a smile, 'it is foolish and thankless. -The happiness you give me here is worth all the fret and fever of -the world's ambitions. You are so great and good to be so little -angered with me for my reticence. All my life, such as it is, shall be -dedicated to my gratitude.'</p> - -<p>Once more an impulse to tell her all passed over him——a sense that -he might trust her absolutely for all tenderness and all pity came -upon him; but with the weakness which so constantly holds back human -souls from their own deliverance, his courage once again failed him. -He once more looking at her thought: 'Nay! I dare not. She would never -understand, she would never pardon, she would never listen. At the -first word she would abhor me.'</p> - -<p>He did not dare; he bent his face down on her knees as any child might -have done.</p> - -<p>'What I ever must regret is not to be worthy of you!' he murmured; and -the subterfuge was also a truth.</p> - -<p>She looked down at him wistfully with doubt and confusion mingled. She -sighed, for she understood that buried in his heart there was some pain -he would not share, perchance some half involuntary unfaithfulness he -did not dare confess. She thrust this latter thought away quickly; it -hurt her as the touch of a hot iron hurts tender flesh; she would not -harbour it. It might well be, she knew.</p> - -<p>She was silent some little time, then she said calmly:</p> - -<p>'I think you worthy. Is not that enough? Never say to me what you do -not wish to say. But——but——if there be anything you believe that I -should blame, be sure of this, love: I am no fair weather friend. Try -me in deep water, in dark storm!'</p> - -<p>And still he did not speak.</p> - -<p>His evil angel held him back and said to him, 'Nay! she would never -forgive.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> - - -<p>One day in this winter time she sat alone in her octagon-room whilst he -was out driving in the teeth of a strong wind blowing from the north -and frequent bursts of snowstorm. Rapid exercise, eager movements, were -necessary to him at once as tonic and as anodyne, and the northern -blood that was in him made the bitter cold, the keen and angry air, the -conflict with the frantic horses tearing at their curbs welcome and -wholesome to him. Paul Zabaroff had many a day driven so over the hard -snows of Russian plains.</p> - -<p>She sat at home as the twilight drew on, her feet buried in the furs -before her chair, the fragrance shed about her from a basket of forced -narcissus and bowls full of orange flowers and of violets, the light -of the burning wood shining on the variegated and mellow hues of the -tiles of the hearth. The last poems of Coppée were on her lap, but -her thoughts had wandered away from those to Sabran, to her children, -to a thousand happy trifles connected with one or the other. She was -dreaming idly in that vague reverie which suits the last hour of the -reclining day in the grey still winter of a mountain-land. She was -almost sorry when Hubert entered and brought her the mail-bag, which -had just come through the gloomy defiles and the frosted woods which -stretched between them and Matrey.</p> - -<p>'It grows late,' she said to him. 'I fear it will be a stormy night. -Have you heard the Marquis return?</p> - -<p>He told her that Sabran had not yet driven in, and ventured to add -his hope that his master would not be out long; then he asked if she -desired the lamps lit, and on being told she did not, withdrew, leaving -the leather bag on a table close to one of the Saxe bowls of violets. -There was plenty of light from the fire, and even from the windows, to -read her letters by; she went first to one of the casements and looked -at the night, which was growing very wild and dark. Though day still -lingered, she could hear the wind go screaming down the lake, and -the rush of the swollen water swirling against the terrace buttresses -below. All beyond, woods, hills, mountains, were invisible under the -grey mist.</p> - -<p>'I hope he will not be late,' she thought, but she was too keen a -mountaineer to be apprehensive. Sabran now knew every road and path -through all the Tauern as well as she did. She returned to her seat and -unlocked the leather bag; there were several newspapers, two letters -for the Princess, three or four for Sabran, and one only for herself. -She laid his aside for him, sent those of the Princess to her room, -and opened her own. The writing of it she did not recognise; it was -anonymous, and was very brief.</p> - - -<p>'If you wish to know why the Marquis de Sabran did not go to Russia, -ask Egon Vàsàrhely.'</p> - - -<p>That was all: so asps are little.</p> - -<p>She sat quite still, and felt as if a bolt had fallen on her from the -leaden skies without. Vàsàrhely knew, the writer of the letter knew, -and she——<i>she——</i> did not know! That was her first distinct thought.</p> - -<p>If Sabran had entered the room at that instant she would have held to -him this letter, and would have said, 'I ask you, not him.' He was -absent, and she sat motionless, keeping the unsigned note in her hand, -and staring down on it. Then she turned and looked at the post-mark. -It was 'Vienna,' A city of a million souls! What clue to the writer -was there? She read it again and again, as even the wisest will read -such poisonous things, as though by repeated study that mystery would -be compelled to stand out clearly revealed. It did not say enough to -have been the mere invention of the sender; it was not worded as an -insinuation, but as a fact. For that reason it took a hold upon her -mind which would at once have rejected a fouler or a darker suggestion. -Although free from any baseness of suspicion there was yet that in the -name of her cousin, in juxtaposition with her husband's, which could -not do otherwise than startle and carry with it a corroboration of the -statement made. A wave of the deep anger which had moved her on her -husband's first refusal swept over her again. Her hand clenched, her -eyes hashed, where she sat alone in the gathering shadows.</p> - -<p>There came a sound at the door of the room and a small golden head came -from behind the tapestry.</p> - -<p>'May we come in?' said Bela; it was the children's hour.</p> - -<p>She rose, and put him backward.</p> - -<p>'Not now, my darling; I am occupied. Go away for a little while.'</p> - -<p>The women who were with them took the children back to their -apartments. She sat down with the note still in her hand. What could -it mean? No good thing was ever said thus. She pondered long, and was -unable to imagine any sense or meaning it could have, though all the -while memories thronged upon, her of words, and looks, and many trifles -which had told her of the enmity that was existent between her cousin -and Sabran. That she saw; but there her knowledge ceased, her vision -failed. She could go no further, conjecture nothing more.</p> - -<p>'Ask Egon!' Did they think she would ask him or any living being that -which Sabran had refused to confide in her? Whoever wrote this knew her -little, she thought. Perhaps there were women who would have done so. -She was not one of them.</p> - -<p>With a sudden impulse of scorn she cast the sheet of paper into the -fire before her. Then she went to her writing-table and enclosed the -envelope in another, which she addressed to her lawyers in Salzburg. -She wrote with it: 'This is the cover to an anonymous letter which I -have received. Try your uttermost to discover the sender.'</p> - -<p>Then she sat down again and thought long, and wearily, and vainly. She -could make nothing of it. She could see no more than a wayfarer whom a -blank wall faces as he goes. The violets and orange blossoms were close -at her elbow; she never in after time smelt their perfume without a -sick memory of the stunned, stupefied bewilderment of that hour.</p> - -<p>The door unclosed again, a voice again spoke behind as a hand drew back -the folds of the tapestry.</p> - -<p>'What, are you in darkness here? I am very cold. Have you no tea for -me?' said Sabran, as he entered, his eyes brilliant; his cheeks warm, -from the long gallop against the wind. He had changed his clothes, and -wore a loose suit of velvet; the servants, entering behind him, lit the -candelabra, and brought in the lamps; warmth, and gladness, and light -seemed to come with him; she looked up and thought, 'Ah! what does any -thing matter? He is home in safety!'</p> - -<p>The impulse to ask of him what she had been bidden to ask of Egon -Vàsàrhely had passed with the intense surprise of the first moment. She -could not ask of him what she had promised never to seek to know; she -could not reopen a long-closed wound. But neither could she forget the -letter lying burnt there amongst the flames of the wood. He noticed -that her usual perfect calm was broken as she welcomed him, gave him -his letters, and bade the servants bring tea; but he thought it mere -anxiety, and his belated drive; and being tired with a pleasant fatigue -which made rest sweet, he stretched his limbs out on a low couch beside -the hearth, and gave himself up to that delicious dreamy sense of -<i>bien-être</i> which a beautiful woman, a beautiful room, tempered warmth -and light, and welcome repose, bring to any man after some hours effort -and exposure in wild weather and intense cold and increasing darkness.</p> - -<p>'I almost began to think I should not see you to-night,' he said -happily, as he took from her hand the little cup of Frankenthal china -which sparkled like a jewel in the light. 'I had fairly lost my way, -and Josef knew it no better than I; the snow fell with incredible -rapidity, and it seemed to grow night in an instant. I let the horses -take their road, and they brought us home; but if there be any poor -pedlars or carriers on the hills to-night I fear they will go to their -last sleep.'</p> - -<p>She shuddered and looked at him with dim, fond eyes, 'He is here; he is -mine,' she thought; 'what else matters?'</p> - -<p>Sabran stretched out his fingers and took some of the violets from the -Saxe bowl and fastened them in his coat as he went on speaking of the -weather, of the perils of the roads whose tracks were obliterated, and -of the prowess and intelligence of his horses, who had found the way -home when he and his groom, a man born and bred in the Tauern, had both -been utterly at a loss. The octagon-room had never looked lovelier and -gayer to him, and his wife had never looked more beautiful than both -did now as he came to them out of the darkness and the snowstorm and -the anxiety of the last hour.</p> - -<p>'Do not run those risks,' she murmured. 'You know all that your life is -to me.'</p> - -<p>The letter which lay burnt in the fire, and the dusky night of ice -and wind without, had made him dearer to her than ever. And yet the -startled, shocked sense of some mystery, of some evil, was heavy upon -her, and did not leave her that evening nor for many a day after.</p> - -<p>'You are not well?' he said to her anxiously later, as they left the -dinner-table. She answered evasively.</p> - -<p>'You know I am not always quite well now. It is nothing. It will pass.'</p> - -<p>'I was wrong to alarm you by being out so late in such weather,' he -said with self-reproach. 'I will go out earlier in future.'</p> - -<p>'Do not wear those violets,' she said, with a trivial caprice wholly -unlike her, as she took them from his coat. 'They are Bonapartist -emblems—<i>fleurs de malheur</i>.'</p> - -<p>He smiled, but he was surprised, for he had never seen in her any one -of those fanciful whims and vagaries that are common to women.</p> - -<p>'Give me any others instead,' he said; 'I wear but your symbol, O my -lady!'</p> - -<p>She took some myrtle and lilies of the valley from one of the large -porcelain jars in the Rittersaal.</p> - -<p>'These are our flowers,' she said as she gave them to him. 'They mean -love and peace.'</p> - -<p>He turned from her slightly as he fastened them where the others had -been.</p> - -<p>All the evening she was pre-occupied and nervous. She could not forget -the intimation she had received. It was intolerable to her to have -anything of which she could not speak to her husband. Though they had -their own affairs apart one from the other, there had been nothing -of moment in hers that she had ever concealed from him. But here it -was impossible for her to speak to him, since she had pledged herself -never to seek to know the reason of an action which, however plausibly -she explained it to herself, remained practically inexplicable and -unintelligible. It was terrible to her, too, to feel that the lines -of a coward who dared not sign them had sunk so deeply into her mind -that she did not question their veracity. They had at once carried -conviction to her that Egon Vàsàrhely did know what they said he did. -She could not have told why this was, but it was so. It was what hurt -her most——others knew; she did not.</p> - -<p>She felt that if she could have spoken to Sabran of it, the matter -would have become wholly indifferent to her; but the obligation of -reticence, the sense of separation which it involved, oppressed her -greatly. She was also haunted by the memory of the enmity which existed -between these men, whose names were so strangely coupled in the -anonymous counsel given her.</p> - -<p>She stayed long in her oratory that night, seeking vainly for calmness -and patience under this temptation; seeking beyond all things for -strength to put the poison of it wholly from her mind. She dreaded lest -it should render her irritable and suspicious. She reproached herself -for having been guilty of even so much insinuation of rebuke to him -as her words with the flower had carried in them. She had ideas of -the duties of a woman to her husband widely different to those which -prevail in the world. She allowed herself neither irritation nor irony -against him. 'When the thoughts rebel, the acts soon revolt,' she was -wont to say to herself, and even in her thoughts she would never blame -him.</p> - -<p>Prayer, even if it have no other issue or effect, rarely fails to -tranquillise and fortify the heart which is lifted up ever so vaguely -in search of a superhuman aid. She left her oratory strengthened and -calmed, resolved in no way to allow such partial success to their -unknown foe as would be given if the treacherous warning brought any -suspicion or bitterness to her mind. She passed through the open -archway in the wall which divided his rooms from hers, and looked at -him where he lay already asleep upon his bed, early fatigued by the -long cold drive from which he had returned at nightfall. He was never -more handsome than sleeping calmly thus, with the mellow light of a -distant lamp reaching the fairness of his face. She looked at him with -all her heart in her eyes; then stooped and kissed him without awaking -him.</p> - -<p>'Ah! my love,' she thought, 'what should ever come between us? Hardly -even death, I think, for if I lost you I should not live long without -you.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Salzburg lawyers employed all the resources of the Viennese police -to discover the sender of the envelope, but vainly; nothing was -learned by all the efforts made. But the letter constantly haunted her -thoughts. It produced in her an uneasiness and an apprehensiveness -wholly foreign to her temper. The impossibility also of saying anything -about it increased the weight of it on her memory. Yet she never once -thought of asking Vàsàrhely. She wrote to him now and then, as she had -always done, to give him tidings of her health or of her movements, -but she never once alluded in the most distant terms to the anonymous -information she had received. If he had been there beside her she would -not have spoken of it. Of the two, she would sooner have reopened the -subject to her husband. But she never did so. She had promised him -to be silent, and to her creed a promise was inviolate, never to be -retracted, be the pressure or the desire to do so what it would.</p> - -<p>It was these grand lines on which her character and her habits were -cast that awed him, and made him afraid to tell her his true history. -Had he revered her less he would probably have deceived her less. Had -she been of a less noble temperament she would also probably have been -much less easy to deceive.</p> - -<p>Her health was at this time languid, and more uncertain than usual, -and the two lines of the letter were often present to her thoughts, -tormenting her with idle conjecture, painful doubt, none the less -painful because it could take no definite shape. Sometimes when she -was not well enough to accompany him out of doors or drive her own -sleigh through the keen clear winter air, she sat doing nothing, and -thinking only of this thing, in the same room, with the same smell of -violets about her, musing on what it might by any possibility mean. Any -secret was safe with Egon, but then since the anonymous writer was in -possession of it the secret was not only his. She wondered sometimes in -terror whether it could be anything that might in after years affect -her children's future, and then as rapidly discarded the bare thought -as so much dishonour to their father. 'It is only because I am now -nervous and impressionable,' she said to herself,'that this folly takes -such a hold upon me. When I am well again I shall not think of it. Who -is it says of anonymous letters that they are like "<i>les immondices des -rues: il faut boucher le nez, tourner la tête et passer outre?</i>"'</p> - -<p>But '<i>les immondices</i>' spoiled the odours of the new year violets to -her.</p> - -<p>In the early spring of the year she gave birth to another son. She -suffered more than she had ever done before, and recovered less -quickly. The child was like all the others, fair, vigorous, and full -of health. She wished to give him her husband's name, but Sabran so -strenuously opposed the idea that she yielded, and named him after her -brother Victor, who had fallen at Magenta.</p> - -<p>There were the usual rejoicings throughout the estates, rejoicings -that were the outcome of genuine affection and fealty to the race of -Szalras, whose hold on the people of the Tauern had resisted all the -revolutionary movements of the earlier part of the century, and had -fast root in the hearts of the staunch and conservative mountaineers. -But for the first time as she heard the hearty '<i>Hoch!</i>' of the -assembled peasantry echoing beneath her windows, and the salvos fired -from the old culverins on the keep, a certain fear mingled with her -maternal pride, and she thought: 'Will the people love them as well -twenty years hence, fifty years hence, when I shall be no more? Will my -memory be any shield to them? Will the traditions of our race outlast -the devouring changes of the world?'</p> - -<p>Meantime the Princess, happy and smiling, showed the little new-born -noble to the stalwart chamois hunters, the comely farmers and -fishermen, the clear-eyed stout-limbed shepherds and labourers gathered -bareheaded round the Schloss.</p> - -<p>Bela stood by contemplating the crowd he knew so well; he did not see -why they should cheer any other child beside himself. He stood with his -little velvet cap in his hand, because he was always told to do so, but -he felt very inclined to put it on; if his father had not been present -there he would have done so.</p> - -<p>'If I have ever so many brothers,' he said at last thoughtfully to -Greswold, who was by his side, 'it will not make any difference, will -it? I shall always be <i>the</i> one?'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?' asked the physician.</p> - -<p>'They will none of them be like me? They will none of them be as great -as I am? Not if I have twenty?'</p> - -<p>'You will be always the eldest son, of course,' said the old man, -repressing a smile. 'Yes; you will be their head, their chief, their -leading spirit; but for that reason you will have much more expected of -you than will be expected of them; you will have to learn much more, -and try to be always good. Do you follow me, Count Bela?'</p> - -<p>Bela's little rosy mouth shut itself up contemptuously. 'I shall be -always the eldest, and I shall do whatever I like. I do not see why -they want any others than me.'</p> - -<p>'You will not do always what you like, Count Bela.'</p> - -<p>'Who shall prevent me?'</p> - -<p>'The law, which you will have to obey like everyone else.'</p> - -<p>'I shall make the laws when I am a little older,' said Bela. 'And they -will be for my brothers and all the people, but not for me. I shall do -what I like.'</p> - -<p>'That will be very ungenerous,' said Greswold, quietly. 'Your mother, -the Countess, is very different. She is stern to herself, and indulgent -to all others. That is why she is beloved. If you will think of -yourself so much when you are grown up, you will be hated.'</p> - -<p>Bela flushed a little guiltily and angrily.</p> - -<p>'That will not matter,' he said sturdily. 'I shall please myself -always.'</p> - -<p>'And be unkind to your brothers?'</p> - -<p>'Not if they do what I tell them; I will be very kind if they are good. -Gela always does what I tell him,' he added after a little pause; 'I do -not want any but Gela.'</p> - -<p>'It is natural you should be fondest of Gela, as he is nearest your -age, but you must love all the brothers you may have, or you will -distress your mother very greatly.'</p> - -<p>'Why does she want any but me?' said Bela, clinging to his sense of -personal wrong. And he was not to be turned from that.</p> - -<p>'She wants others beside you,' said the physician, adroitly, 'because -to be happy she needs children who are tender-hearted, unselfish, and -obedient. You are none of those things, my Count Bela, so Heavens ends -her consolation.'</p> - -<p>Bela opened his blue eyes very wide, and he coloured with mortification.</p> - -<p>'She always loves me best!' he said haughtily. 'She always will!'</p> - -<p>'That will depend on yourself, my little lord,' said Greswold, with a -significance which was not lost on the quick intelligence of the child; -and he never forgot this day when his brother Victor was shown to the -people.</p> - -<p>'There will be no lack of heirs to Hohenszalras,' said the Princess -meanwhile to his father.</p> - -<p>He thought as he heard:</p> - -<p>'And if ever she know she can break her marriage like a rotten thread! -Those boys can all be made as nameless as I was! Would she do it? -Perhaps not, for the children's sake. God knows——she might change -even to them; she might hate them as she loves them now, because they -are mine.'</p> - -<p>Even as he sat beside her couch with her hand in his these thoughts -pursued and haunted him. Remorse and fear consumed him. When she looked -at the blue eyes of her new-born son, and said to him with a happy -smile: 'He will be just as much like you as the others are,' he could -only think with a burning sense of shame, 'Like me! like a traitor! -like a liar! like a thief!'——and the faces of these children seemed -to him like those of avenging angels.</p> - -<p>He thought with irrepressible agony of the fact that her country's -laws would divorce her from him if she chose, did ever the truth come -to her ear. He had always known this indeed, as he had known all the -other risks he ran in doing what he did. Put it had been far away, -indistinct, unasserted; whenever the memory of it had passed over him -he had thrust it away. Now when another knew his secret, he could -not do so. He had a strange sensation of having fallen from some -great height; of having all his life slide away like melting ice out -of his hands. He never once doubted for an instant the good faith of -Egon Vàsàrhely. He knew that his lips would no more unclose to tell -his secret than the glaciers yonder would find human voice. But the -consciousness that one man lived, moved, breathed, rose with each day, -and went amongst other men, bearing with him that fatal knowledge, -made it now impossible for himself ever to forget it. A dull remorse, -a sharp apprehension, were for ever his companions, and never left him -for long even in his sweetest hours. He did justice to the magnificent -generosity of the one who spared him. Egon Vàsàrhely knew, as he knew, -that she, hearing the truth, could annul the marriage if she chose. -His children would have no rights, no name, if their mother chose to -separate herself from him. The law would make her once more as free -as though she had never wedded him. He knew that, and the other man -who loved her knew it too. He could measure the force of Vàsàrhely's -temptation as that simple and heroic soldier could not stoop to measure -his.</p> - -<p>He was deeply unhappy, but he concealed it from her. Even when his -heart beat against hers it seemed to him always that there was an -invisible wall between himself and her. He longed to tell the whole -truth to her, but he was afraid; if the whole pain and shame had been -his own that the confession would have caused, he would have dared it; -but he had not the heart to inflict on her such suffering, not the -courage to destroy their happiness with his own hand. Egon Vàsàrhely -alone knew, and he for her sake would never speak. As for the reproach -of his own conscience, as for the remorse that the words of his -children might at any moment call up in him, these lie must bear. He -was a man of cool judgment and of ready resource, and though he had -never foreseen the sharp repentance which his better nature now felt, -he knew that he would be able to live it down as he had crushed out so -many other scruples. He vowed to himself that as far as in him lay he -would atone for his act. The moral influence of his wife had not been -without effect on him. Not altogether, but partially, he had grown to -believe in what she believed in, of the duty of human life to other -lives; he had not her sympathy for others, but he had admired it, and -in his own way followed it, though without her faith.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>Life went on in its old pathways at Hohenszalras. Nothing more, was -said by him, or to him, as to his rejection of the Russian mission. She -was niggard in nothing, and when she offered her faith or pledged her -silence, gave both entirely and ungrudgingly. Sabran to her showed an -increase of devotion, an absolute adoration which would in themselves -have sufficed to console any woman; and if the most observant member -of their household, Greswold, perceived in him a preoccupation, a -languor, a gloom, which boded ill for their future peace, the old man -was too loyal in his attachment not to endeavour to shake off his own -suspicions and discredit his own penetration.</p> - -<p>The Princess had been favoured by a note from Olga Brancka, in which -that lady wrote: 'Have you discovered the nature of his refusal of -Russia? Myself, I believe that I was to blame. I hinted to him that -he would be tempted to his old sins in St. Petersburg, and that Wanda -would be very miserable there. It seems that this was enough for the -tender heart of this devoted lover, and too much for his wisdom and -his judgment; he rejected the mission after accepting it. I believe -the Court is furious. I am not <i>de service</i> now, so that I have no -opportunity of endeavouring to restore him to favour; but I imagine the -Emperor will not quarrel for ever with the Hohenszalrasburg.</p> - -<p>The letter restored him at least to the favour of Mdme. Ottilie. -Exaggerated as such a scruple appeared it did not seem to her -impossible in a man whose devotion to his wife she daily witnessed, -shown in a hundred traits. She blamed him still severely in her own -thoughts for what she held an inexcusable disrespect to the Crown, but -she kept her word scrupulously and never spoke to him on the subject.</p> - -<p>'Where else in the wide world would any man have found such -forbearance?' he thought with gratitude, and he knew that nowhere -would such delicate sentiment have existed outside the pale of that -fine patrician dignity which is as incapable of the vulgarity of -inquisitiveness and interrogation as was the Spartan of lament.</p> - -<p>The months went by. They did not leave home; he seemed to have lost -all wish for any absence, and even repulsed the idea of inviting the -usual house parties of the year. She supposed that he was averse to -meeting people who might recur to his rejection of the post he had -once accepted. The summer passed and the autumn came; he spent his -time in occasional sport, the keen and perilous sport of the Austrian -mountains, and more often and more faithfully beguiled himself with -those arts of which he was a brilliant master, though he would call -himself no more than a mere amateur. From the administration of the -estates he had altogether withdrawn himself.</p> - -<p>'You are so much wiser than I,' he always said to her; and when she -would have referred to him, replied: 'You have your lawyers; they are -all honest men. Consult them rather than me.'</p> - -<p>With the affairs of Idrac only he continued to concern himself a -little, and was persistent in setting aside all its revenues to -accumulate for his second son.</p> - -<p>'I wish you cared more about all these things,' she said to him one -day, when she had in her hand the reports from the mines of Galicia. -He answered angrily, 'I have no right to them. They are not mine. If -you chose to give them all away to the Crown I should say nothing.'</p> - -<p>'Not even for the children's sake?'</p> - -<p>'No: you would be entirely justified if you liked to give the children -nothing.'</p> - -<p>'I really do not understand you,' she said in great surprise.</p> - -<p>'Everything is yours,' he said abruptly.</p> - -<p>'And the children too, surely!' she said, with a smile: but the -strangeness of the remark disquieted her. 'It is over-sensitiveness,' -she thought; 'he can never altogether forget that he was poor. It is -for that reason public life would have been so good for him; dignities -which he enjoyed of his own, honours that he arrived at through his own -attainments.'</p> - -<p>Chagrined to have lost, the opportunity of winning personal honours -in a field congenial to him, the sense that everything was hers could -hardly fail to gall him sometimes constantly, though she strove to -efface any remembrance or reminder that it was so.</p> - -<p>In the midsummer of that year, whilst they were quite alone, they were -surprised by another letter from Mdme. Brancka, in which she proposed -to take Hohenszalras on her way from France to Tsarköe Selo, where she -was about to pay a visit which could not be declined by her.</p> - -<p>When in the spring he had written with formality to her to announce the -birth of his son Victor, she had answered with a witty coquettish reply -such as might well have been provocative of further correspondence. -But he had not taken up the invitation. Mortified and irritated, she -had compared his writing with the piece of burnt paper, and been more -satisfied than ever that he had penned the name of Vassia Kazán. But -even were it so, what, she wondered, had it to do with Russia? He -and Egon Vàsàrhely were not friends so intimate that they had any -common interests one with the other. The mystery had interested her -intensely when her rapid intuition had connected the resignation of -Sabran's appointment with the messenger sent to him from Taróc. Her -impatience to be again in his presence grew intense. She imagined a -thousand stories, to cast each aside in derision as impossible. All her -suppositions were built upon no better basis than a fragment of charred -paper; but her shrewd intuition bore her into the region of truth, -though the actual truth of course never suggested itself to her even in -her most fantastic and dramatic visions. Finally she thus proposed to -visit Hohenszalras in the midsummer months.</p> - -<p>'Last year you had such a crowd about you,' she wrote, 'that I -positively saw nothing of you, <i>liebe</i> Wanda. You are alone now, and -I venture to propose myself for a fortnight. You cannot exactly be -said to be in the way to anywhere, but I shall make you so. When one -is going to Russia, a matter of another five hundred miles or so is a -bagatelle.'</p> - -<p>'We must let her come,' said Wanda, as she gave the letter to Sabran, -who, having read it, said with much sincerity——</p> - -<p>'For heaven's sake, do not. A fortnight of Madame Olga! as well -have——a century of "Madame Angot!"'</p> - -<p>'Can I prevent her?'</p> - -<p>'You can make some excuse. I do not like Mdme. Brancka.'</p> - -<p>'Why?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated; he could not tell her what he had felt at the ball of -the Hofburg. 'She reminds me of a woman who drew me into a thousand -follies, and to cap her good deeds betrayed me to the Prussians. If you -must let her come I will go away. I will go and see your haras on the -Pusztas.'</p> - -<p>'Are you serious?'</p> - -<p>'Quite serious. Were I not ashamed of such a weakness, I should use a -feminine expression. I should say "<i>elle me donne des nerfs.</i>"'</p> - -<p>'I think she has a great admiration for you, and she does not conceal -it.'</p> - -<p>'Merely because she is sensible that I do not like her. Such women as -she are discontented if only one person fail to admit their charm. She -is accustomed to admiration, and she is not scrupulous as to how she -obtains it.'</p> - -<p>'My dear! pray remember that she is our guest, and doubly our relative.'</p> - -<p>'I will try and remember it; but, believe me, all honour is wholly -wasted upon Mdme. Olga. You offer her a coin of which the person and -the superscription are alike unknown to her.'</p> - -<p>'You are very severe,' said his wife.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, and perceived that he was not jesting, that he -was on the contrary disturbed and annoyed, and she remembered the -persistence with which Olga Brancka had sought his companionship and -accompanied him on his sport in the summer of her visit there.</p> - -<p>'If she had not married first my brother and then my cousin, she would -never have been an intimate friend of mine,' she continued. 'She is of -a world wholly opposed to all my tastes. For you to be absent, if she -came, would be too marked, I think; but we can both leave, if you like. -I am well enough for any movement now, and I can leave the child with -his nurse. Shall we make a tour in Hungary? The haras will interest -you. There are the mines, too, that one ought to visit.'</p> - -<p>He received her assent with gratitude and delight. He felt that he -would have gone to the uttermost ends of the earth rather than run the -risk of spending long lonely summer days in the excitation of Mdme. -Brancka's presence. He detested her, he would always detest her; and -yet when he shut his eyes he saw her so clearly, with the malicious -light in her dusky glance, and the jewelled butterfly trembling about -her breasts.</p> - -<p>'She shall never come under Wanda's roof if I can prevent it,' he -thought, remembering her as she had been that night.</p> - -<p>A few days later the Countess Brancka, much to her rage, had a note -from the Hohenszalrasburg, which said that they were on the point of -leaving for Hungary and Galicia, but that if she would come there in -their absence, the Princess Ottilie, who remained, would be charmed to -receive her. Of course she excused herself, and did not go. A visit to -the solitudes of the Iselthal, where she would, see no one but a lady -of eighty years old and four little children, had few attractions for -the adventurous and vivacious wife of Stefan Brancka.</p> - -<p>'It is only Wanda's jealousy,' she thought, and was furious; but she -looked at herself in the mirror, and was almost consoled as she thought -also, 'He avoids me. Therefore he is afraid of me!'</p> - -<p>She went to her god, <i>le monde</i>, and worshipped at all its shrines and -in all its fashions; but in the midst of the turmoil and the triumphs, -the worries and the intoxications of her life, she did not lose her -hold on her purpose, nor forget that he had slighted her. His beautiful -face, serene and scornful, was always before her. He might have been at -her feet, and he chose to dwell beside his wife under those solitary -forests, amongst those solitary mountains of the High Tauern!</p> - -<p>'With a woman he has lived with all these eight years!' she thought, -with furious impatience. 'With a woman who has grafted the Lady of La -Garaye on Libussa, who never gives him a moment's jealousy, who is -as flawless as an ivory statue or a marble throne, who suckles her -children and could spin their clothes if she wanted, who never cares -to go outside the hills of her own home——the Teuton <i>Hausfrau</i> to -her finger-tips.' And she was all the more bitter and the more angered -because, always as she tried to think thus, the image of Wanda rose up -before her, as she had seen her so often at Vienna or Hohenszalras, -with the great pearls on her hair and on her breast.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -A planet at whose passing, lo!<br /> -All lesser stars recede, and night<br /> -Grows clear as day thus lighted up<br /> -By all her loveliness, which burns<br /> -With pure white flame of chastity;<br /> -And fires of fair thought....<br /> -</p> - - -<h4>END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</h4> -<hr class="full" /> -<p style="margin-left: 20%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -CONTENTS<br /><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52136 ***</div> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/52136-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/52136-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b647ab6..0000000 --- a/old/52136-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/52136-0.txt b/old/old/52136-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f116bb6..0000000 --- a/old/old/52136-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8489 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Ouida - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3) - -Author: Ouida - -Release Date: May 23, 2016 [EBook #52136] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDA, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc -D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images -generouslly made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -WANDA - -BY - -OUIDA - - - - _'Doch!--alles was dazu mich trieb;_ - _Gott!--war so gut, ach, war so lieb!'_ - Goethe - - -IN THREE VOLUMES - -VOL. II. - - -London - -CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - -1883 - - - - -WANDA. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -On her return she spoke of her royal friends, of her cousins, of -society, of her fears for the peace of Europe, and her doubts as to -the strength of the empire; but she did not speak of the one person of -whom, beyond all others, Mdme. Ottilie was desirous to hear. When some -hours had passed, and still she had never alluded to the existence of, -the Princess could bear silence no longer, and casting prudence to the -winds, said boldly and with impatience: - -'And your late guest? Have you nothing to tell me? Surely you have seen -him?' - -'He called once,' she answered, 'and I heard him speak at the Chamber.' - -'And was that all?' cried the Princess, disappointed. - -'He speaks very well in public,' added Wanda, 'and he said many tender -and grateful things of you, and sent you many messages--such grateful -ones that my memory is too clumsy a tray to hold such eggshell china.' - -She was angered with herself as she spoke, but the fragrance of the -white lilac and the remembrance of its donor pursued her--angered -with herself, too, because Hohenszalras seemed for the moment sombre, -solitary, still, almost melancholy, wrapped in that winter whiteness -and stillness which she had always loved so well. - -The next morning she saw all her people, visited her schools and her -stables, and tried to persuade herself that she was as contented as -ever. - -The aurist came from Paris shortly after her, and consoled the Princess -by assuring her that the slight deafness she suffered from occasionally -was due to cold. - -'Of course!' she said, with some triumph. 'These mountains, all this -water, rain whenever there is not snow, snow whenever there is not -rain; it is a miracle, and the mercy of Heaven, if one saves any of -one's five senses uninjured in a residence here.' - -She had her satin hood trebly wadded, and pronounced the aurist a -charming person. Herr Greswold in an incautious moment had said to her -that deafness was one of the penalties of age and did not depend upon -climate. A Paris doctor would not have earned his fee of two hundred -napoleons if he had only produced so ungallant a truism. She heard a -little worse after his visit, perhaps, but if so, she said that was -caused by the additional wadding in her hood. He had told her to use a -rose-water syringe, and Herr Greswold was forbidden her presence for a -week because he averred that you might as well try to melt the glacier -with a lighted pastille. - -The aurist gone, life at Hohenszalras resumed its even tenor; and -except for, the post, the tea-cups, and the kind of dishes served at -dinner, hardly differed from what life had been there in the sixteenth -century, save that there were no saucy pages playing in the court, and -no destriers stamping in the stalls, and no culverins loaded on the -bastions. - -'It is like living between the illuminated leaves of one of the Hours,' -thought the Princess, and though her conscience told her that to dwell -so in a holy book like a pressed flower was the most desirable life -that could be granted by Heaven to erring mortality, still she felt it -was dull. A little gossip, a little movement, a little rolling of other -carriage-wheels than her own, had always seemed desirable to her. - -Life here was laid down on broad lines. It was stately, austere, -tranquil; one day was a mirror of all the rest. The Princess fretted -for some little _frou-frou_ of the world to break its solemn silence. - -When Wanda returned from her ride one forenoon she said a little -abruptly to her aunt: - -'I suppose you will be glad to hear you have convinced me. I have -telegraphed to Ludwig to open and air the house in Vienna; we will go -there for three months. It is, perhaps, time I should be seen at Court.' - -'It is a very sudden decision!' said Madame Ottilie, doubting that she -could hear aright. - -'It is the fruit of your persuasions, dear mother mine! The only -advantage in having houses in half a dozen different places is to be -able to go to them without consideration. You think me obstinate, -whimsical, barbaric; the Kaiserin thinks so too. I will endeavour to -conquer my stubbornness. We will go to Vienna next week. You will see -all your old friends, and I all my old jewels.' - -The determination once made, she adhered to it. She had felt a vague -annoyance at the constancy and the persistency with which regret for -the lost society of Sabran recurred to her. She had attributed it to -the solitude in which she lived: that solitude which is the begetter -and the nurse of thought may also be the hotbed of unwise fancies. -It was indeed a solitude filled with grave duties, careful labours, -high desires and endeavours; but perhaps, she thought, the world for a -while, even in its folly, might be healthier, might preserve her from -the undue share which the memory of a stranger had in her musings. - -Her people, her lands, her animals, would none of them suffer by -a brief absence; and perhaps there were duties due as well to her -position as to her order. She was the only representative of the great -Counts of Szalras. With the whimsical ingratitude to fate common -to human nature, she thought she would sooner have been obscure, -unnoticed, free. Her rank began to drag on her with something like the -sense of a chain. She felt that she was growing irritable, fanciful, -thankless; so she ordered the huge old palace in the Herrengasse to be -got ready, and sought the world as others sought the cloister. - -In a week's time she was installed in Vienna, with a score of horses, -two score of servants, and all the stir and pomp that attend a great -establishment in the most aristocratic city of Europe, and she made her -first appearance at a ball at the Residenz covered with jewels from -head to foot; the wonderful old jewels that for many seasons had lain -unseen in their iron coffers--opals given by Rurik, sapphires taken -from Kara Mustafa, pearls worn by her people at the wedding of Mary of -Burgundy, diamonds that had been old when Maria Theresa had been young. - -She had three months of continual homage, of continual flattery, of -what others called pleasure, and what none could have denied was -splendour. Great nobles laid their heart and homage before her feet, -and all the city looked after her for her beauty as she drove her -horses round the Ringstrasse. It left her all very cold and unamused -and indifferent. - -She was impatient to be back at Hohenszalras, amidst the stillness of -the woods, the sound of the waters. - -'You cannot say now that I do not care for the world, because I have -forgotten what it was like,' she observed to her aunt. - -'I wish you cared more,' said the Princess. 'Position has its duties.' - -'I never dispute that; only I do not see that being wearied by society -constitutes one of them. I cannot understand why people are so afraid -of solitude; the routine of the world is quite as monotonous.' - -'If you only appreciated the homage that you receive----' - -'Surely one's mind is something like one's conscience: if one can be -not too utterly discontented with what it says one does not need the -verdict of others.' - -'That is only a more sublime form of vanity. Really, my love, with -your extraordinary and unnecessary humility in some things, and your -overweening arrogance in others, you would perplex wiser heads than the -one I possess.' - -'No; I am sure it is not vanity or arrogance at all; it may be -pride--the sort of pride of the "Rohan je suis." But it is surely -better than making one's barometer of the smiles of simpletons.' - -'They are not all simpletons.' - -'Oh, I know they are not; but the world in its aggregate is very -stupid. All crowds are mindless, the crowd of the Haupt-Allee as well -as of the Wurstel-Prater.' - -The Haupt-Allee indeed interested her still less than the -Wurstel-Prater, and she rejoiced when she set her face homeward and saw -the chill white peaks of the Glöckner arise out of the mists. Yet she -was angry with herself for the sense of something missing, something -wanting, which still remained with her. The world could not fill it up, -nor could all her philosophy or her pride do so either. - -The spring was opening in the Tauern, slow coming, veiled in rain, -and parting reluctantly with winter, but yet the spring, flinging -primroses broadcast through all the woods, and filling the shores of -the lakes with hepatica and gentian; the loosened snows were plunging -with a hollow thunder into the ravines and the rivers, and the grass -was growing green and long on the alps between the glaciers. A pale -sweet sunshine was gleaming on the grand old walls of Hohenszalras, -and turning to silver and gold all its innumerable casements as she -returned, and Donau and Neva leaped in rapture on her. - -'It is well to be at home,' she said, with a smile, to Herr Greswold, -as she passed through the smiling and delighted household down the -Rittersaal, which was filled with plants from the hothouses, gardenias -and gloxianas, palms and ericas, azaleas and camellias glowing between -the stern armoured figures of the knights and the time-darkened oak of -their stalls. - -'This came from Paris this morning for Her Excellency,' said Hubert, -as he showed his mistress a gilded boat-shaped basket, filled with -tea-roses and orchids; a small card was tied to its handle with -'_Willkommen_' written on it. - -She coloured a little as she recognised the handwriting of the single -word. - -How could he have known, she wondered, that she would return home that -day? And for the flowers to be so fresh, a messenger must have been -sent all the way with them by express speed, and Sabran was poor. - -'That is the Stanhopea tigrina,' said Herr Greswold, touching one with -reverent fingers; 'they are all very rare. It is a welcome worthy of -you, my lady.' - -'A very extravagant one,' said Wanda von Szalras, with a certain -displeasure that mingled with a softened emotion. 'Who brought it?' - -'The Marquis de Sabran, by _extra-poste_, himself this morning,' -answered Hubert--an answer she did not expect. 'But he would not wait; -he would not even take a glass of tokayer, or let his horses stay for a -feed of corn.' - -'What knight-errantry!' said the Princess well pleased. - -'What folly!' said Wanda, but she had the basket of orchids taken to -her own octagon room. - -It seemed as if he had divined how much of late she had thought of him. -She was touched, and yet she was angered a little. - -'Surely she will write to him,' thought the Princess wistfully very -often: but she did not write. To a very proud woman the dawning -consciousness of love is always an irritation, an offence, a failure, a -weakness: the mistress of Hohenszalras could not quickly pardon herself -for taking with pleasure the message of the orchids. - -A little while later she received a letter from Olga Brancka. In it she -wrote from Paris: - -'Parsifal is doing wonders in the Chamber, that is, he is making Paris -talk; his party will forbid him doing anything else. You certainly -worked a miracle. I hear he never plays, never looks at an actress, -never does anything wrong, and when a grand heiress was offered to -him by her people refused her hand blandly but firmly. What is one to -think? That he washed his soul white in the Szalrassee?' - -It was the subtlest flattery of all, the only flattery to which she -would have been accessible, this entire alteration in the current -of a man's whole life; this change in habit, inclination, temper, -and circumstance. If he had approached her its charm would have been -weakened, its motive suspected; but aloof and silent as he remained, -his abandonment of all old ways, his adoption of a sterner and worthier -career, moved her with its marked, mute homage of herself. - -When she read his discourses in the French papers she felt a glow -of triumph, as if she had achieved some personal success; she felt -a warmth at her heart as of something near and dear to her, which -was doing well and wisely in the sight of men. His cause did not, -indeed, as Olga Brancka had said, render tangible, practical, victory -impossible for him, but he had the victories of eloquence, of -patriotism, of high culture, of pure and noble language, and these -blameless laurels seemed to her half of her own gathering. - -'Will you never reward him?' the Princess ventured to say at last, -overcome by her own impatience to rashness. 'Never? Not even by a word?' - -'Hear mother,' said Wanda, with a smile which perplexed and baffled the -Princess, 'if your hero wanted reward he would not be the leader of a -lost cause. Pray do not suggest to me a doubt of his disinterestedness. -You will do him very ill service.' - -The Princess was mute, vaguely conscious that she had said something -ill-timed or ill-advised. - -Time passed on and brought beautiful weather in the month of June, -which here in the High Tauern means what April does in the south. -Millions of song-birds were shouting in the woods, and thousands of -nests were suspended on the high branches of the forest trees, or -hidden in the greenery of the undergrowth; water-birds perched and -swung in the tall reeds where the brimming streams tumbled; the purple, -the white, and the grey herons were all there, and the storks lately -flown home from Asia or Africa were settling in bands by the more -marshy grounds beside the northern shores of the Szalrassee. - -One afternoon she had been riding far and fast, and on her return a -telegram from Vienna had been brought to her, sent on from Lienz. -Having opened it, she approached her aunt and said with an unsteady -voice: - -'War is declared between France and Prussia!' - -'We expected it; we are ready for it,' said the Princess, with all -her Teutonic pride in her eyes. 'We shall show her that we cannot be -insulted with impunity.' - -'It is a terrible calamity for the world,' said Wanda, and her face was -very pale. - -The thought which was present to her was that Sabran would be foremost -amidst volunteers. She did not hear a word of all the political -exultation with which Princess Ottilie continued to make her militant -prophecies. She shivered as with cold in the warmth of the midsummer -sunset. - -'War is so hideous always,' she said, remembering what it had cost her -house. - -The Princess demurred. - -'It is not for me to say otherwise,' she objected; 'but without war all -the greater virtues would die out. Your race has been always martial. -You should be the last to breathe a syllable against what has been the -especial glory and distinction of your forefathers. We shall avenge -Jena. You should desire it, remembering Aspern and Wagram.' - -'And Sadowa?' said Wanda, bitterly. - -She did not reply further; she tore up the message, which had come from -her cousin Kaulnitz. She slept little that night. - -In two days the Princess had a brief letter from Sabran. He said: 'War -is declared. It is a blunder which will perhaps cause France the loss -of her existence as a nation, if the campaign be long. All the same I -shall offer myself. I am not wholly a tyro in military service. I saw -bloodshed in Mexico; and I fear the country will sorely need every -sword she has.' - -Wanda, herself, wrote back to him: - -'You will do right. When a country is invaded every living man on her -soil is bound to arm.' - -More than that she could not say, for many of her kindred on her -grandmother's side were soldiers of Germany. - -But the months which succeeded those months of the 'Terrible Year,' -written in letters of fire and iron on so many human hearts, were -filled with a harassing anxiety to her for the sake of one life that -was in perpetual peril. War had been often cruel to her house. As a -child she had suffered from the fall of those she loved in the Italian -campaign of Austria. Quite recently Sadowa and Königsgrätz had made -her heart bleed, beholding her relatives and friends opposed in mortal -conflict, and the empire she adored humbled and prostrated. Now she -became conscious of a suffering as personal and almost keener. She had -at the first, now and then, a hurried line from Sabran, written from -the saddle, from the ambulance, beside the bivouac fire, or in the -shelter of a barn. He had offered his services, and had been given the -command of a volunteer cavalry regiment, all civilians mounted on their -own horses, and fighting principally in the Orléannois. His command was -congenial to him; he wrote cheerfully of himself, though hopelessly of -his cause. The Prussians were gaining ground every day. Occasionally, -in printed correspondence from the scene of war, she saw his name -mentioned by some courageous action or some brilliant skirmish. That -was all. - -The autumn began to deepen into winter, and complete silence covered -all his life. She thought with a great remorse--if he were dead? -Perhaps he was dead? Why had she been always so cold to him? She -suffered intensely; all the more intensely because it was not a sorrow -which she could not confess even to herself. When she ceased altogether -to hear anything of or from him, she realised the hold which he had -taken on her life. - -These months of suspense did more to attach her to him than years -of assiduous and ardent homage could have done. She, a daughter of -soldiers, had always felt any man almost unmanly who had not received -the baptism of fire. - -Mdme. Ottilie talked of him constantly, wondered frequently if he were -wounded, slain, or in prison; she never spoke his name, and dreaded to -hear it. - -Greswold, who perceived an anxiety in her that, he did not dare to -allude to, ransacked every journal that was published in German to find -some trace of Sabran's name. At the first he saw often some mention of -the Cuirassiers d'Orléans, and of their intrepid Colonel Commandant: -some raid, skirmish, or charge in which they had been conspicuous for -reckless gallantry. But after the month of November he could find -nothing. The whole regiment seemed to have been obliterated from -existence. - -Winter settled down on Central Austria with cold silence, with roads -blocked and mountains impassable. The dumbness, the solitude around -her, which she had always loved so well, now grew to her intolerable. -It seemed like death. - -Paris capitulated. The news reached her at the hour of a violent -snowstorm; the postillion of her post-sledge bringing it had his feet -frozen. - -Though her cousins of Lilienhöhe were amongst those who entered the -city as conquerors, the fate of Paris smote her with a heavy blow. She -felt as if the cold of the outer world had chilled her very bones, her -very soul. The Princess, looking at her, was afraid to rejoice. - -On the following day she wrote to her cousin Hugo of Lilienhöhe, who -was in Paris with the Imperial Guard. She asked him to inquire for and -tell her the fate of a friend, the Marquis de Sabran. - -In due time Prince Hugo answered: - -'The gentleman you asked for was one of the most dangerous of our -enemies. He commanded a volunteer cavalry regiment, which was almost -cut to pieces by the Bavarian horse in an engagement before Orleans. -Two or three alone escaped; their Colonel was severely wounded in -the thigh, and had his charger shot dead under him. He was taken -prisoner by the Bavarians after a desperate resistance. Whilst he -lay on the ground he shot three of our men with his revolver. He was -sent to a fortress, I think Ehrenbreitstein, but I will inquire more -particularly. I am sorry to think that you have any French friends. - -By-and-by she heard that he had been confined not at Ehrenbreitstein -but at a more obscure and distant fortress on the Elbe; that his wounds -had been cured, and that he would shortly be set free like other -prisoners of war. In the month of March in effect she received a brief -letter from his own hand, gloomy and profoundly dejected. - -'Our plans were betrayed,' he wrote. 'We were surprised and surrounded -just as we had hobbled our horses and lain down to rest, after being -the whole day in the saddle. Bavarian cavalry, outnumbering us four to -one, attacked us almost ere we could mount our worn-out beasts. My -poor troopers were cut to pieces. They hunted me down when my charger -dropped, and I was made a prisoner. When they could they despatched -me to one of their places on the Elbe. I have been here December and -January. I am well. I suppose I must be very strong; nothing kills -me. They are now about to send me back to the frontier. My beautiful -Paris! What a fate! But I forget, I cannot hope for your sympathy; your -kinsmen are our conquerors. I know not whether the house I lived in -there exists, but if you will write me a word at Romaris, you will be -merciful, and show me that you do not utterly despise a lost cause and -a vanquished soldier.' - -She wrote to him at Romaris, and the paper she wrote on felt her tears. -In conclusion she said: - -'Whenever you will, come and make sure for yourself that both the -Princess Ottilie and I honour courage and heroism none the less because -it is companioned by misfortune.' - -But he did not come. - -She understood why he did not. An infinite pity for him overflowed her -heart. His public career interrupted, his country ruined, his future -empty, what remained to him? Sometimes she thought, with a blush on her -face, though she was all alone: 'I do.' But then, if he never came to -hear that? - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -The little hamlet of Romaris, on the coast of Finisterre, was very dull -and dark and silent. A few grave peasant women knitted as they walked -down the beach or sat at their doors; a few children did the same. Out -on the _landes_ some cows were driven through the heather and broom; -out on the sea some fishing-boats with rough, red sails were rocking to -and fro. All was melancholy, silent, poor; life was hard at Romaris for -all. The weatherbeaten church looked grey and naked on a black rock; -the ruins of the old _manoir_ faced it amidst sands and surfs; the only -thing of beauty was the bay, and that for the folk of Romaris had no -beauty; they had seen it kill so many. - -There was never any change at Romaris, unless it were a change in the -weather, a marriage, a birth, or a death. Therefore the women and -children who were knitting had lifted up their heads as a stranger, -accompanied by their priest, had come down over the black rocks, on -which the church stood, towards the narrow lane that parted the houses -where they clustered together face to face on the edge of the shore. - -Their priest, an old man much loved by them, came slowly towards them, -conversing in low tones with the stranger, who had been young and -handsome, and a welcome sight, since a traveller to Romaris always -needed a sailing-boat or a rowing-boat, a guide over the moors, or a -drive in an ox-waggon through the deep-cut lanes of the country. - -But they had ceased to think of such things as these when the curate, -with his hands extended as when he blessed them, had said in _bas_ -Breton as he stood beside them: - -'My children, this is the last of the Sabrans of Romaris, come back to -us from the far west that lies in the setting of the sun. Salute him, -and show him that in Brittany we do not forget--nay, not in a hundred -years.' - -Many years had gone by since then, and of the last of the old race, -Romaris had scarcely seen more than when he had been hidden from -their sight on the other side of the heaving ocean. Sabran rarely came -thither. There was nothing to attract a man who loved the world and -who was sought by it, in the stormy sea coast, the strip of sea-lashed -oak forest, that one tall tower with its gaunt walls of stone which -was all that was left of what had once been the fortress of his race. -Now and then they saw him, chiefly when he had heard that there was -wild weather on the western coast, and at such times he would go out -in their boats to distressed vessels, or steer through churning waters -to reach a fishing-smack in trouble, with a wild courage and an almost -fierce energy which made him for the moment one of themselves. But -such times had been few, and all that Romaris really knew of the last -marquis was that he was a gay gentleman away there in distant Paris. - -He had been a mere name to them. Now and then he had sent fifty -napoleons, or a hundred, to the old priest for such as were poor or -sick amongst them. That was all. Now after the war he came hither. -Paris had become hateful to him; his political career was ended, at -all events for the time; the whole country groaned in anguish; the -vices and follies that had accompanied his past life disgusted him -in remembrance. He had been wounded and a prisoner; he had suffered -betrayal at unworthy hands; Cochonette had sold him to the Prussians, -in revenge of his desertion of her. - -He was further removed from the Countess von Szalras than ever. In the -crash with which the Second Empire had fallen and sunk out of sight for -evermore, his own hopes had gone down like a ship that sinks suddenly -in a dark night. All his old associations were broken, half his old -friends were dead or ruined; gay châteaux that he had ever been welcome -at were smoking ruins or melancholy hospitals; the past had been -felled to the ground like the poor avenues of the Bois. It affected -him profoundly. As far as he was capable of an impersonal sentiment -he loved France, which had been for so many years his home, and which -had always seemed to smile at him with indulgent kindness. Her vices, -her disgrace, her feebleness, her fall, hurt him with an intense pain -that was not altogether selfish, but had in it a nobler indignation, a -nobler regret. - -When he was released by the Prussians and sent across the frontier, he -went at once to this sad sea village of Romaris, to collect as best -he might the shattered fragments of his life, which seemed to him as -though it had been thrown down by an earthquake. He had resigned his -place as deputy when he had offered his sword to France; he had now no -career, no outlet for ambition, no occupation. Many of his old friends -were dead or ruined; although such moderate means as he possessed were -safe, they were too slender to give him any position adequate to his -rank. His old life in Paris, even if Paris arose from her tribulations, -gay and glorious once more, seemed to him altogether impossible. He had -lost taste for those pleasures and distractions which had before the -war--or before his sojourn on the Holy Isle--seemed to him the Alpha -and Omega of a man's existence. '_Que faire?_' he asked himself wearily -again and again. He did not even know whether his rooms in Paris had -been destroyed or spared; a few thousands of francs which he had -made by a successful speculation years before, and placed in foreign -funds, were all he had to live on. His keen sense told him that the -opportunity which might have replaced the Bourbon throne had been lost -through fatal hesitation. His own future appeared to him like a blank -dead wall that rose up in front of him barring all progress; he was no -longer young enough to select a career and commence it. With passionate -self-reproach he lamented all the lost irrevocable years that he had -wasted. - -Romaris was not a place to cheer a disappointed and dejected soldier -who had borne the burning pain of bodily wounds and the intolerable -shame of captivity in a hostile land. Its loneliness, its darkness, -its storms, its poverty, had nothing in them with which to restore his -spirit to hope or his sinews to ambition. In these cold, bleak, windy -days of a dreary and joyless spring-time, the dusky moors and the -gruesome sea were desolate, without compensating grandeur. The people -around him were all taciturn, dull, stupid; they had not suffered by -the war, but they understood that, poor as they were, they would have -to bear their share in the burden of the nation's ransom. They barred -their doors and counted their hoarded gains in the dark with throbbing -hearts, and stole out in the raw, wet, gusty dawns to kneel at the -bleeding feet of their Christ. He envied them their faith; he could not -comfort them, they could not comfort him; they were too far asunder. - -The only solace he had was the knowledge that he had done his duty by -France, and to the memory of those whose name he bore; that he had -rendered what service he could; that he had not fled from pain and -peril; that he had at least worn his sword well and blamelessly; that -he had not abandoned his discrowned city of pleasure in the day of -humiliation and martyrdom. The only solace he had was that he felt -Wanda von Szalras herself could have commanded him to do no more than -he had done in this the Année Terrible. - -But, though his character had been purified and strengthened by the -baptism of fire, and though his egotism had been destroyed by the -endless scenes of suffering and of heroism which he had witnessed, he -could not in a year change so greatly that he could be content with the -mere barren sense of duty done and honour redeemed. He was deeply and -restlessly miserable. He knew not where to turn, either for occupation -or for consolation. Time hung on his hands like a wearisome wallet of -stones. - -When all the habits of life are suddenly rent asunder, they are like a -rope cut in two. They may be knotted together clumsily, or they may be -thrown altogether aside and a new strand woven, but they will never be -the same thing again. - -Romaris, with its few wind-tortured trees and its leaden-hued dangerous -seas, seemed to him, indeed, a _champ des trépassés_, as it was called, -a field of death. The naked, ugly, half-ruined towers, which no ivy -shrouded and no broken marble ennobled, as one or the other would have -done had it been in England or in Italy, was a dreary residence for -a man who was used to all the elegant and luxurious habits of a man -of the world, who was also a lover of art and a collector of choice -trifles. His rooms had been the envy of his friends, with all their -eighteenth century furniture, and their innumerable and unclassified -treasures; when he had opened his eyes of a morning a pastel of La -Tour had smiled at him, rose-coloured windows had made even a grey -sky smile. Without, there had been the sound of wheels going down -the gay Boulevard Haussmann. All Paris had passed by, tripping and -talking, careless and mirthful, beneath his gilded balconies bright -with canariensis and volubilis; and on a little table, heaped in -their hundreds, had been cards that bade him to all the best and most -agreeable houses, whilst, betwixt them, slipped coyly in many an -amorous note, many an unlooked-for declaration, many an eagerly-desired -appointment. - -'_Quel beau temps!_' he thought, as he awoke in the chill, bare, -unlively chamber of the old tower by the sea; and it seemed to him -that he must be dreaming: that all the months of the war had been -a nightmare; that if he fully awakened he would find himself once -more with the April sunshine shining through the rose glass, and -the carriages rolling beneath over the asphalt road. But it was no -nightmare, it was a terrible, ghastly reality to him, as to so many -thousands. There were the scars on his breast and his loins where -the Prussian steel had hacked and the Prussian shot had pierced him; -there was his sword in a corner all dinted, notched, stained; there -was a crowd of hideous ineffaceable tumultuous memories; it was all -true enough, only too true, and he was alone at Romaris, with all his -dreams and ambitions faded into thin air, vanished like the blown burst -bubbles of a child's sport. - -In time to come he might recover power and nerve to recommence his -struggle for distinction, but at present it seemed to him that all was -over. His imprisonment had shaken and depressed him as nothing else -in the trials of war could have done. He had been shut up for months -alone, with his own desperation. To a man of high courage and impatient -appetite for action there is no injury so great and in its effect so -lasting as captivity. Joined to this he had the fever of a strong, and -now perfectly hopeless, passion. - -Pacing to and fro the brick floor of the tower looking down on the -sands and rocks of the coast, his thoughts were incessantly with Wanda -von Szalras in her stately ancient house, built so high up amidst the -mountains and walled in by the great forests and the ice slopes of the -glaciers. In the heat and stench of carnage he had longed for a breath -of that mountain breeze, for a glance from those serene eyes; he longed -for them still. - -As he passed to and fro in the wild wintry weather, his heart was sick -with hope deferred, with unavailing regret and repentance, with useless -longings. - -It was near noonday; there was no sun; a heavy wrack of cloud was -sweeping up from the west; on the air the odour of rotting fish and -of fish-oil, and of sewage trickling uncovered to the beach, were too -strong to be driven away by the pungency of the sea. - -The sea was high and moaning loud; the dusk was full of rain; the -wind-tormented trees groaned and seemed to sigh; their boughs were -still scarce in bud though May had come. He felt cold, weary, hopeless. -His walk brought no warmth to his veins, and his thoughts none to -his heart. The moisture of the air seemed to chill him to the bone, -and he went within and mounted the broken granite stairs to his -solitary chamber, bare of all save the simplest necessaries, gloomy -and cheerless with the winds and the bats beating together at the high -iron-barred casement. He wearily lighted a little oil lamp, and threw -a log or two of drift-wood on the hearth and set fire to them with a -faggot of dried ling. - -He dreaded his long lonely evening. - -He had set the lamp on a table while he had set fire to the wood; its -light fell palely on a small white square thing. It was a letter. He -took it up eagerly; he, who in Paris had often tossed aside, with a -passing glance, the social invitations of the highest personages and -the flattering words of the loveliest women. - -Here, any letter seemed a friend, and as he took up this his pulse -quickened; he saw that it was sealed with armorial bearings which he -knew--a shield bearing three vultures with two knights as supporters, -and with the motto '_Gott und mein Schwert_;' the same arms, the same -motto as were borne upon the great red and gold banner floating from -the keep on the north winds at the Hohenszalrasburg. He opened it with -a hand which shook a little and a quick throb of pleasure at his heart. -He had scarcely hoped that she would write again to him. The sight of -her writing filled him with a boundless joy, the purest he had ever -known called forth by the hand of woman. - -The letter was brief, grave, kind. As he read he seemed to hear the -calm harmonious voice of the lady of Hohenszalras speaking to him in -her mellowed and softened German tongue. - -She sent him words of consolation, of sympathy, of congratulation, on -the course of action he had taken in a time of tribulation, which had -been the touchstone of character to so many. - -'Tell me something of Romaris,' she said in conclusion. 'I am sure -you will grow to care for the place and the people, now that you seek -both in the hour of the martyrdom of France. Have you any friends near -you? Have you books? How do your days pass? How do you fill up time, -which must seem so dull and blank to you after the fierce excitations -and the rapid changes of war? Tell me all about your present life, and -remember that we at Hohenszalras know how to honour courage and heroic -misfortune.' - -He laid the letter down after twice reading it. Life seemed no longer -all over for him. He had earned her praise and her sympathy. It was -doubtful if years of the most brilliant political successes would have -done as much as his adversity, his misadventure, and his daring had -done for him in her esteem. She had the blood of twenty generations of -warriors in her, and nothing appealed so forcibly to her sympathies and -her instincts as the heroism of the sword. Those few lines too were -a permission to write to her. He replied at once, with a gratitude -somewhat guardedly expressed, and with details almost wholly impersonal. - -She was disappointed that he said so little of himself, but she did -justice to the delicacy of the carefully guarded words from a man -whose passion appealed to her by its silence, where it would only have -alienated her by any eloquence. Of Romaris he said nothing, save that, -had Dante ever been upon their coast, he would have added another canto -to the 'Purgatorio,' more desolate and more unrelieved in gloom than -any other. - -'Does he regret Cochonette?' she thought, with a jealous -contemptuousness of which she was ashamed as soon as she felt it. - -Having once written to her, however, he thought himself privileged -to write again, and did so several times. He wrote with ease, grace, -and elegance: he wrote as he spoke, which gives this charm to -correspondence, seem close at hand to the reader in intimate communion. -The high culture of his mind displayed itself without effort, and he -had that ability of polished expression which is in our day too often -a neglected one. His letters became welcome to her: she answered them -briefly, but she let him see that they were agreeable to her. There -was in them the note of a profound depression, of an unuttered, but -suggested hopelessness which touched her. If he had expressed it in -plain words, it would not have appealed to her one half so forcibly. - -They remained only the letters of a man of culture to a woman capable -of comprehending the intellectual movement of the time, but it -was because of this limitation that she allowed them. Any show of -tenderness would have both alarmed and alienated her. There was no -reason after all, she thought, why a frank friendship should not exist -between them. - -Sometimes she was surprised at herself for having conceded so much, -and angry that she had done so. Happily he had the good taste to take -no advantage of it. Interesting as his letters were they might have -been read from the housetops. With that inconsistency of her sex from -which hitherto she had always flattered herself she had been free, she -occasionally felt a passing disappointment that they were not more -personal as regarded himself. Reticence is a fine quality; it is the -marble of human nature. But sometimes it provokes the impatience that -the marble awoke in Pygmalion. - -Once only he spoke of his own aims. Then he wrote: - -'You bade me do good at Romaris. Candidly, I see no way to do it -except in saving a crew off a wreck, which is not an occasion that -presents itself every week. I cannot benefit these people materially, -since I am poor; I cannot benefit them morally, because I have not -their faith in the things unseen, and I have not their morality in the -things tangible. They are God-fearing, infinitely patient, faithful -in their daily lives, and they reproach no one for their hard lot, -cast on an iron shore and forced to win their scanty bread at risk -of their lives. They do not murmur either at duty or mankind. What -should I say to them? I, whose whole life is one restless impatience, -one petulant mutiny against circumstance? If I talk with them I only -take them what the world always takes into solitude--discontent. It -would be a cruel gift, yet my hand is incapable of holding out any -other. It is a homely saying that no blood comes out of a stone; so, -out of a life saturated with the ironies, the contempt, the disbelief, -the frivolous philosophies, the hopeless negations of what we call -society, there can be drawn no water of hope and charity, for the -well-head--belief--is dried up at its source. Some pretend, indeed, -to find in humanity what they deny to exist as deity, but I should -be incapable of the illogical exchange. It is to deny that the seed -sprang from a root; it is to replace a grand and illimitable theism by -a finite and vainglorious bathos. Of all the creeds that have debased -mankind, the new creed that would centre itself in man seems to me the -poorest and the most baseless of all. If humanity be but a _vibrion_, -a conglomeration of gases, a mere mould holding chemicals, a mere -bundle of phosphorus and carbon? how can it contain the elements of -worship; what matter when or how each bubble of it bursts? This is the -weakness of all materialism when it attempts to ally itself with duty. -It becomes ridiculous. The _carpe diem_ of the classic sensualists, the -morality of the "Satyricon" or the "Decamerone," are its only natural -concomitants and outcome; but as yet it is not honest enough to say -this. It affects the soothsayer's long robe, the sacerdotal frown, and -is a hypocrite.' - -In answer she wrote back to him: - -'I do not urge you to have my faith: what is the use? Goethe was -right. It is a question between a man and his own heart. No one should -venture to intrude there. But taking life even as you do, it is surely -a casket of mysteries. May we not trust that at the bottom of it, as -at the bottom of Pandora's, there may be hope? I wish again to think -with Goethe that immortality is not an inheritance, but a greatness -to be achieved like any other greatness, by courage, self-denial, and -purity of purpose--a reward allotted to the just. This is fanciful, may -be, but it is not illogical. And without being either a Christian or a -Materialist, without beholding either majesty or divinity in humanity, -surely the best emotion that our natures know--pity--must be large -enough to draw us to console where we can, and sustain where we can, in -view of the endless suffering, the continual injustice, the appalling -contrasts, with which the world is full. Whether man be the _vibrion_ -or the heir to immortality, the bundle of carbon or the care of angels, -one fact is indisputable: he suffers agonies, mental and physical, -that are wholly out of proportion to the brevity of his life, while he -is too often weighted from infancy with hereditary maladies, both of -body and of character. This is reason enough, I think, for us all to -help each other, even though we feel, as you feel, that we are as lost -children wandering in a great darkness, with no thread or clue to guide -us to the end.' - -When Sabran read this answer, he mused to himself: - -'Pity! how far would her pity reach? How great offences would it cover? -She has compassion for the evil-doers, but it is easy, since the evil -does not touch her. She sits on the high white throne of her honour and -purity, and surveys the world with beautiful but serene compassion. -If the mud of its miry labyrinths reached and soiled her, would her -theories prevail? They are noble, but they are the theories of one who -sits in safety behind a gate of ivory and jasper, whilst outside, far -below, the bitter tide of the human sea surges and moans too far off, -too low down, for its sound to reach within. _Tout comprendre, c'est -tout pardonner._ But since she would never understand, how could she -ever pardon? There are things that the nature must understand rather -than the mind; and her nature is as high, as calm, as pure as the snows -of her high hills.' - -And then the impulse came over him for a passing moment to tell her -what he had never told any living creature; to make confession to -her and abide her judgment, even though he should never see her face -again. But the impulse shrank and died away before the remembrance -of her clear, proud eyes. He could not humiliate himself before her. -He would have risked her anger; he could not brave her disdain. -Moreover, straight and open ways were hot natural to him, though he was -physically brave to folly. There was a subtlety and a reticence in him -which were the enemies of candour. - -To her he was more frank than to any other because her influence -was great on him, and a strong reverence was awakened in him that -was touched by a timid fear quite alien to a character naturally -contemptuously cynical and essentially proud. But even to her he could -not bring himself to be entirely truthful in revelation of his past. -Truthfulness is in much a habit, and he had never acquired its habit. -When he was most sincere there was always some reserve lying behind -it. This was perhaps one of the causes of the attraction he exercised -on all women. All women are allured by the shadows and the suggestions -of what is but imperfectly revealed. Even on the clear, strong nature -of Wanda von Szalras it had its unconscious and intangible charm. She -herself was like daylight, but the subtle vague charm of the shadows -had their seduction for her; Night holds dreams and passions that fade -and flee before the lucid noon, and who, at noonday wishes not for -night? - -For himself, the letters he received from her seemed the only things -that bound him to life at all. - -The betrayal of him by a base and mercenary woman had hurt him more -than it was worthy to do; it had stung his pride and saddened him in -this period of adversity with a sense of degradation. He had been sold -by a courtezan; it seemed to him to make him ridiculous as Samson was -ridiculous, and he had no gates of Gaza to pull down upon himself and -her. He could only be idle, and stare at an unoccupied and valueless -future. The summer went on, and he remained at Romaris. An old servant -had sent him word that all his possessions were safe in Paris, and his -apartments unharmed; but he felt no inclination to go there: he felt no -sympathy with Communists or Versaillists, with Gambetta or Gallifet. He -stayed on at the old storm-beaten sea-washed tower, counting his days -chiefly by the coming to him of any line from the castle by the lake. - -She seemed to understand that and pity it, for each week brought him -some tidings. - -At midsummer she wrote him word that she was about to be honoured again -by a two days' visit of her Imperial friends. - -'We shall have, perforce, a large house party,' she said. 'Will you -be inclined this time to join it? It is natural that you should -sorrow without hope for your country, but the fault of her disasters -lies not with you. It is, perhaps, time that you should enter the -world again; will you commence with what for two days only will be -worldly--Hohenszalras? Your old friends the monks will welcome you -willingly and lovingly on the Holy Isle?' - -He replied with gratitude, but he refused. He did not make any plea or -excuse; he thought it best to let the simple denial stand by itself. -She would understand it. - -'Do not think, however,' he wrote, 'that I am the less profoundly -touched by your admirable goodness to a worsted and disarmed combatant -in a lost cause.' - -'It is the causes that are lost which are generally the noble ones,' -she said in answer. 'I do not see why you should deem your life at an -end because a sham empire, which you always despised, has fallen to -pieces. If it had not perished by a blow from without, it would have -crumbled to pieces from its own internal putrefaction.' - -'The visit has passed off very well,' she continued. 'Every one was -content, which shows their kindness, for these things are all of -necessity so much alike that it is difficult to make them entertaining. -The weather was fortunately fine, and the old house looked bright. -You did rightly not to be present, if you felt festivity out of tone -with your thoughts. If, however, you are ever inclined for another -self-imprisonment upon the island, you know that your friends, both at -the monastery and at the burg, will be glad to see you, and the monks -bid me salute you with affection.' - -A message from Mdme. Ottilie, a little news of the horses, a few -phrases on the politics of the hour, and the letter was done. But, -simple as it was, it seemed to him to be like a ray of sunshine amidst -the gloom of his empty chamber. - -From her the permission to return to the monastery when he would -seemed to say so much. He wrote her back calm and grateful words of -congratulation and cordiality; he commenced with the German formality, -'Most High Lady,' and ended them with the equally formal 'devoted and -obedient servant;' but it seemed to him as if under that cover of -ceremony she must see his heart beating, his blood throbbing; she must -know very well, and if knowing, she suffered him to return to the Holy -Isle, why then--he was all alone, but he felt the colour rise to his -face. - -'And I must not go! I must not go!' he thought, and looked at his -pistols. - -He ought sooner to blow his brains out, and leave a written confession -for her. - -The hoarse sound of the sea surging amongst the rocks at the base of -the tower was all that stirred the stillness; evening was spreading -over all the monotonous inland country; a west wind was blowing and -rustling amidst the gorse; a woman led a cow between the dolmen, -stopping for it to crop grass here and there; the fishing-boats were -far out to sea, hidden under the vapours and the shadows. It was all -melancholy, sad-coloured, chill, lonesome. As he leaned against the -embrasure of the window and looked down, other familiar scenes, long -lost, rose up to his memory. He saw a wide green rolling river, long -lines of willows and of larches bending under a steel-hued sky, a vast -dim plain stretching away to touch blue mountains, a great solitude, -a silence filled at intervals with the pathetic song of the swans, -chanting sorrowfully because the nights grew cold, the ice began to -gather, the food became scanty, and they were many in number. - -'I must not go!' he said to himself; 'I must never see Hohenszalras.' - -And he lit his study lamp, and held her letter to it and burnt it. -It was his best way to do it honour, to keep it holy. He had the -letters of so many worthless women locked in his drawers and caskets -in his rooms in Paris. He held himself unworthy to retain hers. He -had burned each written by her as it had come to him, in that sort -of exaggeration of respect with which it seemed to him she was most -fittingly treated by him. There are less worthy offerings than the -first scruple of an unscrupulous life. It is like the first pure drops -that fall from a long turbid and dust-choked fountain. - -As he walked the next day upon the windblown, rock-strewn strip of sand -that parted the old oak wood from the sea, he thought restlessly of her -in those days of stately ceremony which suited her so well. What did he -do here, what chance had he to be remembered by her? He chafed at his -absence, yet it seemed to him impossible that he could ever go to her. -What had been at first keen calculation with him had now become a finer -instinct, was now due to a more delicate sentiment, a truer and loftier -emotion. What could he ever look to her if he sought her but a mere -base fortune-seeker, a mere liar, with no pride and no manhood in him? -And what else was he? he thought, with bitterness, as he paced to and -fro the rough strip of beach, with the dusky heaving waves trembling -under a cloudy sky, where a red glow told the place of the setting sun. - -There were few bolder men living than He, and he was cynical and -reckless before many things that most men reverence; but at the thought -of her possible scorn he felt himself tremble like a child. He thought -he would rather never see her face again than risk her disdain; there -was in him a vague romantic wishfulness rather to die, so that she -might think well of his memory, than live in her love through any -baseness that would be unworthy of her. - -Sin had always seemed a mere superstitious name to him, and if he had -abstained from its coarser forms it had been rather from the revolt -of the fine taste of a man of culture than from any principle or -persuasion of duty. Men he believed were but ephemera, sporting their -small hours, weaving their frail webs, and swept away by the great -broom of destiny as spiders by the housewife. In the spineless doctrine -of altruism he had had too robust a temperament, too clear a reason, -to seek a guide for conduct. He had lived for himself, and had seen -no cause to do otherwise. That he had not been more criminal had been -due partly to indolence, partly to pride. In his love for Wanda von -Szalras, a love with which considerable acrimony had mingled at the -first, he yet, through all the envy and the impatience which alloyed -it, reached a moral height which he had never touched before. Between -her and him a great gulf yawned. He abstained from any effort to pass -it. It was the sole act of self-denial of a selfish life, the sole -obedience to conscience in a character which obeyed no moral laws, but -was ruled by a divided tyranny of natural instinct and conventional -honour. - -The long silent hours of thought in the willow-shaded cloisters of -the Holy Isle had not been wholly without fruit. He desired, with -passion and sincerity, that she should think well of him, but he did -not dare to wish for more; love offered from him to her seemed to him -as if it would be a kind of blasphemy. He remembered in his far-off -childhood, which at times still seemed so near to him, nearer than all -that was around him, the vague, awed, wistful reverence with which -he had kneeled in solitary hours before the old dim picture of the -Madonna with the lamp burning above it, a little golden flame in the -midst of the gloom; he remembered so well how his fierce young soul and -his ignorant yearning child's heart had gone out in a half-conscious -supplication, how it had seemed to him that if he only knelt long -enough, prayed well enough, she would come down to him and lay her -hands on him. It was all so long ago, yet, when he thought of Wanda -von Szalras, something of that same emotion rose up in him, something -of the old instinctive worship awoke in him. In thought he prostrated -himself once more whenever the memory of her came to him. He had no -religion; she became one to him. - -Meanwhile, he was constantly thinking restlessly to himself, 'Did I do -ill not to go?' - -His bodily life was at Romaris, but his mental life was at -Hohenszalras. He was always thinking of her as she would look in those -days of the Imperial visit; he could see the stately ceremonies of -welcome, the long magnificence of the banquets, the great Rittersaal -with cressets of light blazing on its pointed emblazoned roofs; he -could see her as she would move down the first quadrille which she -would dance with her Kaiser: she would wear her favourite ivory-white -velvet most probably, and her wonderful old jewels, and all her orders. -She would look as if she had stepped down off a canvas of Velasquez -or Vandyck, and she would be a little tired, a little contemptuous, a -little indifferent, despite her loyalty; she would be glad, he knew, -when the brilliant gathering was broken up, and the old house, and the -yew terrace, and the green lake were all once more quiet beneath the -rays of the watery moon. She was so unlike other women. She would not -care about a greatness, a compliment, a success more or less. Such -triumphs were for the people risen yesterday, not for a Countess von -Szalras. - -He knew the simplicity of her life and the pride of her temper, -and they moved him to the stronger admiration because he knew also -that those mere externals which she held in contempt had for him an -exaggerated value. He was scarcely conscious himself of how great a -share the splendour of her position, united to her great indifference -to it, had in the hold she had taken on his imagination and his -passions. He did know that there were so much greater nobilities in -her that he was vaguely ashamed of the ascendency which her mere rank -took in his thoughts of her. Yet he could not divest her of it, and -it seemed to enhance both her bodily and spiritual beauty, as the -golden calyx of the lily makes its whiteness seem the whiter by its -neighbourhood. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -In the Iselthal the summer was more brilliant and warm than usual. The -rains were less frequent, and the roses on the great sloping lawns -beneath the buttresses and terraces of Hohenszalras were blooming -freely. - -Their mistress did not for once give them much heed. She rode long and -fast through the still summer woods, and came back after nightfall. Her -men of business, during their interviews with her, found her attention -less perfect, her interest less keen. In stormy days she sat in the -library, and read Heine and Schiller often, and all the philosophers -and men of science rarely. A great teacher has said that the Humanities -must outweigh the Sciences at all times, and he is unquestionably -true, if it were only for the reason that in the sweet wise lore of -ages every human heart in pain and perplexity finds a refuge; whilst in -love or in sorrow the sciences seem the poorest and chilliest of mortal -vanities that ever strove to measure the universe with a foot-rule. - -The Princess watched her with wistful, inquisitive eyes, but dared -not name the person of whom they both thought most. Wanda was herself -intolerant of the sense of impatience with which she awaited the coming -of the sturdy pony that brought the post-bag from Windisch-Matrey. -He in his loneliness and emptiness of life on the barren sea-shore -of Romaris did not more anxiously await her letters than did the -châtelaine of Hohenszalras, amidst all her state, her wealth, and her -innumerable occupations, await his. She pitied him intensely; there was -something pathetic to her in the earnestness with which he had striven -to amend his ways of life, only to have his whole career shattered by -an insensate and unlooked-for national war. She understood that his -poverty stood in the path of his ambition, and she divined that his -unhappiness had broken that spring of manhood in him which would have -enabled him to construct a new career for himself out of the ruins of -the old. She understood why he was listless and exhausted. - -There were moments when she was inclined to send him some invitation -more cordial, some bidding more clear; but she hesitated to take a step -which would bind her in her own honour to so much more. She knew that -she ought not to suggest a hope to him to which she was not prepared -to give full fruition. And again, how could he respond? It would be -impossible for him to accept. She was one of the great alliances of -Europe, and he was without fortune, without career, without a future. -Even friendship was only possible whilst they were far asunder. - -Two years had gone by since he had come across from the monastery in -the green and gold of a summer afternoon. The monks had not forgotten -him; throughout the French war they had prayed for him. When their -Prior saw her, he said anxiously sometimes: 'And the Markgraf von -Sabran, will he never come to us again? Were we too dull for him? -Will your Excellency remember us to him, if ever you can?' And she -had answered with a strange emotion at her heart: 'His country is -in trouble, holy father; a good son cannot leave his land in her -adversity. No: I do not think he was dull with you; he was quite happy, -I believe. Perhaps he may come again some day, who knows? He shall be -told what you say.' - -Then a vision would rise up to her of herself and him, as they would -be perhaps when they should be quite old. Perhaps he would retire into -this holy retreat of the Augustines, and she would be a grave sombre -woman, not gay and pretty and witty, as the Princess was. The picture -was gloomy; she chased it away, and galloped her horse long and far -through the forests. - -The summer had been so brilliant that the autumn which followed was -cold and severe, earlier than usual, and heavy storms swept over the -Tauern, almost ere the wheat harvest could be reaped. Many days were -cheerless and filled only with the sound of incessant rains. In the -Pinzgau and the Salzkammergut floods were frequent. The Ache and the -Szalzach, with all their tributary streams and wide and lonely lakes, -were carrying desolation and terror into many parts of the land which -in summer they made beautiful. Almost every day brought her some -tidings of some misfortunes in the villages on the farms belonging to -her in the more distant parts of Austria; a mill washed away, a bridge -down, a dam burst, a road destroyed, a harvest swept into the water, -some damage or other done by the swollen river and torrents, she heard -of by nearly every communication that her stewards and her lawyers made -to her at this season. - -'Our foes the rivers are more insidious than your mighty enemy the -salt water,' she wrote to Romaris. 'The sea deals open blows, and men -know what they must expect if they go out on the vasty deep. But here -a little brook that laughed and chirped at noon-day as innocently as -a child may become at nightfall or dawn a roaring giant, devouring -all that surrounds him. We pay heavily for the glory of our mountain -waters.' - -These autumn weeks seemed very dreary to her. She visited her horses -chafing at inaction in their roomy stalls, and attended to her affairs, -and sat in the library or the octagon room hearing the rain beat -against the emblazoned leaded panes, and felt the days, and above all -the evenings, intolerably dull and melancholy. She had never heeded -rain before, or minded the change of season. - -One Sunday a messenger rode through the drenching storm, and brought -her a telegram from her lawyer in Salzburg. It said: 'Idrac flooded: -many lives lost: great distress: fear town wholly destroyed. Please -send instructions.' - -The call for action roused her as a trumpet sounding rouses a cavalry -charger. - -'Instructions!' she echoed as she read. 'They write as if I could bid -the Danube subside, or the Drave shrink in its bed!' - -She penned a hasty answer. - -'I will go to Idrac myself.' - -Then she sent a message also to S. Johann im Wald for a special train -to be got in readiness for her, and told one of her women and a trusty -servant to be ready to go with her to Vienna in an hour. It was still -early in the forenoon. - -'Are you mad?' cried Madame Ottilie, when she was informed of the -intended journey. - -Wanda kissed her hand. - -'There is no madness in what I shall do, dear mother, and Bela surely -would have gone.' - -'Can you stay the torrents of heaven? Can you arrest a river in its -wrath?' - -'No; but lives are often lost because poor people lose their senses in -fright. I shall be calmer than anyone there. Besides, the place belongs -to us; we are bound to share its danger. If only Egon were not away -from Hungary!' - -'But he is away. You have driven him away.' - -'Do not dissuade me, dearest mother. It would be cowardice not to go.' - -'What can women do in such extremities?' - -'But we of Hohenszalras must not be mere women when we are wanted in -any danger. Remember Luitgarde von Szalras, the _kuttengeier._' - -The Princess sighed, prayed, even wept, but Wanda was gently -inflexible. The Princess could not see why a precious life should be -endangered for the sake of a little half barbaric, half Jewish town, -which was remarkable for nothing except for shipping timber and selling -_salbling._ The population was scarcely Christian, so many Hebrews were -there, and so benighted were the Sclavonian poor, who between them made -up the two thousand odd souls that peopled Idrac. To send a special -messenger there, and to give any quantity of money that the distress -of the moment might demand, would be all right and proper; indeed, -an obligation on the owner of the little feudal river-side town. But -to go! A Countess von Szalras to go in person where not one out of a -hundred of the citizens had been properly baptized or confirmed! The -Princess could not view this Quixotism in any other light than that of -an absolute insanity. - -'Bela lost his life in just such a foolish manner!' she pleaded. - -'So did the saints, dear mother,' said his sister, gently. - -The Princess coloured and coughed. - -'Of course, I am aware that many holy lives have been--have been--what -appears to our finite senses wasted,' she said, with a little asperity. -'But I am also aware, Wanda, that the duties most neglected are those -which lie nearest home and have the least display; consideration for -_me_ might be better, though less magnificent, than so much heroism for -Idrac.' - -'It pains me that you should put it in that light, dearest mother,' -said Wanda, with inexhaustible patience. 'Were you in any danger I -would stay by you first, of course; but you are in none. These poor, -forlorn, ignorant, cowardly creatures are in the very greatest. I -draw large revenues from the place; I am in honour bound to share -its troubles. Pray do not seek to dissuade me. It is a matter not of -caprice but of conscience. I shall be in no possible peril myself. I -shall go down the river in my own vessel, and I will telegraph to you -from every town at which I touch.' - -The Princess ceased not to lament, to oppose, to bemoan her own -powerlessness to check intolerable follies. Sitting in her easy chair -in her warm blue-room, sipping her chocolate, the woes of a distant -little place on the Danube, whose population was chiefly Semitic, were -very bearable and altogether failed to appeal to her. - -Wanda kissed her, asked her blessing humbly, and took her way in the -worst of a blinding storm along the unsafe and precipitous road which -went over the hills to Windisch-Matrey. - -'What false sentiment it all is!' thought the Princess, left alone. -'She has not seen this town since she was ten years old. She knows that -they are nearly all Jews, or quite heathenish Sclavonians. She can do -nothing at all--what should a woman do?--and yet she is so full of her -conscience that she goes almost to the Iron Gates in quest of a duty in -the wettest of weather, while she leaves a man like Egon and a man like -Sabran wretched for want of a word! I must say,' thought the Princess, -'false sentiment is almost worse than none at all!' - -The rains were pouring down from leaden skies, hiding all the sides of -the mountains and filling the valleys with masses of vapour. The road -was barely passable; the hill torrents dashed across it; the little -brooks were swollen to water-courses; the protecting wall on more than -one giddy height had been swept away; the gallop of the horses shook -the frail swaying galleries and hurled the loosened stones over the -precipice with loud resounding noise. The drive to Matrey and thence -with post-horses to S. Johann im Wald, the nearest railway station, was -in itself no little peril, but it was accomplished before the day had -closed in, and the special train she had ordered being in readiness -left at once for Vienna, running through the low portions of the -Pinzgau, which were for the most part under water. - -All the way was dim and watery, and full of the sound of running -or of falling water. The Ache and the Szalsach, both always deep -and turbulent rivers, were swollen and boisterous, and swirled and -thundered in their rocky beds; in the grand Pass of Lueg the gloom, -always great, was dense as at midnight, and when they reached Salzburg -the setting sun was bursting through ink-black clouds, and shed a -momentary glow as of fire upon the dark sides of the Untersberg, and -flamed behind the towers of the great castle on its rocky throne. All -travellers know the grandeur of that scene; familiar as it was to her -she looked upward at it with awe and pleasure commingled. Salzburg in -the evening light needs Salvator Rosa and Rembrandt together to portray -it. - -The train only paused to take in water; the station was crowded as -usual, set as it is between the frontiers of empire and kingdom, but in -the brief interval she saw one whom she recognised amongst the throng, -and she felt the colour come into her own face as she did so. - -She saw Sabran; he did not see her. Her train moved out of the station -rapidly, to make room for the express from Munich; the sun dropped down -into the ink-black clouds; the golden and crimson pomp of Untersberg -changed to black and grey; the ivory and amber and crystal of the -castle became stone and brick and iron, that frowned sombrely over a -city sunk in river-mists and in rain-vapours. She felt angrily that -there was an affinity between the landscape and herself; that so, at -sight of him, a light had come into her life which had no reality in -fact, prismatic colours baseless as a dream. - -She had longed to speak to him; to stretch out her hand to him; to -say at least how her thoughts and her sympathies had been with him -throughout the war. But her carriage was already in full onward -movement, and in another moment had passed at high speed out of the -station into that grand valley of the Szalzach where Hohensalzburg -seems to tower as though Friederich Barbarossa did indeed sleep there. -With a sigh she sank backward amongst her furs and cushions, and saw -the soaring fortress pass, into the clouds. - -The night had now closed in; the rain fell heavily. As the little -train, oscillating greatly from its lightness, swung over the iron -rails, there was a continual sound of splashing water audible above -the noise of the wheels and the throb of the engine. She had often -travelled at night and had always slept soundly; this evening she could -not sleep. She remained wide awake watching the swaying of the lamp, -listening to the shrill shriek of the wheels as they rushed through -water where some hillside brook had broken bounds and spread out in a -shallow lagoon. The skies were overcast in every direction; the rain -was everywhere unceasing; the night seemed to her very long. - -She pondered perpetually on his presence at Salzburg, and wondered if -he were going to the Holy Isle. Three months had gone by since she had -sent him the semi-invitation to her country. - -The train sped on; the day dawned; she began to get glimpses of the -grand blue river, now grey and ochre-coloured and thick with mud, its -turbid waves heaving sullenly under the stormy October skies. She had -always loved the great Donau; she knew its cradle well in the north -land of the Teutons. She had often watched the baby-stream rippling -over the stones, and felt the charm, as of some magical transformation, -as she thought of the same stream stretching broadly under the monastic -walls of Klosterneuberg, rolling in tempest by the Iron Gates, and -gathering its mighty volume higher and deeper to burst at last into -the sunlight of the eastern sea. Amidst the levelled monotony of -modern Europe the Danube keeps something of savage grandeur, something -of legendary power, something of oriental charm; it is still often -tameless, a half-barbaric thing, still a Tamerlane amidst rivers: and -yet yonder at its birthplace it is such a slender thread of rippling -water! She and Bela had crossed it with bare feet to get forget-me-nots -in Taunus, talking together of Chriemhilde and her pilgrimage to the -land of the Huns. - -The little train swung on steadily through the water above and below, -and after a night of no little danger came safely to Vienna as the dawn -broke. She went straight to her yacht, which was in readiness off the -Lobau and weighed anchor as the pale and watery morning broadened into -day above the shores that had seen Aspern and Wagram. The yacht was -a yawl, strongly built and drawing little water, made on purpose for -the ascent and descent of the Danube, from Passau up in the north to -as far south as the Bosphorus if needed. The voyage had been of the -greatest joys of hers and of Bela's childhood; they had read on deck -alternately the 'Nibelungen-Lied' and the 'Arabian Nights,' clinging -together in delighted awe as they passed through the darkness of the -defile of Kasan. - -Idrac was situated between Pesth and Peterwardein, lying low on marshy -ground that was covered with willows and intersected by small streams -flowing from the interior to the Danube. - -The little town gave its name and its seigneurie to the owner of its -burg; an ancient place built on a steep rock that rose sheer out of -the fast-running waves, and dominated the passage of the stream. The -Counts of Idrac had been exceeding powerful in the old times, when -they had stopped at their will the right of way of the river; and -their appanages with their title had come by marriage into the House -of Szalras some four centuries before, and although the dominion over -the river was gone, the fortress and the little town and all that -appertained thereto still formed a considerable possession; it had -usually been given with its Countship to the second son of the Szalras. - -Making the passage to Pesth in fourteen hours, the yacht dropped -anchor before the Franz Josef Quai as the first stars came out above -the Blocksburg, for by this time the skies had lightened and the rains -had ceased. Here she stayed the night perforce, as an accident had -occurred to the machinery of the vessel. She did not leave the yacht, -but sent into the inner city for stores of provisions and of the local -cordial, the _slibowitza_, to distribute to the half-drowned people -amongst whom she was about to go. It was noonday before the yawl got -under weigh and left the twin-towns behind her. A little way further -down the stream they passed a great castle, standing amidst beech woods -on a rock that rose up from fields covered with the Carlowitz vine. She -looked at it with a sigh: it was the fortress of Kohacs, one of the -many possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -The weather had now cleared, but the skies were overcast, and the -plains, which began to spread away monotonously from either shore, -were covered with white fog. Soon the fog spread also over the river, -and the yacht was compelled to advance cautiously and slowly, so that -the voyage was several hours longer than usual. When the light of the -next day broke they had come in sight of the flooded districts on their -right: the immense flat fields that bore the flax and grain which make -the commerce of Baja, of Neusatz, and of other riverain towns, were -all changed to shallow estuaries. The Theiss, the Drave, and many -minor streams, swollen by the long autumnal rains, had burst their -boundaries and laid all the country under water for hundreds of square -leagues. The granaries, freshly filled with the late abundant harvest, -had at many places been flooded or destroyed: thousands of stacks of -grain were floating like shapeless, dismasted vessels. Timber and the -thatched roofs of the one-storied houses were in many places drifting -too, like the flotsam and the hulls of wrecked ships. - -There are few scenes more dreary, more sad, more monotonous than those -of a flat country swamped by flood: the sky above them was leaden -and heavy, the Danube beneath them was turgid and discoloured; the -shrill winds whistled through the brakes of willow, the water-birds, -frightened, flew from their osier-beds on the islands, the bells of -churches and watch-towers tolled dismally. - -It was late in the afternoon when she came within sight of her little -town on the Sclavonian shore, which Ernst von Szalras had fired on -August 29, 1526, to save it from the shame of violation by the Turks. -Though he had perished, and most of the soldiers and townsfolk with -him, the fortress, the _têtes du pont_, and the old water-gates and -walls had been too strong for the flames to devour, and the town had -been built up again by the Turks and subsequently by the Hungarians. - -The slender minarets of the Ottomans' two mosques still raised -themselves amidst the old Gothic architecture of the mediæval -buildings, and the straw-covered roofs and the white-plastered walls -of the modern houses. As they steamed near it the minarets and the -castle towers rose above what looked a world of waters, all else seemed -swallowed in the flood; the orchards, which had surrounded all save the -river-side of the town; were immersed almost to the summits of their -trees. The larger vessels could never approach Idrac in ordinary times, -the creek being too shallow on which it stood; but now the water was -so high that though it would be too imprudent to anchor there, the -yacht easily passed in, and hove-to underneath the water-walls, a pilot -taking careful soundings as they steered. It was about three in the -afternoon. The short, grey day was near its end; a shout of welcome -rose from some people on the walls as they recognised the build and the -ensign of the yawl. Some crowded boats were pulling away from the town, -laden with fugitives and their goods. - -'How soon people run away! They are like rats,' she thought. 'I would -sooner be like the stork, and not quit my nest if it were in flames.' - -She landed at the water-stairs of the castle. Men, women, and children -came scrambling along the walls, where they were huddled together out -of temporary reach of the flood, and threw themselves down at her -feet and kissed her skirts with abject servility. They were half mad -with terror, and amongst the population there were many hundreds of -Jews, the most cowardly people in all the world. The boats were quite -inadequate in number to the work they had to do; the great steamers -passing up and down did not pause to help them; the flood was so -general below Pesth that on the right shore of the river each separate -village and township was busy with its own case and had no help for -neighbours: the only aid came from those on the opposite shore, but -that was scanty and unwisely ministered. The chief citizens of Idrac -had lost their wits, as she had foreseen they would do. To ring the -bells madly night and day, and fire off the old culverins from the -water-gate, was all they seemed to know how to do. They told her that -many lives had been lost, as the inland waters had risen in the night, -and most of the houses were of only one storey. In the outlying -flax-farms it was supposed that whole households had perished. In the -town itself there were six feet of water everywhere, and many of the -inhabitants were huddled together in the two mosques, which were now -granaries, in the towers, and in the fortress itself; but several -families had been enabled to escape, and had climbed upon the roofs, -clinging to the chimneys for bare life. - -Her mere presence brought reviving hope and energy to the primitive -population. Their Lady had a romantic legendary reputation amongst -them, and they were ready to cling round the pennon of the yacht as -their ancestors had rallied round the standard of Ernst von Szalras. - -She ascended to the Rittersaal of the fortress, and assembled a few of -the men about her, who had the most influence and energy in the little -place. She soon introduced some kind of system and method into the -efforts made, promised largesse to those who should be the most active, -and had the provisions she had brought distributed amongst those who -most needed them. The boats of the yawl took many away to a temporary -refuge on the opposite shore. Many others were brought in to the -state-room of the castle for shelter. Houses were constantly falling, -undermined by the water, and there were dead and wounded to be attended -to, as well as the hungry and terrified living creatures. Once before, -Idrac had been thus devastated by flood, but it had been far away in -the previous century, and the example was too distant to have been a -warning to the present generation. - -She passed a fatiguing and anxious night. It was impossible to -think of sleep with so much misery around. The yacht was obliged to -descend, the river for safe anchorage, but the boats remained. She -went herself, now in one, now in another, to endeavour to inspire the -paralysed people with some courage and animation. A little wine, a -little bread, were all she took; food was very scarce. The victuals of -the yacht's provisioning did not last long amongst so many famishing -souls. She ordered her skipper at dawn to go down as far as Neusatz -and purchase largely. There were five thousand people, counting those -of the neighbourhood, or more, homeless and bereft of all shelter. The -telegraph was broken, the poles had been snapped by the force of the -water in many places. - -With dawn a furious storm gathered and broke, and renewed rains added -their quota to the inundation and their discomfort to the exposed -sufferers. The cold was great, and the chill that made them shudder -from head to foot was past all cure by cordials. She regretted not -to have brought Greswold with her. She was indifferent to danger, -indefatigable in exertion, and strong as Libussa, brave as Chriemhilde. -Because the place belonged to her in almost a feudal manner, she held -herself bound to give her life for it if need be. Bela would have done -what she was doing. - -Twice or thrice during the two following days she heard the people -speak of a stranger who had arrived fifteen hours before her, and had -wrought miracles of deliverance. Unless the stories told her were -greatly exaggerated, this foreigner had shown a courage and devotion -quite unequalled. He had thrown himself into the work at once on his -arrival there in a boat from Neusatz, and had toiled night and day, -enduring extreme fatigue and running almost every hour some dire peril -of his life. He had saved whole families of the poorest and most -wretched quarter; he had sprung on to roofs that were splitting and -sinking, on to walls that were trembling and tottering, and had borne -away in safety men, women, and children, the old, and the sick, and the -very animals; he had infused some of his own daring and devotedness -into the selfish and paralysed Hebrew population; priests and rabbis -were alike unanimous in his praise, and she, as she heard, felt that -he who had fought for France had been here for her sake. They told -her that he was now out amongst the more distant orchards and fields, -amidst the flooded farms where the danger was even greater than in the -town itself. Some Czechs said that he was S. John of Nepomuc himself. -She bade them bring him to her, that she might thank him, whenever he -should enter the town again, and then thought of him no more. - -Her whole mind and feeling were engrossed by the spectacle of a misery -that even all her wealth could not do very much to alleviate. The -waters as yet showed no sign of abatement. The crash of falling houses -sounded heavily ever and again through the gloom. The melancholy sight -of humble household things, of drowned cattle, of dead dogs, borne down -the discoloured flood out to the Danube renewed itself every hour. -The lamentations of the ruined people went up in an almost continuous -wail like the moaning of a winter wind. There was nothing grand, -nothing picturesque, nothing exciting to redeem the dreariness and the -desolation. It was all ugly, miserable, dull. It was more trying than -war, which even in its hideous senselessness lends a kind of brutal -intoxication to all whom it surrounds. - -She was incessantly occupied and greatly fatigued, so that the time -passed without her counting it. She sent a message each day to the -Princess at home, and promised to return as soon as the waters had -subsided and the peril passed. For the first time in her life she -experienced real discomfort, real privation; she had surrendered nearly -all the rooms in the burg to the sick people, and food ran short and -there was none of good quality, though she knew that supplies would -soon come from the steward at Kohacs and by the yacht. - -On the fourth day the waters had sunk an inch. As she heard the good -tidings she was looking out inland over the waste of grey and yellow -flood; a Jewish rabbi was beside her speaking of the exertions of the -stranger, in whom the superstitious of the townsfolk saw a saint from -heaven. - -'And does no one even know who he is?' she asked. - -'No one has asked,' answered the Jew. 'He has been always out where the -peril was greatest.' - -'How came he here?' - -'He came by one of the big steamers that go to Turkey. He pulled -himself here in a little boat that he had bought; the boat in which he -has done such good service.' - -'What is he like in appearance?' - -'He is very tall, very fair, and handsome; I should think he is -northern.' - -Her pulse beat quicker for a moment; then she rejected the idea as -absurd, though indeed, she reflected, she had seen him at Salzburg. - -'He must at least be a brave man,' she said quietly. 'If you see him -bring him to me that I may thank him. Is he in the town now?' - -'No; he is yonder, where the Rathwand farms are, or were; where your -Excellency sees those dark, long islands which are not islands at all, -but only the summits of cherry orchards. He has carried the people -away, carried them down to Peterwardein; and he is now about to try and -rescue some cattle which were driven up on to the roof of a tower, poor -beasts--that tower to the east there, very far away: it is five miles -as the crow flies.' - -'I suppose he will come into the town again?' - -'He was here last night; he had heard of your Excellency, and asked for -her health.' - -'Ah! I will see and thank him if he come again.' - -But no one that day saw the stranger in Idrac. - -The rains fell again and the waters again rose. The maladies which -come of damp and of bad exhalations spread amongst the people; they -could not all be taken to other villages or towns, for there was no -room for them. She had quinine, wines, good food ordered by the great -steamers, but they were not yet arrived. What could be got at Neusatz -or Peterwardein the yacht brought, but it was not enough for so many -sick and starving people. The air began to grow fœtid from the many -carcases of animals, though as they floated the vultures from the hills -fed on them. She had a vessel turned into a floating hospital, and -the most delicate of the sick folk carried to it, and had it anchored -off the nearest port. Her patience, her calmness, and her courage did -more to revive the sinking hearts of the homeless creatures than the -cordials and the food. She was all day long out in her boat, being -steered from one spot to another. At night she rested little and passed -from one sick bed to another. She had never been so near to hopeless -human misery before. At Hohenszalras no one was destitute. - -One twilight hour on the ninth day, as she was rowed back to the castle -stairs, she passed another boat in which were two lads and a man. The -man was rowing, a dusky shadow in the gloom of the wet evening and the -uncouthness of his waterproof pilot's dress; but she had a lantern -beside her, and she flashed its light full on the boat as it passed -her. When she reached the burg, she said to her servant Anton: 'Herr -von Sabran is in Idrac; go and say that I desire to see him.' - -Anton, who remembered him well, returned in an hour, and said he could -neither find him nor hear of him. - -All the night long, a cheerless tedious night, with the rain falling -without and the storm that was raging in the Bosphorus sending its -shrill echoes up the Danube, she sat by the beds of the sick women -or paced up and down the dimly-lit Rittersaal in an impatience which -it humiliated her to feel. It touched her that he should be here, -so silently, so sedulously avoiding her, and doing so much for the -people of Idrac, because they were her people. The old misgiving that -she had been ungenerous in her treatment of him returned to her. He -seemed always to have the finer part--the _beau rôle._ To her, royal -in giving, imperious in conduct, it brought a sense of failure, of -inferiority. As she read the psalms in Hungarian to the sick Magyar -women, her mind perpetually wandered away to him. - -She did not see Sabran again, but she heard often of him. The fair -stranger, as the people called him, was always conspicuous wherever -the greatest danger was to be encountered. There was always peril in -almost every movement where the undermined houses, the tottering walls, -the stagnant water, the fever-reeking marshes presented at every turn a -perpetual menace to life. 'He is not vainly _un fils des preux_,' she -thought, with a thrill of personal pride, as if someone near and dear -to her were praised, as she listened to the stories of his intrepidity -and his endurance. Whole nights spent in soaked clothes, in half -swamped boats; whole days lost in impotent conflict with the ignorance -or the poltroonery of an obstinate populace, continual risk encountered -without counting its cost to rescue some poor man's sick beast, or pull -a cripple from beneath falling beams, or a lad from choking mud; hour -on hour of steady laborious rowing, of passage to and fro the sullen -river with a freight of moaning, screaming peasantry--this was not -child's play, nor had it any of the animation and excitation which in -war or in adventure make of danger a strong wine that goes merrily and -voluptuously to the head. It was all dull, stupid, unlovely, and he -had come to it for her sake. For her sake certainly, though he never -approached her; though when Anton at last found and took her message -to him he excused himself from obedience to it by a plea that he was -at that moment wet and weary, and had come from a hut where typhoid -raged. She understood the excuse; she knew that he knew well she was no -more afraid than he of that contagion. She admired him the more for his -isolation; in these grey, rainy, tedious, melancholy days his figure -seemed to grow into a luminous heroic shape like one of the heroes of -the olden time. If he had once seemed to seek a guerdon for it the -spell would have been broken. But he never did. She began to believe -that such a knight deserved any recompense which she could give. - -'Egon himself could have done no more,' she said in her own thoughts, -and it was the highest praise that she could give to any man, for -her Magyar cousin was the embodiment of all martial daring, of all -chivalrous ardour, and had led his glittering hussars down on to the -French bayonets, as on to the Prussian Krupp guns, with a fury that -bore all before it, impetuous and irresistible as a stream of fired -naphtha. - -On the twelfth morning the river had sunk so much lower that the yacht -arriving with medicines and stores of food from Neusatz signalled that -she could not enter the creek on which Idrac stood, and waited orders. -It had ceased to rain, but the winds were still strong and the skies -heavy. She descended to her boat at the water-gate, and told the men to -take her out to the yacht. It was early, the sun behind the clouds had -barely climbed above the distant Wallachian woods, and the scene had -lost nothing of its melancholy. A man was standing on the water-stairs -as she descended them, and turned rapidly away, but she had seen him -and stretched out her long staff and touched him lightly. - -'Why do you avoid me?' she said, as he uncovered his head; 'my men -sought you in all directions; I wished to thank you.' - -He bowed low over the hand she held out to him. 'I ventured to be near -at hand to be of use,' he answered. 'I was afraid the exposure, and, -the damp, and all this pestilence would make you ill: you are not ill?' - -'No; I am quite well. I have heard of all your courage and endurance. -Idrac owes you a great debt.' - -'I only pay my debt to Hohenszalras.' - -They were both silent; a certain constraint was upon them both. - -'How did you know of the inundation? It was unkind of you not to come -to me,' she said, and her voice was unsteady as she spoke. 'I want so -much to tell you, better than letters can do, all that we felt for you -throughout that awful war.' - -He turned away slightly with a shudder. 'You are too good. Thousands of -men much better than I suffered much more.' - -The tears rose to her eyes as she glanced at him. He was looking pale -and worn. He had lost the graceful _insouciance_ of his earlier manner. -He looked grave, weary, melancholy, like a man who had passed through -dire disaster, unspeakable pain, and had seen his career snapped in -two like a broken wand. But there was about him instead something -soldierlike, proven, war-worn, which became him in her eyes, daughter -of a race of warriors as she was. - -'You have much to tell me, and I have much to hear,' she said, after -a pause. 'You should have come to the monastery to be cured of your -wounds. Why were you so mistrustful of our friendship?' - -He coloured and was silent. - -'Indeed,' she said gravely, 'we can honour brave men in the Tauern and -in Idrac too. You are very brave. I do not know how to thank you for my -people or for myself.' - -'Pray do not speak so,' he said, in a very low voice. 'To see you again -would be recompense for much worthier things than any I have done.' - -'But you might have seen me long ago,' she said, with a certain -nervousness new to her, 'had you only chosen to come to the Isle. I -asked you twice.' - -He looked at her with eyes of longing and pathetic appeal. - -'Do not tempt me,' he murmured. 'If I yielded, and if you despised -me----' - -'How could I despise one who has so nobly saved the lives of my people?' - -'You would do so.' - -He spoke very low: he was silent a little while, then he said very -softly: - -'One evening, when we spoke together on the terrace at Hohenszalras, -you leant your hand upon the ivy there. I plucked the leaf you touched; -you did not see. I had the leaf with me all through the war. It was -a talisman. It was like a holy thing. When your cousin's soldiers -stripped me in their ambulance, they took it from me.' - -His voice faltered. She listened and was moved to a profound emotion. - -'I will give you something better,' she said very gravely. He did not -ask her what she would give. - -She looked away from him awhile, and her face flushed a little. She was -thinking of what she would give him; a gift so great that the world -would deem her mad to bestow it, and perhaps would deem him dishonoured -to take it. - -'How did you hear of these floods along the Danube?' she asked him, -recovering her wonted composure. - -'I read about them in telegrams in Paris,' he made answer. 'I had -mustered courage to revisit my poor Paris; all I possess is there. -Nothing has been injured; a shell burst quite close by but did not -harm my apartments. I went to make arrangements for the sale of my -collections, and on the second day that I arrived there I saw the news -of the inundations of Idrac and the lower Danubian plains. I remembered -the name of the town; I remembered it was yours. I remembered your -saying once that where you had feudal rights you had feudal duties, so -I came on the chance of being of service.' - -'You have been most devoted to the people.' - -'The people! What should I care though the whole town perished? Do not -attribute to me a humanity that is not in my nature.' - -'Be as cynical as you like in words so long as you are heroic in -action. I am going out to the yacht; will you come with me?' - -He hesitated. 'I merely came to hear from the warder of your health. I -am going to catch the express steamer at Neusatz; all danger is over.' - -'The yacht can take you to Neusatz. Come with me.' - -He did not offer more opposition; he accompanied her to the boat and -entered it. - -The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing more, but she could not -forget that scores of her own people here had owed their lives to his -intrepidity and patience, and that he had never hesitated to throw his -life into the balance when needed. And it had been done for her sake -alone. The love of humanity might have been a nobler and purer motive, -but it would not have touched her so nearly as the self-abandonment of -a man by nature selfish and cold. - -In a few moments they were taken to the yawl. He ascended the deck with -her. - -The tidings the skipper brought, the examination of the stores, the -discussion of ways and means, the arrangements for the general relief, -were air dull, practical matters that claimed careful attention and -thought. She sat in the little cabin that was brave with marqueterie -work and blue satin and Dresden mirrors, and made memoranda and -calculations, and consulted him, and asked his advice on this, on -that. The government official, sent to make official estimates of the -losses in the township, had come on board to salute and take counsel -with her. The whole forenoon passed in these details. He wrote, and -calculated, and drew up reports for her. No more tender or personal -word was spoken between them; but there was a certain charm for them -both in this intimate intercourse, even though it took no other shape -than the study of how many boatloads of wheat were needed for so many -hundred people, of how many florins a day might be passed to the head -of each family, of how many of the flooded houses would still be -serviceable with restoration, of how many had been entirely destroyed, -of how the town would best be rebuilt, and of how the inland rivers -could best be restrained in the future. - -To rebuild it she estimated that she would have to surrender for five -years the revenues from her Galician and Hungarian mines, and she -resolved to do it altogether at her own cost. She had no wish to see -the town figure in public prints as the object of public subscription. - -'I am sure all my woman friends,' she said, 'would kindly make it -occasion for a fancy fair or a lottery (with new costumes) in Vienna, -but I do not care for that sort of thing, and I can very well do what -is needed alone.' - -He was silent. He had always known that her riches were great, but -he had never realised them as fully as he now did when she spoke of -rebuilding an entire town as she might have spoken of building a -carriage. - -'You would make a good prime minister,' she said, smiling; 'you have -the knowledge of a specialist on so many subjects.' - -At noon they served her a little plain breakfast of Danubian -_salbling_, with Carlowitzer wine and fruit sent by the steward of -Mohacs. She bade him join her in it. - -'Had Egon himself been here he could not have done more for Idrac than -you have done,' she said. - -'Is this Prince Egon's wine?' he said abruptly, and on hearing that it -was so, he set the glass down untasted. - -She looked surprised, but she did not ask him his reason, for she -divined it. There was an exaggeration in the unspoken hostility more -like the days of Arthur and Lancelot than their own, but it did not -displease her. - -They were both little disposed to converse during their meal; after the -dreary and terrible scenes they had been witness of, the atmosphere -of life seems grave and dark even to those whom the calamity had not -touched. The most careless spirit is oppressed by a sense of the -precariousness and the cruelty of existence. - -When they ascended to the deck the skies were lighter than they had -been for many weeks; the fog had cleared, so that, in the distance, the -towers of Neusatz and the fortress of Peterwardein were visible; vapour -still hung over the vast Hungarian plain, but the Danube was clear and -the affluents of it had sunk to their usual level. - -'You really go to-night?' she said, as they looked down the river. - -'There is no need for me to stay; the town is safe, and you are well, -you say. If there be anything I can still do, command me.' - -She smiled a little and let her eye meet his for a moment. - -'Well, if I command you to remain then, will you do so as my viceroy? -I want to return home; Aunt Ottilie grows daily more anxious, more -alarmed, but I cannot leave these poor souls all alone with their -priests, and their rabbi, who are all as timid as sheep and as stupid. -Will you stay in the castle and govern them, and help them till they -recover from their fright? It is much to ask, I know, but you have -already done so much for Idrac that I am bold to ask you to do more?' - -He coloured with a mingled emotion. - -'You could ask me nothing that I would not do,' he said in a low tone. -'I could wish you asked me something harder.' - -'Oh, it will be very hard,' she said, with an indifference she did not -feel. 'It will be very dull, and you will have no one to speak to that -knows anything save how to grow flax and cherries. You will have to -talk the Magyar tongue all day, and you will have nothing to eat save -_kartoffeln_ and _salbling_; and I do not know that I am even right,' -she added, more gravely, 'to ask you to incur the risks that come from -all that soaked, ground, which will be damp so long.' - -'The risks that you have borne yourself! Pray do not wound me by any -such scruple as that. I shall be glad, I shall be proud, to be for ever -so short or so long a time as you command, your representative, your -servant.' - -'You are very good.' - -'No.' - -His eyes looked at hers with a quick flash, in which all the passion -he dared not express was spoken. She averted her glance and continued -calmly: 'You are very good indeed to Idrac. It will be a great -assistance and comfort to me to know that you are here. The poor people -already love you, and you will write to me and tell me all that may -need to be done. I will leave you the yacht and Anton. I shall return -by land with my woman; and when I reach home I will send you Herr -Greswold. He is a good companion, and has a great admiration for you, -though he wishes that you had not forsaken the science of botany.' - -'It is like all other dissection or vivisection; it spoils the artistic -appreciation of the whole. I am yet unsophisticated enough to feel the -charm of a bank of violets, of a cliff covered with alpen-roses. I may -write to you?' - -'You must write to me! It is you who will know all the needs of Idrac. -But are you sure that to remain here will not interfere with your own -projects, your own wishes, your own duties?' - -'I have none. If I had any I would throw them away, with pleasure, to -be of use to one of your dogs, to one of your birds.' - -She moved from his side a little. - -'Look how the sun has come out. I can see the sparkle of the brass on -the cannon down yonder at Neusatz. We had better go now. I must see my -sick people and then leave as soon as I can. The yacht must take me to -Mohacs; from there I will send her back to you.' - -'Do as you will. I can have no greater happiness than to obey you.' - -'I am sure that I thank you in the way that you like best, when I say -that I believe you.' - -She said the words in a very low tone, but so calmly that the calmness -of them checked any other words he might have uttered. It was a royal -acceptance of a loyal service; nothing more. The boat took them back -to the fortress. Whilst she was occupied in her farewell to the sick -people, and her instructions to those who attended on them, he, left -to himself in the apartment she had made her own, instinctively went -to an old harpsichord that stood there and touched the keys. It had a -beautiful case, rich with the varnish of the Martins. He played with -it awhile for its external beauty, and then let his fingers stray over -its limited keyboard. It had still sweetness in it, like the spinet -of Hohenszalras. It suited certain pathetic quaint old German airs he -knew, and which he half unconsciously reproduced upon it, singing them -as he did so in a low tone. The melody, very soft and subdued, suited -to the place where death had been so busy and nature so unsparing, and -where a resigned exhaustion had now succeeded to the madness of terror, -reached the ears of the sick women in the Rittersaal and of Wanda von -Szalras seated beside their beds. - -'It is like the saints in Heaven sighing in pity for us here,' said one -of the women who was very feeble and old, and she smiled as she heard. -The notes, tremulous from age but penetrating in their sweetness, came -in slow calm movements of harmony through the stillness of the chamber; -his voice, very low also, but clear, ascended with them. Wanda sat -quite still, and listened with a strange pleasure. 'He alone,' she -thought, 'can make the dumb strings speak. - -It was almost dusk when she descended to the room which she had made -her own. In the passages of the castle oil wicks were lighted in the -iron lamps and wall sconces, but here it was without any light, and -in the gloom she saw the dim outline of his form as he sat by the -harpsichord. He had ceased playing; his head was bent down and rested -on the instrument; he was lost in thought, and his whole attitude was -dejected. He did not hear her approach, and she looked at him some -moments, herself unseen. A great tenderness came over her: he was -unhappy, and he had been very brave, very generous, very loyal: she -felt almost ashamed. She went nearer, and he raised himself abruptly. - -'I am going,' she said to him. 'Will you come with me to the yacht?' - -He rose, and though it was dusk, and in this chamber so dark that his -face was indistinct to her, she was sure that tears had been in his -eyes. - -'Your old harpsichord has the vernis Martin,' he said, with effort. -'You should not leave it buried here. It has a melody in it too, faint -and simple and full of the past, like the smell of dead rose-leaves. -Yes, I will have the honour to come with you. I wish there were a full -moon. It will be a dark night on the Danube.' - -'My men know the soundings of the river well. As for the harpsichord, -you alone have found its voice. It shall go to your rooms in Paris.' - -'You are too good, but I would not take it. Let it go to Hohenszalras.' - -'Why would you not take it? - -'I would take nothing from you.' - -He spoke abruptly, and with some sternness. - -'I think there is such a thing as being too proud? she said, with -hesitation. - -'Your ancestors would not say so,' he answered, with an effort; she -understood the meaning that underlay the words. He turned away and -closed the lid of the harpsichord, where little painted cupids wantoned -in a border of metal scroll-work. - -All the men and women well enough to stand crowded on the water-stairs -to see her departure; little children were held up in their mother's -arms and bidden remember her for evermore; all feeble creatures lifted -up their voices to praise her; Jew and Christian blessed her; the -water-gate was cumbered with sobbing people, trying to see her face, -to kiss her skirt for the last time. She could not be wholly unmoved -before that unaffected, irrepressible emotion. Their poor lives were -not worth much, but such as they were she, under Heaven, had saved them. - -'I will return and see you again,' she said to them, as she made a slow -way through the eager crowd. 'Thank Heaven, my people, not me. And I -leave my friend with you, who did much more for you than I. Respect him -and obey him.' - -They raised with their thin trembling voices a loud _Eljén_! of homage -and promise, and she passed away from their sight into the evening -shadows on the wide river. - -Sabran accompanied her to the vessel, which was to take her to the town -of Mohacs, thence to make her journey home by railway. - -'I shall not leave until you bid me, even though you should forget to -call me all in my life!' he said, as the boat slipped through the dark -water. - -'Such oblivion would be a poor reward.' - -'I have had reward enough. You have called me your friend.' - -She was silent. The boat ran through the dusk and the rippling rays of -light streaming from the sides of the yacht, and they went on board. He -stood a moment with uncovered head before her on the deck, and she gave -him her hand. - -'You will come to the Holy Isle?' she said, as she did so. - -'If you bid me,' he said, as he bowed and kissed her hand. His lips -trembled as he did so, and by the lamplight she saw that he was very -pale. - -'I shall bid you,' she said, very softly, by-and-by. Farewell!' - -He bowed very low once more, then he dropped over the yacht's side into -the boat waiting below; the splash of the oars told her he was gone -back to Idrac. The yawl weighed anchor and began to go up the river, -a troublesome and tedious passage at all seasons. She sat on deck -watching the strong current of the Danube as it rolled on under the bow -of the schooner. For more than a league she could see the beacon that -burned by the water-gate of the fortress. When the curve of the stream -hid it from her eyes she felt a pang of painful separation, of wistful -attachment to the old dreary walls where she had seen so much suffering -and so much courage, and where she had learned to read her own heart -without any possibility of ignoring its secrets. A smile came on her -mouth and a moisture in her eyes as she sat alone in the dark autumn -night, while the schooner made her slow ascent through the swell that -accompanies the influx of the Drave. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -In two days' time Hohenszalras received its mistress home. - -She was not in any way harmed by the perils she had encountered, and -the chills and fever to which she had been exposed. On the contrary, -her eyes had a light and her face had a bloom which for many months had -not been there. - -The Princess heard a brief sketch of what had passed in almost -total silence. She had disapproved strongly, and she said that her -disapproval could not change, though a merciful heavenly host had -spared her the realisation of her worst fears. - -The name of Sabran was not spoken. Wanda was of a most truthful temper, -but she could not bring herself to speak of his presence at Idrac; the -facts would reveal themselves inevitably soon enough. - -She sent Greswold to the Danube laden with stores and medicines. -She received a letter every morning from her delegate; but he wrote -briefly, and with scrupulous care, the statements of facts connected -with the town and reports of what had been done. Her engineer had -arrived from the mines by Kremnitz, and the builders estimated that -the waters would have subsided and settled enough, if no fresh rising -took place, for them to begin the reconstruction of the town with the -beginning of the new month. Ague and fever were still very common, and -fresh cases were brought in every hour to the hospital in the fortress. -He wrote on the arrival of Herr Greswold, that, with her permission, he -himself would still stay on, for the people had grown used to him, and -having some knowledge of hydraulics he would be interested to see the -plans proposed by her engineers for preserving the town from similar -calamities. - -Three weeks passed; all that time she spoke but little either of him or -of any other subject. She took endless rides, and she sat many hours -doing nothing in the white room, absorbed in thought. The Princess, -who had learned what had passed, with admirable exercise of tact and -self-restraint made neither suggestion nor innuendo, and accepted the -presence of a French Marquis at a little obscure town in Sclavonia as -if it were the most natural circumstance in the world. - -'All the Szalras have been imperious, arrogant, and of complicated -character,' she thought; 'she has the same temper, though it is -mitigated in her by great natural nobility of disposition and strong -purity of motives. She will do as she chooses, let all the world do -what it may to change her. If I say a word either way it may take -effect in some wholly unforeseen manner that I should regret. It is -better to abstain. In doubt do nothing, is the soundest of axioms.' - -And Princess Ottilie, who on occasion had the wisdom of the serpent -with the sweetness of the dove, preserved a discreet silence, and -devoured her really absorbing curiosity in her own heart. - -At the end of the fourth week she heard that all was well at Idrac, -so far as it could be so in a place almost wholly destroyed. There -was no sign of renewed rising of the inland streams. The illness was -diminished, almost conquered; the people had begun to take heart and -hope, and, being aided, wished to aid themselves. The works for new -embankments, water-gates, and streets were already planned, though -they could not be begun until the spring. Meanwhile, strong wooden -houses were being erected on dry places, which which could shelter -_ad interim_ many hundreds of families; the farmers were gradually -venturing to return to their flooded lands. The town had suffered -grievously and in much irreparably, but it began to resume its trade -and its normal life. - -She hesitated a whole day when she heard this. Though Sabran did not -hint at any desire of his own to leave the place, she knew it, was -impossible to bid him remain longer, and that a moment of irrevocable -decision was come. She hesitated all the day, slept little all the -night, then sent him a brief telegram: 'Come to the Island.' - -Obey the summons as rapidly as he might, he could not travel by Vienna -and Salzburg more quickly than in some thirty hours or more. The time -passed to her in a curious confusion and anxiety. Outwardly she was -calm enough; she visited the schools, wrote some letters, and took her -usual long ride in the now leafless woods, but at heart she was unquiet -and ill at ease, troubled more than by anything else at the force of -the desire she felt to meet him once more. It was but a month since -they had parted on the deck, and it seemed ten years. She had known -what he had meant when he had said that he would come if she bade him; -she had known that she would only do the sheerest cruelty and treachery -if she called him thither only to dismiss him. It had not been a visit -of the moment, but all his life that she had consented to take when she -had written 'Come to the Island.' - -She would never have written it unless she had been prepared to fulfil -all to which it tacitly pledged her. She was incapable of wantonly -playing with any passion that moved another, least of all with his. The -very difference of their position would have made indecision or coyness -in her seem cruelty, humiliation. The decision hurt her curiously with -a sense of abdication, mortification, and almost shame. To a very proud -woman in whom the senses have never asserted their empire, there is -inevitably an emotion of almost shame, of self-surrender, of loss of -self-respect, in the first impulses of love. It made her abashed and -humiliated to feel the excitation that the mere touch of his hand, the -mere gaze of his eyes, had power to cause her. 'If this be love,' she -thought, 'no wonder the world is lost for it.' - -Do what she would, the time seemed very long; the two evenings that -passed were very tedious and oppressive. The Princess seemed to -observe nothing of what she was perfectly conscious of, and her -flute-like voice murmured on in an unending stream of commonplaces to -which her niece replied much at random. - -In the afternoon of the third day she stood on the terrace looking down -the lake and towards the Holy Isle, with an impatience of which she was -in turn impatient. She was dressed in white woollen stuff with silver -threads in it; she had about her throat an old necklace of the Golden -Fleece, of golden shells enamelled, which had been a gift from Charles -the Fifth to one of her house; over her shoulders, for the approach -of evening was cold, she had thrown a cloak of black Russian sables. -She made a figure beautiful, stately, patrician, in keeping with the -background of the great donjon tower, and the pinnacled roofs, and the -bronze warriors in their Gothic niches. - -When she had stood there a few minutes looking down the lake towards -the willows of the monastery island, a boat came out from the willow -thickets, and came over the mile-and-half of green shadowy water. There -was only one person in it. She recognised him whilst he was still far -off, and a smile came on her mouth that it was a pity he could not see. - -He was a bold man, but his heart stood still with awe of her, and his -soul trembled within him at this supreme moment of his fate. For he -believed that she would not have bidden him there unless her hand were -ready to hold out destiny to him--the destiny of his maddest, of his -sweetest, dreams. - -She came forward a few paces to meet him; her face was grave and pale, -but her eyes had a soft suppressed light. - -'I have much for which to thank you,' she said, as she held out her -hand to him. Her voice was tremulous though calm. - -He kissed her hand, then stood silent. It seemed to him that there was -nothing to say. She knew what he would have said if he had been king, -or hero, or meet mate for her. His pulses were beating feverishly, his -self-possession was gone, his eyes did not dare to meet hers. He felt -as if the green woods, the shining waters, the rain-burdened skies were -wheeling round him. That dumbness, that weakness, in a man so facile -of eloquence, so hardy and even cynical in courage, touched her to a -wondering pitifulness. - -'After all,' she thought once more, 'if we love one another what is it -to anyone else? We are both free.' - -If the gift she would give would be so great that the world would blame -him for accepting it, what would that matter so long as she knew him -blameless? - -They were both mute: he did not even look at her, and she might have -heard the beating of his heart. She looked at him and the colour came -back into her face, the smile back upon her mouth. - -'My friend,' she said very gently,'did never you think that I also----' - -She paused: it was very hard to her to say what she must say, and he -could not help her, dared not help her, to utter it. - -They stood thus another moment mute, with the sunset glow upon the -shining water, and upon the feudal majesty of the great castle. - -Then she looked at him with a straight, clear, noble glance, and with -the rich blood mounting in her face, stretched out her hand to him with -a royal gesture. - -'They robbed you of your ivy leaf, my cruel Prussian cousins. Will -you--take--this--instead?' - -Then Heaven itself opened to his eyes. He did not take her hand. He -fell at her feet and kissed them. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Is it wisest after all to be very unwise, dear mother mine?' she said a -little later, with a smile that was tender and happy. - -The Princess looked up quickly, and so looking understood. - -'Oh, my beloved, is it indeed so? Yes, you are wise to listen to your -heart; God speaks in it!' - -With tears in her eyes she stretched out her pretty hands in solemn -benediction. - -'Be His Spirit for ever with you,' she said with great emotion. 'I -shall be so content to know that I leave you not alone when our Father -calls me, for I think your very greatness and dominion, my dear, but -make you the more lonely, as sovereigns are, and it is not well to be -alone, Wanda; it is well to have human love close about us.' - -'It is to lean on a reed, perhaps,'murmured Wanda, in that persistent -misgiving which possessed her. 'And when the reed breaks, then though -it has been so weak before, it becomes of iron, barbed and poisoned.' - -'What gloomy thoughts! And you have made me so happy, and surely you -are happy yourself?' - -'Yes. My reed is in full flower, but--but--yes, I am happy; I hope that -Bela knows.' - -The Princess kissed her once again. - -'Ah! he loves you so well.' - -'That I am sure of; yet I might never have known it but for you.' - -'I did for the best.' - -'I will send him to you. I want to be alone a little. Dear mother, he -cares for you as tenderly as though he were your son.' - -'I have been his friend always,' said the Princess, with a smile, -whilst the tears still stood in her eyes. 'You cannot say so much, -Wanda; you were very harsh.' - -'I know it. I will atone to him.' - -The eyes of the Princess followed her tenderly.' - -'And she will make her atonement generously, grandly,' she thought. -'She is a woman of few protestations, but of fine impulses and of -unerring magnanimity. She will be incapable of reminding him that -their kingdom is hers. I have done this thing; may Heaven be with it! -If she had loved no one, life would have grown so pale, so chill, so -monotonous to her; she would have tired of herself, having nothing -but herself for contemplation. Solitude has been only grand to her -hitherto because she has been young, but as the years rolled on she -would have died without ever having lived; now she will live. She may -have to bear pains, griefs, infidelities, calamities that she would -have escaped; but even so, how much better the summer day, even with -the summer storm, than the dull, grey, quiet, windless weather! Of -course, if she could have found sanctuary in the Church----But her -faith is not absolute and unwavering enough for that; she has read too -many philosophies; she requires, too, open-air and vigorous life; the -cloister would have been to her a prison. She is one of those whose -religion lies in activity; she will worship God through her children.' - -Sabran entered as she mused, and knelt down before her. - -'You have been my good angel, always,' he murmured. 'How can I thank -you? I think she would never have let her eyes rest on me but for you.' - -The Princess smiled. - -'My friend, you are one of those on whom the eyes of women willingly -rest, perhaps too willingly. But you--you will have no eyes for any -other now? You must deserve my faith in you. Is it not so?' - -'Ah, madame,' he answered with deep emotion, 'all words seem so trite -and empty; any fool can make phrases, but when I say that my life -shall be consecrated to her, I mean it, in the uttermost royalty, the -uttermost gratitude.' - -'I believe you,' said the Princess, as she laid her hand lightly -on his bent head. 'Perhaps no man can understand entirely all that -she surrenders in admitting that she loves you; for a proud woman -to confess so much of weakness is very hard: but I think you will -comprehend her better than any other would. I think you will not force -her to pass the door of disillusion; and remember that though she will -leave you free as air--for she is not made of that poor stuff which -would enslave what it loves--she would not soon forgive too great abuse -of freedom. I mean if you were ever--ever unfaithful---- - -'For what do you take me?' he cried, with indignant passion. 'Is there -another woman in the world who could sit beside her, and not be -dwarfed, paled, killed, as a candle by the sun?' - -'You are only her betrothed,' said the Princess, with a little sigh. -'Men see their wives with different eyes; so I have been told, at -least. Familiarity is no courtier, and time is always cruel.' - -'Nay, time shall be our dearest friend,' said Sabran, with a tenderness -in his voice that spoke more constancy than a thousand oaths. 'She will -be beautiful when she is old, as you are; age will neither alarm nor -steal from her; her bodily beauty is like her spiritual, it is cast -in lines too pure and clear not to defy the years. Oh, mother mine! -(let me call you that) fear nothing; I will love her so well that, all -unworthy now, I will grow worthy her, and cause her no moment's pain -that human love can spare her.' - -'Her people shall be your people, and her God your God,' murmured the -Princess, with her hand still lying lightly on his head, obediently -bent. - -When late that night he went across the lake the monks were at their -midnight orisons; their voices murmured as one man's the Latin words of -praise and prayer, and made a sound like that of a great sea rolling -slowly on a lonely shore. - -He believed naught that they believed. Deity was but a phrase to him; -faith and a future life were empty syllables to him. Yet, in the -fulness of his joy and the humiliation of his spirit, he felt his heart -swell, his pride sink subdued. He knelt down in the hush and twilight -of that humble place of prayer, and for the first moment in many years -he also praised God. - -No one heeded him; he knelt behind them in the gloom unnoticed; he rose -refreshed as men in barren lands in drought are soothed by hearing the -glad fall of welcome rain. He had no place there, and in another hour -would have smiled at his own weakness; but now he remembered nothing -except that he, utterly beyond his deserts, was blessed. As the monks -rose to their feet and their loud chanting began to vibrate in the air, -he went out unheard, as he had entered, and stood on the narrow strip -of land that parted the chapel from the lake. The green waters were -rolling freshly in under a strong wind, the shadows of coming night -were stealing on; in the south-west a pale yellow moonlight stretched -broadly in a light serene as dawn, and against it there rose squarely -and darkly with its many turrets the great keep of Hohenszalras. - -He looked, but it was not of that great pile and all which it -represented and symbolised that he thought now. - -It was of the woman he loved as a woman, not as a great possessor of -wealth and lands. - -'Almost I wish that she were poor as the saints she resembles!' he -thought, with a tender passion that for the hour was true. It seemed -to him that had he seen her standing in her shift in the snow, like -our Lady of Hungary, discrowned and homeless, he would have been glad. -He was honest with the honesty of passion. It was not the mistress of -Hohenszalras that he loved, but his own wife. - -Such a marriage could not do otherwise than arouse by its announcement -the most angry amazement, the most indignant protests from all the -mighty houses with which for so many centuries the house of Szalras -had allied itself. In a few tranquil sentences she made known her -intentions to those of her relations whom she felt bound thus to -honour; but she gave them clearly to understand that it was a formula -of respect not an act of consultation. When they received her letters -they knew that her marriage was already quite as irrevocable as though -it had already taken place in the Hof-Kapelle of Vienna. - -All her relatives and all her order were opposed to her betrothal; -a cold sufferance was the uttermost which any of them extended to -Sabran. A foreigner and poor, and, with a troubled and uncertain -past behind him, he was bitterly unwelcome to the haughty Prussian, -Austrian, and Hungarian nobilities to which she belonged; neither his -ancient name nor his recent political brilliancy and military service -could place him on an equality with them in their eyes. Her trustees, -the Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe and the Cardinal Vàsàrhely, with her -cousin Kaulnitz, hurried in person as swiftly as special trains could -bring them to the Iselthal, but they were too late to avert the blow. - -'It is not a marriage for her,' said Kaulnitz, angrily. - -'Why not? It is a very old family,' said the Princess, with no less -irritation. - -'But quite decayed, long ruined,' he returned. 'This man was himself -born in exile.' - -'As they exile everybody twice in every ten years in France! - -'And there have been stories----' - -'Of whom are there not stories? Calumny is the parasite of character; -the stronger the character the closer to it clings the strangler.' - -'I never heard him accused of any strength, except of the wrist in -_l'escrime!_' - -'Do you know anything dishonourable of him? If you do you are bound to -say it.' - -'Dishonourable is a grave word. No, I cannot say that I do; the society -he frequents is a guarantee against that; but his life has been -indifferent, complicated, uncertain, not a life to be allied with that -of such a woman as Wanda. My dear Princess, it has been a life _dans le -milieu parisien_; what more would you have me say?' - -'Prince Archambaud's has been that. Yet three years since you earnestly -pressed his suit on Wanda.' - -'Archambaud! He is one of the first alliances in Europe; he is of blood -royal, and he has not been more vicious than other men.' - -'It would be better he should have been less so, since he lives so near -'the fierce light that beats upon the throne;' an electric light which -blackens while it illumines! My good Kaulnitz, you wander very far -afield. If you know anything serious against M. de Sabran it is your -duty to say it.' - -'He is a gambler.' - -'He has renounced gambling.' - -'He is a duellist.' - -'Society was of much better constitution when the duel was its habitual -phlebotomy.' - -'He has been the lover of many women.' - -'I am afraid that is nothing singular.' - -'He is hardly more than an adventurer.' - -'He counts his ancestry in unbroken succession from the clays of -Dagobert. - -'He has nothing but a _pignon sur rue_ in Paris, and a league or two of -rocks and sand in Brittany; yet, though so poor, he made money enough -by cards and speculation to be for three years the _amant en titre_ of -Cochonette.' - -Madame Ottilie rose with a little frown. - -'I think we will say no more, my dear Baron; the matter is, after all, -not yours or mine to decide. Wanda will assuredly do as she likes.' - -'But you have so much influence with her.' - -'I have none; no one has any: and I think you do not understand her in -the least. It may cost her very much to avow to him that she loves him, -but once having done that, it will cost her nothing at all to avow it -to the world. She is much too proud a woman to care for the world.' - -'He is _gentilhomme de race_, I grant,' admitted with reluctance the -Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe. - -'When has a noble of Brittany been otherwise?' asked the Princess -Ottilie. - -'I know,' said the Prince; 'but you will admit that he occupies a -difficult position--an invidious one.' - -'And he carries himself well through it. It is a difficult position -which is the test of breeding,' said the Princess, triumphantly, 'and -I deny entirely that it is what you call an invidious one. It is you -who have the idea of the crowd when you lay so much stress on the mere -absence of money.' - -'It is the idea of the crowd that dominates in this age.' - -'The more reason for us to resist it, if it be so.' - -'I think you are in love with him yourself, my sister!' - -'I should be were I forty years younger.' - -The Countess Brancka alone wrote with any sort of sympathy and pleasure -to congratulate them both. - -'I was sure that Parsifal would win soon or late,' she said. 'Only -remember that he is a Parsifal _doublé_ by a de Morny.' - -Wanda read that line with contracted brows. It angered her more than -the outspoken remonstrances of the Vàsàrhely, of the Lilienhöhe, of -the Kaulnitz, of the many great families to whom she was allied. -De Morny!--a bastard, an intriguer, a speculator, a debaucher! The -comparison had an evil insinuation, and displeased her! - -She was not a woman, however, likely either for insinuation or -remonstrance to change her decisions or abandon her wishes. She had -so much of the '_éternel féminin_' in her that she was only the more -resolved in her own course because others, by evil prophecy and -exaggerated fears, sought to turn her from it. What they said was -natural, she granted, but it was unjust and would be unjustified. All -the expostulation, diplomatically hinted or stoutly outspoken, of those -who considered that they had the right to make such remonstrances -produced not the smallest effect upon the mind of the woman whom, as -Baron Kaulnitz angrily expressed it, Sabran had magnetised. Once again -Love was a magician, against whom wisdom, prudence, and friendship had -no power of persuasion. - -The melancholy that she observed in him seemed to her only the more -graceful; there was no vulgar triumph in his own victory, such as -might have suggested that the material advantages of that triumph were -present to him. That he loved her greatly she could not doubt, and that -he had striven to conceal it from her she could not doubt either. The -sadness which at times overcame him was but natural in a proud man, -whose fortunes were unequal to his birth, and who was also sensible of -many brilliant gifts, intellectual, that he had wasted, which, had -they been fully utilised, would have justified his aspiration to her -hand. - -'Try and persuade him,' she said to Mdme. Ottilie, 'to think less of -this mere accident of difference between us. If it were difference of -birth it might be insurmountable or intolerably painful; but a mere -difference of riches matters no more than the colour of one's eyes, or -the inches of one's stature.' - -The Princess shook her head. - -'If he did not feel it as he does, he would not be the man that he -is. A marriage contract to which the lover brings nothing must always -be humiliating to himself. Besides, it seems to him that the world at -large must condemn him as a mere fortune-hunter.' - -'Since I am convinced of the honesty and purity of his motives, what -matters the opinion of others?' - -'How can he tell that the world may not some day induce you to doubt -those motives?' - -Wanda did not reply. - -'But he will cease to think of any disparity when all that is mine has -been his a year or two,' she thought. 'All the people shall look to him -as their lord, since he will be mine; even if I think differently to -him on any matter I will not say it, lest I should remind him that the -power lies with me; he shall be no prince consort, he shall be king.' - -As the generous resolve passed dreamily through her mind she was -listening to the Coronation Mass of Liszt, as he played it on the organ -within. It sounded to her like the hymn of the future; a chorus of -grave and glorious voices shouting welcome to the serene and joyous -years to come. - -When she was next alone with him she said to him very tenderly: - -'I want you to promise me one thing.' - -'I promise you all things. What is this one?' - -'It is this: you are troubled at the thought that I have one of those -great fortunes which form the _acte d'accusation_ of socialists against -society, and that you have lost all except the rocks and salt beach of -Romans. Now I want you to promise me never to think of this fact. It -is beneath you. Fortune is so precarious a thing, so easily destroyed -by war or revolution, that it is not worth contemplation as a serious -barrier between human beings. A treachery, a sin, even a lie, any one -of those may be a wall of adamant, but a mere fortune!--Promise me that -you will never think of mine, except inasmuch, my beloved, as it may -enhance my happiness by ministering to yours.' - -He had grown very pale as she spoke, and his lips had twice parted to -speak without words coming from them. When she had ceased he still -remained silent. - -'I do not like the world to come between us, even in a memory; it is -too much flattery to it,' she continued. 'Surely it is treason against -me to be troubled by what a few silly persons will or will not say in a -few salons? You have too little vanity, I think, where others have too -much!' - -He stooped and kissed her hand. - -'Could any man live and fail to be humble before you?' he said with -passionate tenderness. 'Yes, the world will say, and say rightly, that -I have done a base thing, and I cannot forget that the world will be -right; yet since you honour me with your divine pity, can I turn away -from it? Could a dying man refuse a draught of the water of life?' - -A great agitation mastered him for the moment. He hid his face upon her -hands as he held them clasped in his. - -'We will drink that wafer together, and as long as we are together it -will never be bitter, I think,' she said very softly. - -Her voice seemed to sink into his very soul, so much it said of faith, -so much it aroused of remorse. - -Then the great joy which had entered his life, like a great dazzling -flood of light suddenly let loose into a darkened chamber, so blinded -consumed, and intoxicated him, that he forgot all else; all else save -this one fact--she would be his, body and soul, night and day, in life -and in death for ever; his children borne by her, his life spent with -her, her whole existence surrendered to him. - -For some days after that she mused upon the possibility of rendering -him entirely independent of herself, without insulting him by a direct -offer of a share in her possessions. At last a solution occurred -to her. The whole of the fiefs of Idrac constituted a considerable -appanage apart; its title went with it. When it had come into the -Szalras family by marriage, as far back as the fifteenth century, it -had been a principality; it was still a seigneurie, and many curious -feudal privileges and distinctions went with it. - -It was Idrac now that she determined to abandon to her lover. - -'He will be seigneur of Idrac,' she thought, 'and I shall be so glad -for him to bear an Austrian name.' - -'She herself would always retain her own name, and would take no other. - -'We will go and revisit it together,' she thought, and though she -was all alone' at that moment, a soft warmth came into her face, and -a throb of emotion to her heart, as she remembered all that would lie -in that one word 'together,' all the tender and intimate union of the -years to come. - -Her trustees were furious, and sought the aid of the men of law to -enable them to step in and arrest her in what they deemed a course -of self-destruction, but the law could not give them so much power; -she was her own mistress, and as sole inheritrix had received her -possessions singularly untrammelled by restrictions. In vain Prince -Lilienhöhe spent his severe and chilly anger, Kaulnitz his fine -sarcasm and delicate insinuations, and the Cardinal his stately and -authoritative wrath. She was not to be altered in her decision. - -Austrian law allowed her to give away an estate to her husband if she -chose, and there was nothing in the private settlements of her property -to prevent her availing herself of the law. - -Strenuous opposition was encountered by her to this project, by every -one of her relatives, hardly excluding the Princess Ottilie; 'for,' -said that sagacious recluse, 'your horses may show you, my dear, the -dangers of a rein too loose.' - -'I want no rein at all,' said Wanda. 'You forget that, to my thinking, -marriage should never be bondage; two people with independent wills, -tastes, and habits should mutually concede a perfect independence of -action to each other. When one must yield, it must be the woman.' - -'Those are very fine theories,' the Princess remarked with caution. - -'I hope we shall put them in practice,' said Wanda, with unruffled good -humour. 'Dear mother, I am sure you can understand that I want him -to feel he is wholly independent of me. To what I love best on earth -shall I dole out a niggard largesse from my wealth? If I were capable -of doing so he would grow in time to hate me, and his hatred would be -justified.' - -'I never should have supposed you would become so romantic,' said the -Princess. - -'It will make him independent of you,' objected Prince Lilienhöhe. - -'That is what, beyond all, I desire him to be,' she answered. - -'It is an infatuation,' sighed Cardinal Vàsàrhely, out of her hearing, -'when Egon would have brought to her a fortune as large as her own.' - -'You think water should always run to the sea,' said Princess Ottilie; -'surely that is great waste sometimes?' - -'I think you are as infatuated as she is,' murmured the Cardinal. 'You -forget that had she not been inspired with this unhappy sentiment she -would have most probably left Hohenszalras to the Church.' - -'She would have done nothing of the kind. Your Eminence mistakes,' -answered Madame Ottilie, sharply. 'Hohenszalras and everything else, -had she died unmarried, would have certainly gone to the Habsburgs.' - -That would have been better than to an adventurer.' - -'How can you call a Breton noble ah adventurer? It is one of the purest -aristocracies of the world, if poor.' - -'_Ce que femme veut_,' sighed his Eminence, who knew how often even the -Church had been worsted by women. - -The Countess von Szalras had her way, and although when the -marriage-deeds were drawn up they all set aside completely any -possibility of authority or of interference on the part of her husband, -and maintained in the clearest and firmest manner her entire liberty of -action and enjoyment of inalienable properties and powers, she had the -deed of gift of Idrac locked up in her cabinet, and thought to herself, -as the long dreary preamble and provisions of the law were read aloud -to her, 'So will he be always his own master. What pleasure that your -hawk stays by you if you chain him to your wrist? If he love you he -will sail back uncalled from the longest flight. I think mine always -will. If not--if not--well, he must go!' - -One morning she came to him with a great roll of yellow parchment -emblazoned and with huge seals bearing heraldic arms and crowns. She -spread it out before him as they stood alone in the Rittersaal. He -looked scarcely at it, always at her. She wore a gown of old gold plush -that gleamed and glowed as she moved, and she had a knot of yellow -tea-roses at her breast, fastened in with a little dagger of sapphires. -She had never looked more truly a great lady, more like a châtelaine of -the Renaissance, as she spread out the great roll of parchment before -him on one of the tables of the knights' hall. - -'Look!' she said to him. 'I had the lawyers bring this over for you -to see. It is the deed by which Stephen, first Christian King of -Hungary, confirmed to the Counts of Idrac in the year 1001 all their -feudal rights to that town and district, as a fief. They had been -lords there long before. Look at it; here, farther down you see is the -reconfirmation of the charter under the Habsburg seal, when Hungary -passed to them; but you do not attend, where are your eyes?' - -'On you! Carolus Duran must paint you again in that dead gold with -those roses.' - -'They are only hothouse roses; who cares for them? I love no forced -flowers either in nature or humanity. Come, study this old parchment. -It must have some interest for you. It is what makes you lord of Idrac.' - -'What have I to do with Idrac? It is one of the many jewels of your -coronet, to which I can add none!' - -But to please her he bent over the crabbed black letter and the antique -blazonings of the great roll to which the great dead men had set their -sign and seal. She watched him as he read it, then after a little time -she put her hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. - -'My love, I can do just as I will with Idrac. The lawyers are agreed on -that, and the Kaiser will confirm whatever I do. Now I want to give you -Idrac, make you wholly lord of it; indeed, the thing is already done. I -have signed all the documents needful, and, as I say, the Emperor will -confirm any part of them that needs his assent. My Réné, you are a very -proud man, but you will not be too proud to take Idrac and its title -from your wife. But for that town who can say that our lives might not -have been passed for ever apart? Why do you look so grave? The Kaiser -and I both want you to be Austrian. When I transfer to you the fief of -Idrac you are its Count for evermore.' - -He drew a quick deep breath as if he had been struck a blow, and stood -gazing at her. He did not speak, his eyes darkened as with pain. For -the moment she was afraid that she had wounded him. With exquisite -softness of tone and touch she took his hand and said to him tenderly: - -'Why will you be so proud? After all, what are these things? Since -we love one another, what is mine is yours; a formula more or less -is no offence. It is my fancy that you should have the title and the -fief. The people know you there, and your heroic courage will be for -ever amongst their best traditions. Dear! once I read that it needs a -greater soul to take generously than to give. Be great so, now, for my -sake!' - -'Great!' he echoed the word hoarsely, and a smile of bitter irony -passed for a moment over his features. But he controlled the passionate -self-contempt that rose in him. He knew that whatever else he was, -he was her lover, and her hero in her sight. If the magnitude and -magnanimity of her gifts overwhelmed and oppressed him, he was recalled -to self-control by the sense of her absolute faith in him. He pressed -her hands against his heavily-beating heart. - -'All the greatness is with you, my beloved,' he said with effort. -'Since you delight to honour me, I can but strive my utmost to deserve -your honour. It is like your beautiful and lavish nature to be prodigal -of gifts. But when you give yourself, what need is there for aught -else?' - -'But Idrac is my caprice. You must gratify it.' - -'I will take the title gladly at your hands then. The revenues--No.' - -'You must take it all, the town and the title, and all they bring,' she -insisted. 'In truth, but for you there would possibly be no town at -all. Nay, my dear, you must do me this little pleasure; it will become -you so well that Countship of Idrac: it is as old a place as Vindobona -itself.' - -'Do you not understand?' she added, with a flush on her face. 'I want -you to feel that it is wholly yours; that if I die, or if you leave me, -it remains yours still. Oh, I do not doubt you; not for one moment. But -liberty is always good. And Idrac will make you an Austrian noble in -your own right. If you persist in refusing it I will assign it to the -Crown; you will pain me and mortify me.' - -'That is enough! Never wittingly in my life will I hurt you. But if you -wish me to be lord of Idrac, invest me with the title, my Empress. I -will take it and be proud of it; and as for the revenues--well, we will -not quarrel for them. They shall go to make new dykes and new bastions -for the town, or pile themselves one on another in waiting for your -children.' - -She smiled and her face grew warm as she turned aside and took up one -of the great swords with jewelled hilts and damascened scabbards, which -were ranged along the wall of the Rittersaal with other stands of arms. - -She drew the sword, and as he fell on his knee before her smote him -lightly on the shoulder with its blade. - -'Rise, Graf von Idrac!' she said, stooping and touching his forehead -with the bouquet that she wore at her breast. He loosened one of the -roses and held it to his lips. - -'I swear my fealty now and for ever,' he said with emotion, and his -face was paler and his tone was graver than the playfulness of the -moment seemed to call for in him. - -'Would to Heaven I had had no other name than this one you give me,' -he murmured as he rose. 'Oh, my love, my lady, my guardian angel! -Forget that ever I lived before, forget all my life when I was unworthy -you; let me live only from the day that will make me your vassal and -your----' - -'That will make you my lord!' she said softly; then she stooped, and -for the first time kissed him. - -What caused her the only pain that disturbed the tranquillity of these -cloudless days was the refusal of her cousin Egon to be present at -her marriage. He sent her, with some great jewels that had come from -Persia, a few words of sad and wistful affection. - -'My presence,' he added in conclusion, 'is no more needed for your -happiness than are these poor diamonds and pearls needed in your -crowded jewel-cases. You will spare me a trial, which it could be of no -benefit to you for me to suffer. I pray that the Marquis de Sabran may -all his life be worthy of the immense trust and honour which you have -seen fit to give to him. For myself, I have been very little always in -your life. Henceforth I shall be nothing. But if ever you call on me -for any service--which it is most unlikely you ever will do--I entreat -you to remember that there is no one living who will more gladly or -more humbly do your bidding at all cost than I, your cousin Egon.' - -The short letter brought tears to her eyes. She said nothing of it to -Sabran. He had understood from Mdme. Ottilie that Prince Vàsàrhely had -loved his cousin hopelessly for many years, and could not be expected -to be present at her marriage. - -In a week from that time their nuptials were celebrated in the Court -Chapel of the Hofburg at Vienna, with all the pomp and splendour that -a brilliant and ceremonious Court could lend to the espousal of one of -the greatest ladies of the old Duchy of Austria. - -Immediately after the ceremony they left the capital for Hohenszalras. - -At the signing of the contract on the previous night, when he had taken -up the pen he had grown very pale; he had hesitated a moment, and -glanced around him on the magnificent crowd, headed by the Emperor and -Empress, with a gleam of fear and of anxiety in his eyes, which Baron -Kaulnitz, who was intently watching him, had alone perceived. - -'There is something. What is it?' had mused the astute German. - -It was too late to seek to know. Sabran had bent down over the -parchment, and with a firm hand had signed his name and title. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -It was midsummer once more in the Iselthal, five years and a half after -the celebration at the Imperial palace of those nuptials which had been -so splendid that their magnificence had been noticeable even at that -magnificent Court. The time had seemed to her like one long, happy, -cloudless day, and if to him there had come any fatigue, any satiety, -any unrest, such as almost always come to the man in the fruition of -his passion, he suffered her to see none of them. - -It was one of those rare marriages in which no gall of a chain is felt, -but a quick and perfect sympathy insures that harmony which passion -alone is insufficient to sustain. He devoted himself with ardour to the -care of the immense properties that belonged to his wife; he brought -to their administration a judgment and a precision that none had looked -for in a man of pleasure; he entered cordially into all her schemes for -the well-being of her people dependent on her, and carried them out -with skill and firmness. The revenues of Idrac he never touched; he -left them to accumulate for his younger son, or expended them on the -township itself, where he was adored. - -If he were still the same man who had been the lover of Cochonette, -the terror of Monte Carlo, the hero of night-long baccara and frontier -duels, he had at least so banished the old Adam that it appeared wholly -dead. Nor was the death of it feigned. He had flung away the slough -of his old life with a firm hand, and the peace, the dignity of his -present existence were very precious to him. He was glad to steep -himself in them, as a tired and fevered wayfarer was glad to bathe his -dusty and heated limbs in the cool, clear waters of the Szalrassee. And -he loved his wife with a great love, in which reverence, and gratitude, -and passion were all blent. Possession had not dulled, nor familiarity -blunted it. She was still to him a sovereign, a saint, a half divine -creature, who had stooped to become mortal for his sake, and his -children's. - -The roses were all aglow on the long lawns and under the grey walls -and terraces; the sunbeams were dancing on the emerald surface of the -Szalrassee. - -'What a long spell of fair weather,' said Sabran, as they sat beneath -the great yews beside the keep. - -'It is like our life,' said his wife, who was doing nothing but -watching the clouds circle round the domes and peaks, which, white as -ivory, dazzling and clear, towered upward in the blue air like a mighty -amphitheatre. - -She had borne him three children in these happy years, the eldest of -whom, Bela, played amidst the daisies at her feet, a beautiful fair boy -with his father's features and his father's luminous blue eyes. The -other two, Gela and the little Ottilie, who had seen but a few months -of life, were asleep within doors in their carved ivory cots. They were -all handsome, vigorous, and of perfect promise. - -'Have I deserved to be so happy?' she would often think, she whom the -world called so proud. - -'Bela grows so like you!' she said now to his father, who stood near -her wicker chair. - -'Does he?' said Sabran, with a quick glance that had some pain in it, -at the little face of his son. 'Then if the other one be more like you -it will be he who will be dearest to me.' - -As he spoke he bowed his head down and kissed her hand. - -She smiled gravely and sweetly in his eyes. - -'That will be our only difference, I think! It is time, perhaps, that -we began to have one. Do you think there are two other people in all -the world who have passed five years and more together without once -disagreeing?' - -'In all the world there is not another Countess Wanda!' - -'Ah! that is your only defect; you will always avoid argument by -escaping through the side-door of compliment. It is true, to be sure, -that your flattery is a very high and subtle art.' - -'It is like all high art then, based on what is eternally true.' - -'You will always have the last word, and it is always so graceful a -one that it is impossible to quarrel with it. But, Réné, I want you -to speak without compliment to me for once. Tell me, are you indeed -never--never--a little weary of being here?' - -He hesitated a moment and a slight flush came on his face. - -She observed both signs, slight as they were, and sighed; it was the -first sigh she had ever breathed since her marriage. - -'Of course you are, of course you must be,' she said quickly. 'It has -been selfish and blameable of me never to think of it before. It is -paradise to me, but no doubt to you, used as you have been to the stir -of the world, there, must be some tedium, some dulness in this mountain -isolation. I ought to have remembered that before.' - -'You need do nothing of the kind, now,' he said. 'Who has been talking -to you? Who has brought this little snake into our Eden?' - -'No one; and it is not a snake at all, but a natural reflection. -Hohenszalras and you are the world to me, but I cannot expect that -Hohenszalras and I can be quite as much to yourself. It is always the -difference between the woman and the man. You have great talents; you -are ambitious.' - -'Were I as ambitious as Alexander, surely I have gained wherewithal to -be content!' - -'That is only compliment again, or if truth it is only a side of the -truth. Nay, love, I do not think for a moment you are tired of me; -I am too self-satisfied for that! But I think it is possible that -this solitude may have grown, or may grow, wearisome to you; that you -desire, perhaps without knowing it, to be more amidst the strife, -the movement, and the pleasures of men. Aunt Ottilie calls this -"confinement to a fortress;" now that is a mere pleasantry, but if ever -you should feel tempted to feel what she feels, have confidence enough -in my good sense and in my affection to say so to me, and then----.' - -'And then? We will suppose I have this ingratitude and bad taste, what -then?' - -'Why then, my own wishes should not stand for one instant in the way -of yours, or rather I would make yours mine. And do not use the word -ingratitude, my dearest; there can be no question of that betwixt you -and me.' - -'Yes,' said Sabran, as he stooped towards her and touched her hair -with his lips. 'When you gave me yourself, you made me your debtor -for all time; would have made me so had you been as poor as you are -rich. When I speak of gratitude it is of _that_ gift, I think, not of -Hohenszalras.' - -A warmth of pleasure flushed her cheek for a moment, and she smiled -happily. - -'You shall not beg the question so,' she said, with gentle insistence -after a moment's pause. 'I have not forgotten your eloquence in the -French Chamber.' You are that rare thing a born orator. You are -not perhaps fitted to be a statesman, for I doubt if you would have -the application or bear the tedium necessary, but you have every -qualification for a diplomatist, a foreign minister.' - -'I have not the first qualification, I have no country!' - -She looked at him, in surprise--he spoke with bitterness and -self-contempt; but in a moment he had added quickly:-- - -'France is nothing to me now, and though I am Austrian by all ties and -affections, I am not an Austrian before the law.' - -'That is hardly true,' she answered, satisfied with the explanation. -'Since France is little to you you could be naturalised here whenever -you chose, even if Idrac have not made you a Croat noble, as I believe -the lawyers would say it had; and the Emperor, who knows and admires -you, would, I think, at once give you gladly any mission you preferred; -you would make so graceful, so perfect, so envied an ambassador! -Diplomacy has indeed little force now, yet tact still tells wherever -it be found, and it is as rare as blue roses in the unweeded garden of -the world. I do not speak for myself, dear; that you know. Hohenszalras -is my beloved home, and it was enough for me before I knew you, and -nowhere else could life ever seem to me so true, so high, so simple, -and so near to God as here. But I do remember that men weary even of -happiness when it is unwitnessed, and require the press and stir of -emulation and excitation; and, if you feel that want, say so. Have -confidence enough in me to believe that your welfare will be ever my -highest law. Promise me this.' - -He changed colour slightly at her generous and trustful words, but he -answered without a moment's pause: - -'Whenever I am so thankless to fate I will confess it. No; the world -and I never valued one another much. I am far better here in the heart -of your mountains. Here only have I known peace and rest.' - -He spoke with a certain effort and emotion, and he stooped over his -little son and raised him on her knees. - -'These children shall grow up at Hohenszalras,' he continued, 'and you -shall teach them your love of the open air, the mountain solitudes, the -simple people, the forest creatures, the influences and the ways of -nature. You care for all those things, and they make up true wisdom, -true contentment. As for myself, if you always love me I shall ask no -more of fate.' - -'If! Can you be afraid?' - -'Sometimes. One always fears to lose what one has never merited.' - -'Ah, my love, do not be so humble! If you saw yourself as I see you, -you would be very proud.' - -She smiled as she spoke, and stretched her hand out to him over the -golden head of her child. - -He took it and held it against his heart, clasped in both his own. -Bela, impatient, slipped off his mother's lap to pursue his capture of -the daisies; the butterflies were forbidden joys, and he was obedient, -though in his own little way he was proud and imperious. But there -was a blue butterfly just in front of him, a Lycœna Adonis, like a -little bit of the sky come down and dancing about; he could not resist, -he darted at it. As he was about to seize it she caught his fingers. - -'I have told you, Bela, you are never to touch anything that flies or -moves. You are cruel.' - -He tried to get away, and his face grew very warm and passionate. - -'Bela will be cruel, if he like,' he said, knitting his pretty brows. - -Though he was not more than four years old he knew very well that he -was the Count Bela, to whom all the people gave homage, crowding to -kiss his tiny hand after Mass on holy-days. He was a very beautiful -child, and all the prettier for his air of pride and resolution; he had -been early put on a little mountain pony, and could ride fearlessly -down the forest glades with Otto. All the imperiousness of the great -race which had dealt out life and death so many centuries at their -caprice through the Hohe Tauern seemed to have been inherited by him, -coupled with a waywardness and a vanity that were not traits of the -house of Szalras. It was impossible, even though those immediately -about him were wise and prudent, to wholly prevent the effects of the -adulation with which the whole household was eager to wait on every -whim of the little heir. - -'Bela wishes it!' he would say, with an impatient frown, whenever his -desire was combated or crossed: he had already the full conviction that -to be Bela was to have full right to rule the world, including in it -his brother Gela, who was of a serious, mild, and yielding disposition, -and gave up to him in all things. As compensating qualities he was very -affectionate and sensitive, and easily moved to self-reproach. - -With a step Sabran reached him. 'You dare to disobey your mother?' he -said, sternly. 'Ask her forgiveness at once. Do you hear?' - -Bela, who had never heard his father speak in such a tone, was very -frightened, and lost all his colour; but he was resolute, and had been -four years old on Ascension Day. He remained silent and obstinate. - -Sabran put his hand heavily on the child's shoulder. - -'Do you hear me, sir? Ask her pardon this moment.' - -Bela was now fairly stunned into obedience. - -'Bela is sorry,' he murmured. 'Bela begs pardon.' - -Then he burst into tears. - -'You alarmed him rather too much. He is so very young,' she said to his -father, when the child, forgiven and consoled, had trotted off to his -nurse, who came for him. - -'He shall obey you, and find his law in your voice, or I will alarm him -more,' he said, with some harshness. 'If I thought he would ever give -you a moment's sorrow I should hate him!' - -It was not the first time that Sabran had seen his own more evil -qualities look at him from the beautiful little face of his elder son, -and at each of those times a sort of remorse came upon him. 'I was -unworthy to beget _her_ children,' he thought, with the self-reproach -that seldom left him, even amidst the deep tranquility of his -satisfied passions, and his perfect peace of life. Who could tell what -trials, what pains, what shame even, might not fall on her in the years -to come, with the errors that her offspring would have in them from his -blood? - -'It is foolish,' she murmured, 'he is but a baby; yet it hurts one to -see the human sin, the human wrath, look out from the infant eyes. It -hurts one to remember, to realise, that one's own angel, one's own -little flower, has the human curse born with it. I express myself ill; -do you know what I mean? No, you do not, dear; you are a man. He is -your son, and because he will be handsome and brave you will be proud -of him; but he is not a young angel, not a blossom from Eden to you.' - -'You are my religion,' he answered, 'you shall be his. When he grows -older he shall learn that to be born of such a mother as you is to -enter the kingdom of heaven by inheritance. Shall he be unworthy -that inheritance because he bears in him also the taint of my sorry -passions, of my degraded humanity?' - -'Dear! I too am only an erring creature. I am not perfect as you think -me.' - -'As I know you and as my children shall know you to be.' - -'You love me too well,' she said again; 'but it is a _beau défaut_, -and I would not have you lose it.' - -'I shall never lose it whilst I have life,' he said, with truth and -passion. 'I prize it more because most unworthy it.' - -She looked at him surprised, and vaguely troubled at the self-reproach -and the self-scorn of his passionate utterance. Seeing that surprise -and trouble in her glance, he controlled the emotion that for the -moment mastered him. - -'Ah, love!' he said quickly and truly, 'if you could but guess how -gross and base a man's life seems to him contrasted with the life of -a pure and noble woman! Being born of you, those children, I think, -should be as faultless and as soilless as those pearls that lie on your -breast. But then they are mine also; so already on that boy's face one -sees the sins of revolt, of self-will, of cruelty--being mine also, -your living pearls are dulled and stained!' - -A greater remorse than she dreamed of made his heart ache as he said -these words; but she heard in them only the utterance of that extreme -and unwavering devotion to her which he had shown in all his acts and -thoughts from the first hours of their union. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -The Princess Ottilie was scarcely less happy than they in the -realisation of her dreams and prophecies. Those who had been most -bitterly opposed to her alliance with him could find no fault in his -actions and his affections. - -'I always said that Wanda ought to marry, since she had plainly no -vocation for the cloister,' she said a hundred times a year. 'And I was -certain that M. de Sabran was the person above all others to attract -and to content her. She has much more imagination than she would be -willing to allow and he is capable at once of fascinating her fancy -and of satisfying her intellect. No one can be dull where he is; he is -one of those who make _la pluie et le beau temps_ by his absence or -presence; and, besides that, no commonplace affection would have ever -been enough for her. And he loves her like a poet, which he is at once -whenever he leaves the world for Beethoven and Bach. I cannot imagine -why you should have opposed the marriage, merely because he had not two -millions in the Bank of France.' - -'Not for that,' answered the Grand Duke; 'rather because he broke the -bank of Monte Carlo, and other similar reasons. A great player of -baccara is scarcely the person to endow with the wealth of the Szalras.' - -'The wealth is tied up tightly enough at the least, and you will admit -that he was yet more eager than you that it should be so.' - -'Oh, yes! he behaved very well. I never denied it. But she has placed -it in his power to make away with the whole of Idrac, if he should ever -choose. That was very unwise, but we had no power to oppose.' - -'You may be quite sure that Idrac will go intact to the second son, as -it has always done; and I believe but for his own exertions Idrac would -now be beneath the Danube waters. Perhaps you never heard all that -story of the flood?' - -'I only hope that if I have detractors you will defend me from them,' -said Prince Lilienhöhe, giving up argument. - -Fair weather is always especially fair in the eyes of those who have -foretold at sunset that the morrow would be fine; and so the married -life of Wanda von Szalras was especially delightful as an object of -contemplation, as a theme of exultation, to the Princess, who alone had -been clear-sighted enough to foresee the future. She really also loved -Sabran like a son, and took pride and pleasure in the filial tenderness -he showed her, and in his children, with the beautiful blue eyes that -had gleams of light in them like sapphires. The children themselves -adored her; and even the bold and wilful Bela was as quiet as a -startled fawn beside this lovely little lady, with her snow-white hair -and her delicate smile, whose cascades of lace always concealed such -wonderful bon-bon boxes, and gilded cosaques, and illuminated stories -of the saints. - -Almost all their time was spent at Hohenszalras. A few winter months -in Vienna was all they had ever passed away from it, except one visit -to Idrac and the Hungarian estates. The children never left it for -a day. He shared her affection for the place, and for the hardy and -frank mountain people around them. He seemed to her to entirely forget -Romaris, and beyond the transmission of moneys to its priest, he -took no heed of it. She hesitated to recall it to him, since to do -so might have seemed to remind him that it was she, not he, who was -suzerain in the Hohe Tauern. Romaris was but a bleak rock, a strip of -sea-swept sand; it was natural that it should have no great hold on his -affections, only recalling as it did all that its lords had lost. - -'I hate its name,' he said impetuously once; and seeing the surprise -upon her face, he added: 'I was very lonely and wretched there; I -tried to take interest in it because you bade me, but I failed; all -I saw, all I thought of, was yourself, and I believed you as far and -for ever removed from me as though you had dwelt in some other planet. -No! perhaps I am superstitious: I do not wish you to go to Romaris. I -believe it would bring us misfortune. The sea is full of treachery, the -sands are full of graves.' - -She smiled. - -'Superstition is a sort of parody of faith; I am sure you are not -superstitious. I do not care to go to Romaris; I like to cheat myself -into the belief that you were born and bred in the Iselthal. Otto said -to me the other day, "My lord must be a son of the soil, or how could -he know our mountains so well as he does, and how could he anywhere -have learned to shoot like that?"' - -'I am very glad that Otto does me so much honour. When he first met -me, he would have shot me like a fox, if you had given the word. Ah, my -love! how often I think of you that day, in your white serge, with your -girdle of gold, and your long gold-headed staff, and your little ivory -horn. You were truly a châtelaine of the old mystical German days. -You had some _Schlüsselblumen_ in your hand. They were indeed the key -flower to my soul, though, alas! treasures, I fear, you found none on -your entrance there.' - -'I shall not answer you, since to answer would be to flatter you, and -Aunt Ottilie already, does that more than is good for you,' she said -smiling, as she passed her fingers over the waves of his hair. 'By the -way, whom shall we invite to meet the Lilienhöhe? Will you make out a -list?' - -'The Grand Duke does not share Frau Ottilie's goodness for me.' - -'What would you? He has been made of buckram and parchment; besides -which; nothing that is not German has, to his mind, any right to exist. -By the way, Egon wrote to me this morning; he will be here at last.' - -He looked up quickly in unspoken alarm: 'Your cousin Egon? Here?' - -'Why are you so surprised? I was sure that sooner or later he would -conquer that feeling of being unable to meet you. I begged him to come -now; it is eight whole years since I have seen him. When once you have -met you will be friends--for my sake.' - -He was silent; a look of trouble and alarm was still upon his face. - -'Why should you suppose it any easier to him now than then?' he said at -length. 'Men who love _you_ do not change. There are women who compel -constancy, _sans le vouloir_. The meeting can but be painful to Prince -Vàsàrhely.' - -'Dear Réné,' she answered in some surprise, 'my nearest male relative -and I cannot go on for ever without seeing each other. Even these years -have done Egon a great deal of harm. He has been absent from the Court -for fear of meeting us. He has lived with his hussars, or voluntarily -confined to his estates, until he grows morose and solitary. I am -deeply attached to him. I do not wish to have the remorse upon me of -having caused the ruin of his gallant and brilliant life. When he -has been once here he will like you: men who are brave have always -a certain sympathy. When he has seen you here he will realise that -destiny is unchangeable, and grow reconciled to the knowledge that I am -your wife.' - -Sabran gave an impatient gesture of denial, and began to write the list -of invitations for the autumn circle of guests who were to meet the -Prince and Princess of Lilienhöhe. - -Once every summer and every autumn Hohenszalras was filled with a -brilliant house-party, for she sacrificed her own personal preferences -to what she believed to be for the good of her husband. She knew that -men cannot always live alone; that contact with the world is needful to -their minds and bracing for it. She had a great dread lest the ghost -_ennui_ should show his pale face over her husband's shoulder, for -she realised that from the life of the asphalte of the Champs-Élysées -to the life amidst the pine forests of the Iselthal was an abrupt -transition that might easily bring tedium in its train. And tedium is -the most terrible and the most powerful foe love ever encounters. - -Sabran completed the list, and when he had corrected it into due -accordance with all Lilienhöhe's personal and political sympathies and -antipathies, despatched the invitations, 'for eight days,' written on -cards that bore the joint arms of the Counts of Idrac and the Counts of -Szalras. He had adopted the armorial bearings of the countship of Idrac -as his own, and seemed disposed to abandon altogether those of the -Sabrans of Romaris. - -When they were written he went out by himself and rode long and fast -through the mists of a chilly afternoon, through dripping forest ways -and over roads where little water-courses spread in shining shallows. -The coming of Egon Vàsàrhely troubled him and alarmed him. He had -always dreaded his first meeting with the Magyar noble; and as the -years had dropped by one after another, and her cousin had failed -to find courage to see her again, he had begun to believe that they -and Vàsàrhely would remain always strangers. His wish had begotten -his thought. He knew that she wrote at intervals to her cousin, and -he to her; he knew that at the birth of each of their children some -magnificent gift, with a formal letter of felicitation, had come from -the Colonel of the White Hussars; but as time had gone on and Prince -Egon had avoided all possibility of meeting them, he had grown to -suppose that the wound given her rejected lover was too profound ever -to close; nor did he wonder that it was so: it seemed to him that any -man who loved her must do so for all eternity, if eternity there should -be. To learn suddenly that within another month Vàsàrhely would be his -guest, distressed and alarmed him in a manner she never dreamed. They -had been so happy. On their cloud less heaven there seemed to him to -rise a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, but bearing with it disaster -and a moonless night. - -'Perhaps he will have forgotten,' he thought, as he strove to shake off -his forebodings. 'We were so young then. He was not even as old as I!' - -And he rode fast and furiously homewards as the day drew in, and the -lighted windows of the great castle seemed to smile at him as lie saw -it high up above the darkness of the woods and of the evening mists, -his home, beloved, sacred, infinitely dear to him; dear as the soil of -the mother country which the wrecked mariner reaches after facing death -on the deep sea. - -'God save her from suffering by me!' he said, in an unconscious prayer, -as he drew rein before the terrace of Hohenszalras. Almost he believed -in God through her. - -When, after dressing, he went into, the Saxe room, the peace and -beauty of the scene had never struck him so strongly as it did now, -coming out of the shadows of the wet woods and the gloom of his own -anxieties; anxieties the heavier and the more wearing because they -could be shared by no one. The soft, full light of the wax candles fell -on the Louis Seize embroideries and the white woodwork of the panelling -and the china borders of the mirrors. The Princess Ottilie sat making -silk-netting for the children's balls; his wife was reading, and Bela -and Gela, who were there for their privileged half-hour before dinner, -were fitting together on a white bearskin, playing with the coloured -balls of the game of solitaire. The soft light from the chandeliers -and sconces of the Saxe Royale china fell on the golden heads and the -velvet frocks of the children, on the old laces and the tawny-coloured -plush of their mothers skirts, on the great masses of flowers in the -Saxe bowls, and on the sleeping forms of the big dogs Donau and Neva. -It was an interior that would have charmed Chardin, that would have -been worthy of Vandyck. - -As he looked at it he thought with a sort of ecstasy, 'All that is -mine;' and then his heartstrings tightened as he thought again, 'If she -knew----?' - -She looked up at his entrance with a welcome on her face that needed no -words. - -'Where have you been in the rain all this long afternoon?' You see we -have a fire, even though it is midsummer. Bela, rise, and make your -obeisance, and push that chair nearer the hearth.' - -The two little boys stood up and kissed his hand, one after another, -with the pretty formality; of greeting on which she always insisted; -then they went back to their coloured glass balls, and he sank into a -low chair beside his wife with a sigh half of fatigue, half of content. - -'Yes, I have been riding all the time,' he said to her. 'I am not sure -that Siegfried approved it. But it does one good sometimes, and after -the blackness and the wetness of that forest how charming it is to come -home!' - -She looked at him with wistfulness. - -'I wish you were not vexed that Egon is coming! I am sure you have been -thinking of it as you rode.' - -'Yes, I have; but I am ashamed of doing so. He is your cousin, that -shall be enough for me. I will do my best to make him welcome. Only -there is this difficulty; a welcome from me to him will seem in itself -an insult.' - -'An insult! when you are my husband? One would think you were my -_jägermeister._ Dear mother mine, help me to scold him.' - -'I am a stranger,' he said, under his breath. - -She smiled a little, but she said with a certain hauteur: - -'You are master of Hohenszalras, as your son will be when our places -shall know us no more. Do not let the phantom of Egon come between us, -I beseech you. His real presence never will do so, that is certain.' - -'Nothing shall come between us,' said Sabran, as his hand took and -closed upon hers. 'Forgive me if I have brought some gloomy _nix_ out -of the dark woods with me; he will flee away in, the light of this -beloved white-room. No evil spirits could dare stay by your hearth.' - -'There are _nixes_ in the forests,' said Bela in a whisper to his -brother. - -'Ja!' said Gela, not comprehending. - -'We will kill them all when we are big,' said Bela. - -'Ja! ja!' said Gela. - -Bela knew very well what a _nix_ was. Otto had told him all about -kobolds and sprites, as his pony trotted down the drives. - -'Or we will take them prisoners,' he added, remembering that his mother -never allowed anything to be killed, not even butterflies. - -'Ja!' said Gela again, rolling the pretty blue and pink and amber balls -about in the white fur of the bearskin. - -Gela's views of life were simplified by the disciple's law of -imitation; they were restricted to doing whatever Bela did, when that -was possible, when it was not possible he remained still adoring Bela, -with his little serious face as calm as a god's. - -She used to think that when they should grow up Bela would be a great -soldier like Wallenstein or Condé, and Gela would stay at home and -take care of his people here in the green, lone, happy Iselthal. - -Time ran on and the later summer made the blooming hay grow brown on -all the alpine meadows, and made the garden of Hohenszalras blossom -with a million autumnal glories; it brought also the season of the -first house-party. Egon Vàsàrhely was to arrive one day before the -Lilienhöhe and the other guests. - -'I want Egon so much to see Bela!' she said, with the thoughtless -cruelty of a happy mother forgetful of the pain of a rejected lover. - -'I fear Bela will find little favor in your cousin's eyes, since he is -mine too,' said Sabran. - -'Oh, Egon is content to be only our cousin by this----' - -'You think so? You do not know yourself if you imagine that.' - -'Egon is very loyal. He would not come here if he could not greet you -honestly.' - -Sabran's face flushed a little, and he turned away. He vaguely dreaded -the advent of Egon Vàsàrhely, and there were so many innocent words -uttered in the carelessness of intimate intercourse which stabbed him -to the quick; she had so wounded him all unconscious of her act. - -'Shall we have a game of billiards?' he asked her as they stood in the -Rittersaal, whilst the rain fell fast without. She played billiards -well, and could hold her own against him, though his game was one that -had often been watched by a crowded _galerie_ in Paris with eager -speculation and heavy wager. An hour afterwards they were still playing -when the clang of a great bell announced the approach of the carriage -which had been sent to Windisch-Matrey. - -'Come!' she said joyously, as she put back her cue in its rest; but -Sabran drew back. - -'Receive your cousin first alone,' he said. 'He must resent my presence -here. I will not force it on him on the threshold of your house.' - -'Of our house! Why will you use wrong pronouns? Believe me, dear, Egon -is too generous to bear you the animosity you think.' - -'Then he never loved you,' said Sabran, somewhat impatiently, as he -sent one ball against another with a sharp collision. 'I will come if -you wish it,' he added; 'but I think it is not in the best taste to so -assert myself.' - -'Egon is only my cousin and your guest. You are the master of -Hohenszalras. Come! you were not so difficult when you received the -Emperor.' - -'I had done the Emperor no wrong,' said Sabran, controlling the -impatience and the reluctance he still felt. - -'You have done Egon none. I should not have been his wife had I never -been yours.' - -'Who knows?' murmured Sabran, as he followed her into the entrance -hall. The stately figure of Egon Vàsàrhely enveloped in furs was just -passing through the arched doorway. - -She went towards him with a glad welcome and both hands outstretched. - -Prince Egon bowed to the ground: then took both her hands in his and -kissed her on the cheek. - -Sabran, who grew very pale, advanced and greeted him with ceremonious -grace. - -'My wife has bade me welcome you, Prince, but it would be presumptuous -in me, a stranger, to do that. All her kindred must be dear and sacred -here.' - -Egon Vàsàrhely, with an effort to which he had for years been vainly -schooling himself, stretched out his hand to take her husband's; but -as he did so, and his glance for the first time dwelt on Sabran, a -look surprised and indefinitely perplexed came on his own features. -Unconsciously he hesitated a moment; then, controlling himself, he -replied with a few fitting words of courtesy and friendship. That -there should be some embarrassment, some constraint, was almost -inevitable, and did not surprise her: she saw both, but she also saw -that both were hidden under the serenity of high breeding and worldly -habit. The most difficult moment had passed: they went together into -the Rittersaal, talked together a little on a few indifferent topics, -and in a little space Prince Egon withdrew to his own apartments to -change his travelling clothes. Sabran left him on the threshold of his -chamber. - -Vàsàrhely locked the doors, locking out even his servant, threw off -his furs and sat down, leaning his head on his hands. The meeting had -cost him even more than he had feared that it would do. For five years -he had dreaded this moment, and its pain was as sharp and as fresh to -him as though it had been unforeseen. To sleep under the same roof -with the husband of Wanda von Szalras! He had overrated his power of -self-control, underrated his power of suffering, when to please her he -had consented after five years to visit Hohenszalras. What were five -years?--half a century would not have changed him. - -Under the plea of fatigue, he, who had sat in his saddle eighteen hours -at a stretch, and was braced to every form of endurance in the forest -chase and in the tented field, sent excuses to his host for remaining -in his own rooms until the Ave Maria rung. When he at length went -down to the blue-room where she was, he had recovered, outwardly at -least, his tranquillity and his self-possession, though here, in this -familiar, once beloved chamber, where every object had been dear to him -from his boyhood, a keener trial than any he had passed through awaited -him, as she led forward to meet him a little boy clad in white velvet, -with a cloud of light golden hair above deep blue luminous eyes, and -said to him: - -'Egon, this is my Bela. You will love him a little, for my sake?' - -Vàsàrhely felt a chill run through him like the cold of death as he -stooped towards the child; but he smiled and touched the boy's forehead -with his lips. - -'May the spirit of our lost Bela be with him and dwell in his heart,' -he murmured; 'better I cannot wish him.' - -With an effort he turned to Sabran. - -'Your little son is a noble child; you may with reason be proud of him. -He is very like you in feature. I see no trace of the Szalras.' - -'The other boy is more like Wanda,' replied Sabran, sensible of a -certain tenacity of observation with which Vàsàrhely was gazing at -him. 'As for my daughter, she is too young for anyone to say whom she -will resemble. All I desire is that she should be like her mother, -physically and spiritually.' - -'Of course,' said the Prince, absently, still looking from Sabran to -the child, as if in the endeavour to follow some remembrance that -eluded-him. The little face of Bela was a miniature of his father's, -they were as alike as it is possible for a child and a man to be so, -and Egon Vàsàrhely perplexedly mused and wondered at vague memories -which rose up to him as he gazed on each. - -'And what do you like best to do, my little one?' he asked of Bela, who -was regarding him with curious and hostile eyes. - -'To ride,' answered Bela at once, in his pretty uncertain German. - -'There you are a true Szalras at least. And your brother Gela, can he -ride yet? Where is Gela, by the way?' - -'He is asleep,' said Bela, with some contempt. 'He is a little thing. -Yes; he rides, but it is in a chair-saddle. It is not real riding.' - -'I see. Well, when you come and see me you shall have some real riding, -on wild horses if you like;' and he told the child stories of the great -Magyar steppes, and the herds of young horses, and the infinite delight -of the unending gallop over the wide hushed plain; and all the while -his heart ached bitterly, and the sight of the child--who was her -child, yet had that stranger's face--was to him like a jagged steel -being turned and twisted inside a bleeding wound. Bela, however, was -captivated by the new visions that rose before him. - -'Bela will come to Hungary,' he said with condescension, and then with -an added thought, continued: 'I think Bela has great lands there. Otto -said so.' - -'Bela has nothing at all,' said Sabran, sternly. 'Bela talks great -nonsense sometimes, and it would be better he should go to sleep with -his brother.' - -Bela looked up shyly under his golden cloud of hair. 'Folko is Bela's,' -he said under his breath. Folko was his pony. - -'No,' said Sabran; 'Folko belongs to your mother. She only allows you -to have him so long as you are good to him.' - -'Bela is always good to him,' he said decidedly. - -'Bela is faultless in his own estimation,' said his mother, with a -smile. 'He is too little to be wise enough to see himself as he is.' - -This view made Bela's blue eyes open very wide and fill very -sorrowfully. It was humiliating. He longed to get back to Gela, who -always listened to him dutifully, and never said anything in answer -except an entirely acquiescent 'Ja! ja!' which was indeed about the -limitation of Gela's lingual powers. In a few moments, indeed, his -governess came for him and took him away, a little dainty figure in his -ivory velvet and his blue silk stockings, with his long golden curls -hanging to his waist. - -'It is so difficult to keep him from being spoilt,' she said, as the -door closed on him. 'The people make a little prince, a little god, of -him. He believes himself to be something wonderful. Gela, who is so -gentle and quiet, is left quite in the shade.' - -'I suppose Gela takes your title?' said Vàsàrhely to his host. 'It -is usual with the Austrian families for the second son to have some -distant appellation?' - -'They are babies,' said Sabran, impatiently. - -'It will be time enough to settle those matters when they are old -enough to be court-pages or cadets. They are Bela and Gela at present. -The only real republic is childhood.' - -'I am afraid Bela is the _tyrannus_ to which all republics succumb,' -said Wanda, with a smile. He is extremely autocratic in his notions, -and in his family. In all his "make believe" games he is crowned.' - -'He is a beautiful child,' said her cousin, and she answered, still -smiling: - -'Oh, yes: he is so like Réné!' - -Egon Vàsàrhely turned his face from her. The dinner was somewhat dull, -and the evening seemed tedious, despite the efforts of Sabran to -promote conversation, and the _écarté_ which he and his guest played -together. They, were all sensible that some chord was out of tune, and -glad that on the morrow a large house-party would be there to spare -them a continuation of this difficult intercourse. - -'Your cousin will never forgive me,' said Sabran to her when they were -alone. 'I think, beside his feeling that I stand for ever between you -and him there is an impatience of me as a stranger and one unworthy -you.' - -'You do yourself and him injustice,' she answered. 'I shall be unhappy -if you and he be not friends.' - -'Then unhappy you will be, my beloved. We both adore you.' - -'Do not say that. He would not be here if it were so.' - -'Ah! look at him when he looks at Bela!' - -She sighed; she had felt a strong emotion on the sight of her cousin, -for Egon Vàsàrhely was much changed by these years of pain. His grand -carriage and his martial beauty were unaltered, but all the fire and -the light of earlier years were gone out of his face, and a certain -gloom and austerity had come there. To all other women he would have -been the more attractive for the melancholy which was in such apt -contrast with the heroic adventures of his life, but to her the change -in him was a mute reproach which filled her with remorse though she had -done no wrong. - -Meantime Prince Egon, throwing open his window, leaned out into the -cold rainy night, as though a hand were at his throat and suffocating -him. And amidst all the tumult of his pain and revolt, one dim thought -was incessantly intruding itself; he was always thinking, as he -recalled the face of Sabran and of Sabran's little son, 'Where have I -seen those blue eyes, those level brows, those delicate curved lips?' - -They were so familiar, yet so strange to him. When he would have given -a name to them they receded into the shadows of some far away past of -his own, so far away he could not follow them. He sat up half the night -letting the wind beat and the rain fall on him. He could not sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -In the morrow thirty or forty people arrived, amongst them Baron -Kaulnitz _en congé_ from his embassy. - -'What think you of Sabran?' he asked of Egon Vàsàrhely, who answered: - -'He is a perfect gentleman. He is a charming companion. He plays -admirably at _écarté._ - -'_Écarté_! I spoke of his moral worth: what is your impression of that?' - -'If he had not satisfied her as to that, Wanda would not be his wife,' -answered the Prince gravely. 'He has given her beautiful children, and -it seems to me that he renders her perfectly happy. We should all be -grateful to him.' - -'The children are certainly very beautiful,' said Baron Kaulnitz, and -said no more. - -'The people all around are unfeignedly attached to him,' Vàsàrhely -continued with generous effort. 'I hear nothing but his praise. Nor do -I think it the conventional compliment which loyalty leads them to pay -the husband of their Countess; it is very genuine attachment. The men -of the old Archduchy are not easily won; it is only qualities of daring -and manliness which appeal to their sympathies. That he has gained -their affections is as great testimony to his character in one way as -that he has gained Wanda's is in another. At Idrac also the people -adore him, and Croats are usually slow to see merit in strangers.' - -'In short, he is a paragon,' said the ambassador, with a little dubious -smile. 'So much the better, since he is irrevocably connected with us.' - -Sabran was at no time seen to greater advantage than when he was -required to receive and entertain a large house-party. Always graceful, -easily witty, endowed with that winning tact which is to society as -cream is to the palate, the charm he possessed for women and the -ascendency he could, at times, exercise over men--even men who were -opposed to him--were never more admirably displayed than when he was -the master of Hohenszalras, with crowned heads, and princes, and -diplomatists, and beauties gathered beneath his roof. His mastery, -moreover, of all field sports, and his skill at all games that demanded -either intelligence or audacity, made him popular with a hardy and -brilliant nobility; his daring in a boar hunt at noon was equalled by -his science at whist in the evening. Strongly prejudiced against him at -the onset, the great nobles who were his guests had long ceased to feel -anything for him except respect and regard; whilst the women admired -him none the less for that unwavering devotion to his wife which made -even the conventionalities of ordinary flirtation wholly impossible to -him. With all his easy gallantry and his elegant homage to them, they -all knew that, at heart, he was as cold as the rocks to all women save -one. - -'It is really the knight's love for his lady,' said the Countess -Brancka once; and Sabran, overhearing, said: 'Yes, and, I think that if -there were more like my lady on earth, knighthood might revive on other -scenes than Wagner's.' - -Between him and the Countess Brancka there was a vague intangible -enmity, veiled under the perfection of courtesy. They could ill have -told why they disliked each other; but they did so. Beneath their -polite or trivial or careless speech they often aimed at each other's -feelings or foibles with accuracy and malice. She had stayed at -Hohenszalras more or less time each year in the course of her flight -between France and Vienna, and was there now. He admired his wife's -equanimity and patience under the trial of Mdme. Olga's frivolities, -but he did not himself forbear from as much sarcasm as was possible -in a man of the world to one who was his guest, and by marriage his -relative, and he was sensible of her enmity to himself, though she -paid him many compliments, and sometimes too assiduously sought his -companionship. '_Elle fait le ronron, mais gare à ses pattes!_' he said -once to his wife concerning her. - -Sabran appraised her indeed with unflattering accuracy. He knew -by heart all the wiles and wisdom of such a woman as she was. Her -affectations did not blind him to her real danger, and her exterior -frivolity did not conceal from him the keen and subtle self-interest -and the strong passions which laboured beneath it. - -She felt that she had an enemy in him, and partly in self-protection, -partly in malice, she set herself to convert a foe into a friend, -perhaps, without altogether confessing it to herself, into a lover as -well. - -The happiness that prevailed at Hohenszalrasburg annoyed her for -no other reason than that it wearied her to witness it. She did -not envy it, because she did not want happiness at all; she wanted -perpetual change, distraction, temptation, passion, triumph--in a word, -excitement, which becomes the drug most unobtainable to those who have -early exhausted all the experiences and varieties of pleasure. - -Mdme. Brancka had always an unacknowledged resentment against her -sister-in-law, for being the owner of all the vast possessions of the -Szalras. 'If Gela had lived!' she thought constantly. 'If I had only -had a son by him before he died, this woman would have had her dower -and nothing more.' That his sister should possess all, whilst she had -by her later marriage lost her right even to a share in that vast -wealth, was a perpetual bitterness to her. - -Stefan Brancka was indeed rich, but he was an insensate gambler. She -was extravagant to the last degree, with all the costly caprices of -a _cocodette_ who reigned in the two most brilliant capitals of the -world. They were often troubled by their own folly, and again and again -the generosity of his elder brother had rescued them from humiliating -embarrassments. At such moments she had almost hated Wanda von Szalras -for these large possessions, of which, according to her own views, -her sister-in-law made no use whatever. Meantime, she wished Egon -Vàsàrhely to die childless, and to that end had not been unwilling -for the woman he loved to marry anyone else. She had reasoned that the -Szalras estates would go to the Crown or the Church if Wanda did not -marry; whilst all the power and possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely must, if -he had no sons, pass in due course to his brother. She had the subtle -acuteness of her race, and she had the double power of being able at -once to wait very patiently and to spring with swift rage on what she -needed. To her sister-in-law she always appeared a mere flutterer on -the breath of fashion. The grave and candid nature of the one could not -follow or perceive the intricacies of the other. - -'She is a cruel woman and a perilous one,' Sabran said one day to his -wife's surprise. - -She answered him that Olga Brancka had always seemed to her a mere -frivolous _mondaine_, like so many others of their world. - -'No,' he persisted. 'You are wrong; she is not a butterfly. She has too -much energy. She is a profoundly immoral woman also. Look at her eyes.' - -'That is Stefan's affair,' she answered, 'not ours. He is indifferent.' - -'Or unsuspicious? Did your brother care for her?' - -'He was madly in love with her. She was only sixteen when he married -her. He fell at Solferino half a year later. When she married my -cousin it shocked and disgusted me. Perhaps I was foolish to take it -thus, but it seemed such a sin against Gela. To die _so_, and not to be -even remembered!' - -'Did your cousin Egon approve this second marriage?' - -'No,' he opposed it; he had our feeling about it. But Stefan, though -very young, was beyond any control. He had the fortune as he had the -title of his mother, the Countess Brancka, and Olga bewitched him as -she had done my brother.' - -'She _is_ a witch, a wicked witch,' said Sabran. - -The great autumn party was brilliant and agreeable. All things went -well, and the days were never monotonous. The people were well -assorted, and the social talent of their host made their outdoor sports -and their indoor pastimes constantly varied, whilst Hungarian musicians -and Viennese comedians played waltzes that would have made a statue -dance, and represented the little comedies for which he himself had -been famous at the Mirlitons. - -He was not conscious of it, but he was passionately eager for Egon -Vàsàrhely to be witness, not only of his entire happiness, but of his -social powers. To Vàsàrhely he seemed to put forward the perfection -of his life with almost insolence; with almost exaggeration to exhibit -the joys and the gifts with which nature and chance had so liberally -dowered him. The stately Magyar soldier, sitting silent and melancholy -apart, watched him with a curious pang, that in a lesser nature would -have been a consuming envy. Now and then, though Sabran and his wife -spoke rarely to each other in the presence of others, a glance, a -smile, a word passed between them that told of absolute unuttered -tenderness, profound and inexhaustible as the deep seas; in the very -sound of their laughter, in the mere accent of their voices, in a -careless caress to one of their children, in a light touch of the hand -to one another as they rode, or as they met in a room, there was the -expression of a perfect joy, of a perfect faith between them, which -pierced the heart of the watcher of it. Yet would he not have had it -otherwise at her cost. - -'Since she has chosen him as the companion of her life, it is well -that he should be what she can take pride in, and what all men can -praise,' he thought, and yet the happiness of this man seemed to him an -audacity, an insolence. What human lover could merit her? - -Between himself and Sabran there was the most perfect courtesy, but no -intimacy. They both knew that if for fifty years they met continually -they would never be friends. All her endeavours to produce sympathy -between them failed. Sabran was conscious of a constant observation of -him by her cousin, which seemed to him to have a hostile motive, and -which irritated him extremely, though he did not allow his irritation -any visible vent. Olga Brancka perceived, and with the objectless -malice of women of her temperament, amused herself with fanning, the -slumbering enmity, as children play at fire. - -'You cannot expect Egon to love you,' she said once to her host. 'You -know he was the betrothed of Wanda from her childhood--at least in his -own hopes, and in the future sketched for them by their families.' - -'I was quite aware of that before I married,' he answered her -indifferently. 'But those family arrangements are tranquil disposals of -destiny which, if they be disturbed, leave no great trace of trouble. -The Prince is young still, and a famous soldier as well as a great -noble. He has no lack of consolation if he need it, and I cannot -believe that he does.' - -Mdme. Olga laughed. - -'You know as well as I do that Egon adores the very stirrup your wife's -foot touches!' - -'I know he is her much beloved cousin,' said Sabran, in a tone which -admitted of no reply. - -To Vàsàrhely his sister-in-law said confidentially: - -'Dear Egon, why did you not stay on the _pusztas_ or remain with your -hussars? You make _le beau_ Sabran jealous.' - -'Jealous!' asked Vàsàrhely, with a bitter smile. 'He has much cause, -when she has neither eye nor ear, neither memory nor thought of any -kind for any living thing except himself and those children who are -all his very portraits! Why do you say these follies, Olga? You know -that my cousin Wanda chose her lord out of all the world, and loves -him as no one would have supposed she had it in her to love any mortal -creature.' - -He spoke imperiously, harshly, and she was silenced. - -'What do you think of him?' she said with hesitation. - -'Everyone asks me that question. I am not his keeper!' - -'But you must form some opinion. He is virtual lord of Hohenszalras, -and I believe she has made over to him all the appanages of Idrac, and -his children will have everything.' - -'Are they not her natural heirs? Who should inherit from her if not her -sons?' - -'Of course, of course they will inherit, only they inherit nothing -from him. It was certainly a great stroke of fortune for a landless -gentleman to make. Why does the _gentilhomme pauvre_ always so -captivate women?' - -'What do you mean to insinuate, Olga?' he asked her, with a stern -glance of his great black eyes.' - -'Oh, nothing; only his history was peculiar. I remember his arrival -in France, his first appearance in society; it is many years ago now. -All the Faubourg received him, but some said at the time that it was -too romantic to be true--those Mexican forests, that long exile of the -Sabran, the sudden appearance of this beautiful young marquis; you -will grant it was romantic. I suppose it was the romance that made -even Wanda's clear head turn a little. It is a _vin capiteux_ for many -women. And then such a life in Paris after it--duels, baccara, bonnes -fortunes, clever comedies, a touch like Liszt's, a sudden success in -the Chamber--it was all so romantic; it was bound to bring him at -last to his haven, the Prince Charmant of an enchanted castle! Only -enchanted castles sometimes grow dull, and Princes Charmants are not -always amusable by the same châtelaine!' - -Egon Vàsàrhely, with his eyes sombre under their long black lashes, -listened to the easy bantering phrases with the vague suspicion of an -honest and slow-witted man that a woman is trying to drop poison into -his ear which she wishes to pass as _eau sucrée._ He did not altogether -follow her insinuation, but he understood something of her drift. They -were alone in a corner of the ball-room, whilst the cotillon was at its -height, conducted by Sabran, who had been famous for its leadership in -Paris and Vienna. He stooped his head and looked her full in her eyes. - -'Look here, Olga. I am not sure what you mean, but I believe you are -tired of seeing my cousin's happiness, merely because it is something -with which you cannot interfere. For myself I would protect her -happiness as I would her honour if I thought either endangered. Whether -you or I like the Marquis de Sabran is wholly beyond the question. She -loves him, and she has made him one of us. His honour is now ours. -For myself I would defend him in his absence as though he were my own -brother. Not for his sake at all--for hers. I do not express myself -very well, but you know what I mean. Here is Max returning to claim -you.' - -Silenced and a little alarmed the Countess Brancka rose and went off to -her place in the cotillon. - -Vàsàrhely, sitting where she had left him, watched the mazes of the -cotillon, the rhythm of the tzigane musicians coming to his ear -freighted with a thousand familiar memories of the czardas danced madly -in the long Hungarian nights. Time had been when the throb of the -tzigane strings had stirred all his pulses like magic, but now all his -bold bright life seemed numb and frozen in him. - -His eyes rested on his cousin, where she stood conversing with a crown -prince, who was her chief guest, and passed from her to follow the -movements of Sabran, who with supreme ease and elegance was leading a -new intricate measure down the ball-room. - -She was happy, that he could not doubt. Every action, every word, every -glance said so with a meaning not to be doubted. He thought she had -never looked so handsome as she did to-night since that far away day -in her childhood when he had seen her with the red and white roses in -her lap and the crown upon her curls. She had the look of her childhood -in her eyes, that serene and glad light which had been dimmed by her -brothers' death, but now shone there again tranquil, radiant, and pure -as sunlight is. She wore white velvet and white brocade; her breast -was hidden in white roses; she wore her famous pearls and the ribbons -of the Starred Cross of Austria and of the Prussian Order of Merit; -she held in her hand a large painted fan which had belonged to Maria -Theresa. Every now and then, as she talked with her royal guest, her -glance strayed down the room to where her husband was, and lingered -there a moment with a little smile. - -Vàsàrhely watched her for awhile, then rose abruptly, and made his way -out of the ball-room and the state apartments down the corridors of the -old house he knew so well towards his own chamber. He thought he would -write to her and leave upon the morrow. What need was there for him to -stay on in this perpetual pain? He had done enough for the world, which -had seen him under the roof of Hohenszalras. - -As he took his way through the long passages, tapestry-hung or -oak-panelled, which led across the great building to his own set of -rooms in the clock tower, he passed an open door out of which a light -was streaming. As he glanced within he saw it was the children's -sleeping apartment, of which the door was open because the night was -warm, unusually warm for the heart of the Gross Glöckner mountains. An -impulse he could not have explained made him pause and enter. The three -little white beds of carved Indian work, with curtains of lace, looked -very snowy and peaceful in the pale light from a hanging lamp. The -children were all asleep; the one nearest the door was Bela. - -Vàsàrhely stood and looked at him. His head was thrown back on his -pillow and his arms were above his head. His golden hair, which was -cut straight and low over his forehead, had been pushed back in his -slumber; he looked more like his father than in his waking hours, -for as he dreamed there was a look of coldness and of scorn upon his -childish face, which made him so resemble Sabran that the man who -looked on him drew his breath hard with pain. - -The night-nurse rose from her seat, recognising Prince Egon, whom she -had known from his childhood. - -'The little Count is so like the Marquis,' she said, approaching; 'so -is Herr Gela. Ah, my Prince, you remember the noble gentlemen whose -names they bear? God send they may be like them in their lives and not -their deaths!' - -'An early death is good,' said Vàsàrhely, as he stood beside the -child's bed. He thought how good it would have been if he had fallen -at Sadowa or Königsgrätz, or earlier by the side of Gela and Victor, -charging with his White Hussars. - -The old nurse rambled on, full of praise and stories of the children's -beauty, and strength, and activity, and intelligence. Vàsàrhely did not -hear her; he stood lost in thought looking down on the sleeping figure -of Bela, who, as if conscious of strange eyes upon him, moved uneasily -in his slumber, and ruffled his golden hair with his hands, and thrust -off his coverings from his beautiful round white limbs. - -'Count Bela is not like our saint who died,' said the old nurse. 'He -is always masterful, and loves his own way. My lady is strict with -him, and wisely so, for he is a proud rebellious child. But he is very -generous, and has noble ways. Count Gela is a little angel; he will be -like the Heilige Graf.' - -Vàsàrhely did not hear anything she said. His gaze was bent on the -sleeping child, studying the lines of the delicate brows, of the -curving lips, of the long black lashes. It was so familiar, so -familiar! Suddenly as he gazed a light seemed to leap out of the -darkness of long forgotten years, and the memory which had haunted him -stood out clear before him. - -'He is like Vassia Kazán!' he cried, half aloud. The face of the child -had recalled what in the face of the man had for ever eluded his -remembrance. - -He thrust a gold coin in the nurse's hand, and hurried from the -chamber. A sudden inconceivable, impossible suspicion had leaped up -before him as he had gazed on the sleeping loveliness of Sabran's -little son. - -The old woman saw his sudden pallor, his uncertain gesture, and -thought, 'Poor gallant gentleman! He wishes these pretty boys were his -own. Well, it might have been better if he had been master here, though -there is nothing to say against the one who is so. Still, a stranger is -always a stranger, and foreign blood is bad.' - -Then she drew the coverings over Bela's naked little limbs, and passed -on to make sure that the little Ottilie, who had been born when the -primroses where first out in the Iselthal woods, was sleeping soundly, -and wanted nothing. - -Vàsàrhely made his way to his own chamber, and there sat down heavily, -mechanically, like a man waking out from a bad dream. - -His memory went back to twenty years before, when he, a little lad, had -accompanied his father on a summer visit to the house of a Russian, -Prince Paul Zabaroff. It was a house, gay, magnificent, full of idle -men and women of facile charm; it was not a house for youth; but -both the Prince Vàsàrhely and the Prince Zabaroff were men of easy -morals--_viveurs_, gamesters, and philosophers, who at fifteen years -old themselves had been lovers and men of the world. At that house -had been present a youth, some years older than he was, who was known -as Vassia Kazán: a youth whose beauty and wit made him the delight of -the women there, and whose skill at games and daring in sports won him -the admiration of the men. It was understood without even being said -openly that Vassia Kazán was a natural son of the Prince Zabaroff. The -little Hungarian prince, child as he was, had wit enough and enough -knowledge of life to understand that this brilliant companion, of his -was base-born. His kind heart moved him to pity, but his intense pride -curbed his pity with contempt. Vassia Kazán had resented the latter too -bitterly to even be conscious of the first. The gentlemen assembled had -diverted themselves by the unspoken feud that had soon risen between -the boys, and the natural intelligence of the little Magyar noble had -been no match for the subtle and cultured brain of the Parisian Lycéen. - -One day one of the lovely ladies there, who plundered Zabaroff and -caressed his son, amused herself with a war of words between the lads, -and so heated, stung, spurred and tormented the Hungarian boy that, -exasperated by the sallies and satires of his foe, and by the presence -of this lovely goddess of discord, he so far forgot his chivalry that -he turned on Vassia with a taunt. 'You would be a serf if you were in -Russia!' he said, with his great black eyes flashing the scorn of the -noble on the bastard. Without a word, Vassia, who had come in from -riding and had his whip in his hand, sprang on him, held him in a grip -of steel, and thrashed him. The fiery Magyar, writhing under the blows -of one who to him was as a slave, as a hound, freed his right arm, -snatched from a table near an oriental dagger lying there with other -things of value, and plunged it into the shoulder of his foe. The -cries of the lady, alarmed at her own work, brought the men in from -the adjoining room; the boys were forced apart and carried to their -chambers. - -Prince Vàsàrhely left the house that evening with his son, still -furious and unappeased. Vassia Kazán remained, made a hero of and -nursed by the lovely woman who had thrown the apple of strife. His -wound was healed in three weeks' time; soon after his father's -house-party was scattered, and he himself returned to his college. Not -a syllable passed between him and Zabaroff as to his quarrel with the -little Hungarian magnate. To the woman who had wrought the mischief -Zabaroff said: 'Almost I wish he were my lawful son. He is a true wolf -of the steppes. Paris has only combed his hide and given him a silken -coat; he is still a wolf, like all true Russians.' - -Looking on the sleeping child of Sabran, all that half-forgotten scene -had risen up before the eyes of Egon Vàsàrhely. He seemed to see the -beautiful fair face of Vassia Kazán, with the anger on the knitted -brows, and the ferocity on the delicate stern lips as he had raised his -arm to strike. Twenty years had gone by; he himself, whenever he had -remembered the scene, had long grown ashamed of the taunt he had cast, -not of the blow he had given, for the sole reproof his father had ever -made him was to say: 'A noble, only insults his equals. To insult an -inferior is ungenerous, it is derogatory; whom you offend you raise for -the hour to a level with yourself. Remember to choose your foes not -less carefully than you choose your friends.' - -Why with the regard, the voice, the air of Sabran had some vague -intangible remembrance always come before him?' - -Why, as he had gazed on the sleeping child had the vague uncertainty -suddenly resolved itself into distinct revelation? - -'He is Vassia Kazán! He is Vassia Kazán!' he said to himself a score -of times stupidly, persistently, as one speaks in a dream. Yet he knew -he must be a prey to delusion, to phantasy, to accidental resemblance. -He told himself so. He resisted his own folly, and all the while a -subtler inner consciousness seemed to be speaking in him, and saying to -him: - -'That man is Vassia Kazán. Surely he is Vassia Kazán.' - -And then the loyal soul of him strengthened itself and made him think: - -'Even if he be Vassia Kazán he is her husband. He is what she loves; he -is the father of those children that are hers.' - -He never went to his bed that night. When the music ceased at an hour -before dawn, and the great house grew silent, he still sat there by -the open casement, glad of the cold air that blew in from over the -Szalrassee, as with daybreak a fine film of rain began to come down the -mountain sides. - -Once he heard the voice of Sabran, who passed the door on his way to -his own apartment. Sabran was saying in German with a little laugh: - -'My lady!' I am jealous of your crown prince. When I left him now in -his chamber I was disposed to immortalise myself by regicide. He adores -you!' - -Then he heard Wanda laugh in answer, with some words that did not -reach his ear as they passed on further down the corridor. Vàsàrhely -shivered, and instinctively rose to his feet. He felt as if he must -seek him out and cry out to him: - -'Am I mad or is it true? Let me see your shoulder--have you the mark of -the wound that I gave? Your little child has the face of Vassia Kazán. -Are you Vassia Kazán? Are you the bastard of Zabaroff? Are you the wolf -of the steppes?' - -He had desired to go from Hohenszalras, where every hour was pain to -him, but now he felt an irresistible fascination in the vicinity of -Sabran. His mind was in that dual state which at once rejects a fact as -incredible, and believes in it absolutely. His reason told him that his -suspicion was a folly; his instinct told him that it was a truth. - -When in the forenoon the castle again became animated, and the guests -met to the mid-day breakfast in the hall of the knights, he descended, -moved by an eagerness that made him for the first time in his life -nervous. When Sabran addressed him he felt himself grow pale; he -followed the movements, he watched the features, he studied the tones -of his successful rival, with an intense absorption in them. Through -the hunting breakfast, at which only men were present, he was conscious -of nothing that was addressed to him; he only seemed to hear a voice in -his ear saying perpetually----'Yonder is Vassia Kazán.' - -The day was spent in sport, sport rough and real, that gave fair play -to the beasts and perilous exposure to the hunters. For the first time -in his life, Egon Vàsàrhely let a brown bear go by him untouched, -and missed more than one roebuck. His eyes were continually seeking -his host; a mile off down a forest glade the figure of Sabran seemed -to fill his vision, a figure full of grace and dignity, clad in a -hunting-dress of russet velvet, with a hunting-horn slung at his side -on a broad chain of gold, the gift of his wife in memory of the fateful -day when he had aimed at the _kuttengeier_ in her woods. - -Sabran of necessity devoted himself to the crown prince throughout -the day's sport; only in the twilight as they returned he spoke to -Vàsàrhely. - -'Wanda is so full of regret that you wish to leave us,' he said, with -graceful cordiality; 'if only I can persuade you to remain, I shall -take her the most welcome of all tidings from the forest. Stay at the -least another week, the weather has cleared.' - -As he spoke he thought that Vàsàrhely looked at him strangely; but -he knew that he could not be much loved by his wife's cousin, and -continued with good humour to persist in his request. Abruptly, the -other answered him at last. - -'Wanda wishes me to stay? Well, I will stay then. It seems strange to -hear a stranger invite _me_ to Hohenszalras.' - -Sabran coloured; he said with hauteur: - -'That I am a stranger to Prince Vàsàrhely is not my fault. That I have -the right to invite him to Hohenszalras is my happiness, due to his -cousin's goodness, which has been far beyond my merit.' - -Vàsàrhely's eyes dwelt on him gloomily; he was sensible of the dignity, -the self-command, and the delicacy of reproof which were blent in the -answer he had received; he felt humbled and convicted of ill-breeding. -He said after a pause: - -'I should ask your pardon. My cousin would be the first to condemn my -words; they sounded ill, but I meant them literally. Hohenszalras has -been one of my homes from boyhood; it will be your son's when we are -both dead. How like he is to you; he has nothing of his mother.' - -Sabran, somewhat surprised, smiled as he answered: - -'He is very like me. I regret it; but you know the poets and the -physiologists are for once agreed as to the cause of that. It is a -truth proved a million times: _l'enfant de l'amour ressemble toujours -au père._' - -Egon Vàsàrhely grew white under the olive hue of his sun-bronzed -cheek. The _riposte_ had been made with a thrust that went home. Otto -at that moment approached his master for orders for the morrow. They -were no more alone. They entered the house; the long and ceremonious -dinner succeeded. Vàsàrhely was silent and stern. Sabran was the most -brilliant of hosts, the happiest of men; all the women present were in -love with him, his wife the most of all. - -'Réné tells me you will stay, Egon. I am so very glad,' his cousin said -to him during the evening, and she added with a little hesitation, 'If -you would take time to know him well, you would find him so worthy of -your regard; he has all the qualities that most men esteem in each -other. It would make me so happy if you were friends at heart, not only -in mere courtesy.' - -'You know that can never be,' said Vàsàrhely, almost rudely. 'Even you -cannot work miracles. He is your husband. It is a reason that I should -respect him, but it is also a reason why I shall for ever hate him.' - -He said the last words in a tone scarcely audible, but low as it was, -there was a force in it that affected her painfully. - -'What you say there is quite unworthy of you,' she said with gentleness -but coldness. 'He has done you no wrong. Long ere I met him I told you -that what you wished was not what I wished, never would be so. You are -too great a gentleman, Egon, to nourish an injustice in your heart.' - -He looked down; every fibre in him thrilled and burned under the sound -of her voice, the sense of her presence. - -'I saw your children asleep last night,' he said abruptly. 'They have -nothing of you in them; they are his image.' - -'Is it so unusual for children to resemble their father?' she said with -a smile, whilst vaguely disquieted by his tone. - -'No, I suppose not; but the Szalras have always been of one type. How -came your husband by that face? I have seen it amongst the Circassians, -the Persians, the Georgians; but you say he is a Breton.' - -'The Sabrans of Romaris are Bretons; you have only to consult history. -Very beautiful faces like his have seldom much impress of nationality; -they always seem as though they followed the old Greek laws, and were -cast in the divine heroic mould of another time than ours.' - -'Who was his mother?' - -'A Spanish Mexican.' - -Vàsàrhely was silent. - -His cousin left him and went amongst her guests. A vague sense of -uneasiness went with her at her consciousness of his hostility to -Sabran. She wished she had not asked him to remain. - -'You have never offended Egon?' she asked Sabran anxiously that night. -'You have always been forbearing and patient with him?' - -'I have obeyed you in that as all things, my angel,', he answered her -lightly. 'What would you? He is in love with you still, and I have -married you! It is even a crime in his eyes that my children resemble -me! One can never argue with a passion that is unhappy. It is a kind of -frenzy.' - -She heard with some impatience. - -'He has no right to cherish such a resentment. He keeps it alive by -brooding on it. I had hoped that when he saw you here, saw how happy -you render me, saw your children too, he would grow calmer, wiser, more -reconciled to the inevitable.' - -'You did not know men, my love,' said Sabran, with a smile. - -To him the unhappiness and the ill-will of Egon Vàsàrhely were matters -of supreme indifference; in a manner they gratified him, they even -supplied that stimulant of rivalry which a man's passion needs to keep -at its height in the calm of safe possession. That Egon Vàsàrhely saw -his perfect happiness lent it pungency and a keener sense of victory. -When he kissed his wife's hand in the sight of her cousin, the sense -of the pain it dealt to the spectator gave the trivial action to him -all the sweetness and the ardour of the first caresses of his accepted -passion. - -Of that she knew nothing. It would have seemed to her ignoble, as so -much that makes up men's desire always does seem to a woman of her -temperament, even whilst it dominates and solicits her, and forces her -to share something of its own intoxication. - -'Egon is very unreasonable,' said Mdme. Ottilie. 'He believes that -if you had not met Réné you would have in time loved himself. It is -foolish. Love is a destiny. Had you married him you would not have -loved him. He would soon have perceived that and been miserable, much -more miserable than he is now, for he would have been unable to release -you. I think he should not have come here at all if he could not have -met M. de Sabran with at least equanimity.' - -'I think so, too,' said Wanda, and an impatience against her cousin -began to grow into anger; without being conscious of it, she had placed -Sabran so high in her own esteem that she could forgive none who did -not adore her own idol. It was a weakness in her that was lovely and -touching in a character that had had before hardly enough of the usual -foibles of humanity. Every error of love is lovable. - -Vàsàrhely could not dismiss from his mind the impression which haunted -him. - -'I conclude you knew the Marquis de Sabran well in France?' he said one -day to Baron Kaulnitz, who was still there. - -Kaulnitz demurred. - -'No, I cannot say that I did. I knew him by repute; that was not very -pure. However, the Faubourg always received and sustained him; the -Comte de Chambord did the same; they were the most interested. One -cannot presume to think they could be deceived.' - -'Deceived!' echoed Prince Egon. 'What a singular word to use. Do you -mean to imply the possibility of--of any falsity on his part--any -intrigue to appear what he is not?' - -'No,' said Kaulnitz, with hesitation. 'Honestly, I cannot say so much. -An impression was given me at the moment of his signing his marriage -contract that he concealed something; but it was a mere suspicion. As I -told you, the whole Legitimist world, the most difficult to enter, the -most incredulous of assumption, received him with open arms. All his -papers were of unimpeachable regularity. There was never a doubt hinted -by anyone, and yet I will confess to you, my dear Egon, since we are -speaking in confidence, that I have had always my own doubts as to his -marquisate of Sabran.' - -'_Grosser Gott!_' exclaimed Vàsàrhely, as he started from his seat. -'Why did you not stop the marriage?' - -'One does not stop a marriage by a mere baseless suspicion,' replied -Kaulnitz. 'I have not one shadow of reason for my probably quite -unwarranted conjecture. It merely came into my mind also at the -signing of the contracts. I had already done all I could to oppose -the marriage, but Wanda was inflexible--you are witness of the charm -he still possesses for her--and even the Princess was scarcely -less infatuated. Besides, it must be granted that few men are more -attractive in every way; and as he _is_ one of us, whatever else he be, -his honour is now our honour, as you said yourself the other day.' - -'One could always kill him,' muttered Vàsàrhely, 'and set her free so, -if one were sure.' - -'Sure of what?' said Kaulnitz, rather alarmed at the effect of his own -words. 'You Magyar gentlemen always think that every knot can be cut -with a sword. If he were a mere adventurer (which is hardly possible) -it would not mend matters for you to run him through the heart; there -are his children.' - -'Would the marriage be legal if his name were assumed?' - -'Oh, no! She could have it annulled, of course, both by Church and Law. -All those pretty children would have no rights and no name. But we are -talking very wildly and in a theatrical fashion. He is as certainly -Marquis de Sabran as I am Karl von Kaulnitz.' - -Vàsàrhely said nothing; his mind was in tumult, his heart oppressed by -a sense of secrecy and of a hope that was guilty and mean. - -He did not speak to his companion of Vassia Kazán, but his conjecture -seemed to hover before his sight like a black cloud which grew bigger -every hour. - -He remained at Hohenszalras throughout the autumnal festivities. He -felt as if he could not go away with that doubt still unsolved, that -suspicion either confirmed or uprooted. His cousin grew as uneasy at -his presence there as she had before been uneasy at his absence. Her -instinct told her that he was the foe of the one dearest to her on -earth. She felt that the gallant and generous temper of him had changed -and grown morose; he was taciturn, moody, solitary. - -He spent almost all his time out of doors, and devoted himself to the -hardy sport of the mountains and forests with a sort of rage. Guests -came and went at the castle; some were imperial, some royal people; -there was always a brilliant circle of notable persons there, and -Sabran played his part as their host, with admirable tact, talent, and -good humour. His wit, his amiability, his many accomplishments, and -his social charm were in striking contrast to the sombre indifference -of Vàsàrhely, whom men had no power to amuse and women no power to -interest. Prince Egon was like a magnificent picture by Rembrandt, -as he sat in his superb uniform in a corner of a ball-room with the -collars of his orders blazing with jewels, and his hands crossed on -the diamond-studded hilt of his sword; but he was so mute, so gloomy, -so austere, that the vainest, coquette there ceased to hope to please -him, and his most cordial friends found his curt contemptuous replies -destroy their desire for his companionship. - -Wanda, who was frankly and fondly attached to him, began to long for -his departure. The gaze of his black eyes, fixed in their fire and -gloom on the little gay figures of her children, filled her with a -vague apprehension. - -'If he would only find some one and be happy,' she thought, with anger -at this undesired and criminal love which clung to her so persistently. - -'Am I made of wax?' he said to her with scorn, when she ventured to -hint at her wishes. - -'How I wish I had not asked him to remain here!' she said to herself -many times. It was not possible for her to dismiss her cousin, who had -been from his infancy accustomed to look on the Hohenszalrasburg as his -second home. But as circle after circle of guests came, went, and were -replaced by others, and Egon Vàsàrhely still retained the rooms in the -west tower that had been his from boyhood, his continual presence grew -irksome and irritating to her. - -'He forgets that it is now my husband's house!' she thought. - -There was only one living creature in all the place to whom Vàsàrhely -unbent from his sullen and haughty reserve, and that one was the child -Bela. - -Bela was as beautiful as the morning, with his shower of golden hair, -and his eyes like sapphires, and his skin like a lily. With curious -self-torture Vàsàrhely would attract the child to him by tales of -daring and of sport, and would watch with intent eyes every line of -the small face, trying therein to read the secret of the man by whom -this child had been begotten. Bela, all unconscious, was proud of this -interest displayed in him by this mighty soldier, of whose deeds in war -Ulrich and Hubert and Otto told such Homeric tales. - -'Bela will fight with you when he is big,' he would say, trying to -inclose the jewelled hilt of Vàsàrhely's sword in his tiny fingers, or -trotting after him through the silence of the tapestried corridors. -When she saw them thus together she felt that she could understand the -superstitious fear of oriental women when their children are looked at -fixedly. - -'You are very good to my boy,' she said once to Vàsàrhely, when he had -let the child chatter by his side for hours. - -Vàsàrhely turned away abruptly. - -'There are times when I could kill your son, because he is his,' he -muttered, 'and there are times when I could worship him, because he is -yours.' - -'Do not talk so, Egon,'she said, gravely. 'If you will feel so, it is -best--I must say it--it is best that you should see neither my child -nor me.' - -He took no notice of her words. - -'The children would always be yours,' he muttered. 'You would never -leave him, never disgrace him for their sake; even if one knew--it -would be of no use.' - -'Dear Egon,' she said in real distress, 'what strange things are you -saying? Are you mad? Whose disgrace do you mean?' - -'Let us suppose an extreme case,' he said, with a hard laugh. 'Suppose -their father were base, or vile, or faithless, would you hate the -children? Surely you would.' - -'I have not imagination enough to suppose any such thing,'she said very -coldly. 'And you do not know what a mother's love is, my cousin.' - -He walked away, leaving her abruptly. - -'How strange he grows!' she thought. 'Surely his mind must be touched; -jealousy is a sort of madness.' - -She bade the children's attendants keep Count Bela more in the -nurseries; she told them that the child teased her guests, and must -not be allowed to run so often at his will and whim over the house.' -She never seriously feared that Egon would harm the child: his noble -and chivalrous nature could not have changed so cruelly as that; but -it hurt her to see his eyes fixed on the son of Sabran with such -persistent interrogation and so strange an intensity of observation. It -made her think of old Italian tales of the evil eye. - -She did not know that Vàsàrhely had come thither with a sincere and -devout intention to conquer his jealous hatred of her husband, and -to habituate himself to the sight of her in the new relations of her -life. She did not know that he would probably have honestly tried to -do his duty, and honestly striven to feel at least esteem for one so -near to her, if the suspicion which had become almost certainty in his -own mind had not made him believe that he saw in Sabran a traitor, -a bastard, and a criminal whose offences were the deepest of all -possible offences, and whose degradation was the lowest of all possible -degradation, in the sight of the haughty magnate of Hungary, steeped -to the lips in all the traditions and the convictions of an unsullied -nobility. If what he believed were, indeed, the truth, he would hold -Sabran lower than any beggar crouching at the gate of his palace in -Buda, than any gipsy wandering in the woods of his mountain fortress -of Taróc. If what he believed were the truth, no leper would seem to -him so loathsome as this brilliant and courtly gentleman to whom his -cousin had given her hand, her honour, and her life. - -'Doubt, like a raging tooth,' gnawed at his heart, and a hope, which -he knew was dishonourable to his chivalry, sprang up in him, vague, -timid, and ashamed. If, indeed, it were as he believed, would not such -crime, proven on the sinner, part him for ever from the pure, proud -life of Wanda von Szalras? And then, as he thought thus, he groaned in -spirit, remembering the children--the children with their father's face -and their father's taint in them, for ever living witnesses of their -mother's surrender to a lying hound. - -'Your cousin cannot be said to contribute to the gaiety of your -house parties, my love,' Sabran observed with a smile one day, when -they received the announcement of an intended visit from one of the -archdukes. Egon Vàsàrhely was still there, and even his cousin, much -as she longed for his departure, could not openly urge it upon him; -relationship and hospitality alike forbade. - -'He is sadly changed,' she answered. 'He was always silent, but he is -now morose. Perhaps he lives too much at Taróc, where all is very wild -and solitary.' - -'He lives too much in your memory,' said Sabran, with no compassion. -'Could he determine to forgive my marriage with you, there would be a -chance for him to recover his peace of mind. Only, my Wanda, it is not -possible for any man to be consoled for the loss of you.' - -'But that is nothing new,' she answered, with impatience. 'If he felt -so strongly against you, why did he come here? It was not like his -high, chivalrous honour.' - -'Perhaps he came with the frank will to be reconciled to his fate,' -said Sabran, not knowing how closely he struck the truth, 'and at the -sight of you, of all that he lost and that I gained, he cannot keep his -resolution.' - -'Then he should go away,' she said, with that indifference to all -others save the one beloved which all love begets. - -'I think he should. But who can tell him so?' - -'I did myself the other day. I shall tell him so more plainly, if -needful. Who cannot honour you shall be no friend of mine, no guest of -ours.' - -'Oh, my love!' said Sabran, whose conscience was touched. 'Do not have -feud with your relatives for my sake. They are worthier than I.' - -The Archduke, with his wife, arrived there on the following day, and -Hohenszalras was gorgeous in the September sun, with all the pomp with -which the lords of it had always welcomed their Imperial friends. -Vàsàrhely looked on as a spectator at a play when he watched its -present master receive the Imperial Prince with that supreme ease, -grace, and dignity which were so admirably blent in him. - -'Can he be but a marvellous comedian?' wondered the man, to whom a -bastard was less even than a peasant. - -There was nothing of vanity, of effort, of assumption visible in the -perfect manner of his host. He seemed to the backbone, in all the -difficult subtleties of society, as in the simple, frank intercourse -of man and man, that which even Kaulnitz had conceded that he was, -_gentilhomme de race._ Could he have been born a serf--bred from the -hour's caprice of a voluptuary for a serving-woman? - -Vàsàrhely sat mute, sunk so deeply in his own thoughts that all the -festivities round him went by like a pageantry on a stage, in which he -had no part. - -'He looks like the statue of the Commendatore,' said Olga Brancka, who -had returned for the archducal visit, as she glanced at the sombre, -stately figure of her brother-in-law, Sabran, to whom she spoke, -laughed with a little uneasiness. Would the hand of Egon Vàsàrhely ever -seize him and drag him downward like the hand of the statue in _Don -Giovanni?_ - -'What a pity that Wanda did not marry him, and that I did not marry -you!' said Mdme. Brancka, saucily, but with a certain significance of -meaning. - -'You do me infinite honour!' he answered. 'But, at the risk of seeming -most ungallant, I must confess the truth. I am grateful that the gods -arranged matters as they are. You are enchanting, Madame Olga, as a -guest, but as a wife--alas! who can drink _kümmel_ every day?' - -She smiled enchantingly, showing her pretty teeth, but she was bitterly -angered. She had wished for a compliment at the least. 'What can these -men see in Wanda?' she thought savagely. 'She is handsome, it is true; -but she has no coquetry, no animation, no passion. She is dressed by -Worth, and has a marvellous quantity of old jewels; but for that no one -would say anything of her except that she was much too tall and had a -German face!' And she persuaded herself that it was so; if the Venus -de Medici could be animated into life, women would only remark that her -waist was large. - -Mdme. Olga was still very lovely, and took care to be never seen except -at her loveliest. She always treated Sabran with a great familiarity, -which his wife was annoyed by, though she did not display her -annoyance. Mdme Brancka always called him _mon cousin_ or _beau cousin_ -in the language she usually used, and affected much more previous -knowledge of him than their acquaintance warranted, since it had been -merely such slight intimacy as results from moving in the same society. -She was small and slight, but of great spirit; she shot, fished, rode, -and played billiards with equal skill; she affected an adoration of -the most dangerous sports, and even made a point of sharing the bear -and the boar hunt. Wanda, who, though a person of much greater real -courage, abhorred all the cruelties and ferocities that perforce -accompany sport, saw her with some irritation go out with Sabran on -these expeditions. - -'Women are utterly out of place in such sport as that, Olga,' she urged -to her; 'and indeed are very apt to bring the men into peril, for of -course no man can take care of himself whilst he has the safety of a -woman to attend to; she must of necessity distract and trouble him.' - -But the Countess Stefan only laughed, and slipped with affectation her -jewelled hunting-knife into its place in her girdle. - -Throughout the Archduke's visit, and after the Prince's departure, -Vàsàrhely continued to stay on, whilst a succession of other guests -came and went, and the summer deepened into autumn. He felt that he -could not leave his cousin's house with that doubt unsolved; yet he -knew that he might stay on for ever with no more certainty to reward -him and confirm his suspicions than he possessed now. His presence -annoyed his host, but Sabran was too polished a gentleman to betray -his irritation; sometimes Vàsàrhely shunned his presence and his -conversation for days together, at other times he sought them and rode -with him, shot with him, and played cards with him, in the vain hope of -gathering from some chance admission or allusion some clue to Sabran's -early days. But a perfectly happy man is not given at any time to -retrospection, and Sabran less than most men loved his past. He would -gladly have forgotten everything that he had ever done or said before -his marriage at the Hofburg. - -The intellectual powers and accomplishments of Sabran dazzled Vàsàrhely -with a saddened sense of inferiority. Like most great soldiers he -had a genuine humility in his measurement of himself. He knew that he -had no talents except as a leader of cavalry. 'It is natural that she -never looked at me,' he thought, 'when she had once seen this man, with -his wit, his grace, his facility.' He could not even regard the skill -of Sabran in the arts, in the salon, in the theatre with the contempt -which the 'Wild Boar of Taróc' might have felt for a mere maker of -music, a squire of dames, a writer of sparkling little comedies, a -painter of screens, because he knew that both at Idrac and in France -Sabran had showed himself the possessor of those martial and virile -qualities, by the presence or the absence of which the Hungarian noble -measured all men. He himself could only love well and live well: he -reflected sadly that honesty and honour are not alone enough to draw -love in return. - -As the weeks passed on, his host grew so accustomed to his presence -there that it ceased to give him offence or cause him anxiety. - -'He is not amusing, and he is not always polite,' he said to his -wife, 'but if he likes to consume his soul in gazing at you, I am not -jealous, my Wanda; and so taciturn a rival would hardly ever be a -dangerous one.' - -'Do not jest about it,' she answered him, with some real pain. 'I -should be very vexed at his remaining here, were it not that I feel -sure he will in time learn to live down his regrets, and to esteem and -appreciate you.' - -'Who knows but his estimation of me may not be the right one?' said -Sabran, with a pang of sad self-knowledge. And although he did not -attach any significance to the prolonged sojourn of the lord of Taróc -and Mohacs, he began to desire once more that his guest would return -to the solitudes of the Carlowitz vineyards, or of the Karpathian -mountains and gorges of snow. - -When over seven weeks had passed by, Vàsàrhely himself began to think -that to stay in the Iselthal was useless and impossible, and he had -heard from Taróc tidings which annoyed him--that his brother Stefan -and his wife, availing themselves of his general permission to visit -any one of his places when they chose had so strained the meaning of -the permission that they had gone to his castle, with a score of their -Parisian friends, and were there keeping high holiday and festival, -to the scandal of his grave old stewards, and their own exceeding -diversion. Hospitable to excess as he was, the liberty displeased him, -especially as his, men wrote him word that his favourite horses; were -being ruined by over-driving, and in the list of the guests which they -sent him were the names of more than one too notorious lady, against -whose acquaintance he had repeatedly counselled Olga Brancka. He would -not have cared much what they had done at any other of his houses, but -at Taróc, his mother, whom he had adored, had lived and died, and the -place was sacred to him. - -He determined to tear himself away from Hohenszalras, and go and -scatter these gay unbidden revellers in the dusky Karpathian ravines. -'I cannot stay here for ever,' he thought, 'and I might be here for -years without acquiring any more certainty than my own conviction. -Either I am wrong, or he has nothing to conceal, or if I be right he is -too wary to betray himself. If only I could see his shoulder where I -struck the dagger--but I cannot go into his bath-room and say to him, -"You are Vassia Kazán!"' - -He resolved to leave on the day after the morrow. For the next day -there was organised on a large scale a hunting party, to which the -nobility of the Tauern had been bidden. There were only some half-dozen -men then staying in the Burg, most of them Austrian soldiers. The delay -gave him the chance he longed for, which but for an accident he might -never have had, though he had tarried there half a century. - -Early in the morning there was a great breakfast in the Rittersaal, -at which Wanda did not appear. Sabran received the nobles and gentry -of the province, and did the honours of his table with his habitual -courtliness and grace. He was not hospitable in Vàsàrhely's sense of -the word: he was too easily wearied by others, and too contemptuous of -ordinary humanity; but he was alive to the pleasure of being lord of -Hohenszalras, and sensible of the favour with which he was looked upon -by a nobility commonly so exclusive and intolerant of foreign invasion. - -Breakfast over, the whole party went out and up into the high woods. -The sport at Hohenszalras always gave fair play to beast and bird. In -deference to the wishes of his wife, Sabran would have none of those -battues which make of the covert or the forest a slaughterhouse. He -himself disdained that sort of sport, and liked danger and adventure -to mingle with his out-of-door pastimes. Game fairly found by the -spaniel or the pointer; the boar, the wolf, the bear, honestly started -and given its fair chance of escape or revenge; the steinbock stalked -in a long hard day with peril and effort--these were all delightful -to him on occasion; but for the crowded drive, the horde of beaters, -the terrified bewildered troop of forest denizens driven with sticks -on to the very barrels of the gunners, for this he had the boundless -contempt of a man who had chased the buffalo over the prairie, and -lassoed the wild horse and the wild bull leaning down from the saddle -of his mustang. The day passed off well, and his guests were all -content: he alone was not, because a large brown bear which he had -sighted and tired at twice had escaped him, and roused that blood-lust -in him which is in the hearts of all men. - -'Will you come out alone with me to-morrow and try for that grand -brute?' he said to Vàsàrhely, as the last of his guests took their -departure. - -Vàsàrhely hesitated. - -'I intended to leave to-morrow; I have been here too long. But since -you are so good, I will stay twenty-four hours longer.' - -He was ashamed in his own heart of the willingness with which he caught -at the excuse to remain within sight of his cousin and within watch of -Sabran. - -'I am charmed,' said his host, in himself regretful that he had -suggested a reason for delay; he had not known that the other had -intended to leave so soon. They remained together on the terrace giving -directions to the _jägermeister_ for the next day. - -Vàsàrhely looked at his successful rival and said to himself: 'It is -impossible. I must be mad to dream it. I am misled by a mere chance -resemblance, and even my own memory may have deceived me; I was but a -child. - -In the forenoon they both went out into the high hills again, where -the wild creatures had their lairs and were but seldom troubled by a -rifle-shot. They brought down some black grouse and hazel grouse and -mountain partridges on their upward way. The jägers were scattered in -the woods; the day was still and cloudy, a true sportsman's day, with -no gleam of sun to shine in their eyes and on the barrels of their -rifles. Sabran shooting to the right, Vàsàrhely to the left, they went -through the grassy drives that climbed upward and upward, and many a -mountain hare was rolled over in their path, and many a ptarmigan and -capercailzie. But when they reached the high pine forests where the big -game harboured, they ceased to shoot, and advanced silently, waiting -and reserving their fire for any large beast the jägers might start and -drive towards them from above. In the greyness of the day the upper -woods were almost dusky, so thickly, stood the cembras and the Siberian -pines. There was everywhere the sound of rushing waters, some above -some underground. - -'The first beast to you, the second to me,' said Sabran, in a whisper -to his companion, who demurred and declared that the first fire should -be his host's. - -'No,' said Sabran. 'I am at home. Permit me so small a courtesy to my -guest.' - -Vàsàrhely flushed darkly. In his very politeness this man seemed to him -to contrive to sting and wound him. - -Sabran, however, who had meant nothing more than he had said, did not -observe the displeasure he had caused, and paused at the spot agreed -upon with Otto, a grassy spot where four drives met. There they both -in absolute silence waited and watched for what the hunter's patron, -good S. Hubert, might vouchsafe to send them. They had so waited about -a quarter of an hour, when down one of the drives made dusky by the low -hanging arolla boughs, there came towards them a great dark beast, and -would have gone by them had not Vàsàrhely fired twice as it approached. -The bear rolled over, shot through the head and heart. - -'Well done,' cried Sabran, but scarcely were the words off his lips -when another bear burst through the boughs ahead of him by fifty yards. -He levelled his rifle and received its approach with two bullets in -rapid succession. But neither had entered a vital part, and the animal, -only rendered furious by pain, reared and came towards him with -deadliest intent, its great fangs grinning. He fired again, and this -shot struck home. The poor brute fell with a crash, the blood pouring -from its mouth. It was not dead and its agony was great. - -'I will give it the _coup de grâce_,' said Sabran, who, for his wife's -sake', was as humane as any hunter ever can be to the beasts he slew. - -'Take care,' said Vàsàrhely. 'It is dangerous to touch a wounded bear. -I have known one that looked stone dead rise up and kill a man.' - -Sabran did not heed. He went up to the poor, panting, groaning mass of -fur and flesh, and drew his hunting-knife to give it the only mercy -that it was now possible for it to receive. But as he stooped to -plunge the knife into its heart the bear verified the warning he had -been given. Gathering all its oozing strength in one dying effort to -avenge its murder, it leaped on him, dashed him to the earth, and clung -to him with claw and tooth fast in his flesh. He freed his right arm -from its ponderous weight, its horrible grip, and stabbed it with his -knife as it clung to and lacerated him where he lay upon the grass. -In an instant, Vàsàrhely and the jäger who was with them were by his -side, freed him from the animal, and raised him from the ground. He -was deluged with its blood and his own. Vàsàrhely, for one moment of -terrible joy, for which he loathed himself afterwards, thought, 'Is he -dead?' Men had died of lesser things than this. - -He stood erect and smiled, and said that it was nothing, but even as he -spoke a faintness came over him, and his lips turned grey. - -The jäger supported him tenderly, and would have had him sit down upon -a boulder of rock, but he resisted. - -'Let me get to that water, he said feebly, looking to a spot a few -yards off, where one of the many torrents of the Hohe Tauern tumbled -from the wooded cliff above through birch and beechwood, and rushing -underground left a clear round brown pool amongst the ferns. He took a -draught from the flask of brandy; tendered him by the lad, and leaning -on the youth, and struggling against the sinking swoon that was coming -on him, walked to the edge of the pool, and dropped down there on one -of the mossy stones which served as a rough chair. - -'Strip me, and wash the blood away, he said to the huntsman, whilst the -green wood and the daylight, and the face of the man grew dim to him, -and seemed to recede further and further in a misty darkness. The youth -obeyed, and cut away the velvet coat, the cambric shirt, till he was -naked to his waist; then, making sponges of handkerchiefs, the jäger -began to wash the blood from him and staunch it as best he could. - -Egon Vàsàrhely stood by, without offering any aid; his eyes were -fastened on the magnificent bust of Sabran, as the sunlight fell on the -fair blue-veined flesh, the firm muscles, the symmetrical throat, the -slender, yet sinewy arms, round one of which was clasped a bracelet of -fair hair. He had the chance he needed. - -He approached and told the lad roughly to leave the Marquis to him, -he was doing him more harm than good; he himself had seen many -battle-fields, and many men bleeding to death upon their mother earth. -By this time Sabran's eyes were closed; he was hardly conscious of -anything, a great numbness and infinite exhaustion had fallen upon him; -his lips moved feebly. 'Wanda!' he said once or twice,'Wanda!' - -The face of the man who leaned above him grew dark as night; he gnashed -his teeth as he begun his errand of mercy. - -Leave me with your lord,' he said to the young jäger. 'Go you to the -castle. Find Herr Greswold, bring him; do not alarm the Countess, and -say nothing to the household.' - -The huntsman went, fleet as a roe. Vàsàrhely remained alone with -Sabran, who only heard the sound of the rushing water magnified a -million times on his dulled ear. - -Vàsàrhely tore the shirt in shreds, and laved and bathed the wounds, -and then began to bind them with the skill of a soldier who had often -aided his own wounded troopers. But first of all, when he had washed -the blood away, he searched with keen and eager eyes for a scar on the -white skin--and found it. - -On the right shoulder was a small triangular mark; the mark of what, -to a soldier's eyes, told of an old wound. When he saw it he smiled a -cruel smile, and went on with his work of healing. - -Sabran leaned against the rock behind him; his eyes were still closed, -the pulsations of his heart were irregular. He had lost a great -quantity of blood, and the pool at his feet was red. They were but -flesh wounds, and there was no danger in them themselves, but great -veins had been severed, and the stream of life had hurried forth in -torrents. Vàsàrhely thrust the flask between his lips, but he could not -swallow. - -All had been done that could be for the immediate moment. The stillness -of the deep woods was around them; the body of the brown bear lay on -the soaked grass; a vulture scenting death, was circling above against -the blue sky. Over the mind of his foe swept at the sight of them one -of those hideous temptations which assail the noblest natures in an -hour of hatred. If he tore the bandages he had placed there off the -rent veins of the unconscious man whom he watched, the blood would -leap out again in floods, and so weaken the labouring heart that in -ten minutes more its powers would fall so low that all aid would be -useless. Never more would the lips of Sabran meet his wife! Never -more would his dreams be dreamed upon her breast! For the moment the -temptation seemed to curl about him like a flame; he shuddered, and -crossed himself. Was he a soldier to slay in cold blood by treachery a -powerless rival? - -He leaned over Sabran again, and again tried to force the mouthpiece -of his wine-flask through his teeth. A few drops passed them, and -he revived a little, and swallowed a few drops more. The blood was -arrested in its escape, and the pulsations of the heart were returning -to their normal measure; after a while he unclosed his eyes, and looked -up at the green leaves, at the blue sky. - -'Do not alarm Wanda,' he said feebly. 'It is a scratch; it will be -nothing. Take me home.' - -With his left hand he felt for the hair bracelet on his right arm, -between the shoulder and the wrist. It was stiff with his own blood. - -Then Vàsàrhely leaned over him and met his upward gaze, and said in his -ear, that seemed still filled with the rushing of many waters, 'You are -Vassia Kazán!' - -When a little later the huntsman returned, bringing the physician, whom -he had met a mile nearer the house in the woods, and some peasants -bearing a litter made out of pine branches and wood moss, they found -Sabran stretched insensible beside the water-pool; and Egon Vàsàrhely, -who stood erect beside him, said in a strange tone: - -'I have stanched the blood, and he has swooned, you see. I commit him -to your hands. I am not needed.' - -And, to their surprise, he turned and walked away with swift steps into -the green gloom of the dense forest. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Sabran was still insensible when he was carried to the house. - -When he regained consciousness he was on his own bed, and his wife was -bending over him. A convulsion of grief crossed his face as he lifted -his eyelids and looked at her. - -'Wanda,' he murmured feebly, 'Wanda, you will forgive----' - -She kissed him passionately, while her tears fell like rain upon his -forehead. She did not hear his words distinctly; she was only alive to -the intense joy of his recovered consciousness, of the sound of his -voice, of the sense of his safety. She kneeled by his bed, covering his -hands with caresses, prodigal of a thousand names of love, given up to -an abandonment of terror and of hope which broke down all the serenity -and self-command of her habitual temper. She was not even aware of the -presence of others. The over-mastering emotions of anguish and of joy -filled her soul, and made her seem deaf, indifferent to all living -things save one. - -Sabran lay motionless. He felt her lips, he heard her voice; he did not -look up again, nor did he speak again. He shut his eyes, and slowly -remembered all that had passed. Greswold approached him and held his -fingers on his wrist, and held a little glass to his mouth. Sabran put -it away. 'It is an opiate,' he said feebly; 'I will not have it.' - -He was resolute; he closed his teeth, he thrust the calming draught -away. - -He was thinking to himself: 'Sometimes in unconsciousness one speaks.' - -'You are not in great pain?' asked the physician. He made a negative -movement of his head. What were the fire and the smart of his lacerated -flesh, of his torn muscles, to the torments of his fears, to the agony -of his long stifled conscience? - -'Do not torment him, let him be still,' she said to the physician; she -held his hand in both her own and pressed it to her heart. His languid -eyes thanked her, then closed again. - -Herr Greswold withdrew to a little distance and waited. It seemed to -him strange that a man of the high courage and strong constitution of -Sabran should be thus utterly broken down by any wound that was not -mortal; should be thus sunk into dejection and apathy, making no effort -to raise himself, even to console and reassure his wife. It was not -like his careless and gallant temper, his virile and healthful strength. - -It was true, the doctor reflected, that he had lost a great amount of -blood. Such a loss he knew sometimes affects the heart and shatters the -nervous system in many unlooked-for ways. Yet, he thought, there was -something beyond this; the attitude and the regard of Egon Vàsàrhely -had been unnatural at such an hour of peril. 'When he said just now -"forgive," what did he mean?' reflected the old man, whose ear had -caught the word which had escaped that of Wanda, who had been only -alive to the voice she adored. - -The next four days were anxious and terrible. Sabran did not recover as -the physician expected that he would, seeing the nature of his wounds -and the naturally elastic and sanguine temperament he possessed. He -slept little, had considerable fever, woke from the little rest he -had, startled, alarmed, bathed in cold sweats; at other times he lay -still in an apathy almost comatose, from which all the caresses and -entreaties of his wife failed to rouse him. They began to fear that the -discharge from the arteries had in some subtle and dangerous manner -affected the action of the heart, the composition of the blood, and -produced aneurism or pyæmia. 'The hero of Idrac to be prostrated by a -mere flesh wound!' thought Herr Greswold in sore perplexity. He sent -for a great man of science from Vienna, who, when he came, declared the -treatment admirable, the wounds healthy, the heart in a normal state, -but added it was evident the nervous system had received a severe -shock, the effects of which still remained. - -'But it is that which I cannot understand,' said the old man in -despair. 'If you only knew the Marquis de Sabran as I know him; the -most courageous, the most gay, the most resolute of men! A man to laugh -at death in its face! A man absolutely without fear!' - -The other assented. - -'Every one knows what he did in the floods at Idrac,' he answered; 'but -he has a sensitive temperament for all that. If you did not tell me it -is impossible, I should say that he had had some mental shock, some -great grief. The prostration seems to me more of the mind than the -body. But you have assured me it is impossible?' - -'Impossible! There does not live on earth a man so happy, so fortunate, -so blessed in all the world as he.' - -'Men have a past that troubles them sometimes,' said the Vienna -physician. 'Nay, I mean nothing, but I believe that M. de Sabran was a -man of pleasure. The cup of pleasure sometimes has dregs that one must -drink long afterwards. I do not mean anything; I merely suggest. The -prostration has to my view its most probable origin in mental trouble; -but it would do him more harm than good to excite him by any effort to -certify this. To the Countess von Szalras I have merely said, that his -state is the result of the large loss of blood, and, indeed, after all -it may be so.' - -On the fifth day, Sabran, still lying in that almost comatose silence -which had been scarcely broken since his accident, said in a scarce -audible voice to his wife: - -'Is your cousin here?' - -She stooped towards him and answered: - -'Yes; he is here, love. All the others went immediately, but Egon -remained. I suppose he thought it looked kinder to do so. I have -scarcely seen him, of course.' - -The pallor of his face grew greyer; he turned his head away restlessly. - -'Why does he not go?' he muttered in his throat. 'Does he wait for my -death?' - -'Oh, Réné! hush, hush!' she said, with horror and amaze. 'My love, how -can you say such things? You are in no danger; the doctor assures me -so. In a week or two you will be well, you will be yourself.' - -'Send your cousin away.' - -She hesitated; troubled by his unreasoning, restless jealousy, which -seemed to be the only consciousness of life remaining with him. 'I will -obey you, love; you are lord here,' she said softly; 'but will it not -look strange? No guest can well be told to go.' - -'A guest!--he is an enemy!' - -She sighed, knowing how hopelessly reason can struggle against the -delusions of a sick bed. 'I will tell him to go to-morrow,' she said, -to soothe him. 'To-night it is too late.' - -'Write to him--do not leave me.' - -There was a childlike appeal in his voice, that from a man so strong -had a piteous pathos. Her eyes swam with tears as she heard. - -'Oh, my dearest, I will not leave you!' she said passionately, 'not for -one moment whilst I live; and oh, my beloved! what could death ever -change in _me_? Have you so little faith?' - -'You do not know,' he said, so low that his breath scarcely stirred the -air. - -She thought that he was tormented by a doubt that she would not be -faithful to him if he died. She stooped and kissed him. - -'My own, I would sooner be faithless to you in your life than after -death. Surely you know me well enough to know that at the least?' - -He was silent. A great sigh struggled from his breast and escaped his -pale lips like a parting breath. - -'Kiss me again,' he murmured; 'kiss me again, whilst----That gives me -life,' he said, as he drew her head down upon his bosom, where his -heart throbbed labouredly. A little while later he fell asleep. He -slept some hours. When he awoke he was consumed by a nameless fear. - -'Is your cousin gone?' he asked. - -She told him that it was one o'clock in the same night; she had not -written yet. - -'Let him stay,' he said feverishly. 'He shall not think I fear him. Do -you hear me? Let him stay.' - -The words seemed to her the causeless caprice of a jealousy magnified -and distorted by the weakness of fever. She strove to answer him -calmly. 'He shall go or stay as you please,' she assured him. 'What -does it matter, dear, what Egon does? You always speak of Egon. You -have never spoken of the children once.' - -She wanted to distract his thoughts. She was pained to think how deep, -though unspoken, his antagonism to her cousin must have been, that now -in his feebleness it--was the one paramount absorbing thought. - -A great sadness came upon his face as she spoke; his lips trembled a -little. - -'Ah! the children,' he repeated. 'Yes, bring them to me to-morrow. Bela -is too like me. Poor Bela, it will be his curse.' - -'It is my joy of joys,' she murmured, afraid to see how his mind seemed -astray. - -A shudder that was almost a spasm passed over him. He did not reply. He -turned his face away from her, and seemed to sleep. - -The day following he was somewhat calmer, somewhat stronger, though his -fever was high. - -The species of paralysis that had seemed to; fall on all his faculties -had in a great measure left him. 'You wish, me to recover,' he said to -her. 'I will do so, though perhaps it were, better not?' - -'He says strange things,' she said to Greswold. 'I cannot think why he -has such thoughts.' - -'It is not he, himself, that has them, it is his fever,' answered the -doctor. 'Why, in fever, do people often hate what they most adore when -they are in health?' - -She was reassured, but not contented. - -The children were brought to see him. Bela had with him an ivory -air-gun, with which he was accustomed to blow down his metal soldiers; -he looked at his father with awed, dilated eyes, and said that he would -go out with the gun and kill the brothers of the bear that had done the -harm. - -'The bear was quite right,' said Sabran. 'It was I who was wrong to -take a life not my own.' - -'That is beyond Bela,' said his wife. 'But I will translate it to him -into language he shall understand, though I fear very much, say what I -will, he will be a hunter and a soldier one day.' - -Bela looked from one to the other, knitting, his fair brows as he sat -on the edge of the bed. - -'Bela will be like Egon,' he said, 'with all gold and fur to dress up -in, and a big jewelled sword, and ten hundred men and horses, and Bela -will be a great killer of things!' - -Sabran smiled languidly, but she saw that he flinched at her cousin's -name. - -'I shall not love you, Bela, if you are a killer of things that are -God's dear creatures,' she said, as she sent the child away. - -His blue eyes grew dark with anger. - -'God only cares about Bela,' he said in innocent profanity, with -a profound sense of his own vastness in the sight of heaven, 'and -Gela,' he added, with the condescending tenderness wherewith he always -associated his brother and himself. - -'Where could he get all that overwhelming pride?' she said, as he was -led away. 'I have tried to rear him so simply. Do what I may he will -grow arrogant and selfish.' - -'My dear,' said Sabran, very bitterly, 'what avails that he was borne -in your bosom? He is my son!' - -'Gela is your son, and he is so different,' she answered, not seeking -to combat the self-censure to which she was accustomed in him, and -which she attributed to faults or follies of a past life, magnified by -a conscience too sensitive. - -'He is all yours then,' he said, with a wan smile. 'You have prevailed -over evil.' - -In a few days later his recovery had progressed so far that he had -regained his usual tone and look; his wounds were healing, and his -strength was returning. He seemed to the keen eyes of Greswold to have -made a supreme effort to conquer the moral depression into which he had -sunk, and to have thrust away his malady almost by force of will. As he -grew better he never spoke of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -On the fifteenth day from his accident he was restored enough to health -for apprehension to cease. He passed some hours seated at an open -window in his own room. He never asked if Vàsàrhely were still there or -not. - -Wanda, who never left him, wondered at that silence, but she forbore to -bring forward a name which had had such power to agitate him. She was -troubled at the nervousness which still remained to him. The opening of -a door, the sound of a step, the entrance of a servant made him start -and turn pale. When she spoke of it with anxiety to Herr Joachim, he -said vague sentences as to the nervousness which was consequent on -great loss of blood, and brought forward instances of soldiers who had -lost their nerve from the same cause. It did not satisfy her. She was -the descendant of a long line of warriors; she could not easily believe -that her husband's intrepid and careless courage could have been -shattered by a flesh wound. - -'Did you really mean,' he said abruptly to her that afternoon, as he -sat for the first time beside the open panes of the oriel; 'did you -really mean that were I to die you would never forget me for any other?' - -She rose quickly as if she had been stung, and her face flushed. - -'Do I merit that doubt from you? she said. 'I think not.' - -She spoke rather in sadness than in anger. He had hurt her, he could -not anger her. He felt the rebuke. - -'Even if I were dead, should I have all your life?' he murmured, in -wonder at that priceless gift. - -'You and your children,' she said gravely. 'Ah! what can death do -against great love? Make its bands stronger perhaps, its power purer. -Nothing else.' - -'I thank you,' he said very low, with great humility, with intense -emotion. For a moment he thought----should he tell her, should he trust -this deep tenderness which could brave death; and might brave even -shame unblenching? He looked at her from under his drooped eyelids, and -then--he dared not. He knew the pride which was in her better than she -did----her pride, which was inherited by her firstborn, and had been -the sign manual of all her imperious race. - -He looked at her where she stood with the light falling on her through -the amber hues of painted glass; worn, wan, and tired by so many days -and nights of anxious vigil, she yet looked a woman whom a nation -might salute with the _pro rege nostro!_ that Maria Theresa heard. All -that a great race possesses and rejoices in of valour, of tradition, -of dignity, of high honour, and of blameless truth were expressed in -her; every movement, attitude, and gesture spoke of the aristocracy of -blood. All that potent and subtle sense of patrician descent which had -most allured and intoxicated him in other days now awed and daunted -him. He dared not tell her of his treason. He dared not. He was as a -false conspirator before a great queen he has betrayed. - -'Are you faint, my love?' she asked him, alarmed to see the change upon -his face and the exhaustion with which he sunk, backward against the -cushions of his chair. - -'Mere weakness; it will pass,' he said, smiling as best he might, to -reassure her. He felt like a man who slides down a crevasse, and has -time and consciousness enough to see the treacherous ice go by him, -the black abyss yawning below him, the cold, dark death awaiting him -beyond, whilst on the heights the sun is shining. - -That night he entreated her to leave him and rest. He assured her he -felt well; he feigned a need of sleep. For fifteen nights she had not -herself lain down. To please him she obeyed, and the deep slumber of -tired nature soon fell upon her. When he thought she slept, he rose -noiselessly and threw on a long velvet coat, sable-lined, that was by -his bedside, and looked at his watch. It was midnight. - -He crossed the threshold of the open door into his wife's chamber and -stood beside her bed for a moment, gazing at her as she slept. She -seemed like the marble statue of some sleeping saint; she lay in the -attitude of S. Cecilia on her bier at Home. The faint lamplight made -her fair skin white as snow. Bound her arm was a bracelet of his hair -like the one which he wore of hers. He stood and gazed on her, then -slowly turned away. Great tears fell down his cheeks as he left her -chamber. He opened the door of his own room, the outer one which led -into the corridor, and walked down the long tapestry-hung gallery -leading to the guest-chambers. It was the first time that he had walked -without assistance; his limbs felt strange and broken, but he held on, -leaning now and then to rest against the arras. The whole house was -still. - -He took his way straight to the apartments set aside for guests. All -was dark. The little lamp he carried shed a circle of light about his -steps but none beyond him. When he reached the chamber which he knew -was Egon Vàsàrhely's he did not pause. He struck on its panels with a -firm hand. - -The voice of Vàsàrhely asked from within, 'Who is there? Is there -anything wrong?' - -'It is I! Open,' answered Sabran. - -In a moment more the door unclosed. Vàsàrhely stood within it; he was -not undressed. There were a dozen wax candles burning in silver sconces -on the table within. The tapestried figures on the walls grew pale and -colossal in their light. He did not speak, but waited. - -Sabran entered and closed the door behind him. His face was bloodless, -but he carried himself erect despite the sense of faintness which -assailed him. - -'You know who I am?' he said simply, without preface or supplication. - -Vàsàrhely gave a gesture of assent. - -'How did you know it?' - -'I remembered,' answered the other. - -There was a moment's silence. If Vàsàrhely could have withered to the -earth by a gaze of scorn the man before him, Sabran would have fallen -dead. As it was his eyes dropped beneath the look, but the courage and -the dignity of his attitude did not alter. He had played his part of -a great noble for so long that it had ceased to be assumption and had -become his nature. - -'You will tell her?' he said, and his voice did not tremble, though his -very soul seemed to swoon within him. - -'I shall not tell her!' - -Vàsàrhely spoke with effort; his words were hoarse and stern. - -'You will not?' - -An immense joy, unlooked for, undreamed of, sprang up in him, checked -as it rose by incredulity. - -'But you loved her!' he said, on an impulse which he regretted even -as the exclamation escaped him. Vàsàrhely threw his head back with a -gesture of fine anger. - -'If I loved' her what is that to you?' he said, with a restrained -violence vibrating in his words. 'It is, perhaps, because I once loved -her that your foul secret is safe with me now. I shall not tell her. I -waited to say this to you. I could not write it lest it should meet her -eyes. You came to ask me this? Be satisfied and go.' - -'I came to ask you this because, had you said otherwise, I would have -shot myself ere she could have heard.' - -Vàsàrhely said nothing; a great scorn was still set like the grimness -of death upon his face. He looked far away at the dim figures on the -tapestries; he shrunk from the sight of his boyhood's enemy as from -some loathly unclean thing he must not kill. - -'Suicide!' he thought, 'the Slav's courage, the serf's refuge! - -Before the sight of Sabran the room went round, the lights grew dull, -the figures on the walls became, fantastic and unreal. His heart beat -with painful effort, yet his ears, his throat, his brain seemed full -of blood. The nerves of his whole body seemed to shrink and thrill and -quiver, but the force of habit kept him composed and erect before this -man who was his foe, yet did for him what few friends would have done. - -'I do not thank you,' he said at last. 'I understand; you spare me for -her sake, not mine.' - -'But for her, I would treat you so.' - -As he spoke he broke in two a slender agate ruler which lay on the -writing-table at his elbow. - -'Go,' he added, 'you have had my word; though we live fifty years you -are safe from me, because----because----God forgive you! you are hers.' - -He made a gesture towards the door. Sabran shivered under the insult -which his conscience could not resent, his hand dared not avenge. - -Hearing this there fell away from him the arrogance that had been his -mask, the courage that had been his shield. He saw himself for the -first time as this man saw him, as all the world would see him if once -it knew his secret. For the first time his past offences rose up like -ghosts naked from their graves. The calmness, the indifference, the -cynicism, the pride which had been so long in his manner and in his -nature deserted him. He felt base-born before a noble, a liar before a -gentleman, a coward before a man of honour. - -Where he stood, leaning on a high caned chair to support himself -against the sickly weakness which still came on him from his scarce -healed wounds, he felt for the first time to cower and shrink before -this man who was his judge, and might become his accuser did he choose. -Something in the last words of Egon Vàsàrhely suddenly brought home -to him the enormity of his own sin, the immensity of the other's -forbearance. He suddenly realised all the offence to honour, all the -outrage to pride, all the ineffaceable indignity which he had brought -upon a great race: all that he had done, never to be undone by any -expiation of his own, in making Wanda von Szalras the mother of his -sons. Submissive, he turned without a word of gesture or of pleading, -and felt his way out of the chamber through the dusky mists of the -faintness stealing on him. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -He reached his own room unseen, feeling his way with his hands against -the tapestry of the wall, and had presence of mind enough to fling his -clothes off him and stagger to his bed, where he sank down insensible. - -She was still asleep. - -When dawn broke they found him ill, exhausted, with a return of fever. -He had once a fit of weeping like a child. He could not bear his wife a -moment from his sight. She reproached herself for having acceded to his -desire and left him unattended whilst she slept. - -But of that midnight interview she guessed nothing. - -Her cousin Egon sent her a few lines, saying that he had been summoned -to represent his monarch at the autumn manœuvres of Prussia, and had -left at daybreak without being able to make his farewell in person, -as he had previously to go to his castle of Taróc. She attached no -importance to it. When Sabran was told of his departure he said -nothing. He had recovered his power of self-control: the oriental -impassibility under emotion which was in his blood from his Persian -mother. If he betrayed himself he knew that it would be of little use -to have been spared by his enemy. The depression upon him his wife -attributed to his incapacity to move and lead his usual life; a trial -always so heavy to a strong man. As little by little his strength -returned, he became more like himself. In addressing her he had a -gentleness almost timid; and now and then she caught his gaze fastened -upon her with a strange appeal. - -One day, when he had persuaded her to ride in the forest, and he was -certain to be alone for two or three hours, he wrote the following -words to his foe and his judge: - -'Sir,----You will perhaps refuse to read anything written by me. Yet I -send you this letter, because I desire to say to you what the physical -weakness which was upon me the other night prevented my having time -or strength to explain. I desire also to put in your hands a proof -absolute against myself, with which you can do as you please, so that -the forbearance which you exercised, if it be your pleasure to continue -it, shall not be surprised from you by any momentary generosity, but -shall be your deliberate choice and decision. I have another course of -action to propose to you, to which I will come later. For the present -permit me to give you the outline of all the circumstances which have -governed my acts. I am not coward enough to throw the blame on fate or -chance; I am well aware that good men and great men combat and govern -both. Yet, something of course there lies in these, or, if not, excuse -at least explanation. You knew me (when you were a boy) as Vassia -Kazán, the natural son of the Prince Paul Ivanovitch Zabaroff. Up to -nine years old I dwelt with my grandmother, a Persian woman, on the -great plain between the Volga water and the Ural range. Thence I was -taken to the Lycée Clovis, a famous college. Prince Zabaroff I never -saw but one day in my Volga village, until, when I was fifteen years -old, I was sent to his house, Fleur de Roi, near Villerville, where I -remained two months, and where you insulted me and I chastised you, -and you gave me the wound that I have the mark of to this day. I then -returned to the Lycée, and stayed there two years unnoticed by him. -One day I was summoned by the principal, and told abruptly that the -Prince Zabaroff was dead--my protector, as they termed him--and that -I was penniless, with the world before me. I could not hope to make -you understand the passions that raged in me. You, who have always -been in the light of fortune, and always the head of a mighty family, -could comprehend nothing of the sombre hatreds, the futile revolts, -the bitter wrath against heaven and humanity which consumed me then, -thus left alone without even the remembrance of a word from my father. -I should have returned straightway to the Volga plains, and buried my -fevered griefs under their snows, had not I known that my grandmother -Maritza, the only living being I had ever loved, had died half a year -after I had been taken from her to be sent to the school in Paris. You -see, had I been left there I should have been a hunter of wild things -or a raftsman on the Volga all my years, and have done no harm. I had -a great passion in my childhood for an open-air, free life; my vices, -like my artificial tastes, were all learned in Paris. They, and the -love of pleasure they created, checked in me that socialistic spirit -which is the usual outcome of such â social anomaly as they had made of -me. I might have been a Nihilist but for that, and for the instinctive -tendency towards aristocratic and absolutist theories which were in -my blood. I was a true Russian noble, though a bastard one; and those -three months which I had passed at Fleur de Roi had intoxicated me -with the thirst for pleasure and enervated me with the longing to be -rich and idle. An actress whom I knew intimately also at that time did -me much harm. When Paul Zabaroff died he left me nothing, not even a -word. It is true that he died suddenly. I quitted the Lycée Clovis -with my clothes and my books; I had nothing else in the world. I sold -some of these and got to Havre. There I took a passage on a barque -going to Mexico with wine. The craft was unseaworthy; she went down -with all hands off the Pinos Island, and I, swimming for miles, alone -reached the shore. Women there were good to me. I got away in a canoe, -and rowed many miles and many days; the sea was calm, and I had bread, -fruit, and water enough to last two weeks. At the end of ten days I -neared a brig, which took me to Yucatan. My adventurous voyage made me -popular there. I gave a false name, of course, for I hated the name -of Vassia Kazán. War was going on at the time in Mexico, and I went -there and offered myself to the military adventurer who was at the -moment uppermost. I saw a good deal of guerilla warfare for a year. I -liked it: I fear I was cruel. The ruler of the hour, who was scarcely -more than a brigand, was defeated and assassinated. At the time of his -fall I was at the head of a few troopers far away in the interior. -Bands of Indians fell on us in great numbers. I was shot down and left -for dead. A stranger found me on the morning after, carried me to his -hut, and saved my life by his skill and care. This stranger was the -Marquis Xavier de Sabran, who had dwelt for nearly seventy years in the -solitude of those virgin forests, which nothing ever disturbed excepts -the hiss of an Indian's arrow or the roar of woods on fire. How he -lived there, and why, is all told in the monograph I have published of -him. He was a great and a good man. His life, lost under the shadows -of those virgin forests was the life of a saint and of a philosopher -in one. His influence upon me was the noblest that I had ever been -subject to; he did me nothing but good. His son had died early, having -wedded a Spanish Mexican ere he was twenty. His grandson had died -of snake-bite: he had been of my age. At times: he almost seemed to -think that this lad lived again in me. I spent eight years of my life -with him. His profound studies attracted me; his vast learning awed -me. The free life of the woods and sierras, the perilous sports, the -dangers from the Indian tribes, the researches into the lost history -of the perished nation, all these interested and occupied me. I was -glad to forget that I had ever lived another existence. Wholly unlike -as it was in climate, in scenery, in custom, the liberty of life on -the pampas and in the forests recalled to me my childhood on the -steppes of the Volga. I saw no European all those years. The only men -I came in contact with were Indians and half breeds; the only woman I -loved was an Indian girl; there was not even a Mexican _ranch_ near, -within hundreds of miles. The dense close-woven forest was between us -and the rest of the world; our only highway was a river, made almost -inaccessible by dense fields of reeds and banks of jungle and swamps -covered with huge lilies. It was a very simple existence, but in it -all the wants of nature were satisfied, all healthy desires could be -gratified, and it was elevated from brutishness by the lofty studies -which I prosecuted under the direction of the Marquis Xavier. Eight -whole years passed so. I was twenty-five years old when my protector -and friend died of sheer old age in one burning summer, against whose -heat he had no strength. He talked long and tenderly with me ere he -died; told me where to find all his papers, and gave me everything -he owned. It was not much. He made me one last request, that I would -collect his manuscripts, complete them, and publish them in France. -For some weeks after his death I could think of nothing but his loss. -I buried him myself, with the aid of an Indian who had loved him; and -his grave is there beside the ruins that he revered, beneath a grove of -cypress. I carved a cross in cedar wood, and raised it above the grave. -I found all his papers where he had indicated, underneath one of the -temple porticoes; his manuscripts I had already in my possession: all -those which had been brought with him from France by his Jesuit tutors, -and the certificates of his own and his father's births and marriages, -with those of his son, and of his grandson. There was also a paper -containing directions how to find other documents, with the orders and -patents of nobility of the Sabrans of Romaris, which had been hidden -in the oak wood upon their sea-shore in Finisterre. All these he had -desired me to seek and take. Now came upon me the temptation to a great -sin. The age of his grandson, the young Réné de Sabran, had been mine: -he also had perished from snake-bite, as I said, without any human -being knowing of it save his grandfather and a few natives. It seemed -to me that if I assumed his name I should do no one any wrong. It boots -not to dwell on the sophisms with which I persuaded myself that I had -the right to repair an injustice done to me by human law ere I was -born. Men less intelligent than I can always find a million plausible -reasons for doing that which they desire to do; and although the years -I had spent beside the Marquis Xavier had purified my character and -purged it of much of the vice and the cynicism I had learned in Paris, -yet I had little moral conscientiousness. I lived outside the law in -many ways, and was indifferent to those measures of right and wrong -which too often appeared to me mere puerilities. Do not suppose that -I ceased to be grateful to my benefactor; I adored his memory, but it -seemed to me I should do him no wrong whatever. Again and again he had -deplored to me that I was not his heir; he had loved me very truly, and -had given me all he held most dear----the fruits of his researches. -To be brief, I was sorely tempted, and I gave way to the temptation. -I had no difficulty in claiming recognition in the city of Mexico as -the Marquis de Sabran. The documents were there, and no creature knew -that they were not mine except a few wild Puebla Indians, who spoke -no tongue but their own, and never left their forest solitudes. I was -recognised by all the necessary authorities of that country. I returned -to France as the Marquis de Sabran. On my voyage I made acquaintance -with two Frenchmen of very high station, who proved true friends to -me, and had power enough to protect me from the consequences of not -having served a military term in France. On my arrival in Europe, I -went first to the Bay of Romaris: there I found at once all that had -been indicated to me as hidden in the oak wood above the sea. The -priest of Romaris, and the peasantry, at the first utterance of the -name, welcomed me with rapture; they had forgotten nothing----Bretons -never do forget. Vassia Kazán had been numbered with the drowned dead -men who had gone down when the _Estelle_ had foundered off the Pinos. -I had therefore no fear of recognition. I had grown and changed, so -much during my seven years' absence from Paris that I did not suppose -anyone would recognise the Russian collegian in the Marquis de Sabran. -And I was not in error. Even you, most probably, would never have known -me again had not your perceptions been abnormally quickened by hatred -of me as your cousin's husband; and had you even had suspicions you -could never have presumed to formulate them but for that accident in -the forest. It is always some such unforeseen trifle which breaks down -the wariest schemes. I will not linger on all the causes that made me -take the name I did. I can honestly say that had there been any fortune -involved, or any even distant heir to be wronged, I should not have -done it. As there was nothing save some insignia of knightly orders and -some acres of utterly unproductive sea-coast, I wronged no one. What -was left of the old manor I purchased with the little money I took over -with me. I repeat that I have wronged no one except your cousin, who is -my wife. The rest of my life you know. Society in Paris became gracious -and cordial to me. You will say that I must have had every moral sense -perverted before I could take such a course. But I did not regard it -as an immorality. Here was an empty title, like an empty shell, lying -ready for any occupant. Its usurpation harmed no one. I intended to -justify my assumption of it by a distinguished career, and I was aware -that my education had been beyond that of most gentlemen. It is true -that when I was fairly launched on a Parisian life pleasure governed -me more than ambition; and I found, which had not before occurred to -me, that the aristocratic creeds and the political loyalties which I -had perforce adopted with the name of the Sabrans de Romaris completely -closed all the portals of political ambition to me. Hence I became -almost by necessity a _fainéant_, and fate smiled upon me more than I -merited. I discharged my duty to the dead by the publication of all -his manuscripts. In this at least I was faithful. Paris applauded me. -I became in a manner celebrated. I need not say more, except that I -can declare to you the position I had entered upon soon became so -natural to me that I absolutely forgot it was assumed. Nature had made -me arrogant, contemptuous, courageous; it was quite natural to me to -act the part of a great noble. My want of fortune often hampered and -irritated me, but I had that instinct in public events which we call -_flair._ I made with slender means some audacious and happy ventures on -the Bourse. I was also, famous for _la main heureuse_ in all forms of -gambling. I led a selfish and perhaps even a vicious life, but I kept -always within those lines which the usages of the world has prescribed -to gentlemen even in their licence. I never did anything that degraded -the name I had taken, as men of the world read degradation. I should -not have satisfied severe moralists, but, my one crime apart, I was -a man of honour until----I loved your cousin. I do not attempt to -defend my marriage with her. It was a fraud, a crime; I am well aware -of that. If you had struck me the other night, I would not have denied -your perfect right to do so. I will say no more. You have loved her. -You know what my temptation was: my crime is one you cannot pardon. It -is a treason to your rank, to your relatives, to all the traditions -of your order. When you were a little lad you said a bitter truth to -me. I was born a serf in Russia. There are serfs no more in Russia, -but Alexander, who affranchised them, cannot affranchise me. I am -base-born. I am like those cross-bred hounds cursed by conflicting -elements in their blood: I am an aristocrat in temper and in taste and -mind. I am a bastard in class, the chance child of a peasant begotten -by a great lord's momentary _ennui_ and caprice! But if you will stoop -so far----if you will consider me ennobled by _her_ enough to meet -you as an equal would do----we can find with facility some pretext -of quarrel, and under cover and semblance of a duel you can kill me. -You will be only taking the just vengeance of a race of which you are -the only male champion--what her brothers would surely have taken had -they been living. She will mourn for me without shame, since you have -passed me your promise never to tell her of my past. I await your -commands. That my little sons will transmit the infamy of my blood to -their descendants will be disgrace to them for ever in your sight. Yet -you will not utterly hate them, for children are more their mother's -than their father's, and she will rear them in all noble ways.' - -Then he signed the letter with the name of Vassia Kazán, and addressed -it to Egon Vàsàrhely at his castle of Taróc, there to await the return -of Vàsàrhely from the Prussian camp. That done, he felt more at peace -with himself, more nearly a gentleman, less heavily weighted with his -own cowardice and shame. - -It was not until three weeks later that he received the reply of -Vàsàrhely written from the castle of Taróc. It was very brief:---- - -'I have read your letter and I have burned it. I cannot kill you, for -she would never pardon me. Live on in such peace as you may find. - -(Signed) 'PRINCE VÀSÀRHELY.' - -To his cousin Vàsàrhely wrote at the same time, and to her said: - -'Forgive me that I left you so abruptly. It was necessary, and I did -not rebel against necessity, for so I avoided some pain. The world has -seen me at Hohenszalras; let that suffice. Do not ask me to return. -It hurts me to refuse you anything, but residence there is only a -prolonged suffering to me and must cause irritation to your lord. I go -to my soldiers in Central Hungary, amongst whom I make my family. If -ever you need me you will know that I am at your service; but I hope -this will never be, since it will mean that some evil has befallen -you.' Rear your sons in the traditions of your race, and teach them to -be worthy of yourself: being so they will be also worthy of your name. -Adieu, my ever beloved Wanda! Show what I have said herein to your -husband, and give me a remembrance in your prayers. - -(Signed) 'EGON.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -The Countess Brancka meanwhile had been staying at Taróc for the autumn -shooting when her brother-in-law had returned there unexpectedly, and -to her chagrin, since she had filled the old castle with friends of -her own, such as Egon Vàsàrhely little favoured, and it amused her to -play the châtelaine there and organise all manner of extravagant and -eccentric pastimes. When he arrived she could no longer enjoy this -unchecked independence of folly, and he did not hesitate to make it -plain to her that the sooner Taróc should be cleared of its Parisian -world the better would he be pleased. Indeed she knew well that it -was only his sense of hospitality, as the first duty of a gentleman, -which restrained him from enforcing a rough and sudden exodus upon -her guests. He returned, moreover, unusually silent, reserved, and -what she termed ill-tempered. It was clear to her that his sojourn at -Hohenszalras had been painful to him; and whenever she spoke to him of -it he replied to her in a tone which forbade her further interrogation. -If she feared anyone in the world it was Egon, who had again and again -paid her debts to spare his brother annoyance, and who received her and -her caprices with a contemptuous unalterable disdain. - -'Wanda has ruined him!' she always thought angrily. 'He always expects -every other woman to have a soul above _chiffons_ and to bury herself -in the country with children and horses.' - -Her quick instincts perceived that the hold upon his thoughts which -his cousin always possessed had been only strengthened by his visit to -her, and she attributed the gloom which had settled down on him to the -pain which the happiness that reigned at Hohenszalras had given him. -Little souls always try to cram great ones into their own narrowed -measurements. As he did not absolutely dismiss her she continued to -entertain her own people at Taróc, ignoring his tacit disapproval, and -was still there when the letter of Sabran reached her brother-in-law. -She had very quick eyes; she was present when the letters, which only -came to Taróc once a week, being fetched over many leagues of wild -forest, and hill, and torrent, and ravine, were brought to Vàsàrhely, -and she noticed that his face changed as he took out a thick envelope, -which she, standing by his shoulder, with her hand outstretched for -her own correspondence from Paris and Petersburg, could see bore the -post-mark of Matrey. He threw it amongst a mass of other letters, and -soon after took all his papers away with him into the room which was -called a library, being full of Hungarian black-letter and monkish -literature, gathered in centuries gone by by great priests of the race -of Vàsàrhely. - -What was in that letter? - -She attended to none of her own, so absorbed was she in the impression -which gained upon her that the packet which had brought so much -surprise and even emotion upon his face came from the hand of Wanda. -'If even she should be no saint at all?' she thought, with a malicious -amusement. She did not see Egon Vàsàrhely for many hours, but she -did not lose her curiosity nor cease to cast about for a method of -gratifying it. At the close of the day when she came back from hunting -she went into the library, which was then empty. She did not seriously -expect to see anything that would reward her enterprise, but she knew -he read his letters there and wrote the few he was obliged to write: -like most soldiers he disliked using pen and ink. It was dusk, and -there were a few lights burning in the old silver sconces fixed upon -the horns of forest animals against the walls. With a quick, calm -touch, she moved all the litter of papers lying on the huge table -where he was wont to do such business as he was compelled to transact. -She found nothing that gratified her inquisitiveness. She was about -to leave the room in baffled impatience----impatience of she knew not -what----when her eyes fell upon a pile of charred paper lying on the -stove. - -It was one of those monumental polychrome stoves of fifteenth-century -work in which the country-houses of Central Europe are so rich; a -grand pile of fretted pottery, towering half way to the ceiling, with -the crown and arms of the Vàsàrhely princes on its summit. There was -no fire in it, for the weather was not cold, and Vàsàrhely, who alone -used the room, was an ascetic in such matters; but upon its jutting -step, which was guarded by lions of gilded bronze, there had been some -paper burned: the ashes lay there in a little heap. Almost all of -it was ash, but a few torn pieces were only blackened and coloured. -With the eager curiosity of a woman who is longing to find another -woman at fault, she kneeled down by the stove and patiently examined -these pieces. Only one was so little burned that it had a word or two -legible upon it; two of those words were Vassia Kazán. Nothing else was -traceable; she recognised the handwriting of Sabran. She attached no -importance to it, yet she slipped the little scrap, burnt and black as -it was, within one of her gauntlets; then, as quickly as she had come -there, she retreated and in another half hour, smiling and radiant, -covered with jewels, and with no trace of fatigue or of weather, she -descended the great banqueting-hall, clad as though the heart of the -Greater Karpathians was the centre of the Boulevard S. Germain. - -Who was Vassia Kazán? - -The question floated above all her thoughts all that evening. Who was -he, she, or it, and what could Sabran have to say of him, or her, or -it to Egon Vàsàrhely? A less wise woman might have asked straightway -what the unknown name might mean, but straight ways are not those -which commend themselves to temperaments like hers. The pleasure and -the purpose of her life was intrigue. In great things she deemed -it necessity; in trifles it was an amusement; without it life was -flavourless. - -The next day her brother-in-law abandoned Taróc, to join his hussars -and prepare for the autumn manœuvres in the plains, and left her and -Stefan in possession of the great place, half palace, half fortress, -which had withstood more than one siege of Ottoman armies, where it -stood across a deep gorge with the water foaming black below. But she -kept the charred, torn, triangular scrap of paper; and she treasured -in her memory the two words Vassia Kazán; and she said again and again -and again to herself: 'Why should he write to Egon? Why should Egon -burn what he writes?' Deep down in her mind there was always at work -a bitter jealousy of Wanda von Szalras; jealousy of her regular and -perfect beauty, of her vast possessions, of her influence at the Court, -of her serene and unspotted repute, and now of her ascendency over the -lives of Sabran and of Vàsàrhely. - -'Why should they both love that woman so much?' she thought very often. -'She is always alike. She has no temptations. She goes over life as if -it were frozen snow. She did one senseless thing, but then she was rich -enough to do it with impunity. She is so habitually fortunate that she -is utterly uninteresting; and yet they are both her slaves!' - -She went home and wrote to a cousin of her own who had been a member -of the famous Third Section at Petersburg. She said in her letter: 'Is -there anyone known in Russia as Vassia Kazán? I want you to learn for -me to what or to whom this name belongs. It is certainly Russian, and -appears to me to have been taken by some one who has been named _more -hebrœo_ from the city of Kazán. You, who know everything past, -present, and to come, will be able to know this.' - -In a few days she received an answer from Petersburg. Her cousin wrote: -'I cannot give you the information you desire. It must be a thing of -the past. But I will keep it in mind, and sooner or later you shall -have the knowledge you wish. You will do us the justice to admit that -we are not easily baffled.' - -She was not satisfied, but knew how to be patient. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Strangely enough the consciousness that one person lived who knew -his secret unnerved him. He had said truly that so much were all his -instincts and temper those of an aristocrat that he had long ceased to -remember that he was not the true Marquis de Sabran. The admiration men -frankly gave him, and the ascendency he exercised over women, had alike -concurred in fostering his self-delusion. Since his recognition by the -foe of his boyhood a vivid sense of his own shamefulness, however, had -come upon him; a morbid consciousness that he was not what he seemed, -and what all the world believed him, had returned to him. Egon would -never speak, but he himself could never forget. He said to himself in -his solitude, 'I am Vassia Kazán! and what he had done appeared to him -intolerable, infamous, beyond all expiation. - -It was like an impalpable but impassable wall built up between himself -and her. Nothing was changed except that one man knew his secret, but -this one fact seemed to change the face of the world. For the first -time all the deference, all the homage with which the people of the -Tauern treated him seemed to him a derision. Naturally of proud temper, -and of an intellect which gave him ascendency over others, he had from -the first moment he had assumed the marquisate of Sabran received -all the acknowledgments of his rank with an honest unconsciousness -of imposture. After all he had in his veins blood as patrician as -that of the Sabrans; but now that Egon Vàsàrhely knew the truth he -was perpetually conscious of not being what he seemed. The mere sense -that about the world there was another living being who knew what he -knew, shook down all the self-possession and philosophy which had so -long made him assure himself that the assumption of a name was an -immaterial circumstance, which, harming no one, could concern no one. -Egon Vàsàrhely seemed to have seized his sophisms in a rude grasp, and -shaken them down as blossoms fall in wind. He thought with bitter -self-contempt how true the cynic was who said that no sin exists so -long as it is not found out; that discovery is the sole form which -remorse takes. - -At times his remorse made him almost afraid of Wanda, almost shrink -from her, almost tremble at her regard; at other times it intensified -his passion and infused into his embraces a kind of ferocity of -triumph. He would show an almost brutal ardour in his caresses, and -would think with an almost cruel exultation, 'I was born a serf, and I -am her lover, her lord! Strangely enough, she began to lose something -of her high influence upon him, of her spiritual superiority in his -sight. She was so entirely, so perpetually his, that she became in a -manner tainted with his own degradation. She could no longer check him -with a word, calm him with a gesture of restraint. She was conscious of -a change in him which she could not explain to herself. His sweetness -of temper was broken by occasional irritability that she had never seen -before. He was at times melancholy and absorbed; he at times displayed -a jealousy which appeared unworthy of herself and him; at other moments -he adored her, submitted to her with too great a humility. They were -still happy, but their happiness was more uncertain, more disturbed by -passing shadows. She told herself that it was always so in marriage, -that in the old trite phrase nothing mortal was ever perfect long. But -this philosophy failed to reconcile her. She found herself continually -pondering on the alteration that she perceived in him, without being -able to explain it to herself in any satisfactory manner. - -One day he announced to her without preface that he had decided to -renounce the name of Sabran; that he preferred to any other the title -which she had given him in the Countship of Idrac. She was astonished, -but on reflection only saw, in his choice, devotion and deference to -herself. Perhaps, too, she reflected with a pang, he desired some -foreign mission such as she had once proposed to him; perhaps the life -at Hohenszalras was monotonous and too quiet for a man so long used -to the movement and excitation of Paris. She suggested the invitation -of a circle of guests more often, but he rejected the idea with some -impatience. He, who had previously amused himself so well with the -part of host to a brilliant society, now professed that he saw nothing -but trouble and _ennui_ in a house full of people, who changed every -week, and of royal personages who exacted ceremonious observances -that were tedious and burdensome. So they remained alone, for even -the Princess Ottilie had gone away to Lilienslust. For her own part -she asked nothing better. Her people, her lands, her occupations, her -responsibilities, were always interest enough. She loved the stately, -serene tread of Time in these mountain solitudes. Life always seemed -to her a purer, graver, more august thing when no echo of the world -without jarred on the solemnity of the woods and hills. She wanted her -children to grow up to love Hohenszalras, as she had always done, far -above all pomps and pleasures of courts and cities. - -The winter went by, and he spent most of the days out of doors in -violent exercise, sledging, skating, wolf hunting. In the evenings he -made music for her in the white room: beautiful, dreamy music, that -carried her soul from earth. He played for hours and hours far into the -night; he seemed more willing to do anything than to converse. When he -talked to her she was sensible of an effort of constraint; it was no -longer the careless, happy, spontaneous conversation of a man certain -of receiving sympathy in all his opinions, indulgence in all his -errors, comprehension in even his vaguest or most eccentric ideas: a -certain charm was gone out of their intercourse. She thought sometimes -humbly enough, was it because a man always wearies of a woman? Yet -she could scarcely think that, for his reverential deference to her -alternated with a passion that had lost nothing of its voluptuous -intensity. - -So the winter passed away. Madame Ottilie was in the South for her -health, with her relatives of Lilienhöhe; they invited no one, and so -no one could approach them. The children grew and throve. Bela and his -brother had a little sledge of their own, drawn by two Spanish donkeys, -white as the snows that wrapped the Iselthal in their serenity and -silence. In their little sable coats and their sable-lined hoods the -two little boys looked like rosebuds wrapped in brown moss. They were a -pretty spectacle upon the ice, with their stately Heiduck, wrapped in -his scarlet and black cloak, walking by the gilded shell-shaped sledge. - -'Bela loves the ice best. Bela wishes the summer never was!' said the -little heir of the Counts of Szalras one day, as he leaped out from -under the bearskin of his snow-carriage. His father heard him, and -smiled a little bitterly. - -'You have the snow in your blood,' he thought. 'I, too, know how I -loved the winter with all its privations, how I skimmed like a swallow -down the frozen Volga, how I breasted the wind of the North Sea, sad -with the dying cries of the swans! But I had an empty stomach and -naked limbs under my rough goatskin, and you ride there in your sables -and velvets, a proud little prince, and yet you are my son!' - -Was he almost angered against his own child for the great heirship to -which he was born, as kings are often of their dauphins? Bela looked up -at him a little timidly, always being in a certain awe of his father. - -'May Bela go with you some day with the big black horses, one day when -you go very far?' - -'Ask your mother,' said Sabran. - -'She will like it,' said the child. 'Yesterday she said you never do -think of Bela. She did not say it _to_ Bela, but he heard.' - -'I will think of him,' said Sabran, with some emotion: he had a certain -antagonism to the child, of which he was vaguely ashamed; he was sorry -that she should have noticed it. He disliked him because Bela so -visibly resembled himself that he was a perpetual reproach; a living -sign of how the blood of a Russian lord and of a Persian peasant had -been infused into the blood of the Austrian nobles. - -The next day he took the child with him on a drive of many leagues, -through the frozen highways winding through the frosted forests under -the huge snow-covered range of the Glöckner mountains. Bela was in -raptures; the grand black Russian horses, whose speed was as the wind, -were much more to his taste than the sedate and solemn Spanish asses. -When they returned, and Sabran lifted him out of the sledge in the -twilight, the child kissed his hand. - -'Bela loves you,' he said timidly. - -'Why do you?' said his father, surprised and touched. 'Because you are -your mother's child?' - -Bela did not understand. He said, after a moment of reflection: - -'Bela is afraid, when you are angry; very afraid. But Bela does love -you.' - -Sabran laid his hand on the child's shoulder. 'I shall never be angry -if Bela obey his mother, and never pain her. Remember that.' - -'He will remember,' said Bela. 'And may he go with the big black horses -very soon again?' - -'Your mother's horses are just as big, and just as black. Is it not the -same thing to go with her?' - -'No. Because she takes Bela often; you never.' - -'You are ungrateful,' said Sabran, in the tone which always alarmed and -awed the bold, bright spirit of his child. 'Your mother's love beside -mine is like the great mountain beside the speck of dust. Can you -understand? You will when you are a man. Obey her and adore her. So you -will best please me.' - -Bela looked at him with troubled suffused eyes; he went within doors a -little sadly, led away by Hubert, and when he reached his nursery and -had his furs taken from off him he was still serious, and for once he -did not tell his thoughts to Gela, for they were too many for him to -be able to master them in words. His father was a beautiful, august, -terrible, magnificent figure in his eyes; with the confused fancies -of a child's scarce-opened mind he blended together in his admiration -Sabran and the great marble form of S. Johann of Prague which stretched -its arm towards the lake from the doors of the great entrance, and, as -Bela always understood, controlled the waters and the storms at will. -Bela feared no one else in all the world, but he feared his father, -and for that reason loved him as he loved nothing else in his somewhat -selfish and imperious little life. - -'It is so good of you to have given Bela that pleasure,' his wife said -to him when he entered the white room. 'I know you cannot care to hear -a child chatter as I do. It can only be tiresome to you.' - -'I will drive him every day if it please _you_,' said Sabran. - -'No, no; that would be too much to exact from you. Besides, he would -soon despise his donkeys, and desert poor Gela. I take him but seldom -myself for that reason. He has an idea that he is immeasurably older -than Gela. It is true a year at their ages is more difference than are -ten years at ours.' - -'The child said something to me, as if he had heard you say I do not -care for him?' - -'You do not, very much. Surely you are inclined to be harsh to him?' - -'If I be so, it is only because I see so much of myself in him.' - -He looked at her, assailed once more by the longing which at times came -over him to tell her the truth of himself, to risk everything rather -than deceive her longer, to throw himself upon her mercy, and cut short -this life which had so much of duplicity, so much of concealment, that -every year added to it was a stone added to the mountain of his sins. -But when he looked at her he dared not. The very grace and serenity -of her daunted him; all the signs of nobility in her, from the repose -of her manner to the very beauty of her hands, with their great rings -gleaming on the long and slender fingers, seemed to awe him into -silence. She was so proud a woman, so great a lady, so patrician in -all her prejudices, her habits, her hereditary qualities, he dared not -tell her that he had betrayed her thus. An infidelity, a folly, even -any other crime he thought he could have summoned courage to confess -to her; but to say to her, the daughter of a line of princes: 'I, who -have made you the mother of my children, I was born a bastard and a -serf!' How could he dare say that? Anything else she might forgive, -he thought, since love is great, but never that. Nay, a cold sickness -stole over him as he thought again that she came of great lords who had -meted justice out over whole provinces for a thousand years; and he -had wronged her so deeply that the human tongue scarcely held any word -of infamy enough to name his crime. The law would set her free, if she -chose, from a man who had so betrayed her, and his children would be -bastards like himself. - -He had stretched himself on a great couch, covered with white -bear-skins. He was in shadow; she was in the light that came from the -fire on the wide hearth, and from the oriel window near, a red warm -dusky light, that fell on the jewels on her hands, the furs on her -skirts, the very pearls about her throat. - -She glanced at him anxiously, seeing how motionless he lay there, with -his head turned backward on the cushions. - -'I am afraid you are weak still from that wound,' she said, as she rose -and approached him. 'Greswold assures me it has left no trace, but I am -always afraid. And you look often so pale. Perhaps you exert yourself -too much? Let the wolves be. Perhaps it is too cold for you? Would you -like to go to the south? Do not think of me; my only happiness is to do -whatever you wish.' - -He kissed her hand with deep unfeigned emotion. 'I believe in angels -since I knew you,' he murmured. 'No; I will not take you away from the -winter and the people that you love. I am well enough. Greswold is -right. I could not master those horses if I were not strong; be sure of -that.' - -'But I always fear that it is dull here for you?' - -'Dull! with you? "Custom cannot stale her infinite variety." That was -written in prophecy of your charm for me.' - -'You will always flatter me! And I am not "various" at all; I am too -grave to be entertaining. I am just the German house-mother who cares -for the children and for you.' - -He laughed. - -'Is that your portrait of yourself? I think Carolus Duran's is truer, -my grand châtelaine. When you are at Court the whole circle seems to -fade to nothing before your presence. Though there are so many women -high-born and beautiful there, you eclipse them all.' - -'Only in your eyes! And you know I care nothing for courts. What I like -is the life here, where one quiet day is the pattern of all the other -days. If I were sure that you were content in it----' - -'Why should you think of that?' - -'My love, tell me honestly, do you never miss the world?' - -He rose and walked to the hearth. He, whose life was a long lie, never -lied to her if he could avoid it; and he knew very well that he did -miss the world with all its folly, stimulant, and sin. Sometimes the -moral air here seemed to him too pure, too clear. - -'Did I do so I should be thankless indeed--thankless as madmen are who -do not know the good done to them. I am like a ship that has anchored -in a fair haven after press of weather. I infinitely prefer to see -none but yourself: when others are here we are of necessity so much -apart. If the weather,' he added more lightly, 'did not so very often -wear Milton's grey sandals, there would be nothing one could ever -wish changed in the life here. For such great riders as we are, that -is a matter of regret. Wet saddles are too often our fate, but in -compensation our forests are so green.' - -She did not press the question. - -But the next day she wrote a letter to a relative who was a great -minister and had preponderating influence in the council chamber of the -Austrian Empire. She did not speak to Sabran of the letter that she -sent. - -She had not known any of that disillusion which befalls most women in -their love. Her husband had remained her lover, passionately, ardently, -jealously; and the sincerity of his devotion to her had spared her -all that terrible consciousness of the man's satiety which usually -confronts a woman in the earliest years of union. She shrank now with -horror from the fear which came to her that this passion might, like so -many others, alter and fade under the dulness of habit. She had high -courage and clear vision; she met half-way the evil that she dreaded. - -In the spring a Foreign Office despatch from Vienna came to him and -surprised and moved him strongly. With it in his hand he sought her at -once. - -'You did this!' he said quickly. 'They offer me the Russian mission.' - -She grew a little pale, but had courage to smile. She had seen by a -glance at his face the pleasure the offer gave him. - -'I only told my cousin Kunst that I thought you might be persuaded to -try public life, if he proposed it to you.' - -'When did you say that?' - -'One day in the winter, when I asked you if you did not miss the world.' - -'I never thought I betrayed that I did so.' - -'You were only over eager to deny it. And I know your generosity, my -love. You miss the world; we will go back to it for a little. It will -only make our life here dearer--I hope.' - -He was silent; emotion mastered him. 'You have the most unselfish -nature that was!' he said brokenly. 'It will be a cruel sacrifice to -you, and yet you urge it for my sake.' - -'Dear, will you not understand? What is for your sake is what is most -for mine. I see you long, despite yourself, to be amidst men once more, -and use your rare talents as you cannot use them here. It is only right -that you should have the power to do so. If our life here has taken -the hold on your heart then, I think you will come back to it all the -more gladly. And then I too have my vanity; I shall be proud for the -world to see how you can fill a great station, conduct a difficult -negotiation, distinguish yourself in every way. When they praise you, -I shall be repaid a thousand times for any sacrifice of my own tastes -that there may be.' - -He heard her with many conflicting emotions, of which a passionate -gratitude was the first and highest. - -'You make me ashamed,' he said in a low voice. 'No man can be worthy of -such goodness as yours; and I----' - -Once more the avowal of the truth rose to his lips, but stayed -unuttered. His want of courage took refuge in procrastination. - -'We need not decide for a day or two,' he added; 'they give me time; we -will think well. When do you think I must reply?' - -'Surely soon; your delay would seem disrespect. You know we Austrians -are very ceremonious.' - -'And if I accept, it will not make you unhappy?' - -'My love, no, a thousand times, no; your choice is always mine.' - -He stooped and kissed her hand. - -'You are ever the same,' he murmured. 'The noblest, the most -generous----' - -She smiled bravely. 'I am quite sure you have decided already. Go to my -table yonder, and write a graceful acceptance to my cousin Kunst. You -will be happier when it is posted.' - -'No, I will think a little. It is not a thing to be done in haste. It -will be irrevocable.' - -'Irrevocable? A diplomatic mission? You can throw it up when you -please. You are not bound to serve longer than you choose.' - -He was silent: what he had thought himself had been of the irrevocable -insult he would be held to have offered to the emperor, the nation, and -the world, if ever they knew. - -'It will not be liked if I accept for a mere caprice. One must never -treat a State as Bela treats his playthings,' he said as he rang, and -when the servant answered the summons ordered them to saddle his horse. - -'No; there is no haste. Glearemberg is not definitely recalled, I -think.' - -But as she spoke she knew very well that, unknown to himself, he had -already decided; that the joy and triumph the offer had brought to him -were both too great for him eventually to resist them. He sat down and -re-read the letter. - -She had said the truth to him, but she had not said all the truth. She -had a certain desire that he should justify her marriage in the eyes of -the world by some political career brilliantly followed; but this was -not her chief motive in wishing him to return to the life of cities. -She had seen that he was in a manner disquieted, discontented, and -attributed it to discontent at the even routine of their lives. The -change in his moods and tempers, the arbitrary violence of his love -for her, vaguely alarmed and troubled her; she seemed to see the germ -of much that might render their lives far less happy. She realised -that she had given herself to one who had the capacity of becoming a -tyrannical possessor, and retained, even after six years of marriage, -the irritable ardour of a lover. She knew that it was better for them -both that the distraction and the restraint of the life of the world -should occupy some of his thoughts, and check the over-indulgence of -a passion which in solitude grew feverish and morbid. She had not the -secret of the change in him, of which the result alone was apparent to -her, and she could only act according to her light. If he grew morose, -tyrannical, violent, all the joy of their life would be gone. She knew -that men alter curiously under the sense of possession. She felt that -her influence, though strong, was not paramount as it had been, and she -perceived that he no longer took much interest in the administration -of the estates, in which he had shown great ability in the first years -of their marriage. She had been forced to resume her old governance -of all those matters, and she knew that it was not good for him to -live without occupation. She feared that the sameness of the days, to -her so delightful, to him grew tiresome. To ride constantly, to hunt -sometimes, to make music in the evenings----this was scarcely enough to -fill up the life of a man who had been a _viveur_ on the bitumen of the -boulevards for so long. - -A woman of a lesser nature would have been too vain to doubt the -all-sufficiency of her own presence to enthral and to content him; but -she was without vanity, and had more wisdom than most women. It did -not even once occur to her, as it would have done incessantly to most, -that the magnificence of all her gifts to him were title-deeds to his -content for life. - -Public life would be her enemy, would take her from the solitudes she -loved, would change her plans for her children's education, would bring -the world continually betwixt herself and her husband; but since he -wished it that was all she thought of, all her law. - -'Surely he will accept?' said Mdme. Ottilie, who had returned from the -south of France. - -'Yes, he will accept,' said his wife. 'He does not know it, but he -will.' - -'I cannot imagine why he should affect to hesitate. It is the career -he is made for, with his talents, his social graces.' - -'He does not affect; he hesitates for my sake. He knows I am never -happy away from Hohenszalras.' - -'Why did you write then to Kunst?' - -'Because it will be better for him; he is neither a poet nor a -philosopher, to be able to live away from the world.' - -'Which are you?' - -'Neither; only a woman who loves the home she was born in, and the -people she----' - -'Reigns over,' added the Princess. 'Admit, my beloved, that a part of -your passion for Hohenszalras comes of the fact that you cannot be -quite as omnipotent in the world as you are here!' - -Wanda von Szalras smiled. 'Perhaps; the best motive is always mixed -with a baser. But I adore the country and country life. I abhor cities.' - -'Men are always like Horace,' said the Princess. 'They admire rural -life, but they remain for all that with Augustus.' - -At that moment they heard the hoofs of his horse galloping up the great -avenue. A quarter of an hour went by, for he changed his dress before -coming into his wife's presence. He would no more have gone to her with -the dust or the mud of the roads upon him than he would have gone in -such disarray into the inner circle of the Kaiserin. - -When he entered, she did not speak, but the Princess Ottilie said with -vivacity: - -'Well! you accept, of course? - -'I will neither accept nor decline. I will do what Wanda wishes.' - -The Princess gave an impatient movement of her little foot on the -carpet. - -'Wanda is a hermit,' she said; 'she should have dwelt in a cave, and -lived on berries with S. Scholastica. What is the use of leaving it to -her? She will say No. She loves her mountains.' - -'Then she shall stay amidst her mountains.' - -'And you will throw all your future away?' - -'Dear mother, I have no future----should have had none but for her.' - -'All that is very pretty, but after nearly six years of marriage it is -not necessary to _faire des madrigaux._' - -The Princess sat a little more erect, angrily, and continued to tap her -foot upon the floor. His wife was silent for a little while; then she -went over to her writing-table, and wrote with a firm hand a few lines -in German. She rose and gave the sheet to Sabran. - -'Copy that,' she said, 'or give it as many graces of style as you like.' - -His heart beat, his sight seemed dim as he read what she had written. - -It was an acceptance. - -'See, my dear Réné!' said the Princess, when she understood; -'never combat a woman on her own ground and with her own weapon-- -unselfishness! The man must always lose in a conflict of that sort.' - -The tears stood in his eyes as he answered her---- - -'Ah, madame! if I say what I think, you will accuse me again of -_faisant des madrigaux!_' - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -A week or two later Sabran arrived alone at their palace in Vienna, -and was cordially received by the great minister whom Wanda called -her cousin Kunst. He had also an audience of his Imperial master, who -showed him great kindness and esteem; he had been always popular and -welcome at the Hofburg. His new career awaited him under auspices the -most engaging; his intelligence, which was great, took pleasure at the -prospect of the field awaiting it; and his personal pride was gratified -and flattered at the personal success which he enjoyed. He was aware -that the brain he was gifted with would amply sustain all the demands -for _finesse_ and penetration that a high diplomatic mission would make -upon it, and he knew that the immense fortune he commanded through his -wife would enable him to fill his place with the social brilliancy and -splendour it required. - -He felt happier than he had done ever since the day in the forest when -the name of Vassia Kazán had been said in his ear; he had recovered his -nerve, his self-command, his _insouciance_; he was once more capable of -honestly forgetting that he was anything besides the great gentleman -he appeared. There was an additional pungency for him in the fact of -his mission being to Russia. He hated the country as a renegade hates -a religion he has abandoned. The undying hereditary enmity which must -always exist, _sub rosa_, betwixt Austria and Russia was in accordance -with the antagonism he himself felt for every rood of the soil, for -every syllable of the tongue, of the Muscovite. He knew that Paul -Zabaroff, his father's legitimate son, was a mighty prince, a keen -politician, a favourite courtier at the Court of St. Petersburg. The -prospect of himself appearing at that Court as the representative of -a great nation, with the occasion and the power to meet Paul Zabaroff -as an equal, and defeat his most cherished intrigues, his most subtle -projects, gave an intensity to his triumph such as no mere social -honours or gratified ambition could alone have given him. If the -minister had searched the whole of the Austrian empire through, in -all the ranks of men he could have found no one so eager to serve the -purpose and the interests of his Imperial master against the rivalry of -Russia, as he found in one who had been born a naked _moujik_ in the -_isba_ of a Persian peasant. - -Even though this distinction which was offered him would rest like -all else on a false basis, yet it intoxicated him, and would gratify -his desires to be something above and beyond the mere prince-consort -that he was. He knew that his talents were real, that his tact and -perception were unerring, that his power to analyse and influence men -was great. All these qualities he felt would enable him in a public -career to conquer admiration and eminence. He was not yet old enough to -be content to regard the future as a thing belonging to his sons, nor -had he enough philo-progenitiveness ever to do so at any age. - -'To return so to Russia!' he thought, with rapture. All the ambition -that had been in him in his college days at the Lycée Clovis, which -had never taken definite shape, partly from indolence and partly from -circumstance, and had not been satisfied even by the brilliancy of -his marriage, was often awakened and spurred by the greatness of the -social position of all those with whom he associated. In his better -moments be sometimes thought, 'I am only the husband of the Countess -von Szalras; I am only the father of the future lords of Hohenszalras;' -and the reflection that the world might regard him so made him restless -and ill at ease. - -He knew that, being what he was, he would add to his crime tenfold -by acceptance of the honour offered to him. He knew that the more -prominent he was in the sight of men, the deeper would be his fall if -ever the truth were told. What gauge had he that some old school-mate, -dowered with as long a memory as Vàsàrhely's, might not confront him -with the same charge and challenge? True, this danger had always seemed -to him so remote that never since he had landed at Romaris bay had he -been troubled by any apprehension of it. His own assured position, his -own hauteur of bearing, his own perfect presence of mind, would have -always enabled him to brave safely such an ordeal under the suspicion -of any other than Vàsàrhely; with any other he could have relied on his -own coolness and courage to have borne him with immunity through any -such recognition. Besides, he had always reckoned, and reckoned justly, -that no one would ever dare to insult the Marquis de Sabran with a -suspicion that could have no proof to sustain it. So he had always -reasoned, and events had justified his expectations and deductions. - -This month that he now passed in Vienna was the proudest of his life; -not perhaps the happiest, for beneath his contentment there was a -jarring remembrance that he was deceiving a great sovereign and his -ministers. But he thrust this sting of conscience aside whenever it -touched him, and abandoned himself with almost youthful gladness to the -felicitations he received, the arrangements he had to make, and the -contemplation of the future before him. The pleasures of the gay and -witty city surrounded him, and he was too handsome, too seductive, and -too popular not to be sought by women of all ranks, who rallied him on -his long devotion to his wife, and did their best to make him ashamed -of constancy. - -'What beasts we are!' he thought, as he left Damn's at the flush of -dawn, after a supper there which he had given, and which had nearly -degenerated into an orgie. 'Yet is it unfaithfulness to her? My soul is -always hers and my love.' - -Still his conscience smote him, and he felt ashamed as he thought of -her proud frank eyes, of her noble trust in him, of her pure and lofty -life led there under the show summits of her hills. - -He worshipped her, with all his life he worshipped her; a moment's -caprice, a mere fume and fever of senses surprised and astray, were not -infidelity to her. So he told himself, with such sophisms as men most -use when most they are at fault, as he walked home in the rose of the -daybreak to her great palace, which like all else of hers was his. - -As he ascended the grand staircase, with the escutcheon of the -Szalras repeated on the gilded bronze of its balustrade, a chill and -a depression stole upon him. He loved her with intensity and ardour -and truth, yet he had been disloyal to her; he had forgotten her, he -had been unworthy of her. What worth were all the women in the world -beside her? What did they seem to him now, those Delilahs who had -beguiled him? He loathed the memory of them; he wondered at himself. He -went through the great house slowly towards his own rooms, pausing now -and then, as though he had never seen them before, to glance at some -portrait, some stand of arms, some banner commemorative of battle, some -quiver, bow, and pussikan taken from the Turk. - -On his table he found a telegram sent from Lienz: - -'I am so glad you are amused and happy. We are all well here. - -(Signed) 'WANDA.' - -No torrents of rebuke, no scenes of rage, no passion of reproaches -could have carried reproach to him like those simple words of trustful -affection. - -'An angel of God should have descended to be worthy her!' he thought. - -The next evening there was a ball at the Hof. It was later in the -season than such things were usually, but the visit to the court of the -sovereign of a neighbouring nation had detained their majesties and -the nobility in Vienna. The ball was accompanied by all that pomp and -magnificence which characterise such festivities, and Sabran, present -at it, was the object of universal congratulation and much observation, -as the ambassador-designate to Russia. - -Court dress became him, and his great height and elegance of manner -made him noticeable even in that brilliant crowd of notables. All the -greatest ladies distinguished him with their smiles, but he gave them -no more than courtesy. He saw only before the 'eye of memory' his wife -as he had seen her at the last court ball, with the famous pearls about -her throat, and her train of silver tissue sown with pearls and looped -up with white lilac. - -'It is the flower I like best,' she had said to him. 'It brought me -your first love-message in Paris, do you remember? It said little; it -was very discreet, but it said enough!' - -'You are always thinking of Wanda!' said the Countess Brancka to him -now, with a tinge of impatience in her tone. - -He coloured a little, and said with that hauteur with which he always -repressed any passing jest at his love for his wife: - -'When both one's duty and joy point the same way it is easy to follow -them in thought.' - -'I hope you follow them in action too,' said Mdme. Brancka. - -'If I do not, I am at least only responsible to Wanda.' - -'Who would be a lenient judge you mean? said the Countess, with a -certain smile that displeased him. 'Do not be too sure; she is a von -Szalras. They are not agreeable persons when they are angered.' - -'I have not been so unhappy as to see her so,' said Sabran coldly, -with a vague sense of uneasiness. As much as it is possible for a man -to dislike a woman who is very lovely, and young enough to be still -charming in the eyes of the world, he disliked Olga Brancka. He had -known her for many years in Paris, not intimately, but by force of -being in the same society, and, like many men who do not lead very -decent lives themselves, he frankly detested _cocodettes._ - -'If we want these manners we have our _lionnes_,' he was wont to say, -at a time when Cochonette was seen every day behind his horses by the -Cascade, and it had been the height of the Countess Olga's ambition at -that time to be called like Cochonette. A certain resemblance there -was between the great lady and the wicked one; they had the same small -delicate sarcastic features, the same red gold curls, the same perfect -colourless complexion; but where Cochonette had eyes of the slightest -blue, the wife of Count Stefan had the luminous piercing black eyes of -the Muscovite physiognomy. Still the likeness was there, and it made -the sight of Mdme. Brancka distasteful to him, since his memories of -the other were far from welcome. It was for Cochonette that he had -broken the bank at Monte Carlo, and into her lap that he had thrown -all the gold rouleaux at a time when in his soul he had already adored -Wanda von Szalras, and had despised himself for returning to the slough -of his old pleasures. It was Cochonette who had sold his secrets to -the Prussians, and brought them down upon him in the farmhouse amongst -the orchards of the Orléannais, whilst she passed safely through, the -German lines and across the frontier, laden with her jewels and her -_valeurs_ of all kinds, saying in her teeth as she went: 'He will -never see that Austrian woman again!' That had been the end of all he -had known of Cochonette, and a presentiment of perfidy, of danger, of -animosity always came over him whenever he saw the _joli petit minois_ -which in profile was so like Cochonette's, looking up from under the -loose auburn curls that Mdme. Olga had copied from her. - -Olga Brancka now looked at him with some malice and with more -admiration; she was very pretty that night, blazing with diamonds; -and with her beautifully shaped person as bare as Court etiquette -would permit. In her red gold curls she had some butterflies in jewels -flashing all the colours of the rainbow and glowing like sunbeams. -There was such a butterfly, big as the great Emperor moth, between her -breasts, making their whiteness look like snow. - -Instinctively Sabran glanced away from her. He felt an _étourdissement_ -that irritated him. The movement did not escape her. She took his arm. - -'We will move about a little while,' she said. 'Let us talk of Wanda, -_mon beau_ cousin; since you can think of no one else. And so you are -really going to Russia?' - -'I believe so.' - -'It will be a great sacrifice to her; any other woman would be in -paradise in St. Petersburg, but she will be wretched.' - -'I hope not; if I thought so I would not go.' - -'You cannot but go now; you have made your choice. You will be happy -enough. You will play again enormously, and Wanda has so much money -that if you lose millions it will not ruin her.' - -'I shall certainly not play with my wife's money. I have never played -since my marriage.' - -'For all that you will play in St. Petersburg. It is in the air. A -saint could not help doing it, and you are not a saint by nature, -though you have become one since marriage. But you know conversions by -marriage do not last. They are like compulsory confessions. They mean -nothing.' - -'You are very malicious to-night, madame,' said Sabran, absently; he -was in no mood for banter, and was disinclined to take up her challenge. - -'Call me at least _cousinette_,' said Mdme. Olga; 'we are cousins, you -know, thanks to Wanda. Oh! she will be very unhappy in St. Petersburg; -she will not amuse herself, she never does. She is incapable of a -flirtation; she never touches a card. When she dances it is only -because she must, and then it is only a quadrille or a contre-dance. -She always reminds me of Marie Thérèse's "In our position nothing is a -trifle." You remember the Empress's letters to Versailles?' - -Sabran was very much angered, but he was afraid to express his anger -lest it should seem to make him absurd. - -'Madame,' he said, with ill-repressed irritation, 'I know you speak -only in jest, but I must take the liberty to tell you----however -bourgeois it appear----that I do not allow a jest even from you upon my -wife. Anything she does is perfect in my sight, and if she be imbued -with the old traditions of gentle blood, too many ladies desert them in -these days for me not to be grateful to her for her loyalty.' - -She listened, with her bright black eyes fixed on him; then she leaned -a little more closely on his arm. - -'Do you know that you said that very well? Most men are ridiculous -when they are in love with their wives, but it becomes you, Wanda is -perfect, we all know that; you are not alone in thinking so. Ask Egon!' - -The face of Sabran changed as he heard that name. As she saw the -change she thought: 'Can it be possible that he is jealous?' - -Aloud she said with a little laugh: 'I almost wonder Egon did not -run you through the heart before you married. Now, of course, he -is reconciled to the inevitable; or, if not reconciled, he has to -submit to it as we all have to do. He grows very _farouche_; he lives -between his troopers and his castle of Taróc, like a barbaric lord -of the Middle Ages. Were you ever at Taróc? It is worth seeing----a -huge fortress, old as the days of Ottokar, in the very heart of the -Karpathians. He leads a wild, fierce life enough there. If he keep the -memory of Wanda with him it is as some men keep an idolatry for what is -dead.' - -Sabran listened with a sombre irritation. 'Suppose we leave my wife's -name in peace,' he said coldly. 'The _grosser cotillon_ is about to -begin; may I aspire to the honour?' - -As he led her out, and the light fell on her red gold curls, on her -dazzling butterflies, her armour of diamonds, her snow-white skin, a -thousand memories of Cochonette came over him, though the scene around -him was the ball-room of the Hofburg, and the woman whose great bouquet -of _rêve d'or_ roses touched his hand was a great lady who had been the -wife of Gela von Szalras, and the daughter of the Prince Serriatine. -He distrusted her, he despised her, he disliked her so strongly that -he was almost ashamed of his own antagonism; and yet her contact, her -grace of movement, the mere scent of the bouquet of roses had a sort of -painful and unwilling intoxication for the moment for him. - -He was glad when the long and gorgeous figures of the cotillon had -tired out even her steel-like nerves, and he was free to leave the -palace and go home to sleep. He looked at a miniature of his wife as -he undressed; the face of it, with its tenderness and its nobility, -seemed to him, after the face of this other woman, like the pure high -air of the Iselthal after the heated and unhealthy atmosphere of a -gambling-room. - -The next day there was a review of troops in the Prater. His presence -was especially desired; he rode his favourite horse Siegfried, which -had been brought up from the Tauern for the occasion. The weather was -brilliant, the spectacle was grand; his spirits rose, his natural -gaiety of temper returned. He was addressed repeatedly by the -sovereigns present. Other men spoke of him, some with admiration, some -with envy, as one who would become a power at the court and in the -empire. - -As he rode homeward, when the manœuvres were over, making his way -slowly through the merry crowds of the good-humoured populace, through -the streets thronged with glittering troops and hung with banners, and -odorous with flowers, he thought to himself with a light heart: 'After -all, I may do her some honour before I die.' - -When he reached home and his horse was led away, a servant approached -him with a sealed letter lying on a gold salver. A courier, who said -that he had travelled with it without stopping from Taróc, had brought -it from the Most High the Prince Vàsàrhely. - -Sabran's heart stood still as he took the letter and passed up the -staircase to his own apartments. Once there he ordered his servants -away, locked the doors, and, then only, broke the seal. - -There were two lines written on the sheet inside. They said: - -'I forbid you to serve my Sovereign. If you persist, I must relate to -him, under secrecy, what I know.' - -They were fully signed----'Egon Vàsàrhely.' They had been sent by a -courier, to insure delivery and avoid the publicity of the telegraph. -They had been written as soon as the tidings of his appointment to the -Russian mission had become known at the mountain fortress of Taróc. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -As the carriage of the Countess Olga rolled home through the Graben -after the military spectacle, she stopped it suddenly, and signed to an -old man in the crowd who was waiting to cross the road until a regiment -of cuirassiers had rolled by. He was eyeing them critically, as only an -old soldier does look at troops. - -'Is it you, Georg?' said Madame Olga. 'What brings you here?' - -'I came from Taróc with a letter from the Prince, my master,' answered -the man, an old hussar who had carried Vàsàrhely in his arms off the -field of Königsgrätz, after dragging him from under a heap of dead men -and horses. - -'A letter! To whom?' asked Olga, who always was curious and persistent -in investigation of all her brother-in-law's movements and actions. - -Vàsàrhely had not laid any injunction as to secrecy, only as to speed, -upon his faithful servant; so that Georg replied, unwitting of harm, -'To the Markgraf von Sabran, my Countess.' - -'A letter that could not go by post--how strange! And from Egon to -Wanda's husband!' she thought, with her inquisitive eagerness awakened. -Aloud she bade the old trooper call at her palace for a packet for -Taróc, to make excuse for having stopped and questioned him, and drove -onward lost in thought. - -'Perhaps it is a challenge late in the day!' she thought, with a laugh; -but she was astonished and perplexed that any communication should take -place between these men; she perplexed her mind in vain in the effort -to imagine what tie could connect them, what mystery mutually affecting -them could lie beneath the secret of Vassia Kazán. - -When, on the morrow, she heard at Court that the Emperor was deeply -incensed at the caprice and disrespect of the Count von Idrac, as -he was called at Court, who, at the eleventh hour, had declined a -mission already accepted by him, and of which the offer had been in -itself an unprecedented mark of honour and confidence, her swift -sagacity instantly associated the action, apparently so excuseless and -inexcusable, with the letter sent up from Taróc. It was still as great -a mystery to her as it had been before what the contents of the letter -could have been, but she had no doubt that in some way or another it -had brought about the resignation of the appointment. It awakened a -still more intense curiosity in her, but she was too wise to whisper -her suspicion to anyone. To her friends at the Court she said, with -laughter: 'A night or two ago I chanced to tell Sabran that his wife -would be wretched at St. Petersburg. That is sure to have been enough -for him. He is such a devoted husband.' - -No one of course believed her, but they received the impression that -she knew the real cause of his resignation, though she could not be -induced to say it. - -What did it matter to her? Nothing, indeed. But the sense of a secret -withheld from her was to Mdme. Olga like the slot of the fox to a young -hound. She might have a thousand secrets of her own if it pleased her, -but she could not endure anyone else to guard one. Besides, in a vague, -feverish, angry way, she was almost in love with the man who was so -faithful to his wife that he had looked away from her as from some -unclean thing when she had wished to dazzle him. She had no perception -that the secret could concern him himself very nearly, but she thought -it was probably one which he and Egon Vàsàrhely, for reasons of their -own, chose to share and keep hidden. And if it were a secret that -prevented Sabran from going to the Court of Russia? Then, surely, it -was one worth knowing? And if she gained a knowledge of it, and his -wife had none?----what a superiority would be hers, what a weapon -always to hand! - -She did not intend any especial cruelty or compass any especial end: -she was actuated by a vague desire to interrupt a current of happiness -that flowed on smoothly without her, to interfere where she had no -earthly title or reason to do so, merely because she was disregarded -by persons content with each other. It is not always definite motives -which have the most influence; the subtlest poisons are those which -enter the system we know not how, and penetrate it ere we are aware. -The only thing which had ever held her back from any extremes of evil -had been the mere habit of good-breeding and an absolute egotism which -had saved her from all strong passions. Now something that was like -passion had touched her under the sting of Sabran's indifference, and -with it she became tenacious, malignant, and unsparing: adroit she had -always been. Instinct is seldom at fault when we are conscious of an -enemy, and Sabran's had not erred when it had warned him against the -wife of Stefan Brancka as the serpent who would bring woe and disaster -to his paradise. - -In some three months' time she received a more explicit answer from her -cousin in St. Petersburg. Giving the precise dates, he told her that -Vassia Kazán was the name given to the son of Count Paul Ivanovitch -Zabaroff by a wayside amour with one of his own serfs at a village -near the border line of Astrachan. He narrated the early history of -the youth, and said that he had been amongst the passengers on board a -Havre ship, which had foundered with all hands. So far the brief record -of Vassia Kazán was clear and complete. But it told her nothing. She -was unreasonably enraged, and looked at the little piece of burnt paper -as though she would wrench the secret out of it. - -'There must be so much more to know,' she thought. 'What would a mere -drowned boy be to either of those men----a boy dead too all these years -before?' - -She wrote insolently to her cousin, that the Third Section, with -its eyes of Argus and its limbs of Vishnoo, had always been but an -overgrown imbecile, and set her woman's wits to accomplish what the -Third Section had failed to do for her. So much she thought of it that -the name seemed forced into her very brain; she seemed to hear every -one saying----'Vassia Kazán.' It was a word to conjure with, at least: -she could at the least try the effect of its utterance any day upon -either of those who had made it the key of their correspondence. Russia -had written down Vassia Kazán as dead, and the mystery which enveloped -the name would not open to her. She knew her country too well not to -know that this bold statement might cover some political secret, some -story wholly unlike that which was given her. Vassia Kazán might have -lived and have incurred the suspicions of the police, and be dwelling -far away in the death in life of Siberian mines, or deep sunk in some -fortress, like a stone at the bottom of a well. The reply not only -did not beget her belief in it, but gave her range for the widest and -wildest conjectures of imagination. 'It is some fault, some folly, some -crime, who can tell? And Vassia Kazán is the victim or the associate, -or the confidant of it. But what is it? And how does Egon know of it?' - -She passed the summer in pleasures of all kinds, but the subject did -not lose its power over her, nor did she forget the face of Sabran as -he had turned it away from her in the ball-room of the Hofburg. - -He himself had left the capital, after affirming to the minister that -private reasons, which he could not enter into, had induced him to -entreat the Imperial pardon for so sudden a change of resolve, and to -solicit permission to decline the high honour that had been vouchsafed -to him. - -'What shall I say to Wanda?' he asked himself incessantly, as the -express train swung through the grand green country towards Salzburg. - -She was sitting on the lake terrace with the Princess, when a telegram -from her cousin Kunst was brought to her. Bela and Gela were playing -near with squadrons of painted cuirassiers, and the great dogs were -lying on the marble pavement at her feet. It was a golden close to a -sunless but fine day; the snow peaks were growing rosy as the sun shone -for an instant behind the Venediger range, and the lake was calm and -still and green, one little boat going noiselessly across it from the -Holy Isle to the further side. - -'What a pity to leave it all!' she thought as she took the telegram. - -The Minister's message was curt and angered: - -'Your husband has resigned; he makes himself and me ridiculous. Unable -to guess his motive, I am troubled and embarrassed beyond expression.' - -The other, from Sabran, said simply: 'I am coming home. I give up -Russia.' - -'Any bad news?' the Princess asked, seeing the seriousness of her face. -Her niece rose and gave her the papers. - -'Is Réné mad!' she exclaimed as she read. His wife, who was startled -and dismayed at the affront to her cousin and to her sovereign, yet had -been unable to repress a movement of personal gladness, hastened to say -in his defence: - -'Be sure he has some grave, good reason, dear mother. He knows the -world too well to commit a folly. Unexplained, it looks strange, -certainly; but he will be home to-night or in the early morning; then -we shall know; and be sure we shall find him right.' - -'Right!' echoed the Princess, lifting the little girl who was her -namesake off her knee, a child white as a snowdrop, with golden curls, -who looked as if she had come out of a band of Correggio's baby angels. - -'He is always right,' said his wife, with a gesture towards Bela, who -had paused in his play to listen, with a leaden cuirassier of the guard -suspended in the air. - -'You are an admirable wife, Wanda,' said the Princess, with extreme -displeasure on her delicate features. 'You defend your lord when -through him you are probably _brouillée_ with your Sovereign for life.' - -She added, her voice tremulous with astonishment and anger: 'It is a -caprice, an insolence, that no Sovereign and no minister could pardon. -I am most truly your husband's friend, but I can conceive no possible -excuse for such a change at the very last moment in a matter of such -vast importance.' - -'Let us wait, dear mother,' said Wanda softly. 'It is not you who would -condemn Réné unheard?' - -'But such a breach of etiquette! What explanation can ever annul it?' - -'Perhaps none. I know it is a very grave offence that he has committed, -and yet I cannot help being happy,' said his wife with a smile, as she -lifted up the little Ottilie, and murmured over the child's fair curls, -'Ah, my dear little dove! We are not going to Russia after all. You -little birds will not leave your nest!' - -'Bela is not going to the snow palace?' said he, whose ears were very -quick, and to whom his attendants had told marvellous narratives of an -utterly imaginary Russia. - -'No; are not you glad, my dear?' - -He thought very gravely for a moment. - -'Bela is not sure. Marc says Bela would have slaves in Russia, and -might beat them.' - -'Bela would be beaten himself if he did, and by my own hand, said his -mother very gravely. 'Oh, child! where did you get your cruelty?' - -'He is not cruel,' said the Princess. 'He is only masterful.' - -'Alas! it is the same thing.' - -She sent the children indoors, and remained after the sun-glow had all -faded, and Mdme. Ottilie had gone away to her own rooms, and paced -to and fro the length of the terrace, troubled by an anxiety which -she would have owned to no one. What could have happened to make -him so offend alike the State and the Court? She tormented herself -with wondering again and again whether she had used any incautious -expression in her letters which could have betrayed to him the poignant -regret the coming exile gave her. No! she was sure she had not done -so. She had only written twice, preferring telegrams as quicker, and, -to a man, less troublesome than letters. She knew courts and cabinets -too well not to know that the step her husband had taken was one which -would wholly ruin the favour he enjoyed with the former, and wholly -take away all chance of his being ever called again to serve the -latter. Personally she was indifferent to that kind of ambition; but -her attachment to the Imperial house was too strong, and her loyalty -to it too hereditary, for her not to be alarmed at the idea of losing -its good-will. Disquieted and afraid of all kinds of formless unknown -ills, she went with a heavy heart into the Rittersaal to a dinner for -which she could find no appetite. The Princess also, so talkative and -vivacious at other times, was silent and pre-occupied. The evening -passed tediously. He did not come. - -It was past midnight, and she had given up all hope of his arrival, -when she heard the returning trot of the horses, who had been sent over -to Matrey in the evening on the chance of his being there. She was in -her own chamber, having dismissed her women, and was trying in vain to -keep her thoughts to nightly prayer. At the sound of the horses' feet -without, she threw on a _négligé_ of white satin and lace, and went, -out on to the staircase to meet him. As he came up the broad stairs, -with Donau and Neva gladly leaping on him, he looked up and saw her -against the background of oak and tapestry and old armour, with the -light of a great Persian lamp in metal that swung above shed full upon -her. She had never looked more lovely to him than as she stood so, her -eyes eagerly searching the dim shadow for him, and the loose white -folds embroidered in silk with pale roses flowing downward from her -throat to her feet. He drew her within her chamber, and took her in his -arms with a passionate gesture. - -'Let us forget everything,' he murmured, 'except that we have been -parted nearly a month!' - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -In the morning, after breakfast in the little Saxe room, she said to -him with gentle firmness: 'Réné, you must tell me now--why have you -refused Russia?' - -He had known that the question must come, and all the way on his -homeward journey he had been revolving in his mind the answer he would -give to it. He was very pale, but otherwise he betrayed no agitation as -he turned and looked at her. - -'That is what I cannot tell you,' he replied. - -She could not believe she heard aright. - -'What do you mean?' she asked him. 'I have had a message from Kunst; -he is deeply angered. I understand that, after all was arranged, you -abruptly resigned the Russian mission. I ask your reasons. It is a very -grave step to have taken. I suppose your motives must be very strong -ones?' - -'They are so,' said Sabran; and he continued in the forced and measured -tone of one who recites what he has taught himself to say: 'It is quite -natural that your cousin Kunst should be offended; the Emperor also. -You perhaps will be the same when I say to you that I cannot tell you, -as I cannot tell them, the grounds of my withdrawal. Perhaps you, like -them, will not forgive it.' - -Her nostrils dilated and her breast heaved: she was startled, -mortified, amazed. 'You do not choose to tell _me_!' she said in -stupefaction. - -'I cannot tell you.' - -'She gazed at him with the first bitterness of wrath that he had ever -seen upon her face. She had been used to perfect submission of others -all her life. She had the blood in her of stern princes, who had meted -out rule and justice against which there had been no appeal. She was -accustomed even in him to deference, homage, consideration, to be -consulted always, deferred to often. His answer for the moment seemed -to her an unwarrantable insult. - -Her influence, her relatives, her sovereign, had given him one of the -highest honours conceivable, and he did not choose to even say why he -was thankless for it! Passionate and withering words rose to her lips, -but she restrained their utterance. Not even in that moment could she -bring herself to speak what might seem to rebuke him with the weight -of all his debt to her. She remained silent, but he understood all the -intense indignation that held her speechless there. He approached her -more nearly, and spoke with emotion, but with a certain sternness in -his voice---- - -'I know very well that I must offend and even outrage you. But I -cannot tell you my motives. It is the first time that I have ever -acted independently of you or failed to consult your wishes. I only -venture to remind you that marriage does give to the man the right to -do so, though I have never availed myself of it. Nay, even now, I owe -you too much to be ingrate enough to take refuge in my authority as -your husband. I prefer to owe more, as I have owed so much, to your -tenderness. I prefer to ask of you, by your love for me, not to press -me for an answer that I am not in a position to make; to be content -with what I say--that I have relinquished the Russian mission because I -have no choice but to do so.' - -He spoke firmly, because he spoke only the truth, although not all the -truth. - -A great anger rose up in her, the first that she had ever been moved to -by him. All the pride of her temper and all her dignity were outraged -by this refusal to have confidence in her. It seemed incredible -to her. She still thought herself the prey of some dream, of some -hallucination. Her lips parted to speak, but again she withheld the -words she was about to utter. Her strong justice compelled her to admit -that he was but within his rights, and her sense of duty was stronger -than her sense of self-love. - -She did not look at him, nor could she trust her voice. She turned -from him without a syllable, and left the room. She was afraid of the -violence of the anger that she felt. - -'If it had been only to myself I would pardon it,' she thought; 'but an -insult to my people, to my country, to my sovereign!--an insult without -excuse, or explanation, or apology----' - -She shut herself alone within her oratory and passed the most bitter -hour of her life. The imperious and violent temper of the Szalras -was dormant in her character, though she had chastened and tamed it, -and the natural sweetness and serenity of her disposition had been a -counterpoise to it so strong that the latter had become the only thing -visible in her. But all the wrath of her race was now aroused and in -arms against what she loved best on earth. - -'If it had been anything else,' she thought; 'but a public act like -this--an ingratitude to the Crown itself! A caprice for all the world -to chatter of and blame!' - -It would have been hard enough to bear, difficult enough to explain -away to others, if he had told her his reasons, however captious, -unwise, or selfish they might be; but to have the door of his soul -thus shut upon her, his thoughts thus closed to her, hurt her with -intolerable pain, and filled her with a deep and burning indignation. - -She passed all the early morning hours alone in her little temple of -prayer, striving in vain against the bitterness of her heart; above -her the great ivory Crucifixion, the work of Angermayer, beneath which -so many generations of the women of the House of Szalras had knelt in -their hours of tribulation or bereavement. - -When she left the oratory she had conquered herself. Though she could -not extinguish the human passions that smarted and throbbed within her, -she knew her duty well enough to know that it must lie in submission -and in silence. - -She sought for him at once. She found him in the library: he was -playing to himself a long dreamy concerto of Schubert's, to soothe the -irritation of his own nerves and pass away a time of keen suspense. He -rose as she came into the room, and awaited her approach with a timid -anxiety in his eyes, which she was too absorbed by her own emotions to -observe. He had assumed a boldness that he had not, and had used his -power to dominate her rather in desperation than in any sense of actual -mastery. In his heart it was he who feared her. - -'You were quite right,' she said simply to him. 'Of course, you are -master of your own actions, and owe no account of them to me. We will -say no more about it. For myself, you know I am content enough to -escape exile to any embassy.' - -He kissed her hand with an unfeigned reverence and humility. - -'You are as merciful as you are great,' he murmured. 'If I be silent it -is my misfortune.' He paused abruptly. - -A sudden thought came over her as he spoke. - -'It is some State secret that he knows and cannot speak of, and that -has made him unwilling to go. Why did I never think of that before?' - -An explanation that had its root in honour, a reticence that sprang -from conscience, were so welcome to her, and to her appeared so -natural, that they now consoled her at once, and healed the wounds to -her own pride. - -'Of course, if it be so, he is right not to speak even to me,' she -mused, and her only desire was now to save him from the insistence and -the indignation of the Princess, and the examination which these were -sure to entail upon him when he should meet her at the noon breakfast -now at hand. - -To that end she sought out her aunt in her own apartments, taking -with her the tiny Ottilie, who always disarmed all irritation in her -godmother by the mere presence of her little flower-like face. - -'Dear mother,' she said softly, when the child had made her morning -obeisance, 'I am come to ask of you a great favour and kindness to me. -Réné returned last night. He has done what he thought right. I do not -even ask his reasons. He has acted from _force majeure_ by dictate of -his own honour. Will you do as I mean to do? Will you spare him any -interrogation? I shall be so grateful to you, and so will he.' - -Mdme. Ottilie, opening her bonbonnière for her namesake, drew up her -fragile figure with a severity unusual to her. - -'Do I hear you aright? You do not even know the reasons of the insult -M. de Sabran has passed upon the Crown and Cabinet, and you do not even -mean to ask them?' - -'I do mean that; and what I do not ask I feel sure you will admit no -one else has any right to ask of him.' - -'No one certainly except His Majesty.' - -'I presume His Majesty has had all information due to him as our -Imperial master. All I entreat of you, dearest mother, is to do as -I have done; assume, as we are bound to assume, that Réné has acted -wisely and rightly, and not weary him with questions to which it will -be painful to him not to respond.' - -'Questions! I never yet indulged in anything so vulgar as curiosity, -that you should imagine I shall be capable of subjecting your husband -to a cross-examination. If you be satisfied, I can have no right to -be more exacting than yourself. The occurrence is to me lamentable, -inexcusable, unintelligible; but if explanation be not offered me you -may rest assured I shall not intrude my request for it.' - -'Of that I am sure; but I am not contented only with that. I want you -to feel no dissatisfaction, no doubt, no anger against him. You may be -sure that he has acted from conviction, because he was most desirous to -go to Russia, as you saw when you urged him to accept the mission.' - -'I have said the utmost that I can say,' replied the Princess, with a -chill light in her blue eyes. 'This little child is no more likely to -ask questions than I am, after what you have stated. But you must not -regard my silence as any condonation of what must always appear to me a -step disrespectful to the Crown, contrary to all usages of etiquette, -and injurious to his own future and that of his children. His scruples -of conscience came too late.' - -'I did not say they were exactly that. I believe he learned something -which made him consider that his honour required him to withdraw.' - -'That may be,' said the Princess, frigidly. 'As I observed, it came -lamentably late. You will excuse me if I breakfast in my own rooms this -morning.' - -Wanda left her, gave the child to a nurse who waited without, and -returned to the library. She had offended and pained Mdme. Ottilie, -but she had saved her husband from annoyance. She knew that though -the Princess was by no means as free from curiosity as she declared -herself, she was too high-bred and too proud to solicit a confidence -withheld from her. - -Sabran was seated at the piano where she had left him, but his forehead -rested on the woodwork of it, and his whole attitude was suggestive -of sad and absorbed thought and abandonment to regrets that were -unavailing. - -'It has cost him so much,' she reflected as she looked at him. 'Perhaps -it has been a self-sacrifice, a heroism even; and I, from mere wounded -feeling, have been angered against him and almost cruel!' - -With the exaggeration in self-censure of all generous natures, she was -full of remorse at having added any pain to the disappointment which -had been his portion; a disappointment none the less poignant, as she -saw, because it had been voluntarily, as she imagined, accepted. - -As he heard her approach he started and rose, and the expression of his -face startled her for a moment; it was so full of pain, of melancholy, -almost (could she have believed it) of despair. What could this matter -be to affect him thus, since being of the State it could be at its -worst only some painful and compromising secret of political life which -could have no personal meaning for him? It was surely impossible that -mere disappointment----a disappointment self-inflicted----could bring -upon him such suffering? But she threw these thoughts away. In her -great loyalty she had told herself that she must not even think of this -thing, lest she should let it come between them once again and tempt -her from her duty and obedience. Her trust in him was perfect. - -The abandonment of a coveted distinction was in itself a bitter -disappointment, but it seemed to him as nothing beside the sense of -submission and obedience compelled from him to Vàsàrhely. He felt as -though an iron hand, invisible, weighed on his life, and forced it into -subjection. When he had almost grown secure that his enemy's knowledge -was a buried harmless thing, it had risen and barred his way, speaking -with an authority which it was not possible to disobey. With all his -errors he was a man of high courage, who had always held his own with -all men. How the old forgotten humiliation of his earliest years -revived, and enforced from him the servile timidity of the Slav blood -which he had abjured. He had never for an instant conceived it possible -to disregard the mandate he received; that an apparently voluntary -resignation was permitted to him was, his conscience acknowledged, more -mercy than he could have expected. That Vàsàrhely would act thus had -not occurred to him; but before the act he could not do otherwise than -admit its justice and obey. - -But the consciousness of that superior will compelling him, left in him -a chill tremor of constant fear, of perpetual self-abasement. What was -natural to him was the reckless daring which many Russians, such as -Skobeleff, have shown in a thousand ways of peril. He was here forced -only to crouch and to submit; it was more galling, more cruel to him -than utter exposure would have been. The sense of coercion was always -upon him like a dragging chain. It produced on him a despondency, which -not even the presence of his wife or the elasticity of his own nature -could dispel. - -He had to play a part to her, and to do this was unfamiliar and hateful -to him. In all the years before he had concealed a fact from her, but -he had never been otherwise false. Though to his knowledge there had -been always between them the shadow of a secret untold, there had -never been any sense upon him of obligation to measure his words, to -feign sentiments he had not, to hide behind a carefully constructed -screen of untruth. Now, though he had indeed not lied with his lips, -he had to sustain a concealment which was a thousand times more trying -to him than that concealment of his birth and station to which he had -been so long accustomed that he hardly realised it as any error. The -very nobility with which she had accepted his silence, and given it, -unasked, a worthy construction, smote him with a deeper sense of shame -than even that which galled him when he remembered the yoke laid on him -by the will of Egon Vàsàrhely. - -He roused himself to meet her with composure. - -She rested her hand caressingly on his. - -'We will never speak of Russia any more. I should be sorry were the -Kaiser to think you capricious or disloyal, but you have too much -ability to have incurred this risk. Let it all be as though there had -never arisen any question of public life for you. I have explained -to Aunt Ottilie; she will not weary you with interrogation; she -understands that you have acted as your honour bade you. That is enough -for those who love you as do she and I.' - -Every word she spoke entered his very soul with the cruellest irony, -the sharpest reproach. But of these he let her see nothing. Yet he -was none the less abjectly ashamed, less passionately self-condemned, -because he had to consume his pain in silence, and had the self-control -to answer, still with a smile, as he touched a chord or two of music: - -'When the Israelites were free they hankered after the flesh-pots of -Egypt. They deserved eternal exile, eternal bondage. So do I, for -having ever been ingrate enough to dream of leaving Hohenszalras for -the world of men!' - -Then he turned wholly towards the Erard keyboard, and with splendour -and might there rolled forth under his touch the military march of -Rákóczi: he was glad of the majesty and passion of the music which -supplanted and silenced speech. - -'That is very grand,' she said, when the last notes had died away. -'One seems to hear the _Eljén!_ of the whole nation in it. But play me -something more tender, more pathetic----some _lieder_ half sorrow and -half gladness, you know so many of all countries.' - -He paused a moment; then his hands wandered lightly across the notes, -and called up the mournful folk-songs that he had heard so long, so -long, before; songs of the Russian peasants, of the maidens borne off -by the Tartar in war, of the blue-eyed children carried away to be -slaves, of the homeless villagers beholding their straw-roofed huts -licked up by the hungry hurrying flame lit by the Kossack or the Kurd; -songs of a people without joy, that he had heard in his childish days, -when the great rafts had drifted slowly down the Volga water, and -across the plains the lines of chained prisoners had crept as slowly -through the dust; or songs that he had sung to himself, not knowing -why, where the winter was white on all the land, and the bay of the -famished wolves afar off had blent with the shrill sad cry of the wild -swans dying of cold and of hunger and of thirst on the frozen rivers, -and the reeds were grown hard as spears of iron, and the waves were -changed to stone. - -The intense melancholy penetrated her very heart. She listened with -the tears in her eyes, and her whole being stirred and thrilled by a -pain not her own. A kind of consciousness came to her, borne on that -melancholy melody, of some unspoken sorrow which lived in this heart -which beat so near her own, and whose every throb she had thought she -knew. A sudden terror seized her lest all this while she who believed -his whole life hers was in truth a stranger to his deepest grief, his -dearest memories. - -When the last sigh of those plaintive songs without words had died -away, she signed to him to approach her. - -'Tell me,' she said very gently, 'tell me the truth. Réné, did you ever -care for any woman, dead or lost, more than, or as much as, you care -for me? I do not ask you if you loved others. I know all men have many -caprices, but was any one of them so dear to you that you regret her -still? Tell me the truth; I will be strong to bear it.' - -He, relieved beyond expression that she but asked him that on which his -conscience was clear and his answer could be wholly sincere, sat down -at her feet and leaned his head against her knee. - -'Never, so hear me God!' he said simply. 'I have loved no woman as I -love you.' - -'And there is not one that you regret?' - -'There is not one.' - -'Then what is it that you do regret? Something more weighs on you than -the mere loss of diplomatic life, which; after all, to you is no more -than the loss of a toy to Bela.' - -'If I do regret,' he said, with a smile, 'it is foolish and thankless. -The happiness you give me here is worth all the fret and fever of -the world's ambitions. You are so great and good to be so little -angered with me for my reticence. All my life, such as it is, shall be -dedicated to my gratitude.' - -Once more an impulse to tell her all passed over him----a sense that -he might trust her absolutely for all tenderness and all pity came -upon him; but with the weakness which so constantly holds back human -souls from their own deliverance, his courage once again failed him. -He once more looking at her thought: 'Nay! I dare not. She would never -understand, she would never pardon, she would never listen. At the -first word she would abhor me.' - -He did not dare; he bent his face down on her knees as any child might -have done. - -'What I ever must regret is not to be worthy of you!' he murmured; and -the subterfuge was also a truth. - -She looked down at him wistfully with doubt and confusion mingled. She -sighed, for she understood that buried in his heart there was some pain -he would not share, perchance some half involuntary unfaithfulness he -did not dare confess. She thrust this latter thought away quickly; it -hurt her as the touch of a hot iron hurts tender flesh; she would not -harbour it. It might well be, she knew. - -She was silent some little time, then she said calmly: - -'I think you worthy. Is not that enough? Never say to me what you do -not wish to say. But----but----if there be anything you believe that I -should blame, be sure of this, love: I am no fair weather friend. Try -me in deep water, in dark storm!' - -And still he did not speak. - -His evil angel held him back and said to him, 'Nay! she would never -forgive.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -One day in this winter time she sat alone in her octagon-room whilst he -was out driving in the teeth of a strong wind blowing from the north -and frequent bursts of snowstorm. Rapid exercise, eager movements, were -necessary to him at once as tonic and as anodyne, and the northern -blood that was in him made the bitter cold, the keen and angry air, the -conflict with the frantic horses tearing at their curbs welcome and -wholesome to him. Paul Zabaroff had many a day driven so over the hard -snows of Russian plains. - -She sat at home as the twilight drew on, her feet buried in the furs -before her chair, the fragrance shed about her from a basket of forced -narcissus and bowls full of orange flowers and of violets, the light -of the burning wood shining on the variegated and mellow hues of the -tiles of the hearth. The last poems of Coppée were on her lap, but -her thoughts had wandered away from those to Sabran, to her children, -to a thousand happy trifles connected with one or the other. She was -dreaming idly in that vague reverie which suits the last hour of the -reclining day in the grey still winter of a mountain-land. She was -almost sorry when Hubert entered and brought her the mail-bag, which -had just come through the gloomy defiles and the frosted woods which -stretched between them and Matrey. - -'It grows late,' she said to him. 'I fear it will be a stormy night. -Have you heard the Marquis return? - -He told her that Sabran had not yet driven in, and ventured to add -his hope that his master would not be out long; then he asked if she -desired the lamps lit, and on being told she did not, withdrew, leaving -the leather bag on a table close to one of the Saxe bowls of violets. -There was plenty of light from the fire, and even from the windows, to -read her letters by; she went first to one of the casements and looked -at the night, which was growing very wild and dark. Though day still -lingered, she could hear the wind go screaming down the lake, and -the rush of the swollen water swirling against the terrace buttresses -below. All beyond, woods, hills, mountains, were invisible under the -grey mist. - -'I hope he will not be late,' she thought, but she was too keen a -mountaineer to be apprehensive. Sabran now knew every road and path -through all the Tauern as well as she did. She returned to her seat and -unlocked the leather bag; there were several newspapers, two letters -for the Princess, three or four for Sabran, and one only for herself. -She laid his aside for him, sent those of the Princess to her room, -and opened her own. The writing of it she did not recognise; it was -anonymous, and was very brief. - - -'If you wish to know why the Marquis de Sabran did not go to Russia, -ask Egon Vàsàrhely.' - - -That was all: so asps are little. - -She sat quite still, and felt as if a bolt had fallen on her from the -leaden skies without. Vàsàrhely knew, the writer of the letter knew, -and she----_she----_ did not know! That was her first distinct thought. - -If Sabran had entered the room at that instant she would have held to -him this letter, and would have said, 'I ask you, not him.' He was -absent, and she sat motionless, keeping the unsigned note in her hand, -and staring down on it. Then she turned and looked at the post-mark. -It was 'Vienna,' A city of a million souls! What clue to the writer -was there? She read it again and again, as even the wisest will read -such poisonous things, as though by repeated study that mystery would -be compelled to stand out clearly revealed. It did not say enough to -have been the mere invention of the sender; it was not worded as an -insinuation, but as a fact. For that reason it took a hold upon her -mind which would at once have rejected a fouler or a darker suggestion. -Although free from any baseness of suspicion there was yet that in the -name of her cousin, in juxtaposition with her husband's, which could -not do otherwise than startle and carry with it a corroboration of the -statement made. A wave of the deep anger which had moved her on her -husband's first refusal swept over her again. Her hand clenched, her -eyes hashed, where she sat alone in the gathering shadows. - -There came a sound at the door of the room and a small golden head came -from behind the tapestry. - -'May we come in?' said Bela; it was the children's hour. - -She rose, and put him backward. - -'Not now, my darling; I am occupied. Go away for a little while.' - -The women who were with them took the children back to their -apartments. She sat down with the note still in her hand. What could -it mean? No good thing was ever said thus. She pondered long, and was -unable to imagine any sense or meaning it could have, though all the -while memories thronged upon, her of words, and looks, and many trifles -which had told her of the enmity that was existent between her cousin -and Sabran. That she saw; but there her knowledge ceased, her vision -failed. She could go no further, conjecture nothing more. - -'Ask Egon!' Did they think she would ask him or any living being that -which Sabran had refused to confide in her? Whoever wrote this knew her -little, she thought. Perhaps there were women who would have done so. -She was not one of them. - -With a sudden impulse of scorn she cast the sheet of paper into the -fire before her. Then she went to her writing-table and enclosed the -envelope in another, which she addressed to her lawyers in Salzburg. -She wrote with it: 'This is the cover to an anonymous letter which I -have received. Try your uttermost to discover the sender.' - -Then she sat down again and thought long, and wearily, and vainly. She -could make nothing of it. She could see no more than a wayfarer whom a -blank wall faces as he goes. The violets and orange blossoms were close -at her elbow; she never in after time smelt their perfume without a -sick memory of the stunned, stupefied bewilderment of that hour. - -The door unclosed again, a voice again spoke behind as a hand drew back -the folds of the tapestry. - -'What, are you in darkness here? I am very cold. Have you no tea for -me?' said Sabran, as he entered, his eyes brilliant; his cheeks warm, -from the long gallop against the wind. He had changed his clothes, and -wore a loose suit of velvet; the servants, entering behind him, lit the -candelabra, and brought in the lamps; warmth, and gladness, and light -seemed to come with him; she looked up and thought, 'Ah! what does any -thing matter? He is home in safety!' - -The impulse to ask of him what she had been bidden to ask of Egon -Vàsàrhely had passed with the intense surprise of the first moment. She -could not ask of him what she had promised never to seek to know; she -could not reopen a long-closed wound. But neither could she forget the -letter lying burnt there amongst the flames of the wood. He noticed -that her usual perfect calm was broken as she welcomed him, gave him -his letters, and bade the servants bring tea; but he thought it mere -anxiety, and his belated drive; and being tired with a pleasant fatigue -which made rest sweet, he stretched his limbs out on a low couch beside -the hearth, and gave himself up to that delicious dreamy sense of -_bien-être_ which a beautiful woman, a beautiful room, tempered warmth -and light, and welcome repose, bring to any man after some hours effort -and exposure in wild weather and intense cold and increasing darkness. - -'I almost began to think I should not see you to-night,' he said -happily, as he took from her hand the little cup of Frankenthal china -which sparkled like a jewel in the light. 'I had fairly lost my way, -and Josef knew it no better than I; the snow fell with incredible -rapidity, and it seemed to grow night in an instant. I let the horses -take their road, and they brought us home; but if there be any poor -pedlars or carriers on the hills to-night I fear they will go to their -last sleep.' - -She shuddered and looked at him with dim, fond eyes, 'He is here; he is -mine,' she thought; 'what else matters?' - -Sabran stretched out his fingers and took some of the violets from the -Saxe bowl and fastened them in his coat as he went on speaking of the -weather, of the perils of the roads whose tracks were obliterated, and -of the prowess and intelligence of his horses, who had found the way -home when he and his groom, a man born and bred in the Tauern, had both -been utterly at a loss. The octagon-room had never looked lovelier and -gayer to him, and his wife had never looked more beautiful than both -did now as he came to them out of the darkness and the snowstorm and -the anxiety of the last hour. - -'Do not run those risks,' she murmured. 'You know all that your life is -to me.' - -The letter which lay burnt in the fire, and the dusky night of ice -and wind without, had made him dearer to her than ever. And yet the -startled, shocked sense of some mystery, of some evil, was heavy upon -her, and did not leave her that evening nor for many a day after. - -'You are not well?' he said to her anxiously later, as they left the -dinner-table. She answered evasively. - -'You know I am not always quite well now. It is nothing. It will pass.' - -'I was wrong to alarm you by being out so late in such weather,' he -said with self-reproach. 'I will go out earlier in future.' - -'Do not wear those violets,' she said, with a trivial caprice wholly -unlike her, as she took them from his coat. 'They are Bonapartist -emblems--_fleurs de malheur_.' - -He smiled, but he was surprised, for he had never seen in her any one -of those fanciful whims and vagaries that are common to women. - -'Give me any others instead,' he said; 'I wear but your symbol, O my -lady!' - -She took some myrtle and lilies of the valley from one of the large -porcelain jars in the Rittersaal. - -'These are our flowers,' she said as she gave them to him. 'They mean -love and peace.' - -He turned from her slightly as he fastened them where the others had -been. - -All the evening she was pre-occupied and nervous. She could not forget -the intimation she had received. It was intolerable to her to have -anything of which she could not speak to her husband. Though they had -their own affairs apart one from the other, there had been nothing -of moment in hers that she had ever concealed from him. But here it -was impossible for her to speak to him, since she had pledged herself -never to seek to know the reason of an action which, however plausibly -she explained it to herself, remained practically inexplicable and -unintelligible. It was terrible to her, too, to feel that the lines -of a coward who dared not sign them had sunk so deeply into her mind -that she did not question their veracity. They had at once carried -conviction to her that Egon Vàsàrhely did know what they said he did. -She could not have told why this was, but it was so. It was what hurt -her most----others knew; she did not. - -She felt that if she could have spoken to Sabran of it, the matter -would have become wholly indifferent to her; but the obligation of -reticence, the sense of separation which it involved, oppressed her -greatly. She was also haunted by the memory of the enmity which existed -between these men, whose names were so strangely coupled in the -anonymous counsel given her. - -She stayed long in her oratory that night, seeking vainly for calmness -and patience under this temptation; seeking beyond all things for -strength to put the poison of it wholly from her mind. She dreaded lest -it should render her irritable and suspicious. She reproached herself -for having been guilty of even so much insinuation of rebuke to him -as her words with the flower had carried in them. She had ideas of -the duties of a woman to her husband widely different to those which -prevail in the world. She allowed herself neither irritation nor irony -against him. 'When the thoughts rebel, the acts soon revolt,' she was -wont to say to herself, and even in her thoughts she would never blame -him. - -Prayer, even if it have no other issue or effect, rarely fails to -tranquillise and fortify the heart which is lifted up ever so vaguely -in search of a superhuman aid. She left her oratory strengthened and -calmed, resolved in no way to allow such partial success to their -unknown foe as would be given if the treacherous warning brought any -suspicion or bitterness to her mind. She passed through the open -archway in the wall which divided his rooms from hers, and looked at -him where he lay already asleep upon his bed, early fatigued by the -long cold drive from which he had returned at nightfall. He was never -more handsome than sleeping calmly thus, with the mellow light of a -distant lamp reaching the fairness of his face. She looked at him with -all her heart in her eyes; then stooped and kissed him without awaking -him. - -'Ah! my love,' she thought, 'what should ever come between us? Hardly -even death, I think, for if I lost you I should not live long without -you.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -The Salzburg lawyers employed all the resources of the Viennese police -to discover the sender of the envelope, but vainly; nothing was -learned by all the efforts made. But the letter constantly haunted her -thoughts. It produced in her an uneasiness and an apprehensiveness -wholly foreign to her temper. The impossibility also of saying anything -about it increased the weight of it on her memory. Yet she never once -thought of asking Vàsàrhely. She wrote to him now and then, as she had -always done, to give him tidings of her health or of her movements, -but she never once alluded in the most distant terms to the anonymous -information she had received. If he had been there beside her she would -not have spoken of it. Of the two, she would sooner have reopened the -subject to her husband. But she never did so. She had promised him -to be silent, and to her creed a promise was inviolate, never to be -retracted, be the pressure or the desire to do so what it would. - -It was these grand lines on which her character and her habits were -cast that awed him, and made him afraid to tell her his true history. -Had he revered her less he would probably have deceived her less. Had -she been of a less noble temperament she would also probably have been -much less easy to deceive. - -Her health was at this time languid, and more uncertain than usual, -and the two lines of the letter were often present to her thoughts, -tormenting her with idle conjecture, painful doubt, none the less -painful because it could take no definite shape. Sometimes when she -was not well enough to accompany him out of doors or drive her own -sleigh through the keen clear winter air, she sat doing nothing, and -thinking only of this thing, in the same room, with the same smell of -violets about her, musing on what it might by any possibility mean. Any -secret was safe with Egon, but then since the anonymous writer was in -possession of it the secret was not only his. She wondered sometimes in -terror whether it could be anything that might in after years affect -her children's future, and then as rapidly discarded the bare thought -as so much dishonour to their father. 'It is only because I am now -nervous and impressionable,' she said to herself,'that this folly takes -such a hold upon me. When I am well again I shall not think of it. Who -is it says of anonymous letters that they are like "_les immondices des -rues: il faut boucher le nez, tourner la tête et passer outre?_"' - -But '_les immondices_' spoiled the odours of the new year violets to -her. - -In the early spring of the year she gave birth to another son. She -suffered more than she had ever done before, and recovered less -quickly. The child was like all the others, fair, vigorous, and full -of health. She wished to give him her husband's name, but Sabran so -strenuously opposed the idea that she yielded, and named him after her -brother Victor, who had fallen at Magenta. - -There were the usual rejoicings throughout the estates, rejoicings -that were the outcome of genuine affection and fealty to the race of -Szalras, whose hold on the people of the Tauern had resisted all the -revolutionary movements of the earlier part of the century, and had -fast root in the hearts of the staunch and conservative mountaineers. -But for the first time as she heard the hearty '_Hoch!_' of the -assembled peasantry echoing beneath her windows, and the salvos fired -from the old culverins on the keep, a certain fear mingled with her -maternal pride, and she thought: 'Will the people love them as well -twenty years hence, fifty years hence, when I shall be no more? Will my -memory be any shield to them? Will the traditions of our race outlast -the devouring changes of the world?' - -Meantime the Princess, happy and smiling, showed the little new-born -noble to the stalwart chamois hunters, the comely farmers and -fishermen, the clear-eyed stout-limbed shepherds and labourers gathered -bareheaded round the Schloss. - -Bela stood by contemplating the crowd he knew so well; he did not see -why they should cheer any other child beside himself. He stood with his -little velvet cap in his hand, because he was always told to do so, but -he felt very inclined to put it on; if his father had not been present -there he would have done so. - -'If I have ever so many brothers,' he said at last thoughtfully to -Greswold, who was by his side, 'it will not make any difference, will -it? I shall always be _the_ one?' - -'What do you mean?' asked the physician. - -'They will none of them be like me? They will none of them be as great -as I am? Not if I have twenty?' - -'You will be always the eldest son, of course,' said the old man, -repressing a smile. 'Yes; you will be their head, their chief, their -leading spirit; but for that reason you will have much more expected of -you than will be expected of them; you will have to learn much more, -and try to be always good. Do you follow me, Count Bela?' - -Bela's little rosy mouth shut itself up contemptuously. 'I shall be -always the eldest, and I shall do whatever I like. I do not see why -they want any others than me.' - -'You will not do always what you like, Count Bela.' - -'Who shall prevent me?' - -'The law, which you will have to obey like everyone else.' - -'I shall make the laws when I am a little older,' said Bela. 'And they -will be for my brothers and all the people, but not for me. I shall do -what I like.' - -'That will be very ungenerous,' said Greswold, quietly. 'Your mother, -the Countess, is very different. She is stern to herself, and indulgent -to all others. That is why she is beloved. If you will think of -yourself so much when you are grown up, you will be hated.' - -Bela flushed a little guiltily and angrily. - -'That will not matter,' he said sturdily. 'I shall please myself -always.' - -'And be unkind to your brothers?' - -'Not if they do what I tell them; I will be very kind if they are good. -Gela always does what I tell him,' he added after a little pause; 'I do -not want any but Gela.' - -'It is natural you should be fondest of Gela, as he is nearest your -age, but you must love all the brothers you may have, or you will -distress your mother very greatly.' - -'Why does she want any but me?' said Bela, clinging to his sense of -personal wrong. And he was not to be turned from that. - -'She wants others beside you,' said the physician, adroitly, 'because -to be happy she needs children who are tender-hearted, unselfish, and -obedient. You are none of those things, my Count Bela, so Heavens ends -her consolation.' - -Bela opened his blue eyes very wide, and he coloured with mortification. - -'She always loves me best!' he said haughtily. 'She always will!' - -'That will depend on yourself, my little lord,' said Greswold, with a -significance which was not lost on the quick intelligence of the child; -and he never forgot this day when his brother Victor was shown to the -people. - -'There will be no lack of heirs to Hohenszalras,' said the Princess -meanwhile to his father. - -He thought as he heard: - -'And if ever she know she can break her marriage like a rotten thread! -Those boys can all be made as nameless as I was! Would she do it? -Perhaps not, for the children's sake. God knows----she might change -even to them; she might hate them as she loves them now, because they -are mine.' - -Even as he sat beside her couch with her hand in his these thoughts -pursued and haunted him. Remorse and fear consumed him. When she looked -at the blue eyes of her new-born son, and said to him with a happy -smile: 'He will be just as much like you as the others are,' he could -only think with a burning sense of shame, 'Like me! like a traitor! -like a liar! like a thief!'----and the faces of these children seemed -to him like those of avenging angels. - -He thought with irrepressible agony of the fact that her country's -laws would divorce her from him if she chose, did ever the truth come -to her ear. He had always known this indeed, as he had known all the -other risks he ran in doing what he did. Put it had been far away, -indistinct, unasserted; whenever the memory of it had passed over him -he had thrust it away. Now when another knew his secret, he could -not do so. He had a strange sensation of having fallen from some -great height; of having all his life slide away like melting ice out -of his hands. He never once doubted for an instant the good faith of -Egon Vàsàrhely. He knew that his lips would no more unclose to tell -his secret than the glaciers yonder would find human voice. But the -consciousness that one man lived, moved, breathed, rose with each day, -and went amongst other men, bearing with him that fatal knowledge, -made it now impossible for himself ever to forget it. A dull remorse, -a sharp apprehension, were for ever his companions, and never left him -for long even in his sweetest hours. He did justice to the magnificent -generosity of the one who spared him. Egon Vàsàrhely knew, as he knew, -that she, hearing the truth, could annul the marriage if she chose. -His children would have no rights, no name, if their mother chose to -separate herself from him. The law would make her once more as free -as though she had never wedded him. He knew that, and the other man -who loved her knew it too. He could measure the force of Vàsàrhely's -temptation as that simple and heroic soldier could not stoop to measure -his. - -He was deeply unhappy, but he concealed it from her. Even when his -heart beat against hers it seemed to him always that there was an -invisible wall between himself and her. He longed to tell the whole -truth to her, but he was afraid; if the whole pain and shame had been -his own that the confession would have caused, he would have dared it; -but he had not the heart to inflict on her such suffering, not the -courage to destroy their happiness with his own hand. Egon Vàsàrhely -alone knew, and he for her sake would never speak. As for the reproach -of his own conscience, as for the remorse that the words of his -children might at any moment call up in him, these lie must bear. He -was a man of cool judgment and of ready resource, and though he had -never foreseen the sharp repentance which his better nature now felt, -he knew that he would be able to live it down as he had crushed out so -many other scruples. He vowed to himself that as far as in him lay he -would atone for his act. The moral influence of his wife had not been -without effect on him. Not altogether, but partially, he had grown to -believe in what she believed in, of the duty of human life to other -lives; he had not her sympathy for others, but he had admired it, and -in his own way followed it, though without her faith. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Life went on in its old pathways at Hohenszalras. Nothing more, was -said by him, or to him, as to his rejection of the Russian mission. She -was niggard in nothing, and when she offered her faith or pledged her -silence, gave both entirely and ungrudgingly. Sabran to her showed an -increase of devotion, an absolute adoration which would in themselves -have sufficed to console any woman; and if the most observant member -of their household, Greswold, perceived in him a preoccupation, a -languor, a gloom, which boded ill for their future peace, the old man -was too loyal in his attachment not to endeavour to shake off his own -suspicions and discredit his own penetration. - -The Princess had been favoured by a note from Olga Brancka, in which -that lady wrote: 'Have you discovered the nature of his refusal of -Russia? Myself, I believe that I was to blame. I hinted to him that -he would be tempted to his old sins in St. Petersburg, and that Wanda -would be very miserable there. It seems that this was enough for the -tender heart of this devoted lover, and too much for his wisdom and -his judgment; he rejected the mission after accepting it. I believe -the Court is furious. I am not _de service_ now, so that I have no -opportunity of endeavouring to restore him to favour; but I imagine the -Emperor will not quarrel for ever with the Hohenszalrasburg. - -The letter restored him at least to the favour of Mdme. Ottilie. -Exaggerated as such a scruple appeared it did not seem to her -impossible in a man whose devotion to his wife she daily witnessed, -shown in a hundred traits. She blamed him still severely in her own -thoughts for what she held an inexcusable disrespect to the Crown, but -she kept her word scrupulously and never spoke to him on the subject. - -'Where else in the wide world would any man have found such -forbearance?' he thought with gratitude, and he knew that nowhere -would such delicate sentiment have existed outside the pale of that -fine patrician dignity which is as incapable of the vulgarity of -inquisitiveness and interrogation as was the Spartan of lament. - -The months went by. They did not leave home; he seemed to have lost -all wish for any absence, and even repulsed the idea of inviting the -usual house parties of the year. She supposed that he was averse to -meeting people who might recur to his rejection of the post he had -once accepted. The summer passed and the autumn came; he spent his -time in occasional sport, the keen and perilous sport of the Austrian -mountains, and more often and more faithfully beguiled himself with -those arts of which he was a brilliant master, though he would call -himself no more than a mere amateur. From the administration of the -estates he had altogether withdrawn himself. - -'You are so much wiser than I,' he always said to her; and when she -would have referred to him, replied: 'You have your lawyers; they are -all honest men. Consult them rather than me.' - -With the affairs of Idrac only he continued to concern himself a -little, and was persistent in setting aside all its revenues to -accumulate for his second son. - -'I wish you cared more about all these things,' she said to him one -day, when she had in her hand the reports from the mines of Galicia. -He answered angrily, 'I have no right to them. They are not mine. If -you chose to give them all away to the Crown I should say nothing.' - -'Not even for the children's sake?' - -'No: you would be entirely justified if you liked to give the children -nothing.' - -'I really do not understand you,' she said in great surprise. - -'Everything is yours,' he said abruptly. - -'And the children too, surely!' she said, with a smile: but the -strangeness of the remark disquieted her. 'It is over-sensitiveness,' -she thought; 'he can never altogether forget that he was poor. It is -for that reason public life would have been so good for him; dignities -which he enjoyed of his own, honours that he arrived at through his own -attainments.' - -Chagrined to have lost, the opportunity of winning personal honours -in a field congenial to him, the sense that everything was hers could -hardly fail to gall him sometimes constantly, though she strove to -efface any remembrance or reminder that it was so. - -In the midsummer of that year, whilst they were quite alone, they were -surprised by another letter from Mdme. Brancka, in which she proposed -to take Hohenszalras on her way from France to Tsarköe Selo, where she -was about to pay a visit which could not be declined by her. - -When in the spring he had written with formality to her to announce the -birth of his son Victor, she had answered with a witty coquettish reply -such as might well have been provocative of further correspondence. -But he had not taken up the invitation. Mortified and irritated, she -had compared his writing with the piece of burnt paper, and been more -satisfied than ever that he had penned the name of Vassia Kazán. But -even were it so, what, she wondered, had it to do with Russia? He -and Egon Vàsàrhely were not friends so intimate that they had any -common interests one with the other. The mystery had interested her -intensely when her rapid intuition had connected the resignation of -Sabran's appointment with the messenger sent to him from Taróc. Her -impatience to be again in his presence grew intense. She imagined a -thousand stories, to cast each aside in derision as impossible. All her -suppositions were built upon no better basis than a fragment of charred -paper; but her shrewd intuition bore her into the region of truth, -though the actual truth of course never suggested itself to her even in -her most fantastic and dramatic visions. Finally she thus proposed to -visit Hohenszalras in the midsummer months. - -'Last year you had such a crowd about you,' she wrote, 'that I -positively saw nothing of you, _liebe_ Wanda. You are alone now, and -I venture to propose myself for a fortnight. You cannot exactly be -said to be in the way to anywhere, but I shall make you so. When one -is going to Russia, a matter of another five hundred miles or so is a -bagatelle.' - -'We must let her come,' said Wanda, as she gave the letter to Sabran, -who, having read it, said with much sincerity---- - -'For heaven's sake, do not. A fortnight of Madame Olga! as well -have----a century of "Madame Angot!"' - -'Can I prevent her?' - -'You can make some excuse. I do not like Mdme. Brancka.' - -'Why?' - -He hesitated; he could not tell her what he had felt at the ball of -the Hofburg. 'She reminds me of a woman who drew me into a thousand -follies, and to cap her good deeds betrayed me to the Prussians. If you -must let her come I will go away. I will go and see your haras on the -Pusztas.' - -'Are you serious?' - -'Quite serious. Were I not ashamed of such a weakness, I should use a -feminine expression. I should say "_elle me donne des nerfs._"' - -'I think she has a great admiration for you, and she does not conceal -it.' - -'Merely because she is sensible that I do not like her. Such women as -she are discontented if only one person fail to admit their charm. She -is accustomed to admiration, and she is not scrupulous as to how she -obtains it.' - -'My dear! pray remember that she is our guest, and doubly our relative.' - -'I will try and remember it; but, believe me, all honour is wholly -wasted upon Mdme. Olga. You offer her a coin of which the person and -the superscription are alike unknown to her.' - -'You are very severe,' said his wife. - -She looked at him, and perceived that he was not jesting, that he -was on the contrary disturbed and annoyed, and she remembered the -persistence with which Olga Brancka had sought his companionship and -accompanied him on his sport in the summer of her visit there. - -'If she had not married first my brother and then my cousin, she would -never have been an intimate friend of mine,' she continued. 'She is of -a world wholly opposed to all my tastes. For you to be absent, if she -came, would be too marked, I think; but we can both leave, if you like. -I am well enough for any movement now, and I can leave the child with -his nurse. Shall we make a tour in Hungary? The haras will interest -you. There are the mines, too, that one ought to visit.' - -He received her assent with gratitude and delight. He felt that he -would have gone to the uttermost ends of the earth rather than run the -risk of spending long lonely summer days in the excitation of Mdme. -Brancka's presence. He detested her, he would always detest her; and -yet when he shut his eyes he saw her so clearly, with the malicious -light in her dusky glance, and the jewelled butterfly trembling about -her breasts. - -'She shall never come under Wanda's roof if I can prevent it,' he -thought, remembering her as she had been that night. - -A few days later the Countess Brancka, much to her rage, had a note -from the Hohenszalrasburg, which said that they were on the point of -leaving for Hungary and Galicia, but that if she would come there in -their absence, the Princess Ottilie, who remained, would be charmed to -receive her. Of course she excused herself, and did not go. A visit to -the solitudes of the Iselthal, where she would, see no one but a lady -of eighty years old and four little children, had few attractions for -the adventurous and vivacious wife of Stefan Brancka. - -'It is only Wanda's jealousy,' she thought, and was furious; but she -looked at herself in the mirror, and was almost consoled as she thought -also, 'He avoids me. Therefore he is afraid of me!' - -She went to her god, _le monde_, and worshipped at all its shrines and -in all its fashions; but in the midst of the turmoil and the triumphs, -the worries and the intoxications of her life, she did not lose her -hold on her purpose, nor forget that he had slighted her. His beautiful -face, serene and scornful, was always before her. He might have been at -her feet, and he chose to dwell beside his wife under those solitary -forests, amongst those solitary mountains of the High Tauern! - -'With a woman he has lived with all these eight years!' she thought, -with furious impatience. 'With a woman who has grafted the Lady of La -Garaye on Libussa, who never gives him a moment's jealousy, who is -as flawless as an ivory statue or a marble throne, who suckles her -children and could spin their clothes if she wanted, who never cares -to go outside the hills of her own home----the Teuton _Hausfrau_ to -her finger-tips.' And she was all the more bitter and the more angered -because, always as she tried to think thus, the image of Wanda rose up -before her, as she had seen her so often at Vienna or Hohenszalras, -with the great pearls on her hair and on her breast. - -/$ -A planet at whose passing, lo! -All lesser stars recede, and night -Grows clear as day thus lighted up -By all her loveliness, which burns -With pure white flame of chastity; -And fires of fair thought.... -$/ - - -END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Ouida - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDA, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 52136-0.txt or 52136-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52136/ - -Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc -D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images -generouslly made available by the Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3) - -Author: Ouida - -Release Date: May 23, 2016 [EBook #52136] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDA, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc -D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images -generouslly made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>WANDA</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>OUIDA</h2> - - -<p class="center"> -<i>'Doch!—alles was dazu mich trieb;</i><br /> -<i>Gott!—war so gut, ach, war so lieb!'</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 20%;">Goethe</span><br /> -</p> - - -<h4>IN THREE VOLUMES</h4> - -<h4>VOL. II.</h4> - - -<h5>London</h5> - -<h5>CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY</h5> - -<h5>1883</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<h3><a name="WANDA" id="WANDA">WANDA.</a></h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> - - -<p>On her return she spoke of her royal friends, of her cousins, of -society, of her fears for the peace of Europe, and her doubts as to -the strength of the empire; but she did not speak of the one person of -whom, beyond all others, Mdme. Ottilie was desirous to hear. When some -hours had passed, and still she had never alluded to the existence of, -the Princess could bear silence no longer, and casting prudence to the -winds, said boldly and with impatience:</p> - -<p>'And your late guest? Have you nothing to tell me? Surely you have seen -him?'</p> - -<p>'He called once,' she answered, 'and I heard him speak at the Chamber.'</p> - -<p>'And was that all?' cried the Princess, disappointed.</p> - -<p>'He speaks very well in public,' added Wanda, 'and he said many tender -and grateful things of you, and sent you many messages—such grateful -ones that my memory is too clumsy a tray to hold such eggshell china.'</p> - -<p>She was angered with herself as she spoke, but the fragrance of the -white lilac and the remembrance of its donor pursued her—angered -with herself, too, because Hohenszalras seemed for the moment sombre, -solitary, still, almost melancholy, wrapped in that winter whiteness -and stillness which she had always loved so well.</p> - -<p>The next morning she saw all her people, visited her schools and her -stables, and tried to persuade herself that she was as contented as -ever.</p> - -<p>The aurist came from Paris shortly after her, and consoled the Princess -by assuring her that the slight deafness she suffered from occasionally -was due to cold.</p> - -<p>'Of course!' she said, with some triumph. 'These mountains, all this -water, rain whenever there is not snow, snow whenever there is not -rain; it is a miracle, and the mercy of Heaven, if one saves any of -one's five senses uninjured in a residence here.'</p> - -<p>She had her satin hood trebly wadded, and pronounced the aurist a -charming person. Herr Greswold in an incautious moment had said to her -that deafness was one of the penalties of age and did not depend upon -climate. A Paris doctor would not have earned his fee of two hundred -napoleons if he had only produced so ungallant a truism. She heard a -little worse after his visit, perhaps, but if so, she said that was -caused by the additional wadding in her hood. He had told her to use a -rose-water syringe, and Herr Greswold was forbidden her presence for a -week because he averred that you might as well try to melt the glacier -with a lighted pastille.</p> - -<p>The aurist gone, life at Hohenszalras resumed its even tenor; and -except for, the post, the tea-cups, and the kind of dishes served at -dinner, hardly differed from what life had been there in the sixteenth -century, save that there were no saucy pages playing in the court, and -no destriers stamping in the stalls, and no culverins loaded on the -bastions.</p> - -<p>'It is like living between the illuminated leaves of one of the Hours,' -thought the Princess, and though her conscience told her that to dwell -so in a holy book like a pressed flower was the most desirable life -that could be granted by Heaven to erring mortality, still she felt it -was dull. A little gossip, a little movement, a little rolling of other -carriage-wheels than her own, had always seemed desirable to her.</p> - -<p>Life here was laid down on broad lines. It was stately, austere, -tranquil; one day was a mirror of all the rest. The Princess fretted -for some little <i>frou-frou</i> of the world to break its solemn silence.</p> - -<p>When Wanda returned from her ride one forenoon she said a little -abruptly to her aunt:</p> - -<p>'I suppose you will be glad to hear you have convinced me. I have -telegraphed to Ludwig to open and air the house in Vienna; we will go -there for three months. It is, perhaps, time I should be seen at Court.'</p> - -<p>'It is a very sudden decision!' said Madame Ottilie, doubting that she -could hear aright.</p> - -<p>'It is the fruit of your persuasions, dear mother mine! The only -advantage in having houses in half a dozen different places is to be -able to go to them without consideration. You think me obstinate, -whimsical, barbaric; the Kaiserin thinks so too. I will endeavour to -conquer my stubbornness. We will go to Vienna next week. You will see -all your old friends, and I all my old jewels.'</p> - -<p>The determination once made, she adhered to it. She had felt a vague -annoyance at the constancy and the persistency with which regret for -the lost society of Sabran recurred to her. She had attributed it to -the solitude in which she lived: that solitude which is the begetter -and the nurse of thought may also be the hotbed of unwise fancies. -It was indeed a solitude filled with grave duties, careful labours, -high desires and endeavours; but perhaps, she thought, the world for a -while, even in its folly, might be healthier, might preserve her from -the undue share which the memory of a stranger had in her musings.</p> - -<p>Her people, her lands, her animals, would none of them suffer by -a brief absence; and perhaps there were duties due as well to her -position as to her order. She was the only representative of the great -Counts of Szalras. With the whimsical ingratitude to fate common -to human nature, she thought she would sooner have been obscure, -unnoticed, free. Her rank began to drag on her with something like the -sense of a chain. She felt that she was growing irritable, fanciful, -thankless; so she ordered the huge old palace in the Herrengasse to be -got ready, and sought the world as others sought the cloister.</p> - -<p>In a week's time she was installed in Vienna, with a score of horses, -two score of servants, and all the stir and pomp that attend a great -establishment in the most aristocratic city of Europe, and she made her -first appearance at a ball at the Residenz covered with jewels from -head to foot; the wonderful old jewels that for many seasons had lain -unseen in their iron coffers—opals given by Rurik, sapphires taken -from Kara Mustafa, pearls worn by her people at the wedding of Mary of -Burgundy, diamonds that had been old when Maria Theresa had been young.</p> - -<p>She had three months of continual homage, of continual flattery, of -what others called pleasure, and what none could have denied was -splendour. Great nobles laid their heart and homage before her feet, -and all the city looked after her for her beauty as she drove her -horses round the Ringstrasse. It left her all very cold and unamused -and indifferent.</p> - -<p>She was impatient to be back at Hohenszalras, amidst the stillness of -the woods, the sound of the waters.</p> - -<p>'You cannot say now that I do not care for the world, because I have -forgotten what it was like,' she observed to her aunt.</p> - -<p>'I wish you cared more,' said the Princess. 'Position has its duties.'</p> - -<p>'I never dispute that; only I do not see that being wearied by society -constitutes one of them. I cannot understand why people are so afraid -of solitude; the routine of the world is quite as monotonous.'</p> - -<p>'If you only appreciated the homage that you receive——'</p> - -<p>'Surely one's mind is something like one's conscience: if one can be -not too utterly discontented with what it says one does not need the -verdict of others.'</p> - -<p>'That is only a more sublime form of vanity. Really, my love, with -your extraordinary and unnecessary humility in some things, and your -overweening arrogance in others, you would perplex wiser heads than the -one I possess.'</p> - -<p>'No; I am sure it is not vanity or arrogance at all; it may be -pride—the sort of pride of the "Rohan je suis." But it is surely -better than making one's barometer of the smiles of simpletons.'</p> - -<p>'They are not all simpletons.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, I know they are not; but the world in its aggregate is very -stupid. All crowds are mindless, the crowd of the Haupt-Allee as well -as of the Wurstel-Prater.'</p> - -<p>The Haupt-Allee indeed interested her still less than the -Wurstel-Prater, and she rejoiced when she set her face homeward and saw -the chill white peaks of the Glöckner arise out of the mists. Yet she -was angry with herself for the sense of something missing, something -wanting, which still remained with her. The world could not fill it up, -nor could all her philosophy or her pride do so either.</p> - -<p>The spring was opening in the Tauern, slow coming, veiled in rain, -and parting reluctantly with winter, but yet the spring, flinging -primroses broadcast through all the woods, and filling the shores of -the lakes with hepatica and gentian; the loosened snows were plunging -with a hollow thunder into the ravines and the rivers, and the grass -was growing green and long on the alps between the glaciers. A pale -sweet sunshine was gleaming on the grand old walls of Hohenszalras, -and turning to silver and gold all its innumerable casements as she -returned, and Donau and Neva leaped in rapture on her.</p> - -<p>'It is well to be at home,' she said, with a smile, to Herr Greswold, -as she passed through the smiling and delighted household down the -Rittersaal, which was filled with plants from the hothouses, gardenias -and gloxianas, palms and ericas, azaleas and camellias glowing between -the stern armoured figures of the knights and the time-darkened oak of -their stalls.</p> - -<p>'This came from Paris this morning for Her Excellency,' said Hubert, -as he showed his mistress a gilded boat-shaped basket, filled with -tea-roses and orchids; a small card was tied to its handle with -'<i>Willkommen</i>' written on it.</p> - -<p>She coloured a little as she recognised the handwriting of the single -word.</p> - -<p>How could he have known, she wondered, that she would return home that -day? And for the flowers to be so fresh, a messenger must have been -sent all the way with them by express speed, and Sabran was poor.</p> - -<p>'That is the Stanhopea tigrina,' said Herr Greswold, touching one with -reverent fingers; 'they are all very rare. It is a welcome worthy of -you, my lady.'</p> - -<p>'A very extravagant one,' said Wanda von Szalras, with a certain -displeasure that mingled with a softened emotion. 'Who brought it?'</p> - -<p>'The Marquis de Sabran, by <i>extra-poste</i>, himself this morning,' -answered Hubert—an answer she did not expect. 'But he would not wait; -he would not even take a glass of tokayer, or let his horses stay for a -feed of corn.'</p> - -<p>'What knight-errantry!' said the Princess well pleased.</p> - -<p>'What folly!' said Wanda, but she had the basket of orchids taken to -her own octagon room.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if he had divined how much of late she had thought of him. -She was touched, and yet she was angered a little.</p> - -<p>'Surely she will write to him,' thought the Princess wistfully very -often: but she did not write. To a very proud woman the dawning -consciousness of love is always an irritation, an offence, a failure, a -weakness: the mistress of Hohenszalras could not quickly pardon herself -for taking with pleasure the message of the orchids.</p> - -<p>A little while later she received a letter from Olga Brancka. In it she -wrote from Paris:</p> - -<p>'Parsifal is doing wonders in the Chamber, that is, he is making Paris -talk; his party will forbid him doing anything else. You certainly -worked a miracle. I hear he never plays, never looks at an actress, -never does anything wrong, and when a grand heiress was offered to -him by her people refused her hand blandly but firmly. What is one to -think? That he washed his soul white in the Szalrassee?'</p> - -<p>It was the subtlest flattery of all, the only flattery to which she -would have been accessible, this entire alteration in the current -of a man's whole life; this change in habit, inclination, temper, -and circumstance. If he had approached her its charm would have been -weakened, its motive suspected; but aloof and silent as he remained, -his abandonment of all old ways, his adoption of a sterner and worthier -career, moved her with its marked, mute homage of herself.</p> - -<p>When she read his discourses in the French papers she felt a glow -of triumph, as if she had achieved some personal success; she felt -a warmth at her heart as of something near and dear to her, which -was doing well and wisely in the sight of men. His cause did not, -indeed, as Olga Brancka had said, render tangible, practical, victory -impossible for him, but he had the victories of eloquence, of -patriotism, of high culture, of pure and noble language, and these -blameless laurels seemed to her half of her own gathering.</p> - -<p>'Will you never reward him?' the Princess ventured to say at last, -overcome by her own impatience to rashness. 'Never? Not even by a word?'</p> - -<p>'Hear mother,' said Wanda, with a smile which perplexed and baffled the -Princess, 'if your hero wanted reward he would not be the leader of a -lost cause. Pray do not suggest to me a doubt of his disinterestedness. -You will do him very ill service.'</p> - -<p>The Princess was mute, vaguely conscious that she had said something -ill-timed or ill-advised.</p> - -<p>Time passed on and brought beautiful weather in the month of June, -which here in the High Tauern means what April does in the south. -Millions of song-birds were shouting in the woods, and thousands of -nests were suspended on the high branches of the forest trees, or -hidden in the greenery of the undergrowth; water-birds perched and -swung in the tall reeds where the brimming streams tumbled; the purple, -the white, and the grey herons were all there, and the storks lately -flown home from Asia or Africa were settling in bands by the more -marshy grounds beside the northern shores of the Szalrassee.</p> - -<p>One afternoon she had been riding far and fast, and on her return a -telegram from Vienna had been brought to her, sent on from Lienz. -Having opened it, she approached her aunt and said with an unsteady -voice:</p> - -<p>'War is declared between France and Prussia!'</p> - -<p>'We expected it; we are ready for it,' said the Princess, with all -her Teutonic pride in her eyes. 'We shall show her that we cannot be -insulted with impunity.'</p> - -<p>'It is a terrible calamity for the world,' said Wanda, and her face was -very pale.</p> - -<p>The thought which was present to her was that Sabran would be foremost -amidst volunteers. She did not hear a word of all the political -exultation with which Princess Ottilie continued to make her militant -prophecies. She shivered as with cold in the warmth of the midsummer -sunset.</p> - -<p>'War is so hideous always,' she said, remembering what it had cost her -house.</p> - -<p>The Princess demurred.</p> - -<p>'It is not for me to say otherwise,' she objected; 'but without war all -the greater virtues would die out. Your race has been always martial. -You should be the last to breathe a syllable against what has been the -especial glory and distinction of your forefathers. We shall avenge -Jena. You should desire it, remembering Aspern and Wagram.'</p> - -<p>'And Sadowa?' said Wanda, bitterly.</p> - -<p>She did not reply further; she tore up the message, which had come from -her cousin Kaulnitz. She slept little that night.</p> - -<p>In two days the Princess had a brief letter from Sabran. He said: 'War -is declared. It is a blunder which will perhaps cause France the loss -of her existence as a nation, if the campaign be long. All the same I -shall offer myself. I am not wholly a tyro in military service. I saw -bloodshed in Mexico; and I fear the country will sorely need every -sword she has.'</p> - -<p>Wanda, herself, wrote back to him:</p> - -<p>'You will do right. When a country is invaded every living man on her -soil is bound to arm.'</p> - -<p>More than that she could not say, for many of her kindred on her -grandmother's side were soldiers of Germany.</p> - -<p>But the months which succeeded those months of the 'Terrible Year,' -written in letters of fire and iron on so many human hearts, were -filled with a harassing anxiety to her for the sake of one life that -was in perpetual peril. War had been often cruel to her house. As a -child she had suffered from the fall of those she loved in the Italian -campaign of Austria. Quite recently Sadowa and Königsgrätz had made -her heart bleed, beholding her relatives and friends opposed in mortal -conflict, and the empire she adored humbled and prostrated. Now she -became conscious of a suffering as personal and almost keener. She had -at the first, now and then, a hurried line from Sabran, written from -the saddle, from the ambulance, beside the bivouac fire, or in the -shelter of a barn. He had offered his services, and had been given the -command of a volunteer cavalry regiment, all civilians mounted on their -own horses, and fighting principally in the Orléannois. His command was -congenial to him; he wrote cheerfully of himself, though hopelessly of -his cause. The Prussians were gaining ground every day. Occasionally, -in printed correspondence from the scene of war, she saw his name -mentioned by some courageous action or some brilliant skirmish. That -was all.</p> - -<p>The autumn began to deepen into winter, and complete silence covered -all his life. She thought with a great remorse—if he were dead? -Perhaps he was dead? Why had she been always so cold to him? She -suffered intensely; all the more intensely because it was not a sorrow -which she could not confess even to herself. When she ceased altogether -to hear anything of or from him, she realised the hold which he had -taken on her life.</p> - -<p>These months of suspense did more to attach her to him than years -of assiduous and ardent homage could have done. She, a daughter of -soldiers, had always felt any man almost unmanly who had not received -the baptism of fire.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Ottilie talked of him constantly, wondered frequently if he were -wounded, slain, or in prison; she never spoke his name, and dreaded to -hear it.</p> - -<p>Greswold, who perceived an anxiety in her that, he did not dare to -allude to, ransacked every journal that was published in German to find -some trace of Sabran's name. At the first he saw often some mention of -the Cuirassiers d'Orléans, and of their intrepid Colonel Commandant: -some raid, skirmish, or charge in which they had been conspicuous for -reckless gallantry. But after the month of November he could find -nothing. The whole regiment seemed to have been obliterated from -existence.</p> - -<p>Winter settled down on Central Austria with cold silence, with roads -blocked and mountains impassable. The dumbness, the solitude around -her, which she had always loved so well, now grew to her intolerable. -It seemed like death.</p> - -<p>Paris capitulated. The news reached her at the hour of a violent -snowstorm; the postillion of her post-sledge bringing it had his feet -frozen.</p> - -<p>Though her cousins of Lilienhöhe were amongst those who entered the -city as conquerors, the fate of Paris smote her with a heavy blow. She -felt as if the cold of the outer world had chilled her very bones, her -very soul. The Princess, looking at her, was afraid to rejoice.</p> - -<p>On the following day she wrote to her cousin Hugo of Lilienhöhe, who -was in Paris with the Imperial Guard. She asked him to inquire for and -tell her the fate of a friend, the Marquis de Sabran.</p> - -<p>In due time Prince Hugo answered:</p> - -<p>'The gentleman you asked for was one of the most dangerous of our -enemies. He commanded a volunteer cavalry regiment, which was almost -cut to pieces by the Bavarian horse in an engagement before Orleans. -Two or three alone escaped; their Colonel was severely wounded in -the thigh, and had his charger shot dead under him. He was taken -prisoner by the Bavarians after a desperate resistance. Whilst he -lay on the ground he shot three of our men with his revolver. He was -sent to a fortress, I think Ehrenbreitstein, but I will inquire more -particularly. I am sorry to think that you have any French friends.</p> - -<p>By-and-by she heard that he had been confined not at Ehrenbreitstein -but at a more obscure and distant fortress on the Elbe; that his wounds -had been cured, and that he would shortly be set free like other -prisoners of war. In the month of March in effect she received a brief -letter from his own hand, gloomy and profoundly dejected.</p> - -<p>'Our plans were betrayed,' he wrote. 'We were surprised and surrounded -just as we had hobbled our horses and lain down to rest, after being -the whole day in the saddle. Bavarian cavalry, outnumbering us four to -one, attacked us almost ere we could mount our worn-out beasts. My -poor troopers were cut to pieces. They hunted me down when my charger -dropped, and I was made a prisoner. When they could they despatched -me to one of their places on the Elbe. I have been here December and -January. I am well. I suppose I must be very strong; nothing kills -me. They are now about to send me back to the frontier. My beautiful -Paris! What a fate! But I forget, I cannot hope for your sympathy; your -kinsmen are our conquerors. I know not whether the house I lived in -there exists, but if you will write me a word at Romaris, you will be -merciful, and show me that you do not utterly despise a lost cause and -a vanquished soldier.'</p> - -<p>She wrote to him at Romaris, and the paper she wrote on felt her tears. -In conclusion she said:</p> - -<p>'Whenever you will, come and make sure for yourself that both the -Princess Ottilie and I honour courage and heroism none the less because -it is companioned by misfortune.'</p> - -<p>But he did not come.</p> - -<p>She understood why he did not. An infinite pity for him overflowed her -heart. His public career interrupted, his country ruined, his future -empty, what remained to him? Sometimes she thought, with a blush on her -face, though she was all alone: 'I do.' But then, if he never came to -hear that?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The little hamlet of Romaris, on the coast of Finisterre, was very dull -and dark and silent. A few grave peasant women knitted as they walked -down the beach or sat at their doors; a few children did the same. Out -on the <i>landes</i> some cows were driven through the heather and broom; -out on the sea some fishing-boats with rough, red sails were rocking to -and fro. All was melancholy, silent, poor; life was hard at Romaris for -all. The weatherbeaten church looked grey and naked on a black rock; -the ruins of the old <i>manoir</i> faced it amidst sands and surfs; the only -thing of beauty was the bay, and that for the folk of Romaris had no -beauty; they had seen it kill so many.</p> - -<p>There was never any change at Romaris, unless it were a change in the -weather, a marriage, a birth, or a death. Therefore the women and -children who were knitting had lifted up their heads as a stranger, -accompanied by their priest, had come down over the black rocks, on -which the church stood, towards the narrow lane that parted the houses -where they clustered together face to face on the edge of the shore.</p> - -<p>Their priest, an old man much loved by them, came slowly towards them, -conversing in low tones with the stranger, who had been young and -handsome, and a welcome sight, since a traveller to Romaris always -needed a sailing-boat or a rowing-boat, a guide over the moors, or a -drive in an ox-waggon through the deep-cut lanes of the country.</p> - -<p>But they had ceased to think of such things as these when the curate, -with his hands extended as when he blessed them, had said in <i>bas</i> -Breton as he stood beside them:</p> - -<p>'My children, this is the last of the Sabrans of Romaris, come back to -us from the far west that lies in the setting of the sun. Salute him, -and show him that in Brittany we do not forget—nay, not in a hundred -years.'</p> - -<p>Many years had gone by since then, and of the last of the old race, -Romaris had scarcely seen more than when he had been hidden from -their sight on the other side of the heaving ocean. Sabran rarely came -thither. There was nothing to attract a man who loved the world and -who was sought by it, in the stormy sea coast, the strip of sea-lashed -oak forest, that one tall tower with its gaunt walls of stone which -was all that was left of what had once been the fortress of his race. -Now and then they saw him, chiefly when he had heard that there was -wild weather on the western coast, and at such times he would go out -in their boats to distressed vessels, or steer through churning waters -to reach a fishing-smack in trouble, with a wild courage and an almost -fierce energy which made him for the moment one of themselves. But -such times had been few, and all that Romaris really knew of the last -marquis was that he was a gay gentleman away there in distant Paris.</p> - -<p>He had been a mere name to them. Now and then he had sent fifty -napoleons, or a hundred, to the old priest for such as were poor or -sick amongst them. That was all. Now after the war he came hither. -Paris had become hateful to him; his political career was ended, at -all events for the time; the whole country groaned in anguish; the -vices and follies that had accompanied his past life disgusted him -in remembrance. He had been wounded and a prisoner; he had suffered -betrayal at unworthy hands; Cochonette had sold him to the Prussians, -in revenge of his desertion of her.</p> - -<p>He was further removed from the Countess von Szalras than ever. In the -crash with which the Second Empire had fallen and sunk out of sight for -evermore, his own hopes had gone down like a ship that sinks suddenly -in a dark night. All his old associations were broken, half his old -friends were dead or ruined; gay châteaux that he had ever been welcome -at were smoking ruins or melancholy hospitals; the past had been -felled to the ground like the poor avenues of the Bois. It affected -him profoundly. As far as he was capable of an impersonal sentiment -he loved France, which had been for so many years his home, and which -had always seemed to smile at him with indulgent kindness. Her vices, -her disgrace, her feebleness, her fall, hurt him with an intense pain -that was not altogether selfish, but had in it a nobler indignation, a -nobler regret.</p> - -<p>When he was released by the Prussians and sent across the frontier, he -went at once to this sad sea village of Romaris, to collect as best -he might the shattered fragments of his life, which seemed to him as -though it had been thrown down by an earthquake. He had resigned his -place as deputy when he had offered his sword to France; he had now no -career, no outlet for ambition, no occupation. Many of his old friends -were dead or ruined; although such moderate means as he possessed were -safe, they were too slender to give him any position adequate to his -rank. His old life in Paris, even if Paris arose from her tribulations, -gay and glorious once more, seemed to him altogether impossible. He had -lost taste for those pleasures and distractions which had before the -war—or before his sojourn on the Holy Isle—seemed to him the Alpha -and Omega of a man's existence. '<i>Que faire?</i>' he asked himself wearily -again and again. He did not even know whether his rooms in Paris had -been destroyed or spared; a few thousands of francs which he had -made by a successful speculation years before, and placed in foreign -funds, were all he had to live on. His keen sense told him that the -opportunity which might have replaced the Bourbon throne had been lost -through fatal hesitation. His own future appeared to him like a blank -dead wall that rose up in front of him barring all progress; he was no -longer young enough to select a career and commence it. With passionate -self-reproach he lamented all the lost irrevocable years that he had -wasted.</p> - -<p>Romaris was not a place to cheer a disappointed and dejected soldier -who had borne the burning pain of bodily wounds and the intolerable -shame of captivity in a hostile land. Its loneliness, its darkness, -its storms, its poverty, had nothing in them with which to restore his -spirit to hope or his sinews to ambition. In these cold, bleak, windy -days of a dreary and joyless spring-time, the dusky moors and the -gruesome sea were desolate, without compensating grandeur. The people -around him were all taciturn, dull, stupid; they had not suffered by -the war, but they understood that, poor as they were, they would have -to bear their share in the burden of the nation's ransom. They barred -their doors and counted their hoarded gains in the dark with throbbing -hearts, and stole out in the raw, wet, gusty dawns to kneel at the -bleeding feet of their Christ. He envied them their faith; he could not -comfort them, they could not comfort him; they were too far asunder.</p> - -<p>The only solace he had was the knowledge that he had done his duty by -France, and to the memory of those whose name he bore; that he had -rendered what service he could; that he had not fled from pain and -peril; that he had at least worn his sword well and blamelessly; that -he had not abandoned his discrowned city of pleasure in the day of -humiliation and martyrdom. The only solace he had was that he felt -Wanda von Szalras herself could have commanded him to do no more than -he had done in this the Année Terrible.</p> - -<p>But, though his character had been purified and strengthened by the -baptism of fire, and though his egotism had been destroyed by the -endless scenes of suffering and of heroism which he had witnessed, he -could not in a year change so greatly that he could be content with the -mere barren sense of duty done and honour redeemed. He was deeply and -restlessly miserable. He knew not where to turn, either for occupation -or for consolation. Time hung on his hands like a wearisome wallet of -stones.</p> - -<p>When all the habits of life are suddenly rent asunder, they are like a -rope cut in two. They may be knotted together clumsily, or they may be -thrown altogether aside and a new strand woven, but they will never be -the same thing again.</p> - -<p>Romaris, with its few wind-tortured trees and its leaden-hued dangerous -seas, seemed to him, indeed, a <i>champ des trépassés</i>, as it was called, -a field of death. The naked, ugly, half-ruined towers, which no ivy -shrouded and no broken marble ennobled, as one or the other would have -done had it been in England or in Italy, was a dreary residence for -a man who was used to all the elegant and luxurious habits of a man -of the world, who was also a lover of art and a collector of choice -trifles. His rooms had been the envy of his friends, with all their -eighteenth century furniture, and their innumerable and unclassified -treasures; when he had opened his eyes of a morning a pastel of La -Tour had smiled at him, rose-coloured windows had made even a grey -sky smile. Without, there had been the sound of wheels going down -the gay Boulevard Haussmann. All Paris had passed by, tripping and -talking, careless and mirthful, beneath his gilded balconies bright -with canariensis and volubilis; and on a little table, heaped in -their hundreds, had been cards that bade him to all the best and most -agreeable houses, whilst, betwixt them, slipped coyly in many an -amorous note, many an unlooked-for declaration, many an eagerly-desired -appointment.</p> - -<p>'<i>Quel beau temps!</i>' he thought, as he awoke in the chill, bare, -unlively chamber of the old tower by the sea; and it seemed to him -that he must be dreaming: that all the months of the war had been -a nightmare; that if he fully awakened he would find himself once -more with the April sunshine shining through the rose glass, and -the carriages rolling beneath over the asphalt road. But it was no -nightmare, it was a terrible, ghastly reality to him, as to so many -thousands. There were the scars on his breast and his loins where -the Prussian steel had hacked and the Prussian shot had pierced him; -there was his sword in a corner all dinted, notched, stained; there -was a crowd of hideous ineffaceable tumultuous memories; it was all -true enough, only too true, and he was alone at Romaris, with all his -dreams and ambitions faded into thin air, vanished like the blown burst -bubbles of a child's sport.</p> - -<p>In time to come he might recover power and nerve to recommence his -struggle for distinction, but at present it seemed to him that all was -over. His imprisonment had shaken and depressed him as nothing else -in the trials of war could have done. He had been shut up for months -alone, with his own desperation. To a man of high courage and impatient -appetite for action there is no injury so great and in its effect so -lasting as captivity. Joined to this he had the fever of a strong, and -now perfectly hopeless, passion.</p> - -<p>Pacing to and fro the brick floor of the tower looking down on the -sands and rocks of the coast, his thoughts were incessantly with Wanda -von Szalras in her stately ancient house, built so high up amidst the -mountains and walled in by the great forests and the ice slopes of the -glaciers. In the heat and stench of carnage he had longed for a breath -of that mountain breeze, for a glance from those serene eyes; he longed -for them still.</p> - -<p>As he passed to and fro in the wild wintry weather, his heart was sick -with hope deferred, with unavailing regret and repentance, with useless -longings.</p> - -<p>It was near noonday; there was no sun; a heavy wrack of cloud was -sweeping up from the west; on the air the odour of rotting fish and -of fish-oil, and of sewage trickling uncovered to the beach, were too -strong to be driven away by the pungency of the sea.</p> - -<p>The sea was high and moaning loud; the dusk was full of rain; the -wind-tormented trees groaned and seemed to sigh; their boughs were -still scarce in bud though May had come. He felt cold, weary, hopeless. -His walk brought no warmth to his veins, and his thoughts none to -his heart. The moisture of the air seemed to chill him to the bone, -and he went within and mounted the broken granite stairs to his -solitary chamber, bare of all save the simplest necessaries, gloomy -and cheerless with the winds and the bats beating together at the high -iron-barred casement. He wearily lighted a little oil lamp, and threw -a log or two of drift-wood on the hearth and set fire to them with a -faggot of dried ling.</p> - -<p>He dreaded his long lonely evening.</p> - -<p>He had set the lamp on a table while he had set fire to the wood; its -light fell palely on a small white square thing. It was a letter. He -took it up eagerly; he, who in Paris had often tossed aside, with a -passing glance, the social invitations of the highest personages and -the flattering words of the loveliest women.</p> - -<p>Here, any letter seemed a friend, and as he took up this his pulse -quickened; he saw that it was sealed with armorial bearings which he -knew—a shield bearing three vultures with two knights as supporters, -and with the motto '<i>Gott und mein Schwert</i>;' the same arms, the same -motto as were borne upon the great red and gold banner floating from -the keep on the north winds at the Hohenszalrasburg. He opened it with -a hand which shook a little and a quick throb of pleasure at his heart. -He had scarcely hoped that she would write again to him. The sight of -her writing filled him with a boundless joy, the purest he had ever -known called forth by the hand of woman.</p> - -<p>The letter was brief, grave, kind. As he read he seemed to hear the -calm harmonious voice of the lady of Hohenszalras speaking to him in -her mellowed and softened German tongue.</p> - -<p>She sent him words of consolation, of sympathy, of congratulation, on -the course of action he had taken in a time of tribulation, which had -been the touchstone of character to so many.</p> - -<p>'Tell me something of Romaris,' she said in conclusion. 'I am sure -you will grow to care for the place and the people, now that you seek -both in the hour of the martyrdom of France. Have you any friends near -you? Have you books? How do your days pass? How do you fill up time, -which must seem so dull and blank to you after the fierce excitations -and the rapid changes of war? Tell me all about your present life, and -remember that we at Hohenszalras know how to honour courage and heroic -misfortune.'</p> - -<p>He laid the letter down after twice reading it. Life seemed no longer -all over for him. He had earned her praise and her sympathy. It was -doubtful if years of the most brilliant political successes would have -done as much as his adversity, his misadventure, and his daring had -done for him in her esteem. She had the blood of twenty generations of -warriors in her, and nothing appealed so forcibly to her sympathies and -her instincts as the heroism of the sword. Those few lines too were -a permission to write to her. He replied at once, with a gratitude -somewhat guardedly expressed, and with details almost wholly impersonal.</p> - -<p>She was disappointed that he said so little of himself, but she did -justice to the delicacy of the carefully guarded words from a man -whose passion appealed to her by its silence, where it would only have -alienated her by any eloquence. Of Romaris he said nothing, save that, -had Dante ever been upon their coast, he would have added another canto -to the 'Purgatorio,' more desolate and more unrelieved in gloom than -any other.</p> - -<p>'Does he regret Cochonette?' she thought, with a jealous -contemptuousness of which she was ashamed as soon as she felt it.</p> - -<p>Having once written to her, however, he thought himself privileged -to write again, and did so several times. He wrote with ease, grace, -and elegance: he wrote as he spoke, which gives this charm to -correspondence, seem close at hand to the reader in intimate communion. -The high culture of his mind displayed itself without effort, and he -had that ability of polished expression which is in our day too often -a neglected one. His letters became welcome to her: she answered them -briefly, but she let him see that they were agreeable to her. There -was in them the note of a profound depression, of an unuttered, but -suggested hopelessness which touched her. If he had expressed it in -plain words, it would not have appealed to her one half so forcibly.</p> - -<p>They remained only the letters of a man of culture to a woman capable -of comprehending the intellectual movement of the time, but it -was because of this limitation that she allowed them. Any show of -tenderness would have both alarmed and alienated her. There was no -reason after all, she thought, why a frank friendship should not exist -between them.</p> - -<p>Sometimes she was surprised at herself for having conceded so much, -and angry that she had done so. Happily he had the good taste to take -no advantage of it. Interesting as his letters were they might have -been read from the housetops. With that inconsistency of her sex from -which hitherto she had always flattered herself she had been free, she -occasionally felt a passing disappointment that they were not more -personal as regarded himself. Reticence is a fine quality; it is the -marble of human nature. But sometimes it provokes the impatience that -the marble awoke in Pygmalion.</p> - -<p>Once only he spoke of his own aims. Then he wrote:</p> - -<p>'You bade me do good at Romaris. Candidly, I see no way to do it -except in saving a crew off a wreck, which is not an occasion that -presents itself every week. I cannot benefit these people materially, -since I am poor; I cannot benefit them morally, because I have not -their faith in the things unseen, and I have not their morality in the -things tangible. They are God-fearing, infinitely patient, faithful -in their daily lives, and they reproach no one for their hard lot, -cast on an iron shore and forced to win their scanty bread at risk -of their lives. They do not murmur either at duty or mankind. What -should I say to them? I, whose whole life is one restless impatience, -one petulant mutiny against circumstance? If I talk with them I only -take them what the world always takes into solitude—discontent. It -would be a cruel gift, yet my hand is incapable of holding out any -other. It is a homely saying that no blood comes out of a stone; so, -out of a life saturated with the ironies, the contempt, the disbelief, -the frivolous philosophies, the hopeless negations of what we call -society, there can be drawn no water of hope and charity, for the -well-head—belief—is dried up at its source. Some pretend, indeed, -to find in humanity what they deny to exist as deity, but I should -be incapable of the illogical exchange. It is to deny that the seed -sprang from a root; it is to replace a grand and illimitable theism by -a finite and vainglorious bathos. Of all the creeds that have debased -mankind, the new creed that would centre itself in man seems to me the -poorest and the most baseless of all. If humanity be but a <i>vibrion</i>, -a conglomeration of gases, a mere mould holding chemicals, a mere -bundle of phosphorus and carbon? how can it contain the elements of -worship; what matter when or how each bubble of it bursts? This is the -weakness of all materialism when it attempts to ally itself with duty. -It becomes ridiculous. The <i>carpe diem</i> of the classic sensualists, the -morality of the "Satyricon" or the "Decamerone," are its only natural -concomitants and outcome; but as yet it is not honest enough to say -this. It affects the soothsayer's long robe, the sacerdotal frown, and -is a hypocrite.'</p> - -<p>In answer she wrote back to him:</p> - -<p>'I do not urge you to have my faith: what is the use? Goethe was -right. It is a question between a man and his own heart. No one should -venture to intrude there. But taking life even as you do, it is surely -a casket of mysteries. May we not trust that at the bottom of it, as -at the bottom of Pandora's, there may be hope? I wish again to think -with Goethe that immortality is not an inheritance, but a greatness -to be achieved like any other greatness, by courage, self-denial, and -purity of purpose—a reward allotted to the just. This is fanciful, may -be, but it is not illogical. And without being either a Christian or a -Materialist, without beholding either majesty or divinity in humanity, -surely the best emotion that our natures know—pity—must be large -enough to draw us to console where we can, and sustain where we can, in -view of the endless suffering, the continual injustice, the appalling -contrasts, with which the world is full. Whether man be the <i>vibrion</i> -or the heir to immortality, the bundle of carbon or the care of angels, -one fact is indisputable: he suffers agonies, mental and physical, -that are wholly out of proportion to the brevity of his life, while he -is too often weighted from infancy with hereditary maladies, both of -body and of character. This is reason enough, I think, for us all to -help each other, even though we feel, as you feel, that we are as lost -children wandering in a great darkness, with no thread or clue to guide -us to the end.'</p> - -<p>When Sabran read this answer, he mused to himself:</p> - -<p>'Pity! how far would her pity reach? How great offences would it cover? -She has compassion for the evil-doers, but it is easy, since the evil -does not touch her. She sits on the high white throne of her honour and -purity, and surveys the world with beautiful but serene compassion. -If the mud of its miry labyrinths reached and soiled her, would her -theories prevail? They are noble, but they are the theories of one who -sits in safety behind a gate of ivory and jasper, whilst outside, far -below, the bitter tide of the human sea surges and moans too far off, -too low down, for its sound to reach within. <i>Tout comprendre, c'est -tout pardonner.</i> But since she would never understand, how could she -ever pardon? There are things that the nature must understand rather -than the mind; and her nature is as high, as calm, as pure as the snows -of her high hills.'</p> - -<p>And then the impulse came over him for a passing moment to tell her -what he had never told any living creature; to make confession to -her and abide her judgment, even though he should never see her face -again. But the impulse shrank and died away before the remembrance -of her clear, proud eyes. He could not humiliate himself before her. -He would have risked her anger; he could not brave her disdain. -Moreover, straight and open ways were hot natural to him, though he was -physically brave to folly. There was a subtlety and a reticence in him -which were the enemies of candour.</p> - -<p>To her he was more frank than to any other because her influence -was great on him, and a strong reverence was awakened in him that -was touched by a timid fear quite alien to a character naturally -contemptuously cynical and essentially proud. But even to her he could -not bring himself to be entirely truthful in revelation of his past. -Truthfulness is in much a habit, and he had never acquired its habit. -When he was most sincere there was always some reserve lying behind -it. This was perhaps one of the causes of the attraction he exercised -on all women. All women are allured by the shadows and the suggestions -of what is but imperfectly revealed. Even on the clear, strong nature -of Wanda von Szalras it had its unconscious and intangible charm. She -herself was like daylight, but the subtle vague charm of the shadows -had their seduction for her; Night holds dreams and passions that fade -and flee before the lucid noon, and who, at noonday wishes not for -night?</p> - -<p>For himself, the letters he received from her seemed the only things -that bound him to life at all.</p> - -<p>The betrayal of him by a base and mercenary woman had hurt him more -than it was worthy to do; it had stung his pride and saddened him in -this period of adversity with a sense of degradation. He had been sold -by a courtezan; it seemed to him to make him ridiculous as Samson was -ridiculous, and he had no gates of Gaza to pull down upon himself and -her. He could only be idle, and stare at an unoccupied and valueless -future. The summer went on, and he remained at Romaris. An old servant -had sent him word that all his possessions were safe in Paris, and his -apartments unharmed; but he felt no inclination to go there: he felt no -sympathy with Communists or Versaillists, with Gambetta or Gallifet. He -stayed on at the old storm-beaten sea-washed tower, counting his days -chiefly by the coming to him of any line from the castle by the lake.</p> - -<p>She seemed to understand that and pity it, for each week brought him -some tidings.</p> - -<p>At midsummer she wrote him word that she was about to be honoured again -by a two days' visit of her Imperial friends.</p> - -<p>'We shall have, perforce, a large house party,' she said. 'Will you -be inclined this time to join it? It is natural that you should -sorrow without hope for your country, but the fault of her disasters -lies not with you. It is, perhaps, time that you should enter the -world again; will you commence with what for two days only will be -worldly—Hohenszalras? Your old friends the monks will welcome you -willingly and lovingly on the Holy Isle?'</p> - -<p>He replied with gratitude, but he refused. He did not make any plea or -excuse; he thought it best to let the simple denial stand by itself. -She would understand it.</p> - -<p>'Do not think, however,' he wrote, 'that I am the less profoundly -touched by your admirable goodness to a worsted and disarmed combatant -in a lost cause.'</p> - -<p>'It is the causes that are lost which are generally the noble ones,' -she said in answer. 'I do not see why you should deem your life at an -end because a sham empire, which you always despised, has fallen to -pieces. If it had not perished by a blow from without, it would have -crumbled to pieces from its own internal putrefaction.'</p> - -<p>'The visit has passed off very well,' she continued. 'Every one was -content, which shows their kindness, for these things are all of -necessity so much alike that it is difficult to make them entertaining. -The weather was fortunately fine, and the old house looked bright. -You did rightly not to be present, if you felt festivity out of tone -with your thoughts. If, however, you are ever inclined for another -self-imprisonment upon the island, you know that your friends, both at -the monastery and at the burg, will be glad to see you, and the monks -bid me salute you with affection.'</p> - -<p>A message from Mdme. Ottilie, a little news of the horses, a few -phrases on the politics of the hour, and the letter was done. But, -simple as it was, it seemed to him to be like a ray of sunshine amidst -the gloom of his empty chamber.</p> - -<p>From her the permission to return to the monastery when he would -seemed to say so much. He wrote her back calm and grateful words of -congratulation and cordiality; he commenced with the German formality, -'Most High Lady,' and ended them with the equally formal 'devoted and -obedient servant;' but it seemed to him as if under that cover of -ceremony she must see his heart beating, his blood throbbing; she must -know very well, and if knowing, she suffered him to return to the Holy -Isle, why then—he was all alone, but he felt the colour rise to his -face.</p> - -<p>'And I must not go! I must not go!' he thought, and looked at his -pistols.</p> - -<p>He ought sooner to blow his brains out, and leave a written confession -for her.</p> - -<p>The hoarse sound of the sea surging amongst the rocks at the base of -the tower was all that stirred the stillness; evening was spreading -over all the monotonous inland country; a west wind was blowing and -rustling amidst the gorse; a woman led a cow between the dolmen, -stopping for it to crop grass here and there; the fishing-boats were -far out to sea, hidden under the vapours and the shadows. It was all -melancholy, sad-coloured, chill, lonesome. As he leaned against the -embrasure of the window and looked down, other familiar scenes, long -lost, rose up to his memory. He saw a wide green rolling river, long -lines of willows and of larches bending under a steel-hued sky, a vast -dim plain stretching away to touch blue mountains, a great solitude, -a silence filled at intervals with the pathetic song of the swans, -chanting sorrowfully because the nights grew cold, the ice began to -gather, the food became scanty, and they were many in number.</p> - -<p>'I must not go!' he said to himself; 'I must never see Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>And he lit his study lamp, and held her letter to it and burnt it. -It was his best way to do it honour, to keep it holy. He had the -letters of so many worthless women locked in his drawers and caskets -in his rooms in Paris. He held himself unworthy to retain hers. He -had burned each written by her as it had come to him, in that sort -of exaggeration of respect with which it seemed to him she was most -fittingly treated by him. There are less worthy offerings than the -first scruple of an unscrupulous life. It is like the first pure drops -that fall from a long turbid and dust-choked fountain.</p> - -<p>As he walked the next day upon the windblown, rock-strewn strip of sand -that parted the old oak wood from the sea, he thought restlessly of her -in those days of stately ceremony which suited her so well. What did he -do here, what chance had he to be remembered by her? He chafed at his -absence, yet it seemed to him impossible that he could ever go to her. -What had been at first keen calculation with him had now become a finer -instinct, was now due to a more delicate sentiment, a truer and loftier -emotion. What could he ever look to her if he sought her but a mere -base fortune-seeker, a mere liar, with no pride and no manhood in him? -And what else was he? he thought, with bitterness, as he paced to and -fro the rough strip of beach, with the dusky heaving waves trembling -under a cloudy sky, where a red glow told the place of the setting sun.</p> - -<p>There were few bolder men living than He, and he was cynical and -reckless before many things that most men reverence; but at the thought -of her possible scorn he felt himself tremble like a child. He thought -he would rather never see her face again than risk her disdain; there -was in him a vague romantic wishfulness rather to die, so that she -might think well of his memory, than live in her love through any -baseness that would be unworthy of her.</p> - -<p>Sin had always seemed a mere superstitious name to him, and if he had -abstained from its coarser forms it had been rather from the revolt -of the fine taste of a man of culture than from any principle or -persuasion of duty. Men he believed were but ephemera, sporting their -small hours, weaving their frail webs, and swept away by the great -broom of destiny as spiders by the housewife. In the spineless doctrine -of altruism he had had too robust a temperament, too clear a reason, -to seek a guide for conduct. He had lived for himself, and had seen -no cause to do otherwise. That he had not been more criminal had been -due partly to indolence, partly to pride. In his love for Wanda von -Szalras, a love with which considerable acrimony had mingled at the -first, he yet, through all the envy and the impatience which alloyed -it, reached a moral height which he had never touched before. Between -her and him a great gulf yawned. He abstained from any effort to pass -it. It was the sole act of self-denial of a selfish life, the sole -obedience to conscience in a character which obeyed no moral laws, but -was ruled by a divided tyranny of natural instinct and conventional -honour.</p> - -<p>The long silent hours of thought in the willow-shaded cloisters of -the Holy Isle had not been wholly without fruit. He desired, with -passion and sincerity, that she should think well of him, but he did -not dare to wish for more; love offered from him to her seemed to him -as if it would be a kind of blasphemy. He remembered in his far-off -childhood, which at times still seemed so near to him, nearer than all -that was around him, the vague, awed, wistful reverence with which -he had kneeled in solitary hours before the old dim picture of the -Madonna with the lamp burning above it, a little golden flame in the -midst of the gloom; he remembered so well how his fierce young soul and -his ignorant yearning child's heart had gone out in a half-conscious -supplication, how it had seemed to him that if he only knelt long -enough, prayed well enough, she would come down to him and lay her -hands on him. It was all so long ago, yet, when he thought of Wanda -von Szalras, something of that same emotion rose up in him, something -of the old instinctive worship awoke in him. In thought he prostrated -himself once more whenever the memory of her came to him. He had no -religion; she became one to him.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, he was constantly thinking restlessly to himself, 'Did I do -ill not to go?'</p> - -<p>His bodily life was at Romaris, but his mental life was at -Hohenszalras. He was always thinking of her as she would look in those -days of the Imperial visit; he could see the stately ceremonies of -welcome, the long magnificence of the banquets, the great Rittersaal -with cressets of light blazing on its pointed emblazoned roofs; he -could see her as she would move down the first quadrille which she -would dance with her Kaiser: she would wear her favourite ivory-white -velvet most probably, and her wonderful old jewels, and all her orders. -She would look as if she had stepped down off a canvas of Velasquez -or Vandyck, and she would be a little tired, a little contemptuous, a -little indifferent, despite her loyalty; she would be glad, he knew, -when the brilliant gathering was broken up, and the old house, and the -yew terrace, and the green lake were all once more quiet beneath the -rays of the watery moon. She was so unlike other women. She would not -care about a greatness, a compliment, a success more or less. Such -triumphs were for the people risen yesterday, not for a Countess von -Szalras.</p> - -<p>He knew the simplicity of her life and the pride of her temper, -and they moved him to the stronger admiration because he knew also -that those mere externals which she held in contempt had for him an -exaggerated value. He was scarcely conscious himself of how great a -share the splendour of her position, united to her great indifference -to it, had in the hold she had taken on his imagination and his -passions. He did know that there were so much greater nobilities in -her that he was vaguely ashamed of the ascendency which her mere rank -took in his thoughts of her. Yet he could not divest her of it, and -it seemed to enhance both her bodily and spiritual beauty, as the -golden calyx of the lily makes its whiteness seem the whiter by its -neighbourhood.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the Iselthal the summer was more brilliant and warm than usual. The -rains were less frequent, and the roses on the great sloping lawns -beneath the buttresses and terraces of Hohenszalras were blooming -freely.</p> - -<p>Their mistress did not for once give them much heed. She rode long and -fast through the still summer woods, and came back after nightfall. Her -men of business, during their interviews with her, found her attention -less perfect, her interest less keen. In stormy days she sat in the -library, and read Heine and Schiller often, and all the philosophers -and men of science rarely. A great teacher has said that the Humanities -must outweigh the Sciences at all times, and he is unquestionably -true, if it were only for the reason that in the sweet wise lore of -ages every human heart in pain and perplexity finds a refuge; whilst in -love or in sorrow the sciences seem the poorest and chilliest of mortal -vanities that ever strove to measure the universe with a foot-rule.</p> - -<p>The Princess watched her with wistful, inquisitive eyes, but dared -not name the person of whom they both thought most. Wanda was herself -intolerant of the sense of impatience with which she awaited the coming -of the sturdy pony that brought the post-bag from Windisch-Matrey. -He in his loneliness and emptiness of life on the barren sea-shore -of Romaris did not more anxiously await her letters than did the -châtelaine of Hohenszalras, amidst all her state, her wealth, and her -innumerable occupations, await his. She pitied him intensely; there was -something pathetic to her in the earnestness with which he had striven -to amend his ways of life, only to have his whole career shattered by -an insensate and unlooked-for national war. She understood that his -poverty stood in the path of his ambition, and she divined that his -unhappiness had broken that spring of manhood in him which would have -enabled him to construct a new career for himself out of the ruins of -the old. She understood why he was listless and exhausted.</p> - -<p>There were moments when she was inclined to send him some invitation -more cordial, some bidding more clear; but she hesitated to take a step -which would bind her in her own honour to so much more. She knew that -she ought not to suggest a hope to him to which she was not prepared -to give full fruition. And again, how could he respond? It would be -impossible for him to accept. She was one of the great alliances of -Europe, and he was without fortune, without career, without a future. -Even friendship was only possible whilst they were far asunder.</p> - -<p>Two years had gone by since he had come across from the monastery in -the green and gold of a summer afternoon. The monks had not forgotten -him; throughout the French war they had prayed for him. When their -Prior saw her, he said anxiously sometimes: 'And the Markgraf von -Sabran, will he never come to us again? Were we too dull for him? -Will your Excellency remember us to him, if ever you can?' And she -had answered with a strange emotion at her heart: 'His country is -in trouble, holy father; a good son cannot leave his land in her -adversity. No: I do not think he was dull with you; he was quite happy, -I believe. Perhaps he may come again some day, who knows? He shall be -told what you say.'</p> - -<p>Then a vision would rise up to her of herself and him, as they would -be perhaps when they should be quite old. Perhaps he would retire into -this holy retreat of the Augustines, and she would be a grave sombre -woman, not gay and pretty and witty, as the Princess was. The picture -was gloomy; she chased it away, and galloped her horse long and far -through the forests.</p> - -<p>The summer had been so brilliant that the autumn which followed was -cold and severe, earlier than usual, and heavy storms swept over the -Tauern, almost ere the wheat harvest could be reaped. Many days were -cheerless and filled only with the sound of incessant rains. In the -Pinzgau and the Salzkammergut floods were frequent. The Ache and the -Szalzach, with all their tributary streams and wide and lonely lakes, -were carrying desolation and terror into many parts of the land which -in summer they made beautiful. Almost every day brought her some -tidings of some misfortunes in the villages on the farms belonging to -her in the more distant parts of Austria; a mill washed away, a bridge -down, a dam burst, a road destroyed, a harvest swept into the water, -some damage or other done by the swollen river and torrents, she heard -of by nearly every communication that her stewards and her lawyers made -to her at this season.</p> - -<p>'Our foes the rivers are more insidious than your mighty enemy the -salt water,' she wrote to Romaris. 'The sea deals open blows, and men -know what they must expect if they go out on the vasty deep. But here -a little brook that laughed and chirped at noon-day as innocently as -a child may become at nightfall or dawn a roaring giant, devouring -all that surrounds him. We pay heavily for the glory of our mountain -waters.'</p> - -<p>These autumn weeks seemed very dreary to her. She visited her horses -chafing at inaction in their roomy stalls, and attended to her affairs, -and sat in the library or the octagon room hearing the rain beat -against the emblazoned leaded panes, and felt the days, and above all -the evenings, intolerably dull and melancholy. She had never heeded -rain before, or minded the change of season.</p> - -<p>One Sunday a messenger rode through the drenching storm, and brought -her a telegram from her lawyer in Salzburg. It said: 'Idrac flooded: -many lives lost: great distress: fear town wholly destroyed. Please -send instructions.'</p> - -<p>The call for action roused her as a trumpet sounding rouses a cavalry -charger.</p> - -<p>'Instructions!' she echoed as she read. 'They write as if I could bid -the Danube subside, or the Drave shrink in its bed!'</p> - -<p>She penned a hasty answer.</p> - -<p>'I will go to Idrac myself.'</p> - -<p>Then she sent a message also to S. Johann im Wald for a special train -to be got in readiness for her, and told one of her women and a trusty -servant to be ready to go with her to Vienna in an hour. It was still -early in the forenoon.</p> - -<p>'Are you mad?' cried Madame Ottilie, when she was informed of the -intended journey.</p> - -<p>Wanda kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'There is no madness in what I shall do, dear mother, and Bela surely -would have gone.'</p> - -<p>'Can you stay the torrents of heaven? Can you arrest a river in its -wrath?'</p> - -<p>'No; but lives are often lost because poor people lose their senses in -fright. I shall be calmer than anyone there. Besides, the place belongs -to us; we are bound to share its danger. If only Egon were not away -from Hungary!'</p> - -<p>'But he is away. You have driven him away.'</p> - -<p>'Do not dissuade me, dearest mother. It would be cowardice not to go.'</p> - -<p>'What can women do in such extremities?'</p> - -<p>'But we of Hohenszalras must not be mere women when we are wanted in -any danger. Remember Luitgarde von Szalras, the <i>kuttengeier.</i>'</p> - -<p>The Princess sighed, prayed, even wept, but Wanda was gently -inflexible. The Princess could not see why a precious life should be -endangered for the sake of a little half barbaric, half Jewish town, -which was remarkable for nothing except for shipping timber and selling -<i>salbling.</i> The population was scarcely Christian, so many Hebrews were -there, and so benighted were the Sclavonian poor, who between them made -up the two thousand odd souls that peopled Idrac. To send a special -messenger there, and to give any quantity of money that the distress -of the moment might demand, would be all right and proper; indeed, -an obligation on the owner of the little feudal river-side town. But -to go! A Countess von Szalras to go in person where not one out of a -hundred of the citizens had been properly baptized or confirmed! The -Princess could not view this Quixotism in any other light than that of -an absolute insanity.</p> - -<p>'Bela lost his life in just such a foolish manner!' she pleaded.</p> - -<p>'So did the saints, dear mother,' said his sister, gently.</p> - -<p>The Princess coloured and coughed.</p> - -<p>'Of course, I am aware that many holy lives have been—have been—what -appears to our finite senses wasted,' she said, with a little asperity. -'But I am also aware, Wanda, that the duties most neglected are those -which lie nearest home and have the least display; consideration for -<i>me</i> might be better, though less magnificent, than so much heroism for -Idrac.'</p> - -<p>'It pains me that you should put it in that light, dearest mother,' -said Wanda, with inexhaustible patience. 'Were you in any danger I -would stay by you first, of course; but you are in none. These poor, -forlorn, ignorant, cowardly creatures are in the very greatest. I -draw large revenues from the place; I am in honour bound to share -its troubles. Pray do not seek to dissuade me. It is a matter not of -caprice but of conscience. I shall be in no possible peril myself. I -shall go down the river in my own vessel, and I will telegraph to you -from every town at which I touch.'</p> - -<p>The Princess ceased not to lament, to oppose, to bemoan her own -powerlessness to check intolerable follies. Sitting in her easy chair -in her warm blue-room, sipping her chocolate, the woes of a distant -little place on the Danube, whose population was chiefly Semitic, were -very bearable and altogether failed to appeal to her.</p> - -<p>Wanda kissed her, asked her blessing humbly, and took her way in the -worst of a blinding storm along the unsafe and precipitous road which -went over the hills to Windisch-Matrey.</p> - -<p>'What false sentiment it all is!' thought the Princess, left alone. -'She has not seen this town since she was ten years old. She knows that -they are nearly all Jews, or quite heathenish Sclavonians. She can do -nothing at all—what should a woman do?—and yet she is so full of her -conscience that she goes almost to the Iron Gates in quest of a duty in -the wettest of weather, while she leaves a man like Egon and a man like -Sabran wretched for want of a word! I must say,' thought the Princess, -'false sentiment is almost worse than none at all!'</p> - -<p>The rains were pouring down from leaden skies, hiding all the sides of -the mountains and filling the valleys with masses of vapour. The road -was barely passable; the hill torrents dashed across it; the little -brooks were swollen to water-courses; the protecting wall on more than -one giddy height had been swept away; the gallop of the horses shook -the frail swaying galleries and hurled the loosened stones over the -precipice with loud resounding noise. The drive to Matrey and thence -with post-horses to S. Johann im Wald, the nearest railway station, was -in itself no little peril, but it was accomplished before the day had -closed in, and the special train she had ordered being in readiness -left at once for Vienna, running through the low portions of the -Pinzgau, which were for the most part under water.</p> - -<p>All the way was dim and watery, and full of the sound of running -or of falling water. The Ache and the Szalsach, both always deep -and turbulent rivers, were swollen and boisterous, and swirled and -thundered in their rocky beds; in the grand Pass of Lueg the gloom, -always great, was dense as at midnight, and when they reached Salzburg -the setting sun was bursting through ink-black clouds, and shed a -momentary glow as of fire upon the dark sides of the Untersberg, and -flamed behind the towers of the great castle on its rocky throne. All -travellers know the grandeur of that scene; familiar as it was to her -she looked upward at it with awe and pleasure commingled. Salzburg in -the evening light needs Salvator Rosa and Rembrandt together to portray -it.</p> - -<p>The train only paused to take in water; the station was crowded as -usual, set as it is between the frontiers of empire and kingdom, but in -the brief interval she saw one whom she recognised amongst the throng, -and she felt the colour come into her own face as she did so.</p> - -<p>She saw Sabran; he did not see her. Her train moved out of the station -rapidly, to make room for the express from Munich; the sun dropped down -into the ink-black clouds; the golden and crimson pomp of Untersberg -changed to black and grey; the ivory and amber and crystal of the -castle became stone and brick and iron, that frowned sombrely over a -city sunk in river-mists and in rain-vapours. She felt angrily that -there was an affinity between the landscape and herself; that so, at -sight of him, a light had come into her life which had no reality in -fact, prismatic colours baseless as a dream.</p> - -<p>She had longed to speak to him; to stretch out her hand to him; to -say at least how her thoughts and her sympathies had been with him -throughout the war. But her carriage was already in full onward -movement, and in another moment had passed at high speed out of the -station into that grand valley of the Szalzach where Hohensalzburg -seems to tower as though Friederich Barbarossa did indeed sleep there. -With a sigh she sank backward amongst her furs and cushions, and saw -the soaring fortress pass, into the clouds.</p> - -<p>The night had now closed in; the rain fell heavily. As the little -train, oscillating greatly from its lightness, swung over the iron -rails, there was a continual sound of splashing water audible above -the noise of the wheels and the throb of the engine. She had often -travelled at night and had always slept soundly; this evening she could -not sleep. She remained wide awake watching the swaying of the lamp, -listening to the shrill shriek of the wheels as they rushed through -water where some hillside brook had broken bounds and spread out in a -shallow lagoon. The skies were overcast in every direction; the rain -was everywhere unceasing; the night seemed to her very long.</p> - -<p>She pondered perpetually on his presence at Salzburg, and wondered if -he were going to the Holy Isle. Three months had gone by since she had -sent him the semi-invitation to her country.</p> - -<p>The train sped on; the day dawned; she began to get glimpses of the -grand blue river, now grey and ochre-coloured and thick with mud, its -turbid waves heaving sullenly under the stormy October skies. She had -always loved the great Donau; she knew its cradle well in the north -land of the Teutons. She had often watched the baby-stream rippling -over the stones, and felt the charm, as of some magical transformation, -as she thought of the same stream stretching broadly under the monastic -walls of Klosterneuberg, rolling in tempest by the Iron Gates, and -gathering its mighty volume higher and deeper to burst at last into -the sunlight of the eastern sea. Amidst the levelled monotony of -modern Europe the Danube keeps something of savage grandeur, something -of legendary power, something of oriental charm; it is still often -tameless, a half-barbaric thing, still a Tamerlane amidst rivers: and -yet yonder at its birthplace it is such a slender thread of rippling -water! She and Bela had crossed it with bare feet to get forget-me-nots -in Taunus, talking together of Chriemhilde and her pilgrimage to the -land of the Huns.</p> - -<p>The little train swung on steadily through the water above and below, -and after a night of no little danger came safely to Vienna as the dawn -broke. She went straight to her yacht, which was in readiness off the -Lobau and weighed anchor as the pale and watery morning broadened into -day above the shores that had seen Aspern and Wagram. The yacht was -a yawl, strongly built and drawing little water, made on purpose for -the ascent and descent of the Danube, from Passau up in the north to -as far south as the Bosphorus if needed. The voyage had been of the -greatest joys of hers and of Bela's childhood; they had read on deck -alternately the 'Nibelungen-Lied' and the 'Arabian Nights,' clinging -together in delighted awe as they passed through the darkness of the -defile of Kasan.</p> - -<p>Idrac was situated between Pesth and Peterwardein, lying low on marshy -ground that was covered with willows and intersected by small streams -flowing from the interior to the Danube.</p> - -<p>The little town gave its name and its seigneurie to the owner of its -burg; an ancient place built on a steep rock that rose sheer out of -the fast-running waves, and dominated the passage of the stream. The -Counts of Idrac had been exceeding powerful in the old times, when -they had stopped at their will the right of way of the river; and -their appanages with their title had come by marriage into the House -of Szalras some four centuries before, and although the dominion over -the river was gone, the fortress and the little town and all that -appertained thereto still formed a considerable possession; it had -usually been given with its Countship to the second son of the Szalras.</p> - -<p>Making the passage to Pesth in fourteen hours, the yacht dropped -anchor before the Franz Josef Quai as the first stars came out above -the Blocksburg, for by this time the skies had lightened and the rains -had ceased. Here she stayed the night perforce, as an accident had -occurred to the machinery of the vessel. She did not leave the yacht, -but sent into the inner city for stores of provisions and of the local -cordial, the <i>slibowitza</i>, to distribute to the half-drowned people -amongst whom she was about to go. It was noonday before the yawl got -under weigh and left the twin-towns behind her. A little way further -down the stream they passed a great castle, standing amidst beech woods -on a rock that rose up from fields covered with the Carlowitz vine. She -looked at it with a sigh: it was the fortress of Kohacs, one of the -many possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>The weather had now cleared, but the skies were overcast, and the -plains, which began to spread away monotonously from either shore, -were covered with white fog. Soon the fog spread also over the river, -and the yacht was compelled to advance cautiously and slowly, so that -the voyage was several hours longer than usual. When the light of the -next day broke they had come in sight of the flooded districts on their -right: the immense flat fields that bore the flax and grain which make -the commerce of Baja, of Neusatz, and of other riverain towns, were -all changed to shallow estuaries. The Theiss, the Drave, and many -minor streams, swollen by the long autumnal rains, had burst their -boundaries and laid all the country under water for hundreds of square -leagues. The granaries, freshly filled with the late abundant harvest, -had at many places been flooded or destroyed: thousands of stacks of -grain were floating like shapeless, dismasted vessels. Timber and the -thatched roofs of the one-storied houses were in many places drifting -too, like the flotsam and the hulls of wrecked ships.</p> - -<p>There are few scenes more dreary, more sad, more monotonous than those -of a flat country swamped by flood: the sky above them was leaden -and heavy, the Danube beneath them was turgid and discoloured; the -shrill winds whistled through the brakes of willow, the water-birds, -frightened, flew from their osier-beds on the islands, the bells of -churches and watch-towers tolled dismally.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon when she came within sight of her little -town on the Sclavonian shore, which Ernst von Szalras had fired on -August 29, 1526, to save it from the shame of violation by the Turks. -Though he had perished, and most of the soldiers and townsfolk with -him, the fortress, the <i>têtes du pont</i>, and the old water-gates and -walls had been too strong for the flames to devour, and the town had -been built up again by the Turks and subsequently by the Hungarians.</p> - -<p>The slender minarets of the Ottomans' two mosques still raised -themselves amidst the old Gothic architecture of the mediæval -buildings, and the straw-covered roofs and the white-plastered walls -of the modern houses. As they steamed near it the minarets and the -castle towers rose above what looked a world of waters, all else seemed -swallowed in the flood; the orchards, which had surrounded all save the -river-side of the town; were immersed almost to the summits of their -trees. The larger vessels could never approach Idrac in ordinary times, -the creek being too shallow on which it stood; but now the water was -so high that though it would be too imprudent to anchor there, the -yacht easily passed in, and hove-to underneath the water-walls, a pilot -taking careful soundings as they steered. It was about three in the -afternoon. The short, grey day was near its end; a shout of welcome -rose from some people on the walls as they recognised the build and the -ensign of the yawl. Some crowded boats were pulling away from the town, -laden with fugitives and their goods.</p> - -<p>'How soon people run away! They are like rats,' she thought. 'I would -sooner be like the stork, and not quit my nest if it were in flames.'</p> - -<p>She landed at the water-stairs of the castle. Men, women, and children -came scrambling along the walls, where they were huddled together out -of temporary reach of the flood, and threw themselves down at her -feet and kissed her skirts with abject servility. They were half mad -with terror, and amongst the population there were many hundreds of -Jews, the most cowardly people in all the world. The boats were quite -inadequate in number to the work they had to do; the great steamers -passing up and down did not pause to help them; the flood was so -general below Pesth that on the right shore of the river each separate -village and township was busy with its own case and had no help for -neighbours: the only aid came from those on the opposite shore, but -that was scanty and unwisely ministered. The chief citizens of Idrac -had lost their wits, as she had foreseen they would do. To ring the -bells madly night and day, and fire off the old culverins from the -water-gate, was all they seemed to know how to do. They told her that -many lives had been lost, as the inland waters had risen in the night, -and most of the houses were of only one storey. In the outlying -flax-farms it was supposed that whole households had perished. In the -town itself there were six feet of water everywhere, and many of the -inhabitants were huddled together in the two mosques, which were now -granaries, in the towers, and in the fortress itself; but several -families had been enabled to escape, and had climbed upon the roofs, -clinging to the chimneys for bare life.</p> - -<p>Her mere presence brought reviving hope and energy to the primitive -population. Their Lady had a romantic legendary reputation amongst -them, and they were ready to cling round the pennon of the yacht as -their ancestors had rallied round the standard of Ernst von Szalras.</p> - -<p>She ascended to the Rittersaal of the fortress, and assembled a few of -the men about her, who had the most influence and energy in the little -place. She soon introduced some kind of system and method into the -efforts made, promised largesse to those who should be the most active, -and had the provisions she had brought distributed amongst those who -most needed them. The boats of the yawl took many away to a temporary -refuge on the opposite shore. Many others were brought in to the -state-room of the castle for shelter. Houses were constantly falling, -undermined by the water, and there were dead and wounded to be attended -to, as well as the hungry and terrified living creatures. Once before, -Idrac had been thus devastated by flood, but it had been far away in -the previous century, and the example was too distant to have been a -warning to the present generation.</p> - -<p>She passed a fatiguing and anxious night. It was impossible to -think of sleep with so much misery around. The yacht was obliged to -descend, the river for safe anchorage, but the boats remained. She -went herself, now in one, now in another, to endeavour to inspire the -paralysed people with some courage and animation. A little wine, a -little bread, were all she took; food was very scarce. The victuals of -the yacht's provisioning did not last long amongst so many famishing -souls. She ordered her skipper at dawn to go down as far as Neusatz -and purchase largely. There were five thousand people, counting those -of the neighbourhood, or more, homeless and bereft of all shelter. The -telegraph was broken, the poles had been snapped by the force of the -water in many places.</p> - -<p>With dawn a furious storm gathered and broke, and renewed rains added -their quota to the inundation and their discomfort to the exposed -sufferers. The cold was great, and the chill that made them shudder -from head to foot was past all cure by cordials. She regretted not -to have brought Greswold with her. She was indifferent to danger, -indefatigable in exertion, and strong as Libussa, brave as Chriemhilde. -Because the place belonged to her in almost a feudal manner, she held -herself bound to give her life for it if need be. Bela would have done -what she was doing.</p> - -<p>Twice or thrice during the two following days she heard the people -speak of a stranger who had arrived fifteen hours before her, and had -wrought miracles of deliverance. Unless the stories told her were -greatly exaggerated, this foreigner had shown a courage and devotion -quite unequalled. He had thrown himself into the work at once on his -arrival there in a boat from Neusatz, and had toiled night and day, -enduring extreme fatigue and running almost every hour some dire peril -of his life. He had saved whole families of the poorest and most -wretched quarter; he had sprung on to roofs that were splitting and -sinking, on to walls that were trembling and tottering, and had borne -away in safety men, women, and children, the old, and the sick, and the -very animals; he had infused some of his own daring and devotedness -into the selfish and paralysed Hebrew population; priests and rabbis -were alike unanimous in his praise, and she, as she heard, felt that -he who had fought for France had been here for her sake. They told -her that he was now out amongst the more distant orchards and fields, -amidst the flooded farms where the danger was even greater than in the -town itself. Some Czechs said that he was S. John of Nepomuc himself. -She bade them bring him to her, that she might thank him, whenever he -should enter the town again, and then thought of him no more.</p> - -<p>Her whole mind and feeling were engrossed by the spectacle of a misery -that even all her wealth could not do very much to alleviate. The -waters as yet showed no sign of abatement. The crash of falling houses -sounded heavily ever and again through the gloom. The melancholy sight -of humble household things, of drowned cattle, of dead dogs, borne down -the discoloured flood out to the Danube renewed itself every hour. -The lamentations of the ruined people went up in an almost continuous -wail like the moaning of a winter wind. There was nothing grand, -nothing picturesque, nothing exciting to redeem the dreariness and the -desolation. It was all ugly, miserable, dull. It was more trying than -war, which even in its hideous senselessness lends a kind of brutal -intoxication to all whom it surrounds.</p> - -<p>She was incessantly occupied and greatly fatigued, so that the time -passed without her counting it. She sent a message each day to the -Princess at home, and promised to return as soon as the waters had -subsided and the peril passed. For the first time in her life she -experienced real discomfort, real privation; she had surrendered nearly -all the rooms in the burg to the sick people, and food ran short and -there was none of good quality, though she knew that supplies would -soon come from the steward at Kohacs and by the yacht.</p> - -<p>On the fourth day the waters had sunk an inch. As she heard the good -tidings she was looking out inland over the waste of grey and yellow -flood; a Jewish rabbi was beside her speaking of the exertions of the -stranger, in whom the superstitious of the townsfolk saw a saint from -heaven.</p> - -<p>'And does no one even know who he is?' she asked.</p> - -<p>'No one has asked,' answered the Jew. 'He has been always out where the -peril was greatest.'</p> - -<p>'How came he here?'</p> - -<p>'He came by one of the big steamers that go to Turkey. He pulled -himself here in a little boat that he had bought; the boat in which he -has done such good service.'</p> - -<p>'What is he like in appearance?'</p> - -<p>'He is very tall, very fair, and handsome; I should think he is -northern.'</p> - -<p>Her pulse beat quicker for a moment; then she rejected the idea as -absurd, though indeed, she reflected, she had seen him at Salzburg.</p> - -<p>'He must at least be a brave man,' she said quietly. 'If you see him -bring him to me that I may thank him. Is he in the town now?'</p> - -<p>'No; he is yonder, where the Rathwand farms are, or were; where your -Excellency sees those dark, long islands which are not islands at all, -but only the summits of cherry orchards. He has carried the people -away, carried them down to Peterwardein; and he is now about to try and -rescue some cattle which were driven up on to the roof of a tower, poor -beasts—that tower to the east there, very far away: it is five miles -as the crow flies.'</p> - -<p>'I suppose he will come into the town again?'</p> - -<p>'He was here last night; he had heard of your Excellency, and asked for -her health.'</p> - -<p>'Ah! I will see and thank him if he come again.'</p> - -<p>But no one that day saw the stranger in Idrac.</p> - -<p>The rains fell again and the waters again rose. The maladies which -come of damp and of bad exhalations spread amongst the people; they -could not all be taken to other villages or towns, for there was no -room for them. She had quinine, wines, good food ordered by the great -steamers, but they were not yet arrived. What could be got at Neusatz -or Peterwardein the yacht brought, but it was not enough for so many -sick and starving people. The air began to grow fœtid from the many -carcases of animals, though as they floated the vultures from the hills -fed on them. She had a vessel turned into a floating hospital, and -the most delicate of the sick folk carried to it, and had it anchored -off the nearest port. Her patience, her calmness, and her courage did -more to revive the sinking hearts of the homeless creatures than the -cordials and the food. She was all day long out in her boat, being -steered from one spot to another. At night she rested little and passed -from one sick bed to another. She had never been so near to hopeless -human misery before. At Hohenszalras no one was destitute.</p> - -<p>One twilight hour on the ninth day, as she was rowed back to the castle -stairs, she passed another boat in which were two lads and a man. The -man was rowing, a dusky shadow in the gloom of the wet evening and the -uncouthness of his waterproof pilot's dress; but she had a lantern -beside her, and she flashed its light full on the boat as it passed -her. When she reached the burg, she said to her servant Anton: 'Herr -von Sabran is in Idrac; go and say that I desire to see him.'</p> - -<p>Anton, who remembered him well, returned in an hour, and said he could -neither find him nor hear of him.</p> - -<p>All the night long, a cheerless tedious night, with the rain falling -without and the storm that was raging in the Bosphorus sending its -shrill echoes up the Danube, she sat by the beds of the sick women -or paced up and down the dimly-lit Rittersaal in an impatience which -it humiliated her to feel. It touched her that he should be here, -so silently, so sedulously avoiding her, and doing so much for the -people of Idrac, because they were her people. The old misgiving that -she had been ungenerous in her treatment of him returned to her. He -seemed always to have the finer part—the <i>beau rôle.</i> To her, royal -in giving, imperious in conduct, it brought a sense of failure, of -inferiority. As she read the psalms in Hungarian to the sick Magyar -women, her mind perpetually wandered away to him.</p> - -<p>She did not see Sabran again, but she heard often of him. The fair -stranger, as the people called him, was always conspicuous wherever -the greatest danger was to be encountered. There was always peril in -almost every movement where the undermined houses, the tottering walls, -the stagnant water, the fever-reeking marshes presented at every turn a -perpetual menace to life. 'He is not vainly <i>un fils des preux</i>,' she -thought, with a thrill of personal pride, as if someone near and dear -to her were praised, as she listened to the stories of his intrepidity -and his endurance. Whole nights spent in soaked clothes, in half -swamped boats; whole days lost in impotent conflict with the ignorance -or the poltroonery of an obstinate populace, continual risk encountered -without counting its cost to rescue some poor man's sick beast, or pull -a cripple from beneath falling beams, or a lad from choking mud; hour -on hour of steady laborious rowing, of passage to and fro the sullen -river with a freight of moaning, screaming peasantry—this was not -child's play, nor had it any of the animation and excitation which in -war or in adventure make of danger a strong wine that goes merrily and -voluptuously to the head. It was all dull, stupid, unlovely, and he -had come to it for her sake. For her sake certainly, though he never -approached her; though when Anton at last found and took her message -to him he excused himself from obedience to it by a plea that he was -at that moment wet and weary, and had come from a hut where typhoid -raged. She understood the excuse; she knew that he knew well she was no -more afraid than he of that contagion. She admired him the more for his -isolation; in these grey, rainy, tedious, melancholy days his figure -seemed to grow into a luminous heroic shape like one of the heroes of -the olden time. If he had once seemed to seek a guerdon for it the -spell would have been broken. But he never did. She began to believe -that such a knight deserved any recompense which she could give.</p> - -<p>'Egon himself could have done no more,' she said in her own thoughts, -and it was the highest praise that she could give to any man, for -her Magyar cousin was the embodiment of all martial daring, of all -chivalrous ardour, and had led his glittering hussars down on to the -French bayonets, as on to the Prussian Krupp guns, with a fury that -bore all before it, impetuous and irresistible as a stream of fired -naphtha.</p> - -<p>On the twelfth morning the river had sunk so much lower that the yacht -arriving with medicines and stores of food from Neusatz signalled that -she could not enter the creek on which Idrac stood, and waited orders. -It had ceased to rain, but the winds were still strong and the skies -heavy. She descended to her boat at the water-gate, and told the men to -take her out to the yacht. It was early, the sun behind the clouds had -barely climbed above the distant Wallachian woods, and the scene had -lost nothing of its melancholy. A man was standing on the water-stairs -as she descended them, and turned rapidly away, but she had seen him -and stretched out her long staff and touched him lightly.</p> - -<p>'Why do you avoid me?' she said, as he uncovered his head; 'my men -sought you in all directions; I wished to thank you.'</p> - -<p>He bowed low over the hand she held out to him. 'I ventured to be near -at hand to be of use,' he answered. 'I was afraid the exposure, and, -the damp, and all this pestilence would make you ill: you are not ill?'</p> - -<p>'No; I am quite well. I have heard of all your courage and endurance. -Idrac owes you a great debt.'</p> - -<p>'I only pay my debt to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>They were both silent; a certain constraint was upon them both.</p> - -<p>'How did you know of the inundation? It was unkind of you not to come -to me,' she said, and her voice was unsteady as she spoke. 'I want so -much to tell you, better than letters can do, all that we felt for you -throughout that awful war.'</p> - -<p>He turned away slightly with a shudder. 'You are too good. Thousands of -men much better than I suffered much more.'</p> - -<p>The tears rose to her eyes as she glanced at him. He was looking pale -and worn. He had lost the graceful <i>insouciance</i> of his earlier manner. -He looked grave, weary, melancholy, like a man who had passed through -dire disaster, unspeakable pain, and had seen his career snapped in -two like a broken wand. But there was about him instead something -soldierlike, proven, war-worn, which became him in her eyes, daughter -of a race of warriors as she was.</p> - -<p>'You have much to tell me, and I have much to hear,' she said, after -a pause. 'You should have come to the monastery to be cured of your -wounds. Why were you so mistrustful of our friendship?'</p> - -<p>He coloured and was silent.</p> - -<p>'Indeed,' she said gravely, 'we can honour brave men in the Tauern and -in Idrac too. You are very brave. I do not know how to thank you for my -people or for myself.'</p> - -<p>'Pray do not speak so,' he said, in a very low voice. 'To see you again -would be recompense for much worthier things than any I have done.'</p> - -<p>'But you might have seen me long ago,' she said, with a certain -nervousness new to her, 'had you only chosen to come to the Isle. I -asked you twice.'</p> - -<p>He looked at her with eyes of longing and pathetic appeal.</p> - -<p>'Do not tempt me,' he murmured. 'If I yielded, and if you despised -me——'</p> - -<p>'How could I despise one who has so nobly saved the lives of my people?'</p> - -<p>'You would do so.'</p> - -<p>He spoke very low: he was silent a little while, then he said very -softly:</p> - -<p>'One evening, when we spoke together on the terrace at Hohenszalras, -you leant your hand upon the ivy there. I plucked the leaf you touched; -you did not see. I had the leaf with me all through the war. It was -a talisman. It was like a holy thing. When your cousin's soldiers -stripped me in their ambulance, they took it from me.'</p> - -<p>His voice faltered. She listened and was moved to a profound emotion.</p> - -<p>'I will give you something better,' she said very gravely. He did not -ask her what she would give.</p> - -<p>She looked away from him awhile, and her face flushed a little. She was -thinking of what she would give him; a gift so great that the world -would deem her mad to bestow it, and perhaps would deem him dishonoured -to take it.</p> - -<p>'How did you hear of these floods along the Danube?' she asked him, -recovering her wonted composure.</p> - -<p>'I read about them in telegrams in Paris,' he made answer. 'I had -mustered courage to revisit my poor Paris; all I possess is there. -Nothing has been injured; a shell burst quite close by but did not -harm my apartments. I went to make arrangements for the sale of my -collections, and on the second day that I arrived there I saw the news -of the inundations of Idrac and the lower Danubian plains. I remembered -the name of the town; I remembered it was yours. I remembered your -saying once that where you had feudal rights you had feudal duties, so -I came on the chance of being of service.'</p> - -<p>'You have been most devoted to the people.'</p> - -<p>'The people! What should I care though the whole town perished? Do not -attribute to me a humanity that is not in my nature.'</p> - -<p>'Be as cynical as you like in words so long as you are heroic in -action. I am going out to the yacht; will you come with me?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated. 'I merely came to hear from the warder of your health. I -am going to catch the express steamer at Neusatz; all danger is over.'</p> - -<p>'The yacht can take you to Neusatz. Come with me.'</p> - -<p>He did not offer more opposition; he accompanied her to the boat and -entered it.</p> - -<p>The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing more, but she could not -forget that scores of her own people here had owed their lives to his -intrepidity and patience, and that he had never hesitated to throw his -life into the balance when needed. And it had been done for her sake -alone. The love of humanity might have been a nobler and purer motive, -but it would not have touched her so nearly as the self-abandonment of -a man by nature selfish and cold.</p> - -<p>In a few moments they were taken to the yawl. He ascended the deck with -her.</p> - -<p>The tidings the skipper brought, the examination of the stores, the -discussion of ways and means, the arrangements for the general relief, -were air dull, practical matters that claimed careful attention and -thought. She sat in the little cabin that was brave with marqueterie -work and blue satin and Dresden mirrors, and made memoranda and -calculations, and consulted him, and asked his advice on this, on -that. The government official, sent to make official estimates of the -losses in the township, had come on board to salute and take counsel -with her. The whole forenoon passed in these details. He wrote, and -calculated, and drew up reports for her. No more tender or personal -word was spoken between them; but there was a certain charm for them -both in this intimate intercourse, even though it took no other shape -than the study of how many boatloads of wheat were needed for so many -hundred people, of how many florins a day might be passed to the head -of each family, of how many of the flooded houses would still be -serviceable with restoration, of how many had been entirely destroyed, -of how the town would best be rebuilt, and of how the inland rivers -could best be restrained in the future.</p> - -<p>To rebuild it she estimated that she would have to surrender for five -years the revenues from her Galician and Hungarian mines, and she -resolved to do it altogether at her own cost. She had no wish to see -the town figure in public prints as the object of public subscription.</p> - -<p>'I am sure all my woman friends,' she said, 'would kindly make it -occasion for a fancy fair or a lottery (with new costumes) in Vienna, -but I do not care for that sort of thing, and I can very well do what -is needed alone.'</p> - -<p>He was silent. He had always known that her riches were great, but -he had never realised them as fully as he now did when she spoke of -rebuilding an entire town as she might have spoken of building a -carriage.</p> - -<p>'You would make a good prime minister,' she said, smiling; 'you have -the knowledge of a specialist on so many subjects.'</p> - -<p>At noon they served her a little plain breakfast of Danubian -<i>salbling</i>, with Carlowitzer wine and fruit sent by the steward of -Mohacs. She bade him join her in it.</p> - -<p>'Had Egon himself been here he could not have done more for Idrac than -you have done,' she said.</p> - -<p>'Is this Prince Egon's wine?' he said abruptly, and on hearing that it -was so, he set the glass down untasted.</p> - -<p>She looked surprised, but she did not ask him his reason, for she -divined it. There was an exaggeration in the unspoken hostility more -like the days of Arthur and Lancelot than their own, but it did not -displease her.</p> - -<p>They were both little disposed to converse during their meal; after the -dreary and terrible scenes they had been witness of, the atmosphere -of life seems grave and dark even to those whom the calamity had not -touched. The most careless spirit is oppressed by a sense of the -precariousness and the cruelty of existence.</p> - -<p>When they ascended to the deck the skies were lighter than they had -been for many weeks; the fog had cleared, so that, in the distance, the -towers of Neusatz and the fortress of Peterwardein were visible; vapour -still hung over the vast Hungarian plain, but the Danube was clear and -the affluents of it had sunk to their usual level.</p> - -<p>'You really go to-night?' she said, as they looked down the river.</p> - -<p>'There is no need for me to stay; the town is safe, and you are well, -you say. If there be anything I can still do, command me.'</p> - -<p>She smiled a little and let her eye meet his for a moment.</p> - -<p>'Well, if I command you to remain then, will you do so as my viceroy? -I want to return home; Aunt Ottilie grows daily more anxious, more -alarmed, but I cannot leave these poor souls all alone with their -priests, and their rabbi, who are all as timid as sheep and as stupid. -Will you stay in the castle and govern them, and help them till they -recover from their fright? It is much to ask, I know, but you have -already done so much for Idrac that I am bold to ask you to do more?'</p> - -<p>He coloured with a mingled emotion.</p> - -<p>'You could ask me nothing that I would not do,' he said in a low tone. -'I could wish you asked me something harder.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, it will be very hard,' she said, with an indifference she did not -feel. 'It will be very dull, and you will have no one to speak to that -knows anything save how to grow flax and cherries. You will have to -talk the Magyar tongue all day, and you will have nothing to eat save -<i>kartoffeln</i> and <i>salbling</i>; and I do not know that I am even right,' -she added, more gravely, 'to ask you to incur the risks that come from -all that soaked, ground, which will be damp so long.'</p> - -<p>'The risks that you have borne yourself! Pray do not wound me by any -such scruple as that. I shall be glad, I shall be proud, to be for ever -so short or so long a time as you command, your representative, your -servant.'</p> - -<p>'You are very good.'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>His eyes looked at hers with a quick flash, in which all the passion -he dared not express was spoken. She averted her glance and continued -calmly: 'You are very good indeed to Idrac. It will be a great -assistance and comfort to me to know that you are here. The poor people -already love you, and you will write to me and tell me all that may -need to be done. I will leave you the yacht and Anton. I shall return -by land with my woman; and when I reach home I will send you Herr -Greswold. He is a good companion, and has a great admiration for you, -though he wishes that you had not forsaken the science of botany.'</p> - -<p>'It is like all other dissection or vivisection; it spoils the artistic -appreciation of the whole. I am yet unsophisticated enough to feel the -charm of a bank of violets, of a cliff covered with alpen-roses. I may -write to you?'</p> - -<p>'You must write to me! It is you who will know all the needs of Idrac. -But are you sure that to remain here will not interfere with your own -projects, your own wishes, your own duties?'</p> - -<p>'I have none. If I had any I would throw them away, with pleasure, to -be of use to one of your dogs, to one of your birds.'</p> - -<p>She moved from his side a little.</p> - -<p>'Look how the sun has come out. I can see the sparkle of the brass on -the cannon down yonder at Neusatz. We had better go now. I must see my -sick people and then leave as soon as I can. The yacht must take me to -Mohacs; from there I will send her back to you.'</p> - -<p>'Do as you will. I can have no greater happiness than to obey you.'</p> - -<p>'I am sure that I thank you in the way that you like best, when I say -that I believe you.'</p> - -<p>She said the words in a very low tone, but so calmly that the calmness -of them checked any other words he might have uttered. It was a royal -acceptance of a loyal service; nothing more. The boat took them back -to the fortress. Whilst she was occupied in her farewell to the sick -people, and her instructions to those who attended on them, he, left -to himself in the apartment she had made her own, instinctively went -to an old harpsichord that stood there and touched the keys. It had a -beautiful case, rich with the varnish of the Martins. He played with -it awhile for its external beauty, and then let his fingers stray over -its limited keyboard. It had still sweetness in it, like the spinet -of Hohenszalras. It suited certain pathetic quaint old German airs he -knew, and which he half unconsciously reproduced upon it, singing them -as he did so in a low tone. The melody, very soft and subdued, suited -to the place where death had been so busy and nature so unsparing, and -where a resigned exhaustion had now succeeded to the madness of terror, -reached the ears of the sick women in the Rittersaal and of Wanda von -Szalras seated beside their beds.</p> - -<p>'It is like the saints in Heaven sighing in pity for us here,' said one -of the women who was very feeble and old, and she smiled as she heard. -The notes, tremulous from age but penetrating in their sweetness, came -in slow calm movements of harmony through the stillness of the chamber; -his voice, very low also, but clear, ascended with them. Wanda sat -quite still, and listened with a strange pleasure. 'He alone,' she -thought, 'can make the dumb strings speak.</p> - -<p>It was almost dusk when she descended to the room which she had made -her own. In the passages of the castle oil wicks were lighted in the -iron lamps and wall sconces, but here it was without any light, and -in the gloom she saw the dim outline of his form as he sat by the -harpsichord. He had ceased playing; his head was bent down and rested -on the instrument; he was lost in thought, and his whole attitude was -dejected. He did not hear her approach, and she looked at him some -moments, herself unseen. A great tenderness came over her: he was -unhappy, and he had been very brave, very generous, very loyal: she -felt almost ashamed. She went nearer, and he raised himself abruptly.</p> - -<p>'I am going,' she said to him. 'Will you come with me to the yacht?'</p> - -<p>He rose, and though it was dusk, and in this chamber so dark that his -face was indistinct to her, she was sure that tears had been in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>'Your old harpsichord has the vernis Martin,' he said, with effort. -'You should not leave it buried here. It has a melody in it too, faint -and simple and full of the past, like the smell of dead rose-leaves. -Yes, I will have the honour to come with you. I wish there were a full -moon. It will be a dark night on the Danube.'</p> - -<p>'My men know the soundings of the river well. As for the harpsichord, -you alone have found its voice. It shall go to your rooms in Paris.'</p> - -<p>'You are too good, but I would not take it. Let it go to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>'Why would you not take it?</p> - -<p>'I would take nothing from you.'</p> - -<p>He spoke abruptly, and with some sternness.</p> - -<p>'I think there is such a thing as being too proud? she said, with -hesitation.</p> - -<p>'Your ancestors would not say so,' he answered, with an effort; she -understood the meaning that underlay the words. He turned away and -closed the lid of the harpsichord, where little painted cupids wantoned -in a border of metal scroll-work.</p> - -<p>All the men and women well enough to stand crowded on the water-stairs -to see her departure; little children were held up in their mother's -arms and bidden remember her for evermore; all feeble creatures lifted -up their voices to praise her; Jew and Christian blessed her; the -water-gate was cumbered with sobbing people, trying to see her face, -to kiss her skirt for the last time. She could not be wholly unmoved -before that unaffected, irrepressible emotion. Their poor lives were -not worth much, but such as they were she, under Heaven, had saved them.</p> - -<p>'I will return and see you again,' she said to them, as she made a slow -way through the eager crowd. 'Thank Heaven, my people, not me. And I -leave my friend with you, who did much more for you than I. Respect him -and obey him.'</p> - -<p>They raised with their thin trembling voices a loud <i>Eljén</i>! of homage -and promise, and she passed away from their sight into the evening -shadows on the wide river.</p> - -<p>Sabran accompanied her to the vessel, which was to take her to the town -of Mohacs, thence to make her journey home by railway.</p> - -<p>'I shall not leave until you bid me, even though you should forget to -call me all in my life!' he said, as the boat slipped through the dark -water.</p> - -<p>'Such oblivion would be a poor reward.'</p> - -<p>'I have had reward enough. You have called me your friend.'</p> - -<p>She was silent. The boat ran through the dusk and the rippling rays of -light streaming from the sides of the yacht, and they went on board. He -stood a moment with uncovered head before her on the deck, and she gave -him her hand.</p> - -<p>'You will come to the Holy Isle?' she said, as she did so.</p> - -<p>'If you bid me,' he said, as he bowed and kissed her hand. His lips -trembled as he did so, and by the lamplight she saw that he was very -pale.</p> - -<p>'I shall bid you,' she said, very softly, by-and-by. Farewell!'</p> - -<p>He bowed very low once more, then he dropped over the yacht's side into -the boat waiting below; the splash of the oars told her he was gone -back to Idrac. The yawl weighed anchor and began to go up the river, -a troublesome and tedious passage at all seasons. She sat on deck -watching the strong current of the Danube as it rolled on under the bow -of the schooner. For more than a league she could see the beacon that -burned by the water-gate of the fortress. When the curve of the stream -hid it from her eyes she felt a pang of painful separation, of wistful -attachment to the old dreary walls where she had seen so much suffering -and so much courage, and where she had learned to read her own heart -without any possibility of ignoring its secrets. A smile came on her -mouth and a moisture in her eyes as she sat alone in the dark autumn -night, while the schooner made her slow ascent through the swell that -accompanies the influx of the Drave.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> - - -<p>In two days' time Hohenszalras received its mistress home.</p> - -<p>She was not in any way harmed by the perils she had encountered, and -the chills and fever to which she had been exposed. On the contrary, -her eyes had a light and her face had a bloom which for many months had -not been there.</p> - -<p>The Princess heard a brief sketch of what had passed in almost -total silence. She had disapproved strongly, and she said that her -disapproval could not change, though a merciful heavenly host had -spared her the realisation of her worst fears.</p> - -<p>The name of Sabran was not spoken. Wanda was of a most truthful temper, -but she could not bring herself to speak of his presence at Idrac; the -facts would reveal themselves inevitably soon enough.</p> - -<p>She sent Greswold to the Danube laden with stores and medicines. -She received a letter every morning from her delegate; but he wrote -briefly, and with scrupulous care, the statements of facts connected -with the town and reports of what had been done. Her engineer had -arrived from the mines by Kremnitz, and the builders estimated that -the waters would have subsided and settled enough, if no fresh rising -took place, for them to begin the reconstruction of the town with the -beginning of the new month. Ague and fever were still very common, and -fresh cases were brought in every hour to the hospital in the fortress. -He wrote on the arrival of Herr Greswold, that, with her permission, he -himself would still stay on, for the people had grown used to him, and -having some knowledge of hydraulics he would be interested to see the -plans proposed by her engineers for preserving the town from similar -calamities.</p> - -<p>Three weeks passed; all that time she spoke but little either of him or -of any other subject. She took endless rides, and she sat many hours -doing nothing in the white room, absorbed in thought. The Princess, -who had learned what had passed, with admirable exercise of tact and -self-restraint made neither suggestion nor innuendo, and accepted the -presence of a French Marquis at a little obscure town in Sclavonia as -if it were the most natural circumstance in the world.</p> - -<p>'All the Szalras have been imperious, arrogant, and of complicated -character,' she thought; 'she has the same temper, though it is -mitigated in her by great natural nobility of disposition and strong -purity of motives. She will do as she chooses, let all the world do -what it may to change her. If I say a word either way it may take -effect in some wholly unforeseen manner that I should regret. It is -better to abstain. In doubt do nothing, is the soundest of axioms.'</p> - -<p>And Princess Ottilie, who on occasion had the wisdom of the serpent -with the sweetness of the dove, preserved a discreet silence, and -devoured her really absorbing curiosity in her own heart.</p> - -<p>At the end of the fourth week she heard that all was well at Idrac, -so far as it could be so in a place almost wholly destroyed. There -was no sign of renewed rising of the inland streams. The illness was -diminished, almost conquered; the people had begun to take heart and -hope, and, being aided, wished to aid themselves. The works for new -embankments, water-gates, and streets were already planned, though -they could not be begun until the spring. Meanwhile, strong wooden -houses were being erected on dry places, which which could shelter -<i>ad interim</i> many hundreds of families; the farmers were gradually -venturing to return to their flooded lands. The town had suffered -grievously and in much irreparably, but it began to resume its trade -and its normal life.</p> - -<p>She hesitated a whole day when she heard this. Though Sabran did not -hint at any desire of his own to leave the place, she knew it, was -impossible to bid him remain longer, and that a moment of irrevocable -decision was come. She hesitated all the day, slept little all the -night, then sent him a brief telegram: 'Come to the Island.'</p> - -<p>Obey the summons as rapidly as he might, he could not travel by Vienna -and Salzburg more quickly than in some thirty hours or more. The time -passed to her in a curious confusion and anxiety. Outwardly she was -calm enough; she visited the schools, wrote some letters, and took her -usual long ride in the now leafless woods, but at heart she was unquiet -and ill at ease, troubled more than by anything else at the force of -the desire she felt to meet him once more. It was but a month since -they had parted on the deck, and it seemed ten years. She had known -what he had meant when he had said that he would come if she bade him; -she had known that she would only do the sheerest cruelty and treachery -if she called him thither only to dismiss him. It had not been a visit -of the moment, but all his life that she had consented to take when she -had written 'Come to the Island.'</p> - -<p>She would never have written it unless she had been prepared to fulfil -all to which it tacitly pledged her. She was incapable of wantonly -playing with any passion that moved another, least of all with his. The -very difference of their position would have made indecision or coyness -in her seem cruelty, humiliation. The decision hurt her curiously with -a sense of abdication, mortification, and almost shame. To a very proud -woman in whom the senses have never asserted their empire, there is -inevitably an emotion of almost shame, of self-surrender, of loss of -self-respect, in the first impulses of love. It made her abashed and -humiliated to feel the excitation that the mere touch of his hand, the -mere gaze of his eyes, had power to cause her. 'If this be love,' she -thought, 'no wonder the world is lost for it.'</p> - -<p>Do what she would, the time seemed very long; the two evenings that -passed were very tedious and oppressive. The Princess seemed to -observe nothing of what she was perfectly conscious of, and her -flute-like voice murmured on in an unending stream of commonplaces to -which her niece replied much at random.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon of the third day she stood on the terrace looking down -the lake and towards the Holy Isle, with an impatience of which she was -in turn impatient. She was dressed in white woollen stuff with silver -threads in it; she had about her throat an old necklace of the Golden -Fleece, of golden shells enamelled, which had been a gift from Charles -the Fifth to one of her house; over her shoulders, for the approach -of evening was cold, she had thrown a cloak of black Russian sables. -She made a figure beautiful, stately, patrician, in keeping with the -background of the great donjon tower, and the pinnacled roofs, and the -bronze warriors in their Gothic niches.</p> - -<p>When she had stood there a few minutes looking down the lake towards -the willows of the monastery island, a boat came out from the willow -thickets, and came over the mile-and-half of green shadowy water. There -was only one person in it. She recognised him whilst he was still far -off, and a smile came on her mouth that it was a pity he could not see.</p> - -<p>He was a bold man, but his heart stood still with awe of her, and his -soul trembled within him at this supreme moment of his fate. For he -believed that she would not have bidden him there unless her hand were -ready to hold out destiny to him—the destiny of his maddest, of his -sweetest, dreams.</p> - -<p>She came forward a few paces to meet him; her face was grave and pale, -but her eyes had a soft suppressed light.</p> - -<p>'I have much for which to thank you,' she said, as she held out her -hand to him. Her voice was tremulous though calm.</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand, then stood silent. It seemed to him that there was -nothing to say. She knew what he would have said if he had been king, -or hero, or meet mate for her. His pulses were beating feverishly, his -self-possession was gone, his eyes did not dare to meet hers. He felt -as if the green woods, the shining waters, the rain-burdened skies were -wheeling round him. That dumbness, that weakness, in a man so facile -of eloquence, so hardy and even cynical in courage, touched her to a -wondering pitifulness.</p> - -<p>'After all,' she thought once more, 'if we love one another what is it -to anyone else? We are both free.'</p> - -<p>If the gift she would give would be so great that the world would blame -him for accepting it, what would that matter so long as she knew him -blameless?</p> - -<p>They were both mute: he did not even look at her, and she might have -heard the beating of his heart. She looked at him and the colour came -back into her face, the smile back upon her mouth.</p> - -<p>'My friend,' she said very gently,'did never you think that I also——'</p> - -<p>She paused: it was very hard to her to say what she must say, and he -could not help her, dared not help her, to utter it.</p> - -<p>They stood thus another moment mute, with the sunset glow upon the -shining water, and upon the feudal majesty of the great castle.</p> - -<p>Then she looked at him with a straight, clear, noble glance, and with -the rich blood mounting in her face, stretched out her hand to him with -a royal gesture.</p> - -<p>'They robbed you of your ivy leaf, my cruel Prussian cousins. Will -you—take—this—instead?'</p> - -<p>Then Heaven itself opened to his eyes. He did not take her hand. He -fell at her feet and kissed them.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> - - -<p>Is it wisest after all to be very unwise, dear mother mine?' she said a -little later, with a smile that was tender and happy.</p> - -<p>The Princess looked up quickly, and so looking understood.</p> - -<p>'Oh, my beloved, is it indeed so? Yes, you are wise to listen to your -heart; God speaks in it!'</p> - -<p>With tears in her eyes she stretched out her pretty hands in solemn -benediction.</p> - -<p>'Be His Spirit for ever with you,' she said with great emotion. 'I -shall be so content to know that I leave you not alone when our Father -calls me, for I think your very greatness and dominion, my dear, but -make you the more lonely, as sovereigns are, and it is not well to be -alone, Wanda; it is well to have human love close about us.'</p> - -<p>'It is to lean on a reed, perhaps,'murmured Wanda, in that persistent -misgiving which possessed her. 'And when the reed breaks, then though -it has been so weak before, it becomes of iron, barbed and poisoned.'</p> - -<p>'What gloomy thoughts! And you have made me so happy, and surely you -are happy yourself?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. My reed is in full flower, but—but—yes, I am happy; I hope that -Bela knows.'</p> - -<p>The Princess kissed her once again.</p> - -<p>'Ah! he loves you so well.'</p> - -<p>'That I am sure of; yet I might never have known it but for you.'</p> - -<p>'I did for the best.'</p> - -<p>'I will send him to you. I want to be alone a little. Dear mother, he -cares for you as tenderly as though he were your son.'</p> - -<p>'I have been his friend always,' said the Princess, with a smile, -whilst the tears still stood in her eyes. 'You cannot say so much, -Wanda; you were very harsh.'</p> - -<p>'I know it. I will atone to him.'</p> - -<p>The eyes of the Princess followed her tenderly.'</p> - -<p>'And she will make her atonement generously, grandly,' she thought. -'She is a woman of few protestations, but of fine impulses and of -unerring magnanimity. She will be incapable of reminding him that -their kingdom is hers. I have done this thing; may Heaven be with it! -If she had loved no one, life would have grown so pale, so chill, so -monotonous to her; she would have tired of herself, having nothing -but herself for contemplation. Solitude has been only grand to her -hitherto because she has been young, but as the years rolled on she -would have died without ever having lived; now she will live. She may -have to bear pains, griefs, infidelities, calamities that she would -have escaped; but even so, how much better the summer day, even with -the summer storm, than the dull, grey, quiet, windless weather! Of -course, if she could have found sanctuary in the Church——But her -faith is not absolute and unwavering enough for that; she has read too -many philosophies; she requires, too, open-air and vigorous life; the -cloister would have been to her a prison. She is one of those whose -religion lies in activity; she will worship God through her children.'</p> - -<p>Sabran entered as she mused, and knelt down before her.</p> - -<p>'You have been my good angel, always,' he murmured. 'How can I thank -you? I think she would never have let her eyes rest on me but for you.'</p> - -<p>The Princess smiled.</p> - -<p>'My friend, you are one of those on whom the eyes of women willingly -rest, perhaps too willingly. But you—you will have no eyes for any -other now? You must deserve my faith in you. Is it not so?'</p> - -<p>'Ah, madame,' he answered with deep emotion, 'all words seem so trite -and empty; any fool can make phrases, but when I say that my life -shall be consecrated to her, I mean it, in the uttermost royalty, the -uttermost gratitude.'</p> - -<p>'I believe you,' said the Princess, as she laid her hand lightly -on his bent head. 'Perhaps no man can understand entirely all that -she surrenders in admitting that she loves you; for a proud woman -to confess so much of weakness is very hard: but I think you will -comprehend her better than any other would. I think you will not force -her to pass the door of disillusion; and remember that though she will -leave you free as air—for she is not made of that poor stuff which -would enslave what it loves—she would not soon forgive too great abuse -of freedom. I mean if you were ever—ever unfaithful——</p> - -<p>'For what do you take me?' he cried, with indignant passion. 'Is there -another woman in the world who could sit beside her, and not be -dwarfed, paled, killed, as a candle by the sun?'</p> - -<p>'You are only her betrothed,' said the Princess, with a little sigh. -'Men see their wives with different eyes; so I have been told, at -least. Familiarity is no courtier, and time is always cruel.'</p> - -<p>'Nay, time shall be our dearest friend,' said Sabran, with a tenderness -in his voice that spoke more constancy than a thousand oaths. 'She will -be beautiful when she is old, as you are; age will neither alarm nor -steal from her; her bodily beauty is like her spiritual, it is cast -in lines too pure and clear not to defy the years. Oh, mother mine! -(let me call you that) fear nothing; I will love her so well that, all -unworthy now, I will grow worthy her, and cause her no moment's pain -that human love can spare her.'</p> - -<p>'Her people shall be your people, and her God your God,' murmured the -Princess, with her hand still lying lightly on his head, obediently -bent.</p> - -<p>When late that night he went across the lake the monks were at their -midnight orisons; their voices murmured as one man's the Latin words of -praise and prayer, and made a sound like that of a great sea rolling -slowly on a lonely shore.</p> - -<p>He believed naught that they believed. Deity was but a phrase to him; -faith and a future life were empty syllables to him. Yet, in the -fulness of his joy and the humiliation of his spirit, he felt his heart -swell, his pride sink subdued. He knelt down in the hush and twilight -of that humble place of prayer, and for the first moment in many years -he also praised God.</p> - -<p>No one heeded him; he knelt behind them in the gloom unnoticed; he rose -refreshed as men in barren lands in drought are soothed by hearing the -glad fall of welcome rain. He had no place there, and in another hour -would have smiled at his own weakness; but now he remembered nothing -except that he, utterly beyond his deserts, was blessed. As the monks -rose to their feet and their loud chanting began to vibrate in the air, -he went out unheard, as he had entered, and stood on the narrow strip -of land that parted the chapel from the lake. The green waters were -rolling freshly in under a strong wind, the shadows of coming night -were stealing on; in the south-west a pale yellow moonlight stretched -broadly in a light serene as dawn, and against it there rose squarely -and darkly with its many turrets the great keep of Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>He looked, but it was not of that great pile and all which it -represented and symbolised that he thought now.</p> - -<p>It was of the woman he loved as a woman, not as a great possessor of -wealth and lands.</p> - -<p>'Almost I wish that she were poor as the saints she resembles!' he -thought, with a tender passion that for the hour was true. It seemed -to him that had he seen her standing in her shift in the snow, like -our Lady of Hungary, discrowned and homeless, he would have been glad. -He was honest with the honesty of passion. It was not the mistress of -Hohenszalras that he loved, but his own wife.</p> - -<p>Such a marriage could not do otherwise than arouse by its announcement -the most angry amazement, the most indignant protests from all the -mighty houses with which for so many centuries the house of Szalras -had allied itself. In a few tranquil sentences she made known her -intentions to those of her relations whom she felt bound thus to -honour; but she gave them clearly to understand that it was a formula -of respect not an act of consultation. When they received her letters -they knew that her marriage was already quite as irrevocable as though -it had already taken place in the Hof-Kapelle of Vienna.</p> - -<p>All her relatives and all her order were opposed to her betrothal; -a cold sufferance was the uttermost which any of them extended to -Sabran. A foreigner and poor, and, with a troubled and uncertain -past behind him, he was bitterly unwelcome to the haughty Prussian, -Austrian, and Hungarian nobilities to which she belonged; neither his -ancient name nor his recent political brilliancy and military service -could place him on an equality with them in their eyes. Her trustees, -the Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe and the Cardinal Vàsàrhely, with her -cousin Kaulnitz, hurried in person as swiftly as special trains could -bring them to the Iselthal, but they were too late to avert the blow.</p> - -<p>'It is not a marriage for her,' said Kaulnitz, angrily.</p> - -<p>'Why not? It is a very old family,' said the Princess, with no less -irritation.</p> - -<p>'But quite decayed, long ruined,' he returned. 'This man was himself -born in exile.'</p> - -<p>'As they exile everybody twice in every ten years in France!</p> - -<p>'And there have been stories——'</p> - -<p>'Of whom are there not stories? Calumny is the parasite of character; -the stronger the character the closer to it clings the strangler.'</p> - -<p>'I never heard him accused of any strength, except of the wrist in -<i>l'escrime!</i>'</p> - -<p>'Do you know anything dishonourable of him? If you do you are bound to -say it.'</p> - -<p>'Dishonourable is a grave word. No, I cannot say that I do; the society -he frequents is a guarantee against that; but his life has been -indifferent, complicated, uncertain, not a life to be allied with that -of such a woman as Wanda. My dear Princess, it has been a life <i>dans le -milieu parisien</i>; what more would you have me say?'</p> - -<p>'Prince Archambaud's has been that. Yet three years since you earnestly -pressed his suit on Wanda.'</p> - -<p>'Archambaud! He is one of the first alliances in Europe; he is of blood -royal, and he has not been more vicious than other men.'</p> - -<p>'It would be better he should have been less so, since he lives so near -'the fierce light that beats upon the throne;' an electric light which -blackens while it illumines! My good Kaulnitz, you wander very far -afield. If you know anything serious against M. de Sabran it is your -duty to say it.'</p> - -<p>'He is a gambler.'</p> - -<p>'He has renounced gambling.'</p> - -<p>'He is a duellist.'</p> - -<p>'Society was of much better constitution when the duel was its habitual -phlebotomy.'</p> - -<p>'He has been the lover of many women.'</p> - -<p>'I am afraid that is nothing singular.'</p> - -<p>'He is hardly more than an adventurer.'</p> - -<p>'He counts his ancestry in unbroken succession from the clays of -Dagobert.</p> - -<p>'He has nothing but a <i>pignon sur rue</i> in Paris, and a league or two of -rocks and sand in Brittany; yet, though so poor, he made money enough -by cards and speculation to be for three years the <i>amant en titre</i> of -Cochonette.'</p> - -<p>Madame Ottilie rose with a little frown.</p> - -<p>'I think we will say no more, my dear Baron; the matter is, after all, -not yours or mine to decide. Wanda will assuredly do as she likes.'</p> - -<p>'But you have so much influence with her.'</p> - -<p>'I have none; no one has any: and I think you do not understand her in -the least. It may cost her very much to avow to him that she loves him, -but once having done that, it will cost her nothing at all to avow it -to the world. She is much too proud a woman to care for the world.'</p> - -<p>'He is <i>gentilhomme de race</i>, I grant,' admitted with reluctance the -Grand Duke of Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>'When has a noble of Brittany been otherwise?' asked the Princess -Ottilie.</p> - -<p>'I know,' said the Prince; 'but you will admit that he occupies a -difficult position—an invidious one.'</p> - -<p>'And he carries himself well through it. It is a difficult position -which is the test of breeding,' said the Princess, triumphantly, 'and -I deny entirely that it is what you call an invidious one. It is you -who have the idea of the crowd when you lay so much stress on the mere -absence of money.'</p> - -<p>'It is the idea of the crowd that dominates in this age.'</p> - -<p>'The more reason for us to resist it, if it be so.'</p> - -<p>'I think you are in love with him yourself, my sister!'</p> - -<p>'I should be were I forty years younger.'</p> - -<p>The Countess Brancka alone wrote with any sort of sympathy and pleasure -to congratulate them both.</p> - -<p>'I was sure that Parsifal would win soon or late,' she said. 'Only -remember that he is a Parsifal <i>doublé</i> by a de Morny.'</p> - -<p>Wanda read that line with contracted brows. It angered her more than -the outspoken remonstrances of the Vàsàrhely, of the Lilienhöhe, of -the Kaulnitz, of the many great families to whom she was allied. -De Morny!—a bastard, an intriguer, a speculator, a debaucher! The -comparison had an evil insinuation, and displeased her!</p> - -<p>She was not a woman, however, likely either for insinuation or -remonstrance to change her decisions or abandon her wishes. She had -so much of the '<i>éternel féminin</i>' in her that she was only the more -resolved in her own course because others, by evil prophecy and -exaggerated fears, sought to turn her from it. What they said was -natural, she granted, but it was unjust and would be unjustified. All -the expostulation, diplomatically hinted or stoutly outspoken, of those -who considered that they had the right to make such remonstrances -produced not the smallest effect upon the mind of the woman whom, as -Baron Kaulnitz angrily expressed it, Sabran had magnetised. Once again -Love was a magician, against whom wisdom, prudence, and friendship had -no power of persuasion.</p> - -<p>The melancholy that she observed in him seemed to her only the more -graceful; there was no vulgar triumph in his own victory, such as -might have suggested that the material advantages of that triumph were -present to him. That he loved her greatly she could not doubt, and that -he had striven to conceal it from her she could not doubt either. The -sadness which at times overcame him was but natural in a proud man, -whose fortunes were unequal to his birth, and who was also sensible of -many brilliant gifts, intellectual, that he had wasted, which, had -they been fully utilised, would have justified his aspiration to her -hand.</p> - -<p>'Try and persuade him,' she said to Mdme. Ottilie, 'to think less of -this mere accident of difference between us. If it were difference of -birth it might be insurmountable or intolerably painful; but a mere -difference of riches matters no more than the colour of one's eyes, or -the inches of one's stature.'</p> - -<p>The Princess shook her head.</p> - -<p>'If he did not feel it as he does, he would not be the man that he -is. A marriage contract to which the lover brings nothing must always -be humiliating to himself. Besides, it seems to him that the world at -large must condemn him as a mere fortune-hunter.'</p> - -<p>'Since I am convinced of the honesty and purity of his motives, what -matters the opinion of others?'</p> - -<p>'How can he tell that the world may not some day induce you to doubt -those motives?'</p> - -<p>Wanda did not reply.</p> - -<p>'But he will cease to think of any disparity when all that is mine has -been his a year or two,' she thought. 'All the people shall look to him -as their lord, since he will be mine; even if I think differently to -him on any matter I will not say it, lest I should remind him that the -power lies with me; he shall be no prince consort, he shall be king.'</p> - -<p>As the generous resolve passed dreamily through her mind she was -listening to the Coronation Mass of Liszt, as he played it on the organ -within. It sounded to her like the hymn of the future; a chorus of -grave and glorious voices shouting welcome to the serene and joyous -years to come.</p> - -<p>When she was next alone with him she said to him very tenderly:</p> - -<p>'I want you to promise me one thing.'</p> - -<p>'I promise you all things. What is this one?'</p> - -<p>'It is this: you are troubled at the thought that I have one of those -great fortunes which form the <i>acte d'accusation</i> of socialists against -society, and that you have lost all except the rocks and salt beach of -Romans. Now I want you to promise me never to think of this fact. It -is beneath you. Fortune is so precarious a thing, so easily destroyed -by war or revolution, that it is not worth contemplation as a serious -barrier between human beings. A treachery, a sin, even a lie, any one -of those may be a wall of adamant, but a mere fortune!—Promise me that -you will never think of mine, except inasmuch, my beloved, as it may -enhance my happiness by ministering to yours.'</p> - -<p>He had grown very pale as she spoke, and his lips had twice parted to -speak without words coming from them. When she had ceased he still -remained silent.</p> - -<p>'I do not like the world to come between us, even in a memory; it is -too much flattery to it,' she continued. 'Surely it is treason against -me to be troubled by what a few silly persons will or will not say in a -few salons? You have too little vanity, I think, where others have too -much!'</p> - -<p>He stooped and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'Could any man live and fail to be humble before you?' he said with -passionate tenderness. 'Yes, the world will say, and say rightly, that -I have done a base thing, and I cannot forget that the world will be -right; yet since you honour me with your divine pity, can I turn away -from it? Could a dying man refuse a draught of the water of life?'</p> - -<p>A great agitation mastered him for the moment. He hid his face upon her -hands as he held them clasped in his.</p> - -<p>'We will drink that wafer together, and as long as we are together it -will never be bitter, I think,' she said very softly.</p> - -<p>Her voice seemed to sink into his very soul, so much it said of faith, -so much it aroused of remorse.</p> - -<p>Then the great joy which had entered his life, like a great dazzling -flood of light suddenly let loose into a darkened chamber, so blinded -consumed, and intoxicated him, that he forgot all else; all else save -this one fact—she would be his, body and soul, night and day, in life -and in death for ever; his children borne by her, his life spent with -her, her whole existence surrendered to him.</p> - -<p>For some days after that she mused upon the possibility of rendering -him entirely independent of herself, without insulting him by a direct -offer of a share in her possessions. At last a solution occurred -to her. The whole of the fiefs of Idrac constituted a considerable -appanage apart; its title went with it. When it had come into the -Szalras family by marriage, as far back as the fifteenth century, it -had been a principality; it was still a seigneurie, and many curious -feudal privileges and distinctions went with it.</p> - -<p>It was Idrac now that she determined to abandon to her lover.</p> - -<p>'He will be seigneur of Idrac,' she thought, 'and I shall be so glad -for him to bear an Austrian name.'</p> - -<p>'She herself would always retain her own name, and would take no other.</p> - -<p>'We will go and revisit it together,' she thought, and though she -was all alone' at that moment, a soft warmth came into her face, and -a throb of emotion to her heart, as she remembered all that would lie -in that one word 'together,' all the tender and intimate union of the -years to come.</p> - -<p>Her trustees were furious, and sought the aid of the men of law to -enable them to step in and arrest her in what they deemed a course -of self-destruction, but the law could not give them so much power; -she was her own mistress, and as sole inheritrix had received her -possessions singularly untrammelled by restrictions. In vain Prince -Lilienhöhe spent his severe and chilly anger, Kaulnitz his fine -sarcasm and delicate insinuations, and the Cardinal his stately and -authoritative wrath. She was not to be altered in her decision.</p> - -<p>Austrian law allowed her to give away an estate to her husband if she -chose, and there was nothing in the private settlements of her property -to prevent her availing herself of the law.</p> - -<p>Strenuous opposition was encountered by her to this project, by every -one of her relatives, hardly excluding the Princess Ottilie; 'for,' -said that sagacious recluse, 'your horses may show you, my dear, the -dangers of a rein too loose.'</p> - -<p>'I want no rein at all,' said Wanda. 'You forget that, to my thinking, -marriage should never be bondage; two people with independent wills, -tastes, and habits should mutually concede a perfect independence of -action to each other. When one must yield, it must be the woman.'</p> - -<p>'Those are very fine theories,' the Princess remarked with caution.</p> - -<p>'I hope we shall put them in practice,' said Wanda, with unruffled good -humour. 'Dear mother, I am sure you can understand that I want him -to feel he is wholly independent of me. To what I love best on earth -shall I dole out a niggard largesse from my wealth? If I were capable -of doing so he would grow in time to hate me, and his hatred would be -justified.'</p> - -<p>'I never should have supposed you would become so romantic,' said the -Princess.</p> - -<p>'It will make him independent of you,' objected Prince Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>'That is what, beyond all, I desire him to be,' she answered.</p> - -<p>'It is an infatuation,' sighed Cardinal Vàsàrhely, out of her hearing, -'when Egon would have brought to her a fortune as large as her own.'</p> - -<p>'You think water should always run to the sea,' said Princess Ottilie; -'surely that is great waste sometimes?'</p> - -<p>'I think you are as infatuated as she is,' murmured the Cardinal. 'You -forget that had she not been inspired with this unhappy sentiment she -would have most probably left Hohenszalras to the Church.'</p> - -<p>'She would have done nothing of the kind. Your Eminence mistakes,' -answered Madame Ottilie, sharply. 'Hohenszalras and everything else, -had she died unmarried, would have certainly gone to the Habsburgs.'</p> - -<p>That would have been better than to an adventurer.'</p> - -<p>'How can you call a Breton noble ah adventurer? It is one of the purest -aristocracies of the world, if poor.'</p> - -<p>'<i>Ce que femme veut</i>,' sighed his Eminence, who knew how often even the -Church had been worsted by women.</p> - -<p>The Countess von Szalras had her way, and although when the -marriage-deeds were drawn up they all set aside completely any -possibility of authority or of interference on the part of her husband, -and maintained in the clearest and firmest manner her entire liberty of -action and enjoyment of inalienable properties and powers, she had the -deed of gift of Idrac locked up in her cabinet, and thought to herself, -as the long dreary preamble and provisions of the law were read aloud -to her, 'So will he be always his own master. What pleasure that your -hawk stays by you if you chain him to your wrist? If he love you he -will sail back uncalled from the longest flight. I think mine always -will. If not—if not—well, he must go!'</p> - -<p>One morning she came to him with a great roll of yellow parchment -emblazoned and with huge seals bearing heraldic arms and crowns. She -spread it out before him as they stood alone in the Rittersaal. He -looked scarcely at it, always at her. She wore a gown of old gold plush -that gleamed and glowed as she moved, and she had a knot of yellow -tea-roses at her breast, fastened in with a little dagger of sapphires. -She had never looked more truly a great lady, more like a châtelaine of -the Renaissance, as she spread out the great roll of parchment before -him on one of the tables of the knights' hall.</p> - -<p>'Look!' she said to him. 'I had the lawyers bring this over for you -to see. It is the deed by which Stephen, first Christian King of -Hungary, confirmed to the Counts of Idrac in the year 1001 all their -feudal rights to that town and district, as a fief. They had been -lords there long before. Look at it; here, farther down you see is the -reconfirmation of the charter under the Habsburg seal, when Hungary -passed to them; but you do not attend, where are your eyes?'</p> - -<p>'On you! Carolus Duran must paint you again in that dead gold with -those roses.'</p> - -<p>'They are only hothouse roses; who cares for them? I love no forced -flowers either in nature or humanity. Come, study this old parchment. -It must have some interest for you. It is what makes you lord of Idrac.'</p> - -<p>'What have I to do with Idrac? It is one of the many jewels of your -coronet, to which I can add none!'</p> - -<p>But to please her he bent over the crabbed black letter and the antique -blazonings of the great roll to which the great dead men had set their -sign and seal. She watched him as he read it, then after a little time -she put her hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>'My love, I can do just as I will with Idrac. The lawyers are agreed on -that, and the Kaiser will confirm whatever I do. Now I want to give you -Idrac, make you wholly lord of it; indeed, the thing is already done. I -have signed all the documents needful, and, as I say, the Emperor will -confirm any part of them that needs his assent. My Réné, you are a very -proud man, but you will not be too proud to take Idrac and its title -from your wife. But for that town who can say that our lives might not -have been passed for ever apart? Why do you look so grave? The Kaiser -and I both want you to be Austrian. When I transfer to you the fief of -Idrac you are its Count for evermore.'</p> - -<p>He drew a quick deep breath as if he had been struck a blow, and stood -gazing at her. He did not speak, his eyes darkened as with pain. For -the moment she was afraid that she had wounded him. With exquisite -softness of tone and touch she took his hand and said to him tenderly:</p> - -<p>'Why will you be so proud? After all, what are these things? Since -we love one another, what is mine is yours; a formula more or less -is no offence. It is my fancy that you should have the title and the -fief. The people know you there, and your heroic courage will be for -ever amongst their best traditions. Dear! once I read that it needs a -greater soul to take generously than to give. Be great so, now, for my -sake!'</p> - -<p>'Great!' he echoed the word hoarsely, and a smile of bitter irony -passed for a moment over his features. But he controlled the passionate -self-contempt that rose in him. He knew that whatever else he was, -he was her lover, and her hero in her sight. If the magnitude and -magnanimity of her gifts overwhelmed and oppressed him, he was recalled -to self-control by the sense of her absolute faith in him. He pressed -her hands against his heavily-beating heart.</p> - -<p>'All the greatness is with you, my beloved,' he said with effort. -'Since you delight to honour me, I can but strive my utmost to deserve -your honour. It is like your beautiful and lavish nature to be prodigal -of gifts. But when you give yourself, what need is there for aught -else?'</p> - -<p>'But Idrac is my caprice. You must gratify it.'</p> - -<p>'I will take the title gladly at your hands then. The revenues—No.'</p> - -<p>'You must take it all, the town and the title, and all they bring,' she -insisted. 'In truth, but for you there would possibly be no town at -all. Nay, my dear, you must do me this little pleasure; it will become -you so well that Countship of Idrac: it is as old a place as Vindobona -itself.'</p> - -<p>'Do you not understand?' she added, with a flush on her face. 'I want -you to feel that it is wholly yours; that if I die, or if you leave me, -it remains yours still. Oh, I do not doubt you; not for one moment. But -liberty is always good. And Idrac will make you an Austrian noble in -your own right. If you persist in refusing it I will assign it to the -Crown; you will pain me and mortify me.'</p> - -<p>'That is enough! Never wittingly in my life will I hurt you. But if you -wish me to be lord of Idrac, invest me with the title, my Empress. I -will take it and be proud of it; and as for the revenues—well, we will -not quarrel for them. They shall go to make new dykes and new bastions -for the town, or pile themselves one on another in waiting for your -children.'</p> - -<p>She smiled and her face grew warm as she turned aside and took up one -of the great swords with jewelled hilts and damascened scabbards, which -were ranged along the wall of the Rittersaal with other stands of arms.</p> - -<p>She drew the sword, and as he fell on his knee before her smote him -lightly on the shoulder with its blade.</p> - -<p>'Rise, Graf von Idrac!' she said, stooping and touching his forehead -with the bouquet that she wore at her breast. He loosened one of the -roses and held it to his lips.</p> - -<p>'I swear my fealty now and for ever,' he said with emotion, and his -face was paler and his tone was graver than the playfulness of the -moment seemed to call for in him.</p> - -<p>'Would to Heaven I had had no other name than this one you give me,' -he murmured as he rose. 'Oh, my love, my lady, my guardian angel! -Forget that ever I lived before, forget all my life when I was unworthy -you; let me live only from the day that will make me your vassal and -your——'</p> - -<p>'That will make you my lord!' she said softly; then she stooped, and -for the first time kissed him.</p> - -<p>What caused her the only pain that disturbed the tranquillity of these -cloudless days was the refusal of her cousin Egon to be present at -her marriage. He sent her, with some great jewels that had come from -Persia, a few words of sad and wistful affection.</p> - -<p>'My presence,' he added in conclusion, 'is no more needed for your -happiness than are these poor diamonds and pearls needed in your -crowded jewel-cases. You will spare me a trial, which it could be of no -benefit to you for me to suffer. I pray that the Marquis de Sabran may -all his life be worthy of the immense trust and honour which you have -seen fit to give to him. For myself, I have been very little always in -your life. Henceforth I shall be nothing. But if ever you call on me -for any service—which it is most unlikely you ever will do—I entreat -you to remember that there is no one living who will more gladly or -more humbly do your bidding at all cost than I, your cousin Egon.'</p> - -<p>The short letter brought tears to her eyes. She said nothing of it to -Sabran. He had understood from Mdme. Ottilie that Prince Vàsàrhely had -loved his cousin hopelessly for many years, and could not be expected -to be present at her marriage.</p> - -<p>In a week from that time their nuptials were celebrated in the Court -Chapel of the Hofburg at Vienna, with all the pomp and splendour that -a brilliant and ceremonious Court could lend to the espousal of one of -the greatest ladies of the old Duchy of Austria.</p> - -<p>Immediately after the ceremony they left the capital for Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>At the signing of the contract on the previous night, when he had taken -up the pen he had grown very pale; he had hesitated a moment, and -glanced around him on the magnificent crowd, headed by the Emperor and -Empress, with a gleam of fear and of anxiety in his eyes, which Baron -Kaulnitz, who was intently watching him, had alone perceived.</p> - -<p>'There is something. What is it?' had mused the astute German.</p> - -<p>It was too late to seek to know. Sabran had bent down over the -parchment, and with a firm hand had signed his name and title.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> - - -<p>It was midsummer once more in the Iselthal, five years and a half after -the celebration at the Imperial palace of those nuptials which had been -so splendid that their magnificence had been noticeable even at that -magnificent Court. The time had seemed to her like one long, happy, -cloudless day, and if to him there had come any fatigue, any satiety, -any unrest, such as almost always come to the man in the fruition of -his passion, he suffered her to see none of them.</p> - -<p>It was one of those rare marriages in which no gall of a chain is felt, -but a quick and perfect sympathy insures that harmony which passion -alone is insufficient to sustain. He devoted himself with ardour to the -care of the immense properties that belonged to his wife; he brought -to their administration a judgment and a precision that none had looked -for in a man of pleasure; he entered cordially into all her schemes for -the well-being of her people dependent on her, and carried them out -with skill and firmness. The revenues of Idrac he never touched; he -left them to accumulate for his younger son, or expended them on the -township itself, where he was adored.</p> - -<p>If he were still the same man who had been the lover of Cochonette, -the terror of Monte Carlo, the hero of night-long baccara and frontier -duels, he had at least so banished the old Adam that it appeared wholly -dead. Nor was the death of it feigned. He had flung away the slough -of his old life with a firm hand, and the peace, the dignity of his -present existence were very precious to him. He was glad to steep -himself in them, as a tired and fevered wayfarer was glad to bathe his -dusty and heated limbs in the cool, clear waters of the Szalrassee. And -he loved his wife with a great love, in which reverence, and gratitude, -and passion were all blent. Possession had not dulled, nor familiarity -blunted it. She was still to him a sovereign, a saint, a half divine -creature, who had stooped to become mortal for his sake, and his -children's.</p> - -<p>The roses were all aglow on the long lawns and under the grey walls -and terraces; the sunbeams were dancing on the emerald surface of the -Szalrassee.</p> - -<p>'What a long spell of fair weather,' said Sabran, as they sat beneath -the great yews beside the keep.</p> - -<p>'It is like our life,' said his wife, who was doing nothing but -watching the clouds circle round the domes and peaks, which, white as -ivory, dazzling and clear, towered upward in the blue air like a mighty -amphitheatre.</p> - -<p>She had borne him three children in these happy years, the eldest of -whom, Bela, played amidst the daisies at her feet, a beautiful fair boy -with his father's features and his father's luminous blue eyes. The -other two, Gela and the little Ottilie, who had seen but a few months -of life, were asleep within doors in their carved ivory cots. They were -all handsome, vigorous, and of perfect promise.</p> - -<p>'Have I deserved to be so happy?' she would often think, she whom the -world called so proud.</p> - -<p>'Bela grows so like you!' she said now to his father, who stood near -her wicker chair.</p> - -<p>'Does he?' said Sabran, with a quick glance that had some pain in it, -at the little face of his son. 'Then if the other one be more like you -it will be he who will be dearest to me.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he bowed his head down and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>She smiled gravely and sweetly in his eyes.</p> - -<p>'That will be our only difference, I think! It is time, perhaps, that -we began to have one. Do you think there are two other people in all -the world who have passed five years and more together without once -disagreeing?'</p> - -<p>'In all the world there is not another Countess Wanda!'</p> - -<p>'Ah! that is your only defect; you will always avoid argument by -escaping through the side-door of compliment. It is true, to be sure, -that your flattery is a very high and subtle art.'</p> - -<p>'It is like all high art then, based on what is eternally true.'</p> - -<p>'You will always have the last word, and it is always so graceful a -one that it is impossible to quarrel with it. But, Réné, I want you -to speak without compliment to me for once. Tell me, are you indeed -never—never—a little weary of being here?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated a moment and a slight flush came on his face.</p> - -<p>She observed both signs, slight as they were, and sighed; it was the -first sigh she had ever breathed since her marriage.</p> - -<p>'Of course you are, of course you must be,' she said quickly. 'It has -been selfish and blameable of me never to think of it before. It is -paradise to me, but no doubt to you, used as you have been to the stir -of the world, there, must be some tedium, some dulness in this mountain -isolation. I ought to have remembered that before.'</p> - -<p>'You need do nothing of the kind, now,' he said. 'Who has been talking -to you? Who has brought this little snake into our Eden?'</p> - -<p>'No one; and it is not a snake at all, but a natural reflection. -Hohenszalras and you are the world to me, but I cannot expect that -Hohenszalras and I can be quite as much to yourself. It is always the -difference between the woman and the man. You have great talents; you -are ambitious.'</p> - -<p>'Were I as ambitious as Alexander, surely I have gained wherewithal to -be content!'</p> - -<p>'That is only compliment again, or if truth it is only a side of the -truth. Nay, love, I do not think for a moment you are tired of me; -I am too self-satisfied for that! But I think it is possible that -this solitude may have grown, or may grow, wearisome to you; that you -desire, perhaps without knowing it, to be more amidst the strife, -the movement, and the pleasures of men. Aunt Ottilie calls this -"confinement to a fortress;" now that is a mere pleasantry, but if ever -you should feel tempted to feel what she feels, have confidence enough -in my good sense and in my affection to say so to me, and then——.'</p> - -<p>'And then? We will suppose I have this ingratitude and bad taste, what -then?'</p> - -<p>'Why then, my own wishes should not stand for one instant in the way -of yours, or rather I would make yours mine. And do not use the word -ingratitude, my dearest; there can be no question of that betwixt you -and me.'</p> - -<p>'Yes,' said Sabran, as he stooped towards her and touched her hair -with his lips. 'When you gave me yourself, you made me your debtor -for all time; would have made me so had you been as poor as you are -rich. When I speak of gratitude it is of <i>that</i> gift, I think, not of -Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>A warmth of pleasure flushed her cheek for a moment, and she smiled -happily.</p> - -<p>'You shall not beg the question so,' she said, with gentle insistence -after a moment's pause. 'I have not forgotten your eloquence in the -French Chamber.' You are that rare thing a born orator. You are -not perhaps fitted to be a statesman, for I doubt if you would have -the application or bear the tedium necessary, but you have every -qualification for a diplomatist, a foreign minister.'</p> - -<p>'I have not the first qualification, I have no country!'</p> - -<p>She looked at him, in surprise—he spoke with bitterness and -self-contempt; but in a moment he had added quickly:—</p> - -<p>'France is nothing to me now, and though I am Austrian by all ties and -affections, I am not an Austrian before the law.'</p> - -<p>'That is hardly true,' she answered, satisfied with the explanation. -'Since France is little to you you could be naturalised here whenever -you chose, even if Idrac have not made you a Croat noble, as I believe -the lawyers would say it had; and the Emperor, who knows and admires -you, would, I think, at once give you gladly any mission you preferred; -you would make so graceful, so perfect, so envied an ambassador! -Diplomacy has indeed little force now, yet tact still tells wherever -it be found, and it is as rare as blue roses in the unweeded garden of -the world. I do not speak for myself, dear; that you know. Hohenszalras -is my beloved home, and it was enough for me before I knew you, and -nowhere else could life ever seem to me so true, so high, so simple, -and so near to God as here. But I do remember that men weary even of -happiness when it is unwitnessed, and require the press and stir of -emulation and excitation; and, if you feel that want, say so. Have -confidence enough in me to believe that your welfare will be ever my -highest law. Promise me this.'</p> - -<p>He changed colour slightly at her generous and trustful words, but he -answered without a moment's pause:</p> - -<p>'Whenever I am so thankless to fate I will confess it. No; the world -and I never valued one another much. I am far better here in the heart -of your mountains. Here only have I known peace and rest.'</p> - -<p>He spoke with a certain effort and emotion, and he stooped over his -little son and raised him on her knees.</p> - -<p>'These children shall grow up at Hohenszalras,' he continued, 'and you -shall teach them your love of the open air, the mountain solitudes, the -simple people, the forest creatures, the influences and the ways of -nature. You care for all those things, and they make up true wisdom, -true contentment. As for myself, if you always love me I shall ask no -more of fate.'</p> - -<p>'If! Can you be afraid?'</p> - -<p>'Sometimes. One always fears to lose what one has never merited.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, my love, do not be so humble! If you saw yourself as I see you, -you would be very proud.'</p> - -<p>She smiled as she spoke, and stretched her hand out to him over the -golden head of her child.</p> - -<p>He took it and held it against his heart, clasped in both his own. -Bela, impatient, slipped off his mother's lap to pursue his capture of -the daisies; the butterflies were forbidden joys, and he was obedient, -though in his own little way he was proud and imperious. But there -was a blue butterfly just in front of him, a Lycœna Adonis, like a -little bit of the sky come down and dancing about; he could not resist, -he darted at it. As he was about to seize it she caught his fingers.</p> - -<p>'I have told you, Bela, you are never to touch anything that flies or -moves. You are cruel.'</p> - -<p>He tried to get away, and his face grew very warm and passionate.</p> - -<p>'Bela will be cruel, if he like,' he said, knitting his pretty brows.</p> - -<p>Though he was not more than four years old he knew very well that he -was the Count Bela, to whom all the people gave homage, crowding to -kiss his tiny hand after Mass on holy-days. He was a very beautiful -child, and all the prettier for his air of pride and resolution; he had -been early put on a little mountain pony, and could ride fearlessly -down the forest glades with Otto. All the imperiousness of the great -race which had dealt out life and death so many centuries at their -caprice through the Hohe Tauern seemed to have been inherited by him, -coupled with a waywardness and a vanity that were not traits of the -house of Szalras. It was impossible, even though those immediately -about him were wise and prudent, to wholly prevent the effects of the -adulation with which the whole household was eager to wait on every -whim of the little heir.</p> - -<p>'Bela wishes it!' he would say, with an impatient frown, whenever his -desire was combated or crossed: he had already the full conviction that -to be Bela was to have full right to rule the world, including in it -his brother Gela, who was of a serious, mild, and yielding disposition, -and gave up to him in all things. As compensating qualities he was very -affectionate and sensitive, and easily moved to self-reproach.</p> - -<p>With a step Sabran reached him. 'You dare to disobey your mother?' he -said, sternly. 'Ask her forgiveness at once. Do you hear?'</p> - -<p>Bela, who had never heard his father speak in such a tone, was very -frightened, and lost all his colour; but he was resolute, and had been -four years old on Ascension Day. He remained silent and obstinate.</p> - -<p>Sabran put his hand heavily on the child's shoulder.</p> - -<p>'Do you hear me, sir? Ask her pardon this moment.'</p> - -<p>Bela was now fairly stunned into obedience.</p> - -<p>'Bela is sorry,' he murmured. 'Bela begs pardon.'</p> - -<p>Then he burst into tears.</p> - -<p>'You alarmed him rather too much. He is so very young,' she said to his -father, when the child, forgiven and consoled, had trotted off to his -nurse, who came for him.</p> - -<p>'He shall obey you, and find his law in your voice, or I will alarm him -more,' he said, with some harshness. 'If I thought he would ever give -you a moment's sorrow I should hate him!'</p> - -<p>It was not the first time that Sabran had seen his own more evil -qualities look at him from the beautiful little face of his elder son, -and at each of those times a sort of remorse came upon him. 'I was -unworthy to beget <i>her</i> children,' he thought, with the self-reproach -that seldom left him, even amidst the deep tranquility of his -satisfied passions, and his perfect peace of life. Who could tell what -trials, what pains, what shame even, might not fall on her in the years -to come, with the errors that her offspring would have in them from his -blood?</p> - -<p>'It is foolish,' she murmured, 'he is but a baby; yet it hurts one to -see the human sin, the human wrath, look out from the infant eyes. It -hurts one to remember, to realise, that one's own angel, one's own -little flower, has the human curse born with it. I express myself ill; -do you know what I mean? No, you do not, dear; you are a man. He is -your son, and because he will be handsome and brave you will be proud -of him; but he is not a young angel, not a blossom from Eden to you.'</p> - -<p>'You are my religion,' he answered, 'you shall be his. When he grows -older he shall learn that to be born of such a mother as you is to -enter the kingdom of heaven by inheritance. Shall he be unworthy -that inheritance because he bears in him also the taint of my sorry -passions, of my degraded humanity?'</p> - -<p>'Dear! I too am only an erring creature. I am not perfect as you think -me.'</p> - -<p>'As I know you and as my children shall know you to be.'</p> - -<p>'You love me too well,' she said again; 'but it is a <i>beau défaut</i>, -and I would not have you lose it.'</p> - -<p>'I shall never lose it whilst I have life,' he said, with truth and -passion. 'I prize it more because most unworthy it.'</p> - -<p>She looked at him surprised, and vaguely troubled at the self-reproach -and the self-scorn of his passionate utterance. Seeing that surprise -and trouble in her glance, he controlled the emotion that for the -moment mastered him.</p> - -<p>'Ah, love!' he said quickly and truly, 'if you could but guess how -gross and base a man's life seems to him contrasted with the life of -a pure and noble woman! Being born of you, those children, I think, -should be as faultless and as soilless as those pearls that lie on your -breast. But then they are mine also; so already on that boy's face one -sees the sins of revolt, of self-will, of cruelty—being mine also, -your living pearls are dulled and stained!'</p> - -<p>A greater remorse than she dreamed of made his heart ache as he said -these words; but she heard in them only the utterance of that extreme -and unwavering devotion to her which he had shown in all his acts and -thoughts from the first hours of their union.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Princess Ottilie was scarcely less happy than they in the -realisation of her dreams and prophecies. Those who had been most -bitterly opposed to her alliance with him could find no fault in his -actions and his affections.</p> - -<p>'I always said that Wanda ought to marry, since she had plainly no -vocation for the cloister,' she said a hundred times a year. 'And I was -certain that M. de Sabran was the person above all others to attract -and to content her. She has much more imagination than she would be -willing to allow and he is capable at once of fascinating her fancy -and of satisfying her intellect. No one can be dull where he is; he is -one of those who make <i>la pluie et le beau temps</i> by his absence or -presence; and, besides that, no commonplace affection would have ever -been enough for her. And he loves her like a poet, which he is at once -whenever he leaves the world for Beethoven and Bach. I cannot imagine -why you should have opposed the marriage, merely because he had not two -millions in the Bank of France.'</p> - -<p>'Not for that,' answered the Grand Duke; 'rather because he broke the -bank of Monte Carlo, and other similar reasons. A great player of -baccara is scarcely the person to endow with the wealth of the Szalras.'</p> - -<p>'The wealth is tied up tightly enough at the least, and you will admit -that he was yet more eager than you that it should be so.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, yes! he behaved very well. I never denied it. But she has placed -it in his power to make away with the whole of Idrac, if he should ever -choose. That was very unwise, but we had no power to oppose.'</p> - -<p>'You may be quite sure that Idrac will go intact to the second son, as -it has always done; and I believe but for his own exertions Idrac would -now be beneath the Danube waters. Perhaps you never heard all that -story of the flood?'</p> - -<p>'I only hope that if I have detractors you will defend me from them,' -said Prince Lilienhöhe, giving up argument.</p> - -<p>Fair weather is always especially fair in the eyes of those who have -foretold at sunset that the morrow would be fine; and so the married -life of Wanda von Szalras was especially delightful as an object of -contemplation, as a theme of exultation, to the Princess, who alone had -been clear-sighted enough to foresee the future. She really also loved -Sabran like a son, and took pride and pleasure in the filial tenderness -he showed her, and in his children, with the beautiful blue eyes that -had gleams of light in them like sapphires. The children themselves -adored her; and even the bold and wilful Bela was as quiet as a -startled fawn beside this lovely little lady, with her snow-white hair -and her delicate smile, whose cascades of lace always concealed such -wonderful bon-bon boxes, and gilded cosaques, and illuminated stories -of the saints.</p> - -<p>Almost all their time was spent at Hohenszalras. A few winter months -in Vienna was all they had ever passed away from it, except one visit -to Idrac and the Hungarian estates. The children never left it for -a day. He shared her affection for the place, and for the hardy and -frank mountain people around them. He seemed to her to entirely forget -Romaris, and beyond the transmission of moneys to its priest, he -took no heed of it. She hesitated to recall it to him, since to do -so might have seemed to remind him that it was she, not he, who was -suzerain in the Hohe Tauern. Romaris was but a bleak rock, a strip of -sea-swept sand; it was natural that it should have no great hold on his -affections, only recalling as it did all that its lords had lost.</p> - -<p>'I hate its name,' he said impetuously once; and seeing the surprise -upon her face, he added: 'I was very lonely and wretched there; I -tried to take interest in it because you bade me, but I failed; all -I saw, all I thought of, was yourself, and I believed you as far and -for ever removed from me as though you had dwelt in some other planet. -No! perhaps I am superstitious: I do not wish you to go to Romaris. I -believe it would bring us misfortune. The sea is full of treachery, the -sands are full of graves.'</p> - -<p>She smiled.</p> - -<p>'Superstition is a sort of parody of faith; I am sure you are not -superstitious. I do not care to go to Romaris; I like to cheat myself -into the belief that you were born and bred in the Iselthal. Otto said -to me the other day, "My lord must be a son of the soil, or how could -he know our mountains so well as he does, and how could he anywhere -have learned to shoot like that?"'</p> - -<p>'I am very glad that Otto does me so much honour. When he first met -me, he would have shot me like a fox, if you had given the word. Ah, my -love! how often I think of you that day, in your white serge, with your -girdle of gold, and your long gold-headed staff, and your little ivory -horn. You were truly a châtelaine of the old mystical German days. -You had some <i>Schlüsselblumen</i> in your hand. They were indeed the key -flower to my soul, though, alas! treasures, I fear, you found none on -your entrance there.'</p> - -<p>'I shall not answer you, since to answer would be to flatter you, and -Aunt Ottilie already, does that more than is good for you,' she said -smiling, as she passed her fingers over the waves of his hair. 'By the -way, whom shall we invite to meet the Lilienhöhe? Will you make out a -list?'</p> - -<p>'The Grand Duke does not share Frau Ottilie's goodness for me.'</p> - -<p>'What would you? He has been made of buckram and parchment; besides -which; nothing that is not German has, to his mind, any right to exist. -By the way, Egon wrote to me this morning; he will be here at last.'</p> - -<p>He looked up quickly in unspoken alarm: 'Your cousin Egon? Here?'</p> - -<p>'Why are you so surprised? I was sure that sooner or later he would -conquer that feeling of being unable to meet you. I begged him to come -now; it is eight whole years since I have seen him. When once you have -met you will be friends—for my sake.'</p> - -<p>He was silent; a look of trouble and alarm was still upon his face.</p> - -<p>'Why should you suppose it any easier to him now than then?' he said at -length. 'Men who love <i>you</i> do not change. There are women who compel -constancy, <i>sans le vouloir</i>. The meeting can but be painful to Prince -Vàsàrhely.'</p> - -<p>'Dear Réné,' she answered in some surprise, 'my nearest male relative -and I cannot go on for ever without seeing each other. Even these years -have done Egon a great deal of harm. He has been absent from the Court -for fear of meeting us. He has lived with his hussars, or voluntarily -confined to his estates, until he grows morose and solitary. I am -deeply attached to him. I do not wish to have the remorse upon me of -having caused the ruin of his gallant and brilliant life. When he -has been once here he will like you: men who are brave have always -a certain sympathy. When he has seen you here he will realise that -destiny is unchangeable, and grow reconciled to the knowledge that I am -your wife.'</p> - -<p>Sabran gave an impatient gesture of denial, and began to write the list -of invitations for the autumn circle of guests who were to meet the -Prince and Princess of Lilienhöhe.</p> - -<p>Once every summer and every autumn Hohenszalras was filled with a -brilliant house-party, for she sacrificed her own personal preferences -to what she believed to be for the good of her husband. She knew that -men cannot always live alone; that contact with the world is needful to -their minds and bracing for it. She had a great dread lest the ghost -<i>ennui</i> should show his pale face over her husband's shoulder, for -she realised that from the life of the asphalte of the Champs-Élysées -to the life amidst the pine forests of the Iselthal was an abrupt -transition that might easily bring tedium in its train. And tedium is -the most terrible and the most powerful foe love ever encounters.</p> - -<p>Sabran completed the list, and when he had corrected it into due -accordance with all Lilienhöhe's personal and political sympathies and -antipathies, despatched the invitations, 'for eight days,' written on -cards that bore the joint arms of the Counts of Idrac and the Counts of -Szalras. He had adopted the armorial bearings of the countship of Idrac -as his own, and seemed disposed to abandon altogether those of the -Sabrans of Romaris.</p> - -<p>When they were written he went out by himself and rode long and fast -through the mists of a chilly afternoon, through dripping forest ways -and over roads where little water-courses spread in shining shallows. -The coming of Egon Vàsàrhely troubled him and alarmed him. He had -always dreaded his first meeting with the Magyar noble; and as the -years had dropped by one after another, and her cousin had failed -to find courage to see her again, he had begun to believe that they -and Vàsàrhely would remain always strangers. His wish had begotten -his thought. He knew that she wrote at intervals to her cousin, and -he to her; he knew that at the birth of each of their children some -magnificent gift, with a formal letter of felicitation, had come from -the Colonel of the White Hussars; but as time had gone on and Prince -Egon had avoided all possibility of meeting them, he had grown to -suppose that the wound given her rejected lover was too profound ever -to close; nor did he wonder that it was so: it seemed to him that any -man who loved her must do so for all eternity, if eternity there should -be. To learn suddenly that within another month Vàsàrhely would be his -guest, distressed and alarmed him in a manner she never dreamed. They -had been so happy. On their cloud less heaven there seemed to him to -rise a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, but bearing with it disaster -and a moonless night.</p> - -<p>'Perhaps he will have forgotten,' he thought, as he strove to shake off -his forebodings. 'We were so young then. He was not even as old as I!'</p> - -<p>And he rode fast and furiously homewards as the day drew in, and the -lighted windows of the great castle seemed to smile at him as lie saw -it high up above the darkness of the woods and of the evening mists, -his home, beloved, sacred, infinitely dear to him; dear as the soil of -the mother country which the wrecked mariner reaches after facing death -on the deep sea.</p> - -<p>'God save her from suffering by me!' he said, in an unconscious prayer, -as he drew rein before the terrace of Hohenszalras. Almost he believed -in God through her.</p> - -<p>When, after dressing, he went into, the Saxe room, the peace and -beauty of the scene had never struck him so strongly as it did now, -coming out of the shadows of the wet woods and the gloom of his own -anxieties; anxieties the heavier and the more wearing because they -could be shared by no one. The soft, full light of the wax candles fell -on the Louis Seize embroideries and the white woodwork of the panelling -and the china borders of the mirrors. The Princess Ottilie sat making -silk-netting for the children's balls; his wife was reading, and Bela -and Gela, who were there for their privileged half-hour before dinner, -were fitting together on a white bearskin, playing with the coloured -balls of the game of solitaire. The soft light from the chandeliers -and sconces of the Saxe Royale china fell on the golden heads and the -velvet frocks of the children, on the old laces and the tawny-coloured -plush of their mothers skirts, on the great masses of flowers in the -Saxe bowls, and on the sleeping forms of the big dogs Donau and Neva. -It was an interior that would have charmed Chardin, that would have -been worthy of Vandyck.</p> - -<p>As he looked at it he thought with a sort of ecstasy, 'All that is -mine;' and then his heartstrings tightened as he thought again, 'If she -knew——?'</p> - -<p>She looked up at his entrance with a welcome on her face that needed no -words.</p> - -<p>'Where have you been in the rain all this long afternoon?' You see we -have a fire, even though it is midsummer. Bela, rise, and make your -obeisance, and push that chair nearer the hearth.'</p> - -<p>The two little boys stood up and kissed his hand, one after another, -with the pretty formality; of greeting on which she always insisted; -then they went back to their coloured glass balls, and he sank into a -low chair beside his wife with a sigh half of fatigue, half of content.</p> - -<p>'Yes, I have been riding all the time,' he said to her. 'I am not sure -that Siegfried approved it. But it does one good sometimes, and after -the blackness and the wetness of that forest how charming it is to come -home!'</p> - -<p>She looked at him with wistfulness.</p> - -<p>'I wish you were not vexed that Egon is coming! I am sure you have been -thinking of it as you rode.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, I have; but I am ashamed of doing so. He is your cousin, that -shall be enough for me. I will do my best to make him welcome. Only -there is this difficulty; a welcome from me to him will seem in itself -an insult.'</p> - -<p>'An insult! when you are my husband? One would think you were my -<i>jägermeister.</i> Dear mother mine, help me to scold him.'</p> - -<p>'I am a stranger,' he said, under his breath.</p> - -<p>She smiled a little, but she said with a certain hauteur:</p> - -<p>'You are master of Hohenszalras, as your son will be when our places -shall know us no more. Do not let the phantom of Egon come between us, -I beseech you. His real presence never will do so, that is certain.'</p> - -<p>'Nothing shall come between us,' said Sabran, as his hand took and -closed upon hers. 'Forgive me if I have brought some gloomy <i>nix</i> out -of the dark woods with me; he will flee away in, the light of this -beloved white-room. No evil spirits could dare stay by your hearth.'</p> - -<p>'There are <i>nixes</i> in the forests,' said Bela in a whisper to his -brother.</p> - -<p>'Ja!' said Gela, not comprehending.</p> - -<p>'We will kill them all when we are big,' said Bela.</p> - -<p>'Ja! ja!' said Gela.</p> - -<p>Bela knew very well what a <i>nix</i> was. Otto had told him all about -kobolds and sprites, as his pony trotted down the drives.</p> - -<p>'Or we will take them prisoners,' he added, remembering that his mother -never allowed anything to be killed, not even butterflies.</p> - -<p>'Ja!' said Gela again, rolling the pretty blue and pink and amber balls -about in the white fur of the bearskin.</p> - -<p>Gela's views of life were simplified by the disciple's law of -imitation; they were restricted to doing whatever Bela did, when that -was possible, when it was not possible he remained still adoring Bela, -with his little serious face as calm as a god's.</p> - -<p>She used to think that when they should grow up Bela would be a great -soldier like Wallenstein or Condé, and Gela would stay at home and -take care of his people here in the green, lone, happy Iselthal.</p> - -<p>Time ran on and the later summer made the blooming hay grow brown on -all the alpine meadows, and made the garden of Hohenszalras blossom -with a million autumnal glories; it brought also the season of the -first house-party. Egon Vàsàrhely was to arrive one day before the -Lilienhöhe and the other guests.</p> - -<p>'I want Egon so much to see Bela!' she said, with the thoughtless -cruelty of a happy mother forgetful of the pain of a rejected lover.</p> - -<p>'I fear Bela will find little favor in your cousin's eyes, since he is -mine too,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Oh, Egon is content to be only our cousin by this——'</p> - -<p>'You think so? You do not know yourself if you imagine that.'</p> - -<p>'Egon is very loyal. He would not come here if he could not greet you -honestly.'</p> - -<p>Sabran's face flushed a little, and he turned away. He vaguely dreaded -the advent of Egon Vàsàrhely, and there were so many innocent words -uttered in the carelessness of intimate intercourse which stabbed him -to the quick; she had so wounded him all unconscious of her act.</p> - -<p>'Shall we have a game of billiards?' he asked her as they stood in the -Rittersaal, whilst the rain fell fast without. She played billiards -well, and could hold her own against him, though his game was one that -had often been watched by a crowded <i>galerie</i> in Paris with eager -speculation and heavy wager. An hour afterwards they were still playing -when the clang of a great bell announced the approach of the carriage -which had been sent to Windisch-Matrey.</p> - -<p>'Come!' she said joyously, as she put back her cue in its rest; but -Sabran drew back.</p> - -<p>'Receive your cousin first alone,' he said. 'He must resent my presence -here. I will not force it on him on the threshold of your house.'</p> - -<p>'Of our house! Why will you use wrong pronouns? Believe me, dear, Egon -is too generous to bear you the animosity you think.'</p> - -<p>'Then he never loved you,' said Sabran, somewhat impatiently, as he -sent one ball against another with a sharp collision. 'I will come if -you wish it,' he added; 'but I think it is not in the best taste to so -assert myself.'</p> - -<p>'Egon is only my cousin and your guest. You are the master of -Hohenszalras. Come! you were not so difficult when you received the -Emperor.'</p> - -<p>'I had done the Emperor no wrong,' said Sabran, controlling the -impatience and the reluctance he still felt.</p> - -<p>'You have done Egon none. I should not have been his wife had I never -been yours.'</p> - -<p>'Who knows?' murmured Sabran, as he followed her into the entrance -hall. The stately figure of Egon Vàsàrhely enveloped in furs was just -passing through the arched doorway.</p> - -<p>She went towards him with a glad welcome and both hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>Prince Egon bowed to the ground: then took both her hands in his and -kissed her on the cheek.</p> - -<p>Sabran, who grew very pale, advanced and greeted him with ceremonious -grace.</p> - -<p>'My wife has bade me welcome you, Prince, but it would be presumptuous -in me, a stranger, to do that. All her kindred must be dear and sacred -here.'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely, with an effort to which he had for years been vainly -schooling himself, stretched out his hand to take her husband's; but -as he did so, and his glance for the first time dwelt on Sabran, a -look surprised and indefinitely perplexed came on his own features. -Unconsciously he hesitated a moment; then, controlling himself, he -replied with a few fitting words of courtesy and friendship. That -there should be some embarrassment, some constraint, was almost -inevitable, and did not surprise her: she saw both, but she also saw -that both were hidden under the serenity of high breeding and worldly -habit. The most difficult moment had passed: they went together into -the Rittersaal, talked together a little on a few indifferent topics, -and in a little space Prince Egon withdrew to his own apartments to -change his travelling clothes. Sabran left him on the threshold of his -chamber.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely locked the doors, locking out even his servant, threw off -his furs and sat down, leaning his head on his hands. The meeting had -cost him even more than he had feared that it would do. For five years -he had dreaded this moment, and its pain was as sharp and as fresh to -him as though it had been unforeseen. To sleep under the same roof -with the husband of Wanda von Szalras! He had overrated his power of -self-control, underrated his power of suffering, when to please her he -had consented after five years to visit Hohenszalras. What were five -years?—half a century would not have changed him.</p> - -<p>Under the plea of fatigue, he, who had sat in his saddle eighteen hours -at a stretch, and was braced to every form of endurance in the forest -chase and in the tented field, sent excuses to his host for remaining -in his own rooms until the Ave Maria rung. When he at length went -down to the blue-room where she was, he had recovered, outwardly at -least, his tranquillity and his self-possession, though here, in this -familiar, once beloved chamber, where every object had been dear to him -from his boyhood, a keener trial than any he had passed through awaited -him, as she led forward to meet him a little boy clad in white velvet, -with a cloud of light golden hair above deep blue luminous eyes, and -said to him:</p> - -<p>'Egon, this is my Bela. You will love him a little, for my sake?'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely felt a chill run through him like the cold of death as he -stooped towards the child; but he smiled and touched the boy's forehead -with his lips.</p> - -<p>'May the spirit of our lost Bela be with him and dwell in his heart,' -he murmured; 'better I cannot wish him.'</p> - -<p>With an effort he turned to Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Your little son is a noble child; you may with reason be proud of him. -He is very like you in feature. I see no trace of the Szalras.'</p> - -<p>'The other boy is more like Wanda,' replied Sabran, sensible of a -certain tenacity of observation with which Vàsàrhely was gazing at -him. 'As for my daughter, she is too young for anyone to say whom she -will resemble. All I desire is that she should be like her mother, -physically and spiritually.'</p> - -<p>'Of course,' said the Prince, absently, still looking from Sabran to -the child, as if in the endeavour to follow some remembrance that -eluded-him. The little face of Bela was a miniature of his father's, -they were as alike as it is possible for a child and a man to be so, -and Egon Vàsàrhely perplexedly mused and wondered at vague memories -which rose up to him as he gazed on each.</p> - -<p>'And what do you like best to do, my little one?' he asked of Bela, who -was regarding him with curious and hostile eyes.</p> - -<p>'To ride,' answered Bela at once, in his pretty uncertain German.</p> - -<p>'There you are a true Szalras at least. And your brother Gela, can he -ride yet? Where is Gela, by the way?'</p> - -<p>'He is asleep,' said Bela, with some contempt. 'He is a little thing. -Yes; he rides, but it is in a chair-saddle. It is not real riding.'</p> - -<p>'I see. Well, when you come and see me you shall have some real riding, -on wild horses if you like;' and he told the child stories of the great -Magyar steppes, and the herds of young horses, and the infinite delight -of the unending gallop over the wide hushed plain; and all the while -his heart ached bitterly, and the sight of the child—who was her -child, yet had that stranger's face—was to him like a jagged steel -being turned and twisted inside a bleeding wound. Bela, however, was -captivated by the new visions that rose before him.</p> - -<p>'Bela will come to Hungary,' he said with condescension, and then with -an added thought, continued: 'I think Bela has great lands there. Otto -said so.'</p> - -<p>'Bela has nothing at all,' said Sabran, sternly. 'Bela talks great -nonsense sometimes, and it would be better he should go to sleep with -his brother.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked up shyly under his golden cloud of hair. 'Folko is Bela's,' -he said under his breath. Folko was his pony.</p> - -<p>'No,' said Sabran; 'Folko belongs to your mother. She only allows you -to have him so long as you are good to him.'</p> - -<p>'Bela is always good to him,' he said decidedly.</p> - -<p>'Bela is faultless in his own estimation,' said his mother, with a -smile. 'He is too little to be wise enough to see himself as he is.'</p> - -<p>This view made Bela's blue eyes open very wide and fill very -sorrowfully. It was humiliating. He longed to get back to Gela, who -always listened to him dutifully, and never said anything in answer -except an entirely acquiescent 'Ja! ja!' which was indeed about the -limitation of Gela's lingual powers. In a few moments, indeed, his -governess came for him and took him away, a little dainty figure in his -ivory velvet and his blue silk stockings, with his long golden curls -hanging to his waist.</p> - -<p>'It is so difficult to keep him from being spoilt,' she said, as the -door closed on him. 'The people make a little prince, a little god, of -him. He believes himself to be something wonderful. Gela, who is so -gentle and quiet, is left quite in the shade.'</p> - -<p>'I suppose Gela takes your title?' said Vàsàrhely to his host. 'It -is usual with the Austrian families for the second son to have some -distant appellation?'</p> - -<p>'They are babies,' said Sabran, impatiently.</p> - -<p>'It will be time enough to settle those matters when they are old -enough to be court-pages or cadets. They are Bela and Gela at present. -The only real republic is childhood.'</p> - -<p>'I am afraid Bela is the <i>tyrannus</i> to which all republics succumb,' -said Wanda, with a smile. He is extremely autocratic in his notions, -and in his family. In all his "make believe" games he is crowned.'</p> - -<p>'He is a beautiful child,' said her cousin, and she answered, still -smiling:</p> - -<p>'Oh, yes: he is so like Réné!'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely turned his face from her. The dinner was somewhat dull, -and the evening seemed tedious, despite the efforts of Sabran to -promote conversation, and the <i>écarté</i> which he and his guest played -together. They, were all sensible that some chord was out of tune, and -glad that on the morrow a large house-party would be there to spare -them a continuation of this difficult intercourse.</p> - -<p>'Your cousin will never forgive me,' said Sabran to her when they were -alone. 'I think, beside his feeling that I stand for ever between you -and him there is an impatience of me as a stranger and one unworthy -you.'</p> - -<p>'You do yourself and him injustice,' she answered. 'I shall be unhappy -if you and he be not friends.'</p> - -<p>'Then unhappy you will be, my beloved. We both adore you.'</p> - -<p>'Do not say that. He would not be here if it were so.'</p> - -<p>'Ah! look at him when he looks at Bela!'</p> - -<p>She sighed; she had felt a strong emotion on the sight of her cousin, -for Egon Vàsàrhely was much changed by these years of pain. His grand -carriage and his martial beauty were unaltered, but all the fire and -the light of earlier years were gone out of his face, and a certain -gloom and austerity had come there. To all other women he would have -been the more attractive for the melancholy which was in such apt -contrast with the heroic adventures of his life, but to her the change -in him was a mute reproach which filled her with remorse though she had -done no wrong.</p> - -<p>Meantime Prince Egon, throwing open his window, leaned out into the -cold rainy night, as though a hand were at his throat and suffocating -him. And amidst all the tumult of his pain and revolt, one dim thought -was incessantly intruding itself; he was always thinking, as he -recalled the face of Sabran and of Sabran's little son, 'Where have I -seen those blue eyes, those level brows, those delicate curved lips?'</p> - -<p>They were so familiar, yet so strange to him. When he would have given -a name to them they receded into the shadows of some far away past of -his own, so far away he could not follow them. He sat up half the night -letting the wind beat and the rain fall on him. He could not sleep.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the morrow thirty or forty people arrived, amongst them Baron -Kaulnitz <i>en congé</i> from his embassy.</p> - -<p>'What think you of Sabran?' he asked of Egon Vàsàrhely, who answered:</p> - -<p>'He is a perfect gentleman. He is a charming companion. He plays -admirably at <i>écarté.</i></p> - -<p>'<i>Écarté</i>! I spoke of his moral worth: what is your impression of that?'</p> - -<p>'If he had not satisfied her as to that, Wanda would not be his wife,' -answered the Prince gravely. 'He has given her beautiful children, and -it seems to me that he renders her perfectly happy. We should all be -grateful to him.'</p> - -<p>'The children are certainly very beautiful,' said Baron Kaulnitz, and -said no more.</p> - -<p>'The people all around are unfeignedly attached to him,' Vàsàrhely -continued with generous effort. 'I hear nothing but his praise. Nor do -I think it the conventional compliment which loyalty leads them to pay -the husband of their Countess; it is very genuine attachment. The men -of the old Archduchy are not easily won; it is only qualities of daring -and manliness which appeal to their sympathies. That he has gained -their affections is as great testimony to his character in one way as -that he has gained Wanda's is in another. At Idrac also the people -adore him, and Croats are usually slow to see merit in strangers.'</p> - -<p>'In short, he is a paragon,' said the ambassador, with a little dubious -smile. 'So much the better, since he is irrevocably connected with us.'</p> - -<p>Sabran was at no time seen to greater advantage than when he was -required to receive and entertain a large house-party. Always graceful, -easily witty, endowed with that winning tact which is to society as -cream is to the palate, the charm he possessed for women and the -ascendency he could, at times, exercise over men—even men who were -opposed to him—were never more admirably displayed than when he was -the master of Hohenszalras, with crowned heads, and princes, and -diplomatists, and beauties gathered beneath his roof. His mastery, -moreover, of all field sports, and his skill at all games that demanded -either intelligence or audacity, made him popular with a hardy and -brilliant nobility; his daring in a boar hunt at noon was equalled by -his science at whist in the evening. Strongly prejudiced against him at -the onset, the great nobles who were his guests had long ceased to feel -anything for him except respect and regard; whilst the women admired -him none the less for that unwavering devotion to his wife which made -even the conventionalities of ordinary flirtation wholly impossible to -him. With all his easy gallantry and his elegant homage to them, they -all knew that, at heart, he was as cold as the rocks to all women save -one.</p> - -<p>'It is really the knight's love for his lady,' said the Countess -Brancka once; and Sabran, overhearing, said: 'Yes, and, I think that if -there were more like my lady on earth, knighthood might revive on other -scenes than Wagner's.'</p> - -<p>Between him and the Countess Brancka there was a vague intangible -enmity, veiled under the perfection of courtesy. They could ill have -told why they disliked each other; but they did so. Beneath their -polite or trivial or careless speech they often aimed at each other's -feelings or foibles with accuracy and malice. She had stayed at -Hohenszalras more or less time each year in the course of her flight -between France and Vienna, and was there now. He admired his wife's -equanimity and patience under the trial of Mdme. Olga's frivolities, -but he did not himself forbear from as much sarcasm as was possible -in a man of the world to one who was his guest, and by marriage his -relative, and he was sensible of her enmity to himself, though she -paid him many compliments, and sometimes too assiduously sought his -companionship. '<i>Elle fait le ronron, mais gare à ses pattes!</i>' he said -once to his wife concerning her.</p> - -<p>Sabran appraised her indeed with unflattering accuracy. He knew -by heart all the wiles and wisdom of such a woman as she was. Her -affectations did not blind him to her real danger, and her exterior -frivolity did not conceal from him the keen and subtle self-interest -and the strong passions which laboured beneath it.</p> - -<p>She felt that she had an enemy in him, and partly in self-protection, -partly in malice, she set herself to convert a foe into a friend, -perhaps, without altogether confessing it to herself, into a lover as -well.</p> - -<p>The happiness that prevailed at Hohenszalrasburg annoyed her for -no other reason than that it wearied her to witness it. She did -not envy it, because she did not want happiness at all; she wanted -perpetual change, distraction, temptation, passion, triumph—in a word, -excitement, which becomes the drug most unobtainable to those who have -early exhausted all the experiences and varieties of pleasure.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Brancka had always an unacknowledged resentment against her -sister-in-law, for being the owner of all the vast possessions of the -Szalras. 'If Gela had lived!' she thought constantly. 'If I had only -had a son by him before he died, this woman would have had her dower -and nothing more.' That his sister should possess all, whilst she had -by her later marriage lost her right even to a share in that vast -wealth, was a perpetual bitterness to her.</p> - -<p>Stefan Brancka was indeed rich, but he was an insensate gambler. She -was extravagant to the last degree, with all the costly caprices of -a <i>cocodette</i> who reigned in the two most brilliant capitals of the -world. They were often troubled by their own folly, and again and again -the generosity of his elder brother had rescued them from humiliating -embarrassments. At such moments she had almost hated Wanda von Szalras -for these large possessions, of which, according to her own views, -her sister-in-law made no use whatever. Meantime, she wished Egon -Vàsàrhely to die childless, and to that end had not been unwilling -for the woman he loved to marry anyone else. She had reasoned that the -Szalras estates would go to the Crown or the Church if Wanda did not -marry; whilst all the power and possessions of Egon Vàsàrhely must, if -he had no sons, pass in due course to his brother. She had the subtle -acuteness of her race, and she had the double power of being able at -once to wait very patiently and to spring with swift rage on what she -needed. To her sister-in-law she always appeared a mere flutterer on -the breath of fashion. The grave and candid nature of the one could not -follow or perceive the intricacies of the other.</p> - -<p>'She is a cruel woman and a perilous one,' Sabran said one day to his -wife's surprise.</p> - -<p>She answered him that Olga Brancka had always seemed to her a mere -frivolous <i>mondaine</i>, like so many others of their world.</p> - -<p>'No,' he persisted. 'You are wrong; she is not a butterfly. She has too -much energy. She is a profoundly immoral woman also. Look at her eyes.'</p> - -<p>'That is Stefan's affair,' she answered, 'not ours. He is indifferent.'</p> - -<p>'Or unsuspicious? Did your brother care for her?'</p> - -<p>'He was madly in love with her. She was only sixteen when he married -her. He fell at Solferino half a year later. When she married my -cousin it shocked and disgusted me. Perhaps I was foolish to take it -thus, but it seemed such a sin against Gela. To die <i>so</i>, and not to be -even remembered!'</p> - -<p>'Did your cousin Egon approve this second marriage?'</p> - -<p>'No,' he opposed it; he had our feeling about it. But Stefan, though -very young, was beyond any control. He had the fortune as he had the -title of his mother, the Countess Brancka, and Olga bewitched him as -she had done my brother.'</p> - -<p>'She <i>is</i> a witch, a wicked witch,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>The great autumn party was brilliant and agreeable. All things went -well, and the days were never monotonous. The people were well -assorted, and the social talent of their host made their outdoor sports -and their indoor pastimes constantly varied, whilst Hungarian musicians -and Viennese comedians played waltzes that would have made a statue -dance, and represented the little comedies for which he himself had -been famous at the Mirlitons.</p> - -<p>He was not conscious of it, but he was passionately eager for Egon -Vàsàrhely to be witness, not only of his entire happiness, but of his -social powers. To Vàsàrhely he seemed to put forward the perfection -of his life with almost insolence; with almost exaggeration to exhibit -the joys and the gifts with which nature and chance had so liberally -dowered him. The stately Magyar soldier, sitting silent and melancholy -apart, watched him with a curious pang, that in a lesser nature would -have been a consuming envy. Now and then, though Sabran and his wife -spoke rarely to each other in the presence of others, a glance, a -smile, a word passed between them that told of absolute unuttered -tenderness, profound and inexhaustible as the deep seas; in the very -sound of their laughter, in the mere accent of their voices, in a -careless caress to one of their children, in a light touch of the hand -to one another as they rode, or as they met in a room, there was the -expression of a perfect joy, of a perfect faith between them, which -pierced the heart of the watcher of it. Yet would he not have had it -otherwise at her cost.</p> - -<p>'Since she has chosen him as the companion of her life, it is well -that he should be what she can take pride in, and what all men can -praise,' he thought, and yet the happiness of this man seemed to him an -audacity, an insolence. What human lover could merit her?</p> - -<p>Between himself and Sabran there was the most perfect courtesy, but no -intimacy. They both knew that if for fifty years they met continually -they would never be friends. All her endeavours to produce sympathy -between them failed. Sabran was conscious of a constant observation of -him by her cousin, which seemed to him to have a hostile motive, and -which irritated him extremely, though he did not allow his irritation -any visible vent. Olga Brancka perceived, and with the objectless -malice of women of her temperament, amused herself with fanning, the -slumbering enmity, as children play at fire.</p> - -<p>'You cannot expect Egon to love you,' she said once to her host. 'You -know he was the betrothed of Wanda from her childhood—at least in his -own hopes, and in the future sketched for them by their families.'</p> - -<p>'I was quite aware of that before I married,' he answered her -indifferently. 'But those family arrangements are tranquil disposals of -destiny which, if they be disturbed, leave no great trace of trouble. -The Prince is young still, and a famous soldier as well as a great -noble. He has no lack of consolation if he need it, and I cannot -believe that he does.'</p> - -<p>Mdme. Olga laughed.</p> - -<p>'You know as well as I do that Egon adores the very stirrup your wife's -foot touches!'</p> - -<p>'I know he is her much beloved cousin,' said Sabran, in a tone which -admitted of no reply.</p> - -<p>To Vàsàrhely his sister-in-law said confidentially:</p> - -<p>'Dear Egon, why did you not stay on the <i>pusztas</i> or remain with your -hussars? You make <i>le beau</i> Sabran jealous.'</p> - -<p>'Jealous!' asked Vàsàrhely, with a bitter smile. 'He has much cause, -when she has neither eye nor ear, neither memory nor thought of any -kind for any living thing except himself and those children who are -all his very portraits! Why do you say these follies, Olga? You know -that my cousin Wanda chose her lord out of all the world, and loves -him as no one would have supposed she had it in her to love any mortal -creature.'</p> - -<p>He spoke imperiously, harshly, and she was silenced.</p> - -<p>'What do you think of him?' she said with hesitation.</p> - -<p>'Everyone asks me that question. I am not his keeper!'</p> - -<p>'But you must form some opinion. He is virtual lord of Hohenszalras, -and I believe she has made over to him all the appanages of Idrac, and -his children will have everything.'</p> - -<p>'Are they not her natural heirs? Who should inherit from her if not her -sons?'</p> - -<p>'Of course, of course they will inherit, only they inherit nothing -from him. It was certainly a great stroke of fortune for a landless -gentleman to make. Why does the <i>gentilhomme pauvre</i> always so -captivate women?'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean to insinuate, Olga?' he asked her, with a stern -glance of his great black eyes.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, nothing; only his history was peculiar. I remember his arrival -in France, his first appearance in society; it is many years ago now. -All the Faubourg received him, but some said at the time that it was -too romantic to be true—those Mexican forests, that long exile of the -Sabran, the sudden appearance of this beautiful young marquis; you -will grant it was romantic. I suppose it was the romance that made -even Wanda's clear head turn a little. It is a <i>vin capiteux</i> for many -women. And then such a life in Paris after it—duels, baccara, bonnes -fortunes, clever comedies, a touch like Liszt's, a sudden success in -the Chamber—it was all so romantic; it was bound to bring him at -last to his haven, the Prince Charmant of an enchanted castle! Only -enchanted castles sometimes grow dull, and Princes Charmants are not -always amusable by the same châtelaine!'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely, with his eyes sombre under their long black lashes, -listened to the easy bantering phrases with the vague suspicion of an -honest and slow-witted man that a woman is trying to drop poison into -his ear which she wishes to pass as <i>eau sucrée.</i> He did not altogether -follow her insinuation, but he understood something of her drift. They -were alone in a corner of the ball-room, whilst the cotillon was at its -height, conducted by Sabran, who had been famous for its leadership in -Paris and Vienna. He stooped his head and looked her full in her eyes.</p> - -<p>'Look here, Olga. I am not sure what you mean, but I believe you are -tired of seeing my cousin's happiness, merely because it is something -with which you cannot interfere. For myself I would protect her -happiness as I would her honour if I thought either endangered. Whether -you or I like the Marquis de Sabran is wholly beyond the question. She -loves him, and she has made him one of us. His honour is now ours. -For myself I would defend him in his absence as though he were my own -brother. Not for his sake at all—for hers. I do not express myself -very well, but you know what I mean. Here is Max returning to claim -you.'</p> - -<p>Silenced and a little alarmed the Countess Brancka rose and went off to -her place in the cotillon.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely, sitting where she had left him, watched the mazes of the -cotillon, the rhythm of the tzigane musicians coming to his ear -freighted with a thousand familiar memories of the czardas danced madly -in the long Hungarian nights. Time had been when the throb of the -tzigane strings had stirred all his pulses like magic, but now all his -bold bright life seemed numb and frozen in him.</p> - -<p>His eyes rested on his cousin, where she stood conversing with a crown -prince, who was her chief guest, and passed from her to follow the -movements of Sabran, who with supreme ease and elegance was leading a -new intricate measure down the ball-room.</p> - -<p>She was happy, that he could not doubt. Every action, every word, every -glance said so with a meaning not to be doubted. He thought she had -never looked so handsome as she did to-night since that far away day -in her childhood when he had seen her with the red and white roses in -her lap and the crown upon her curls. She had the look of her childhood -in her eyes, that serene and glad light which had been dimmed by her -brothers' death, but now shone there again tranquil, radiant, and pure -as sunlight is. She wore white velvet and white brocade; her breast -was hidden in white roses; she wore her famous pearls and the ribbons -of the Starred Cross of Austria and of the Prussian Order of Merit; -she held in her hand a large painted fan which had belonged to Maria -Theresa. Every now and then, as she talked with her royal guest, her -glance strayed down the room to where her husband was, and lingered -there a moment with a little smile.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely watched her for awhile, then rose abruptly, and made his way -out of the ball-room and the state apartments down the corridors of the -old house he knew so well towards his own chamber. He thought he would -write to her and leave upon the morrow. What need was there for him to -stay on in this perpetual pain? He had done enough for the world, which -had seen him under the roof of Hohenszalras.</p> - -<p>As he took his way through the long passages, tapestry-hung or -oak-panelled, which led across the great building to his own set of -rooms in the clock tower, he passed an open door out of which a light -was streaming. As he glanced within he saw it was the children's -sleeping apartment, of which the door was open because the night was -warm, unusually warm for the heart of the Gross Glöckner mountains. An -impulse he could not have explained made him pause and enter. The three -little white beds of carved Indian work, with curtains of lace, looked -very snowy and peaceful in the pale light from a hanging lamp. The -children were all asleep; the one nearest the door was Bela.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely stood and looked at him. His head was thrown back on his -pillow and his arms were above his head. His golden hair, which was -cut straight and low over his forehead, had been pushed back in his -slumber; he looked more like his father than in his waking hours, -for as he dreamed there was a look of coldness and of scorn upon his -childish face, which made him so resemble Sabran that the man who -looked on him drew his breath hard with pain.</p> - -<p>The night-nurse rose from her seat, recognising Prince Egon, whom she -had known from his childhood.</p> - -<p>'The little Count is so like the Marquis,' she said, approaching; 'so -is Herr Gela. Ah, my Prince, you remember the noble gentlemen whose -names they bear? God send they may be like them in their lives and not -their deaths!'</p> - -<p>'An early death is good,' said Vàsàrhely, as he stood beside the -child's bed. He thought how good it would have been if he had fallen -at Sadowa or Königsgrätz, or earlier by the side of Gela and Victor, -charging with his White Hussars.</p> - -<p>The old nurse rambled on, full of praise and stories of the children's -beauty, and strength, and activity, and intelligence. Vàsàrhely did not -hear her; he stood lost in thought looking down on the sleeping figure -of Bela, who, as if conscious of strange eyes upon him, moved uneasily -in his slumber, and ruffled his golden hair with his hands, and thrust -off his coverings from his beautiful round white limbs.</p> - -<p>'Count Bela is not like our saint who died,' said the old nurse. 'He -is always masterful, and loves his own way. My lady is strict with -him, and wisely so, for he is a proud rebellious child. But he is very -generous, and has noble ways. Count Gela is a little angel; he will be -like the Heilige Graf.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely did not hear anything she said. His gaze was bent on the -sleeping child, studying the lines of the delicate brows, of the -curving lips, of the long black lashes. It was so familiar, so -familiar! Suddenly as he gazed a light seemed to leap out of the -darkness of long forgotten years, and the memory which had haunted him -stood out clear before him.</p> - -<p>'He is like Vassia Kazán!' he cried, half aloud. The face of the child -had recalled what in the face of the man had for ever eluded his -remembrance.</p> - -<p>He thrust a gold coin in the nurse's hand, and hurried from the -chamber. A sudden inconceivable, impossible suspicion had leaped up -before him as he had gazed on the sleeping loveliness of Sabran's -little son.</p> - -<p>The old woman saw his sudden pallor, his uncertain gesture, and -thought, 'Poor gallant gentleman! He wishes these pretty boys were his -own. Well, it might have been better if he had been master here, though -there is nothing to say against the one who is so. Still, a stranger is -always a stranger, and foreign blood is bad.'</p> - -<p>Then she drew the coverings over Bela's naked little limbs, and passed -on to make sure that the little Ottilie, who had been born when the -primroses where first out in the Iselthal woods, was sleeping soundly, -and wanted nothing.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely made his way to his own chamber, and there sat down heavily, -mechanically, like a man waking out from a bad dream.</p> - -<p>His memory went back to twenty years before, when he, a little lad, had -accompanied his father on a summer visit to the house of a Russian, -Prince Paul Zabaroff. It was a house, gay, magnificent, full of idle -men and women of facile charm; it was not a house for youth; but -both the Prince Vàsàrhely and the Prince Zabaroff were men of easy -morals—<i>viveurs</i>, gamesters, and philosophers, who at fifteen years -old themselves had been lovers and men of the world. At that house -had been present a youth, some years older than he was, who was known -as Vassia Kazán: a youth whose beauty and wit made him the delight of -the women there, and whose skill at games and daring in sports won him -the admiration of the men. It was understood without even being said -openly that Vassia Kazán was a natural son of the Prince Zabaroff. The -little Hungarian prince, child as he was, had wit enough and enough -knowledge of life to understand that this brilliant companion, of his -was base-born. His kind heart moved him to pity, but his intense pride -curbed his pity with contempt. Vassia Kazán had resented the latter too -bitterly to even be conscious of the first. The gentlemen assembled had -diverted themselves by the unspoken feud that had soon risen between -the boys, and the natural intelligence of the little Magyar noble had -been no match for the subtle and cultured brain of the Parisian Lycéen.</p> - -<p>One day one of the lovely ladies there, who plundered Zabaroff and -caressed his son, amused herself with a war of words between the lads, -and so heated, stung, spurred and tormented the Hungarian boy that, -exasperated by the sallies and satires of his foe, and by the presence -of this lovely goddess of discord, he so far forgot his chivalry that -he turned on Vassia with a taunt. 'You would be a serf if you were in -Russia!' he said, with his great black eyes flashing the scorn of the -noble on the bastard. Without a word, Vassia, who had come in from -riding and had his whip in his hand, sprang on him, held him in a grip -of steel, and thrashed him. The fiery Magyar, writhing under the blows -of one who to him was as a slave, as a hound, freed his right arm, -snatched from a table near an oriental dagger lying there with other -things of value, and plunged it into the shoulder of his foe. The -cries of the lady, alarmed at her own work, brought the men in from -the adjoining room; the boys were forced apart and carried to their -chambers.</p> - -<p>Prince Vàsàrhely left the house that evening with his son, still -furious and unappeased. Vassia Kazán remained, made a hero of and -nursed by the lovely woman who had thrown the apple of strife. His -wound was healed in three weeks' time; soon after his father's -house-party was scattered, and he himself returned to his college. Not -a syllable passed between him and Zabaroff as to his quarrel with the -little Hungarian magnate. To the woman who had wrought the mischief -Zabaroff said: 'Almost I wish he were my lawful son. He is a true wolf -of the steppes. Paris has only combed his hide and given him a silken -coat; he is still a wolf, like all true Russians.'</p> - -<p>Looking on the sleeping child of Sabran, all that half-forgotten scene -had risen up before the eyes of Egon Vàsàrhely. He seemed to see the -beautiful fair face of Vassia Kazán, with the anger on the knitted -brows, and the ferocity on the delicate stern lips as he had raised his -arm to strike. Twenty years had gone by; he himself, whenever he had -remembered the scene, had long grown ashamed of the taunt he had cast, -not of the blow he had given, for the sole reproof his father had ever -made him was to say: 'A noble, only insults his equals. To insult an -inferior is ungenerous, it is derogatory; whom you offend you raise for -the hour to a level with yourself. Remember to choose your foes not -less carefully than you choose your friends.'</p> - -<p>Why with the regard, the voice, the air of Sabran had some vague -intangible remembrance always come before him?'</p> - -<p>Why, as he had gazed on the sleeping child had the vague uncertainty -suddenly resolved itself into distinct revelation?</p> - -<p>'He is Vassia Kazán! He is Vassia Kazán!' he said to himself a score -of times stupidly, persistently, as one speaks in a dream. Yet he knew -he must be a prey to delusion, to phantasy, to accidental resemblance. -He told himself so. He resisted his own folly, and all the while a -subtler inner consciousness seemed to be speaking in him, and saying to -him:</p> - -<p>'That man is Vassia Kazán. Surely he is Vassia Kazán.'</p> - -<p>And then the loyal soul of him strengthened itself and made him think:</p> - -<p>'Even if he be Vassia Kazán he is her husband. He is what she loves; he -is the father of those children that are hers.'</p> - -<p>He never went to his bed that night. When the music ceased at an hour -before dawn, and the great house grew silent, he still sat there by -the open casement, glad of the cold air that blew in from over the -Szalrassee, as with daybreak a fine film of rain began to come down the -mountain sides.</p> - -<p>Once he heard the voice of Sabran, who passed the door on his way to -his own apartment. Sabran was saying in German with a little laugh:</p> - -<p>'My lady!' I am jealous of your crown prince. When I left him now in -his chamber I was disposed to immortalise myself by regicide. He adores -you!'</p> - -<p>Then he heard Wanda laugh in answer, with some words that did not -reach his ear as they passed on further down the corridor. Vàsàrhely -shivered, and instinctively rose to his feet. He felt as if he must -seek him out and cry out to him:</p> - -<p>'Am I mad or is it true? Let me see your shoulder—have you the mark of -the wound that I gave? Your little child has the face of Vassia Kazán. -Are you Vassia Kazán? Are you the bastard of Zabaroff? Are you the wolf -of the steppes?'</p> - -<p>He had desired to go from Hohenszalras, where every hour was pain to -him, but now he felt an irresistible fascination in the vicinity of -Sabran. His mind was in that dual state which at once rejects a fact as -incredible, and believes in it absolutely. His reason told him that his -suspicion was a folly; his instinct told him that it was a truth.</p> - -<p>When in the forenoon the castle again became animated, and the guests -met to the mid-day breakfast in the hall of the knights, he descended, -moved by an eagerness that made him for the first time in his life -nervous. When Sabran addressed him he felt himself grow pale; he -followed the movements, he watched the features, he studied the tones -of his successful rival, with an intense absorption in them. Through -the hunting breakfast, at which only men were present, he was conscious -of nothing that was addressed to him; he only seemed to hear a voice in -his ear saying perpetually——'Yonder is Vassia Kazán.'</p> - -<p>The day was spent in sport, sport rough and real, that gave fair play -to the beasts and perilous exposure to the hunters. For the first time -in his life, Egon Vàsàrhely let a brown bear go by him untouched, -and missed more than one roebuck. His eyes were continually seeking -his host; a mile off down a forest glade the figure of Sabran seemed -to fill his vision, a figure full of grace and dignity, clad in a -hunting-dress of russet velvet, with a hunting-horn slung at his side -on a broad chain of gold, the gift of his wife in memory of the fateful -day when he had aimed at the <i>kuttengeier</i> in her woods.</p> - -<p>Sabran of necessity devoted himself to the crown prince throughout -the day's sport; only in the twilight as they returned he spoke to -Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>'Wanda is so full of regret that you wish to leave us,' he said, with -graceful cordiality; 'if only I can persuade you to remain, I shall -take her the most welcome of all tidings from the forest. Stay at the -least another week, the weather has cleared.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he thought that Vàsàrhely looked at him strangely; but -he knew that he could not be much loved by his wife's cousin, and -continued with good humour to persist in his request. Abruptly, the -other answered him at last.</p> - -<p>'Wanda wishes me to stay? Well, I will stay then. It seems strange to -hear a stranger invite <i>me</i> to Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>Sabran coloured; he said with hauteur:</p> - -<p>'That I am a stranger to Prince Vàsàrhely is not my fault. That I have -the right to invite him to Hohenszalras is my happiness, due to his -cousin's goodness, which has been far beyond my merit.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely's eyes dwelt on him gloomily; he was sensible of the dignity, -the self-command, and the delicacy of reproof which were blent in the -answer he had received; he felt humbled and convicted of ill-breeding. -He said after a pause:</p> - -<p>'I should ask your pardon. My cousin would be the first to condemn my -words; they sounded ill, but I meant them literally. Hohenszalras has -been one of my homes from boyhood; it will be your son's when we are -both dead. How like he is to you; he has nothing of his mother.'</p> - -<p>Sabran, somewhat surprised, smiled as he answered:</p> - -<p>'He is very like me. I regret it; but you know the poets and the -physiologists are for once agreed as to the cause of that. It is a -truth proved a million times: <i>l'enfant de l'amour ressemble toujours -au père.</i>'</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely grew white under the olive hue of his sun-bronzed -cheek. The <i>riposte</i> had been made with a thrust that went home. Otto -at that moment approached his master for orders for the morrow. They -were no more alone. They entered the house; the long and ceremonious -dinner succeeded. Vàsàrhely was silent and stern. Sabran was the most -brilliant of hosts, the happiest of men; all the women present were in -love with him, his wife the most of all.</p> - -<p>'Réné tells me you will stay, Egon. I am so very glad,' his cousin said -to him during the evening, and she added with a little hesitation, 'If -you would take time to know him well, you would find him so worthy of -your regard; he has all the qualities that most men esteem in each -other. It would make me so happy if you were friends at heart, not only -in mere courtesy.'</p> - -<p>'You know that can never be,' said Vàsàrhely, almost rudely. 'Even you -cannot work miracles. He is your husband. It is a reason that I should -respect him, but it is also a reason why I shall for ever hate him.'</p> - -<p>He said the last words in a tone scarcely audible, but low as it was, -there was a force in it that affected her painfully.</p> - -<p>'What you say there is quite unworthy of you,' she said with gentleness -but coldness. 'He has done you no wrong. Long ere I met him I told you -that what you wished was not what I wished, never would be so. You are -too great a gentleman, Egon, to nourish an injustice in your heart.'</p> - -<p>He looked down; every fibre in him thrilled and burned under the sound -of her voice, the sense of her presence.</p> - -<p>'I saw your children asleep last night,' he said abruptly. 'They have -nothing of you in them; they are his image.'</p> - -<p>'Is it so unusual for children to resemble their father?' she said with -a smile, whilst vaguely disquieted by his tone.</p> - -<p>'No, I suppose not; but the Szalras have always been of one type. How -came your husband by that face? I have seen it amongst the Circassians, -the Persians, the Georgians; but you say he is a Breton.'</p> - -<p>'The Sabrans of Romaris are Bretons; you have only to consult history. -Very beautiful faces like his have seldom much impress of nationality; -they always seem as though they followed the old Greek laws, and were -cast in the divine heroic mould of another time than ours.'</p> - -<p>'Who was his mother?'</p> - -<p>'A Spanish Mexican.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely was silent.</p> - -<p>His cousin left him and went amongst her guests. A vague sense of -uneasiness went with her at her consciousness of his hostility to -Sabran. She wished she had not asked him to remain.</p> - -<p>'You have never offended Egon?' she asked Sabran anxiously that night. -'You have always been forbearing and patient with him?'</p> - -<p>'I have obeyed you in that as all things, my angel,', he answered her -lightly. 'What would you? He is in love with you still, and I have -married you! It is even a crime in his eyes that my children resemble -me! One can never argue with a passion that is unhappy. It is a kind of -frenzy.'</p> - -<p>She heard with some impatience.</p> - -<p>'He has no right to cherish such a resentment. He keeps it alive by -brooding on it. I had hoped that when he saw you here, saw how happy -you render me, saw your children too, he would grow calmer, wiser, more -reconciled to the inevitable.'</p> - -<p>'You did not know men, my love,' said Sabran, with a smile.</p> - -<p>To him the unhappiness and the ill-will of Egon Vàsàrhely were matters -of supreme indifference; in a manner they gratified him, they even -supplied that stimulant of rivalry which a man's passion needs to keep -at its height in the calm of safe possession. That Egon Vàsàrhely saw -his perfect happiness lent it pungency and a keener sense of victory. -When he kissed his wife's hand in the sight of her cousin, the sense -of the pain it dealt to the spectator gave the trivial action to him -all the sweetness and the ardour of the first caresses of his accepted -passion.</p> - -<p>Of that she knew nothing. It would have seemed to her ignoble, as so -much that makes up men's desire always does seem to a woman of her -temperament, even whilst it dominates and solicits her, and forces her -to share something of its own intoxication.</p> - -<p>'Egon is very unreasonable,' said Mdme. Ottilie. 'He believes that -if you had not met Réné you would have in time loved himself. It is -foolish. Love is a destiny. Had you married him you would not have -loved him. He would soon have perceived that and been miserable, much -more miserable than he is now, for he would have been unable to release -you. I think he should not have come here at all if he could not have -met M. de Sabran with at least equanimity.'</p> - -<p>'I think so, too,' said Wanda, and an impatience against her cousin -began to grow into anger; without being conscious of it, she had placed -Sabran so high in her own esteem that she could forgive none who did -not adore her own idol. It was a weakness in her that was lovely and -touching in a character that had had before hardly enough of the usual -foibles of humanity. Every error of love is lovable.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely could not dismiss from his mind the impression which haunted -him.</p> - -<p>'I conclude you knew the Marquis de Sabran well in France?' he said one -day to Baron Kaulnitz, who was still there.</p> - -<p>Kaulnitz demurred.</p> - -<p>'No, I cannot say that I did. I knew him by repute; that was not very -pure. However, the Faubourg always received and sustained him; the -Comte de Chambord did the same; they were the most interested. One -cannot presume to think they could be deceived.'</p> - -<p>'Deceived!' echoed Prince Egon. 'What a singular word to use. Do you -mean to imply the possibility of—of any falsity on his part—any -intrigue to appear what he is not?'</p> - -<p>'No,' said Kaulnitz, with hesitation. 'Honestly, I cannot say so much. -An impression was given me at the moment of his signing his marriage -contract that he concealed something; but it was a mere suspicion. As I -told you, the whole Legitimist world, the most difficult to enter, the -most incredulous of assumption, received him with open arms. All his -papers were of unimpeachable regularity. There was never a doubt hinted -by anyone, and yet I will confess to you, my dear Egon, since we are -speaking in confidence, that I have had always my own doubts as to his -marquisate of Sabran.'</p> - -<p>'<i>Grosser Gott!</i>' exclaimed Vàsàrhely, as he started from his seat. -'Why did you not stop the marriage?'</p> - -<p>'One does not stop a marriage by a mere baseless suspicion,' replied -Kaulnitz. 'I have not one shadow of reason for my probably quite -unwarranted conjecture. It merely came into my mind also at the -signing of the contracts. I had already done all I could to oppose -the marriage, but Wanda was inflexible—you are witness of the charm -he still possesses for her—and even the Princess was scarcely -less infatuated. Besides, it must be granted that few men are more -attractive in every way; and as he <i>is</i> one of us, whatever else he be, -his honour is now our honour, as you said yourself the other day.'</p> - -<p>'One could always kill him,' muttered Vàsàrhely, 'and set her free so, -if one were sure.'</p> - -<p>'Sure of what?' said Kaulnitz, rather alarmed at the effect of his own -words. 'You Magyar gentlemen always think that every knot can be cut -with a sword. If he were a mere adventurer (which is hardly possible) -it would not mend matters for you to run him through the heart; there -are his children.'</p> - -<p>'Would the marriage be legal if his name were assumed?'</p> - -<p>'Oh, no! She could have it annulled, of course, both by Church and Law. -All those pretty children would have no rights and no name. But we are -talking very wildly and in a theatrical fashion. He is as certainly -Marquis de Sabran as I am Karl von Kaulnitz.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely said nothing; his mind was in tumult, his heart oppressed by -a sense of secrecy and of a hope that was guilty and mean.</p> - -<p>He did not speak to his companion of Vassia Kazán, but his conjecture -seemed to hover before his sight like a black cloud which grew bigger -every hour.</p> - -<p>He remained at Hohenszalras throughout the autumnal festivities. He -felt as if he could not go away with that doubt still unsolved, that -suspicion either confirmed or uprooted. His cousin grew as uneasy at -his presence there as she had before been uneasy at his absence. Her -instinct told her that he was the foe of the one dearest to her on -earth. She felt that the gallant and generous temper of him had changed -and grown morose; he was taciturn, moody, solitary.</p> - -<p>He spent almost all his time out of doors, and devoted himself to the -hardy sport of the mountains and forests with a sort of rage. Guests -came and went at the castle; some were imperial, some royal people; -there was always a brilliant circle of notable persons there, and -Sabran played his part as their host, with admirable tact, talent, and -good humour. His wit, his amiability, his many accomplishments, and -his social charm were in striking contrast to the sombre indifference -of Vàsàrhely, whom men had no power to amuse and women no power to -interest. Prince Egon was like a magnificent picture by Rembrandt, -as he sat in his superb uniform in a corner of a ball-room with the -collars of his orders blazing with jewels, and his hands crossed on -the diamond-studded hilt of his sword; but he was so mute, so gloomy, -so austere, that the vainest, coquette there ceased to hope to please -him, and his most cordial friends found his curt contemptuous replies -destroy their desire for his companionship.</p> - -<p>Wanda, who was frankly and fondly attached to him, began to long for -his departure. The gaze of his black eyes, fixed in their fire and -gloom on the little gay figures of her children, filled her with a -vague apprehension.</p> - -<p>'If he would only find some one and be happy,' she thought, with anger -at this undesired and criminal love which clung to her so persistently.</p> - -<p>'Am I made of wax?' he said to her with scorn, when she ventured to -hint at her wishes.</p> - -<p>'How I wish I had not asked him to remain here!' she said to herself -many times. It was not possible for her to dismiss her cousin, who had -been from his infancy accustomed to look on the Hohenszalrasburg as his -second home. But as circle after circle of guests came, went, and were -replaced by others, and Egon Vàsàrhely still retained the rooms in the -west tower that had been his from boyhood, his continual presence grew -irksome and irritating to her.</p> - -<p>'He forgets that it is now my husband's house!' she thought.</p> - -<p>There was only one living creature in all the place to whom Vàsàrhely -unbent from his sullen and haughty reserve, and that one was the child -Bela.</p> - -<p>Bela was as beautiful as the morning, with his shower of golden hair, -and his eyes like sapphires, and his skin like a lily. With curious -self-torture Vàsàrhely would attract the child to him by tales of -daring and of sport, and would watch with intent eyes every line of -the small face, trying therein to read the secret of the man by whom -this child had been begotten. Bela, all unconscious, was proud of this -interest displayed in him by this mighty soldier, of whose deeds in war -Ulrich and Hubert and Otto told such Homeric tales.</p> - -<p>'Bela will fight with you when he is big,' he would say, trying to -inclose the jewelled hilt of Vàsàrhely's sword in his tiny fingers, or -trotting after him through the silence of the tapestried corridors. -When she saw them thus together she felt that she could understand the -superstitious fear of oriental women when their children are looked at -fixedly.</p> - -<p>'You are very good to my boy,' she said once to Vàsàrhely, when he had -let the child chatter by his side for hours.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely turned away abruptly.</p> - -<p>'There are times when I could kill your son, because he is his,' he -muttered, 'and there are times when I could worship him, because he is -yours.'</p> - -<p>'Do not talk so, Egon,'she said, gravely. 'If you will feel so, it is -best—I must say it—it is best that you should see neither my child -nor me.'</p> - -<p>He took no notice of her words.</p> - -<p>'The children would always be yours,' he muttered. 'You would never -leave him, never disgrace him for their sake; even if one knew—it -would be of no use.'</p> - -<p>'Dear Egon,' she said in real distress, 'what strange things are you -saying? Are you mad? Whose disgrace do you mean?'</p> - -<p>'Let us suppose an extreme case,' he said, with a hard laugh. 'Suppose -their father were base, or vile, or faithless, would you hate the -children? Surely you would.'</p> - -<p>'I have not imagination enough to suppose any such thing,'she said very -coldly. 'And you do not know what a mother's love is, my cousin.'</p> - -<p>He walked away, leaving her abruptly.</p> - -<p>'How strange he grows!' she thought. 'Surely his mind must be touched; -jealousy is a sort of madness.'</p> - -<p>She bade the children's attendants keep Count Bela more in the -nurseries; she told them that the child teased her guests, and must -not be allowed to run so often at his will and whim over the house.' -She never seriously feared that Egon would harm the child: his noble -and chivalrous nature could not have changed so cruelly as that; but -it hurt her to see his eyes fixed on the son of Sabran with such -persistent interrogation and so strange an intensity of observation. It -made her think of old Italian tales of the evil eye.</p> - -<p>She did not know that Vàsàrhely had come thither with a sincere and -devout intention to conquer his jealous hatred of her husband, and -to habituate himself to the sight of her in the new relations of her -life. She did not know that he would probably have honestly tried to -do his duty, and honestly striven to feel at least esteem for one so -near to her, if the suspicion which had become almost certainty in his -own mind had not made him believe that he saw in Sabran a traitor, -a bastard, and a criminal whose offences were the deepest of all -possible offences, and whose degradation was the lowest of all possible -degradation, in the sight of the haughty magnate of Hungary, steeped -to the lips in all the traditions and the convictions of an unsullied -nobility. If what he believed were, indeed, the truth, he would hold -Sabran lower than any beggar crouching at the gate of his palace in -Buda, than any gipsy wandering in the woods of his mountain fortress -of Taróc. If what he believed were the truth, no leper would seem to -him so loathsome as this brilliant and courtly gentleman to whom his -cousin had given her hand, her honour, and her life.</p> - -<p>'Doubt, like a raging tooth,' gnawed at his heart, and a hope, which -he knew was dishonourable to his chivalry, sprang up in him, vague, -timid, and ashamed. If, indeed, it were as he believed, would not such -crime, proven on the sinner, part him for ever from the pure, proud -life of Wanda von Szalras? And then, as he thought thus, he groaned in -spirit, remembering the children—the children with their father's face -and their father's taint in them, for ever living witnesses of their -mother's surrender to a lying hound.</p> - -<p>'Your cousin cannot be said to contribute to the gaiety of your -house parties, my love,' Sabran observed with a smile one day, when -they received the announcement of an intended visit from one of the -archdukes. Egon Vàsàrhely was still there, and even his cousin, much -as she longed for his departure, could not openly urge it upon him; -relationship and hospitality alike forbade.</p> - -<p>'He is sadly changed,' she answered. 'He was always silent, but he is -now morose. Perhaps he lives too much at Taróc, where all is very wild -and solitary.'</p> - -<p>'He lives too much in your memory,' said Sabran, with no compassion. -'Could he determine to forgive my marriage with you, there would be a -chance for him to recover his peace of mind. Only, my Wanda, it is not -possible for any man to be consoled for the loss of you.'</p> - -<p>'But that is nothing new,' she answered, with impatience. 'If he felt -so strongly against you, why did he come here? It was not like his -high, chivalrous honour.'</p> - -<p>'Perhaps he came with the frank will to be reconciled to his fate,' -said Sabran, not knowing how closely he struck the truth, 'and at the -sight of you, of all that he lost and that I gained, he cannot keep his -resolution.'</p> - -<p>'Then he should go away,' she said, with that indifference to all -others save the one beloved which all love begets.</p> - -<p>'I think he should. But who can tell him so?'</p> - -<p>'I did myself the other day. I shall tell him so more plainly, if -needful. Who cannot honour you shall be no friend of mine, no guest of -ours.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, my love!' said Sabran, whose conscience was touched. 'Do not have -feud with your relatives for my sake. They are worthier than I.'</p> - -<p>The Archduke, with his wife, arrived there on the following day, and -Hohenszalras was gorgeous in the September sun, with all the pomp with -which the lords of it had always welcomed their Imperial friends. -Vàsàrhely looked on as a spectator at a play when he watched its -present master receive the Imperial Prince with that supreme ease, -grace, and dignity which were so admirably blent in him.</p> - -<p>'Can he be but a marvellous comedian?' wondered the man, to whom a -bastard was less even than a peasant.</p> - -<p>There was nothing of vanity, of effort, of assumption visible in the -perfect manner of his host. He seemed to the backbone, in all the -difficult subtleties of society, as in the simple, frank intercourse -of man and man, that which even Kaulnitz had conceded that he was, -<i>gentilhomme de race.</i> Could he have been born a serf—bred from the -hour's caprice of a voluptuary for a serving-woman?</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely sat mute, sunk so deeply in his own thoughts that all the -festivities round him went by like a pageantry on a stage, in which he -had no part.</p> - -<p>'He looks like the statue of the Commendatore,' said Olga Brancka, who -had returned for the archducal visit, as she glanced at the sombre, -stately figure of her brother-in-law, Sabran, to whom she spoke, -laughed with a little uneasiness. Would the hand of Egon Vàsàrhely ever -seize him and drag him downward like the hand of the statue in <i>Don -Giovanni?</i></p> - -<p>'What a pity that Wanda did not marry him, and that I did not marry -you!' said Mdme. Brancka, saucily, but with a certain significance of -meaning.</p> - -<p>'You do me infinite honour!' he answered. 'But, at the risk of seeming -most ungallant, I must confess the truth. I am grateful that the gods -arranged matters as they are. You are enchanting, Madame Olga, as a -guest, but as a wife—alas! who can drink <i>kümmel</i> every day?'</p> - -<p>She smiled enchantingly, showing her pretty teeth, but she was bitterly -angered. She had wished for a compliment at the least. 'What can these -men see in Wanda?' she thought savagely. 'She is handsome, it is true; -but she has no coquetry, no animation, no passion. She is dressed by -Worth, and has a marvellous quantity of old jewels; but for that no one -would say anything of her except that she was much too tall and had a -German face!' And she persuaded herself that it was so; if the Venus -de Medici could be animated into life, women would only remark that her -waist was large.</p> - -<p>Mdme. Olga was still very lovely, and took care to be never seen except -at her loveliest. She always treated Sabran with a great familiarity, -which his wife was annoyed by, though she did not display her -annoyance. Mdme Brancka always called him <i>mon cousin</i> or <i>beau cousin</i> -in the language she usually used, and affected much more previous -knowledge of him than their acquaintance warranted, since it had been -merely such slight intimacy as results from moving in the same society. -She was small and slight, but of great spirit; she shot, fished, rode, -and played billiards with equal skill; she affected an adoration of -the most dangerous sports, and even made a point of sharing the bear -and the boar hunt. Wanda, who, though a person of much greater real -courage, abhorred all the cruelties and ferocities that perforce -accompany sport, saw her with some irritation go out with Sabran on -these expeditions.</p> - -<p>'Women are utterly out of place in such sport as that, Olga,' she urged -to her; 'and indeed are very apt to bring the men into peril, for of -course no man can take care of himself whilst he has the safety of a -woman to attend to; she must of necessity distract and trouble him.'</p> - -<p>But the Countess Stefan only laughed, and slipped with affectation her -jewelled hunting-knife into its place in her girdle.</p> - -<p>Throughout the Archduke's visit, and after the Prince's departure, -Vàsàrhely continued to stay on, whilst a succession of other guests -came and went, and the summer deepened into autumn. He felt that he -could not leave his cousin's house with that doubt unsolved; yet he -knew that he might stay on for ever with no more certainty to reward -him and confirm his suspicions than he possessed now. His presence -annoyed his host, but Sabran was too polished a gentleman to betray -his irritation; sometimes Vàsàrhely shunned his presence and his -conversation for days together, at other times he sought them and rode -with him, shot with him, and played cards with him, in the vain hope of -gathering from some chance admission or allusion some clue to Sabran's -early days. But a perfectly happy man is not given at any time to -retrospection, and Sabran less than most men loved his past. He would -gladly have forgotten everything that he had ever done or said before -his marriage at the Hofburg.</p> - -<p>The intellectual powers and accomplishments of Sabran dazzled Vàsàrhely -with a saddened sense of inferiority. Like most great soldiers he -had a genuine humility in his measurement of himself. He knew that he -had no talents except as a leader of cavalry. 'It is natural that she -never looked at me,' he thought, 'when she had once seen this man, with -his wit, his grace, his facility.' He could not even regard the skill -of Sabran in the arts, in the salon, in the theatre with the contempt -which the 'Wild Boar of Taróc' might have felt for a mere maker of -music, a squire of dames, a writer of sparkling little comedies, a -painter of screens, because he knew that both at Idrac and in France -Sabran had showed himself the possessor of those martial and virile -qualities, by the presence or the absence of which the Hungarian noble -measured all men. He himself could only love well and live well: he -reflected sadly that honesty and honour are not alone enough to draw -love in return.</p> - -<p>As the weeks passed on, his host grew so accustomed to his presence -there that it ceased to give him offence or cause him anxiety.</p> - -<p>'He is not amusing, and he is not always polite,' he said to his -wife, 'but if he likes to consume his soul in gazing at you, I am not -jealous, my Wanda; and so taciturn a rival would hardly ever be a -dangerous one.'</p> - -<p>'Do not jest about it,' she answered him, with some real pain. 'I -should be very vexed at his remaining here, were it not that I feel -sure he will in time learn to live down his regrets, and to esteem and -appreciate you.'</p> - -<p>'Who knows but his estimation of me may not be the right one?' said -Sabran, with a pang of sad self-knowledge. And although he did not -attach any significance to the prolonged sojourn of the lord of Taróc -and Mohacs, he began to desire once more that his guest would return -to the solitudes of the Carlowitz vineyards, or of the Karpathian -mountains and gorges of snow.</p> - -<p>When over seven weeks had passed by, Vàsàrhely himself began to think -that to stay in the Iselthal was useless and impossible, and he had -heard from Taróc tidings which annoyed him—that his brother Stefan -and his wife, availing themselves of his general permission to visit -any one of his places when they chose had so strained the meaning of -the permission that they had gone to his castle, with a score of their -Parisian friends, and were there keeping high holiday and festival, -to the scandal of his grave old stewards, and their own exceeding -diversion. Hospitable to excess as he was, the liberty displeased him, -especially as his, men wrote him word that his favourite horses; were -being ruined by over-driving, and in the list of the guests which they -sent him were the names of more than one too notorious lady, against -whose acquaintance he had repeatedly counselled Olga Brancka. He would -not have cared much what they had done at any other of his houses, but -at Taróc, his mother, whom he had adored, had lived and died, and the -place was sacred to him.</p> - -<p>He determined to tear himself away from Hohenszalras, and go and -scatter these gay unbidden revellers in the dusky Karpathian ravines. -'I cannot stay here for ever,' he thought, 'and I might be here for -years without acquiring any more certainty than my own conviction. -Either I am wrong, or he has nothing to conceal, or if I be right he is -too wary to betray himself. If only I could see his shoulder where I -struck the dagger—but I cannot go into his bath-room and say to him, -"You are Vassia Kazán!"'</p> - -<p>He resolved to leave on the day after the morrow. For the next day -there was organised on a large scale a hunting party, to which the -nobility of the Tauern had been bidden. There were only some half-dozen -men then staying in the Burg, most of them Austrian soldiers. The delay -gave him the chance he longed for, which but for an accident he might -never have had, though he had tarried there half a century.</p> - -<p>Early in the morning there was a great breakfast in the Rittersaal, -at which Wanda did not appear. Sabran received the nobles and gentry -of the province, and did the honours of his table with his habitual -courtliness and grace. He was not hospitable in Vàsàrhely's sense of -the word: he was too easily wearied by others, and too contemptuous of -ordinary humanity; but he was alive to the pleasure of being lord of -Hohenszalras, and sensible of the favour with which he was looked upon -by a nobility commonly so exclusive and intolerant of foreign invasion.</p> - -<p>Breakfast over, the whole party went out and up into the high woods. -The sport at Hohenszalras always gave fair play to beast and bird. In -deference to the wishes of his wife, Sabran would have none of those -battues which make of the covert or the forest a slaughterhouse. He -himself disdained that sort of sport, and liked danger and adventure -to mingle with his out-of-door pastimes. Game fairly found by the -spaniel or the pointer; the boar, the wolf, the bear, honestly started -and given its fair chance of escape or revenge; the steinbock stalked -in a long hard day with peril and effort—these were all delightful -to him on occasion; but for the crowded drive, the horde of beaters, -the terrified bewildered troop of forest denizens driven with sticks -on to the very barrels of the gunners, for this he had the boundless -contempt of a man who had chased the buffalo over the prairie, and -lassoed the wild horse and the wild bull leaning down from the saddle -of his mustang. The day passed off well, and his guests were all -content: he alone was not, because a large brown bear which he had -sighted and tired at twice had escaped him, and roused that blood-lust -in him which is in the hearts of all men.</p> - -<p>'Will you come out alone with me to-morrow and try for that grand -brute?' he said to Vàsàrhely, as the last of his guests took their -departure.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely hesitated.</p> - -<p>'I intended to leave to-morrow; I have been here too long. But since -you are so good, I will stay twenty-four hours longer.'</p> - -<p>He was ashamed in his own heart of the willingness with which he caught -at the excuse to remain within sight of his cousin and within watch of -Sabran.</p> - -<p>'I am charmed,' said his host, in himself regretful that he had -suggested a reason for delay; he had not known that the other had -intended to leave so soon. They remained together on the terrace giving -directions to the <i>jägermeister</i> for the next day.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely looked at his successful rival and said to himself: 'It is -impossible. I must be mad to dream it. I am misled by a mere chance -resemblance, and even my own memory may have deceived me; I was but a -child.</p> - -<p>In the forenoon they both went out into the high hills again, where -the wild creatures had their lairs and were but seldom troubled by a -rifle-shot. They brought down some black grouse and hazel grouse and -mountain partridges on their upward way. The jägers were scattered in -the woods; the day was still and cloudy, a true sportsman's day, with -no gleam of sun to shine in their eyes and on the barrels of their -rifles. Sabran shooting to the right, Vàsàrhely to the left, they went -through the grassy drives that climbed upward and upward, and many a -mountain hare was rolled over in their path, and many a ptarmigan and -capercailzie. But when they reached the high pine forests where the big -game harboured, they ceased to shoot, and advanced silently, waiting -and reserving their fire for any large beast the jägers might start and -drive towards them from above. In the greyness of the day the upper -woods were almost dusky, so thickly, stood the cembras and the Siberian -pines. There was everywhere the sound of rushing waters, some above -some underground.</p> - -<p>'The first beast to you, the second to me,' said Sabran, in a whisper -to his companion, who demurred and declared that the first fire should -be his host's.</p> - -<p>'No,' said Sabran. 'I am at home. Permit me so small a courtesy to my -guest.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely flushed darkly. In his very politeness this man seemed to him -to contrive to sting and wound him.</p> - -<p>Sabran, however, who had meant nothing more than he had said, did not -observe the displeasure he had caused, and paused at the spot agreed -upon with Otto, a grassy spot where four drives met. There they both -in absolute silence waited and watched for what the hunter's patron, -good S. Hubert, might vouchsafe to send them. They had so waited about -a quarter of an hour, when down one of the drives made dusky by the low -hanging arolla boughs, there came towards them a great dark beast, and -would have gone by them had not Vàsàrhely fired twice as it approached. -The bear rolled over, shot through the head and heart.</p> - -<p>'Well done,' cried Sabran, but scarcely were the words off his lips -when another bear burst through the boughs ahead of him by fifty yards. -He levelled his rifle and received its approach with two bullets in -rapid succession. But neither had entered a vital part, and the animal, -only rendered furious by pain, reared and came towards him with -deadliest intent, its great fangs grinning. He fired again, and this -shot struck home. The poor brute fell with a crash, the blood pouring -from its mouth. It was not dead and its agony was great.</p> - -<p>'I will give it the <i>coup de grâce</i>,' said Sabran, who, for his wife's -sake', was as humane as any hunter ever can be to the beasts he slew.</p> - -<p>'Take care,' said Vàsàrhely. 'It is dangerous to touch a wounded bear. -I have known one that looked stone dead rise up and kill a man.'</p> - -<p>Sabran did not heed. He went up to the poor, panting, groaning mass of -fur and flesh, and drew his hunting-knife to give it the only mercy -that it was now possible for it to receive. But as he stooped to -plunge the knife into its heart the bear verified the warning he had -been given. Gathering all its oozing strength in one dying effort to -avenge its murder, it leaped on him, dashed him to the earth, and clung -to him with claw and tooth fast in his flesh. He freed his right arm -from its ponderous weight, its horrible grip, and stabbed it with his -knife as it clung to and lacerated him where he lay upon the grass. -In an instant, Vàsàrhely and the jäger who was with them were by his -side, freed him from the animal, and raised him from the ground. He -was deluged with its blood and his own. Vàsàrhely, for one moment of -terrible joy, for which he loathed himself afterwards, thought, 'Is he -dead?' Men had died of lesser things than this.</p> - -<p>He stood erect and smiled, and said that it was nothing, but even as he -spoke a faintness came over him, and his lips turned grey.</p> - -<p>The jäger supported him tenderly, and would have had him sit down upon -a boulder of rock, but he resisted.</p> - -<p>'Let me get to that water, he said feebly, looking to a spot a few -yards off, where one of the many torrents of the Hohe Tauern tumbled -from the wooded cliff above through birch and beechwood, and rushing -underground left a clear round brown pool amongst the ferns. He took a -draught from the flask of brandy; tendered him by the lad, and leaning -on the youth, and struggling against the sinking swoon that was coming -on him, walked to the edge of the pool, and dropped down there on one -of the mossy stones which served as a rough chair.</p> - -<p>'Strip me, and wash the blood away, he said to the huntsman, whilst the -green wood and the daylight, and the face of the man grew dim to him, -and seemed to recede further and further in a misty darkness. The youth -obeyed, and cut away the velvet coat, the cambric shirt, till he was -naked to his waist; then, making sponges of handkerchiefs, the jäger -began to wash the blood from him and staunch it as best he could.</p> - -<p>Egon Vàsàrhely stood by, without offering any aid; his eyes were -fastened on the magnificent bust of Sabran, as the sunlight fell on the -fair blue-veined flesh, the firm muscles, the symmetrical throat, the -slender, yet sinewy arms, round one of which was clasped a bracelet of -fair hair. He had the chance he needed.</p> - -<p>He approached and told the lad roughly to leave the Marquis to him, -he was doing him more harm than good; he himself had seen many -battle-fields, and many men bleeding to death upon their mother earth. -By this time Sabran's eyes were closed; he was hardly conscious of -anything, a great numbness and infinite exhaustion had fallen upon him; -his lips moved feebly. 'Wanda!' he said once or twice,'Wanda!'</p> - -<p>The face of the man who leaned above him grew dark as night; he gnashed -his teeth as he begun his errand of mercy.</p> - -<p>Leave me with your lord,' he said to the young jäger. 'Go you to the -castle. Find Herr Greswold, bring him; do not alarm the Countess, and -say nothing to the household.'</p> - -<p>The huntsman went, fleet as a roe. Vàsàrhely remained alone with -Sabran, who only heard the sound of the rushing water magnified a -million times on his dulled ear.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely tore the shirt in shreds, and laved and bathed the wounds, -and then began to bind them with the skill of a soldier who had often -aided his own wounded troopers. But first of all, when he had washed -the blood away, he searched with keen and eager eyes for a scar on the -white skin—and found it.</p> - -<p>On the right shoulder was a small triangular mark; the mark of what, -to a soldier's eyes, told of an old wound. When he saw it he smiled a -cruel smile, and went on with his work of healing.</p> - -<p>Sabran leaned against the rock behind him; his eyes were still closed, -the pulsations of his heart were irregular. He had lost a great -quantity of blood, and the pool at his feet was red. They were but -flesh wounds, and there was no danger in them themselves, but great -veins had been severed, and the stream of life had hurried forth in -torrents. Vàsàrhely thrust the flask between his lips, but he could not -swallow.</p> - -<p>All had been done that could be for the immediate moment. The stillness -of the deep woods was around them; the body of the brown bear lay on -the soaked grass; a vulture scenting death, was circling above against -the blue sky. Over the mind of his foe swept at the sight of them one -of those hideous temptations which assail the noblest natures in an -hour of hatred. If he tore the bandages he had placed there off the -rent veins of the unconscious man whom he watched, the blood would -leap out again in floods, and so weaken the labouring heart that in -ten minutes more its powers would fall so low that all aid would be -useless. Never more would the lips of Sabran meet his wife! Never -more would his dreams be dreamed upon her breast! For the moment the -temptation seemed to curl about him like a flame; he shuddered, and -crossed himself. Was he a soldier to slay in cold blood by treachery a -powerless rival?</p> - -<p>He leaned over Sabran again, and again tried to force the mouthpiece -of his wine-flask through his teeth. A few drops passed them, and -he revived a little, and swallowed a few drops more. The blood was -arrested in its escape, and the pulsations of the heart were returning -to their normal measure; after a while he unclosed his eyes, and looked -up at the green leaves, at the blue sky.</p> - -<p>'Do not alarm Wanda,' he said feebly. 'It is a scratch; it will be -nothing. Take me home.'</p> - -<p>With his left hand he felt for the hair bracelet on his right arm, -between the shoulder and the wrist. It was stiff with his own blood.</p> - -<p>Then Vàsàrhely leaned over him and met his upward gaze, and said in his -ear, that seemed still filled with the rushing of many waters, 'You are -Vassia Kazán!'</p> - -<p>When a little later the huntsman returned, bringing the physician, whom -he had met a mile nearer the house in the woods, and some peasants -bearing a litter made out of pine branches and wood moss, they found -Sabran stretched insensible beside the water-pool; and Egon Vàsàrhely, -who stood erect beside him, said in a strange tone:</p> - -<p>'I have stanched the blood, and he has swooned, you see. I commit him -to your hands. I am not needed.'</p> - -<p>And, to their surprise, he turned and walked away with swift steps into -the green gloom of the dense forest.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> - - -<p>Sabran was still insensible when he was carried to the house.</p> - -<p>When he regained consciousness he was on his own bed, and his wife was -bending over him. A convulsion of grief crossed his face as he lifted -his eyelids and looked at her.</p> - -<p>'Wanda,' he murmured feebly, 'Wanda, you will forgive——'</p> - -<p>She kissed him passionately, while her tears fell like rain upon his -forehead. She did not hear his words distinctly; she was only alive to -the intense joy of his recovered consciousness, of the sound of his -voice, of the sense of his safety. She kneeled by his bed, covering his -hands with caresses, prodigal of a thousand names of love, given up to -an abandonment of terror and of hope which broke down all the serenity -and self-command of her habitual temper. She was not even aware of the -presence of others. The over-mastering emotions of anguish and of joy -filled her soul, and made her seem deaf, indifferent to all living -things save one.</p> - -<p>Sabran lay motionless. He felt her lips, he heard her voice; he did not -look up again, nor did he speak again. He shut his eyes, and slowly -remembered all that had passed. Greswold approached him and held his -fingers on his wrist, and held a little glass to his mouth. Sabran put -it away. 'It is an opiate,' he said feebly; 'I will not have it.'</p> - -<p>He was resolute; he closed his teeth, he thrust the calming draught -away.</p> - -<p>He was thinking to himself: 'Sometimes in unconsciousness one speaks.'</p> - -<p>'You are not in great pain?' asked the physician. He made a negative -movement of his head. What were the fire and the smart of his lacerated -flesh, of his torn muscles, to the torments of his fears, to the agony -of his long stifled conscience?</p> - -<p>'Do not torment him, let him be still,' she said to the physician; she -held his hand in both her own and pressed it to her heart. His languid -eyes thanked her, then closed again.</p> - -<p>Herr Greswold withdrew to a little distance and waited. It seemed to -him strange that a man of the high courage and strong constitution of -Sabran should be thus utterly broken down by any wound that was not -mortal; should be thus sunk into dejection and apathy, making no effort -to raise himself, even to console and reassure his wife. It was not -like his careless and gallant temper, his virile and healthful strength.</p> - -<p>It was true, the doctor reflected, that he had lost a great amount of -blood. Such a loss he knew sometimes affects the heart and shatters the -nervous system in many unlooked-for ways. Yet, he thought, there was -something beyond this; the attitude and the regard of Egon Vàsàrhely -had been unnatural at such an hour of peril. 'When he said just now -"forgive," what did he mean?' reflected the old man, whose ear had -caught the word which had escaped that of Wanda, who had been only -alive to the voice she adored.</p> - -<p>The next four days were anxious and terrible. Sabran did not recover as -the physician expected that he would, seeing the nature of his wounds -and the naturally elastic and sanguine temperament he possessed. He -slept little, had considerable fever, woke from the little rest he -had, startled, alarmed, bathed in cold sweats; at other times he lay -still in an apathy almost comatose, from which all the caresses and -entreaties of his wife failed to rouse him. They began to fear that the -discharge from the arteries had in some subtle and dangerous manner -affected the action of the heart, the composition of the blood, and -produced aneurism or pyæmia. 'The hero of Idrac to be prostrated by a -mere flesh wound!' thought Herr Greswold in sore perplexity. He sent -for a great man of science from Vienna, who, when he came, declared the -treatment admirable, the wounds healthy, the heart in a normal state, -but added it was evident the nervous system had received a severe -shock, the effects of which still remained.</p> - -<p>'But it is that which I cannot understand,' said the old man in -despair. 'If you only knew the Marquis de Sabran as I know him; the -most courageous, the most gay, the most resolute of men! A man to laugh -at death in its face! A man absolutely without fear!'</p> - -<p>The other assented.</p> - -<p>'Every one knows what he did in the floods at Idrac,' he answered; 'but -he has a sensitive temperament for all that. If you did not tell me it -is impossible, I should say that he had had some mental shock, some -great grief. The prostration seems to me more of the mind than the -body. But you have assured me it is impossible?'</p> - -<p>'Impossible! There does not live on earth a man so happy, so fortunate, -so blessed in all the world as he.'</p> - -<p>'Men have a past that troubles them sometimes,' said the Vienna -physician. 'Nay, I mean nothing, but I believe that M. de Sabran was a -man of pleasure. The cup of pleasure sometimes has dregs that one must -drink long afterwards. I do not mean anything; I merely suggest. The -prostration has to my view its most probable origin in mental trouble; -but it would do him more harm than good to excite him by any effort to -certify this. To the Countess von Szalras I have merely said, that his -state is the result of the large loss of blood, and, indeed, after all -it may be so.'</p> - -<p>On the fifth day, Sabran, still lying in that almost comatose silence -which had been scarcely broken since his accident, said in a scarce -audible voice to his wife:</p> - -<p>'Is your cousin here?'</p> - -<p>She stooped towards him and answered:</p> - -<p>'Yes; he is here, love. All the others went immediately, but Egon -remained. I suppose he thought it looked kinder to do so. I have -scarcely seen him, of course.'</p> - -<p>The pallor of his face grew greyer; he turned his head away restlessly.</p> - -<p>'Why does he not go?' he muttered in his throat. 'Does he wait for my -death?'</p> - -<p>'Oh, Réné! hush, hush!' she said, with horror and amaze. 'My love, how -can you say such things? You are in no danger; the doctor assures me -so. In a week or two you will be well, you will be yourself.'</p> - -<p>'Send your cousin away.'</p> - -<p>She hesitated; troubled by his unreasoning, restless jealousy, which -seemed to be the only consciousness of life remaining with him. 'I will -obey you, love; you are lord here,' she said softly; 'but will it not -look strange? No guest can well be told to go.'</p> - -<p>'A guest!—he is an enemy!'</p> - -<p>She sighed, knowing how hopelessly reason can struggle against the -delusions of a sick bed. 'I will tell him to go to-morrow,' she said, -to soothe him. 'To-night it is too late.'</p> - -<p>'Write to him—do not leave me.'</p> - -<p>There was a childlike appeal in his voice, that from a man so strong -had a piteous pathos. Her eyes swam with tears as she heard.</p> - -<p>'Oh, my dearest, I will not leave you!' she said passionately, 'not for -one moment whilst I live; and oh, my beloved! what could death ever -change in <i>me</i>? Have you so little faith?'</p> - -<p>'You do not know,' he said, so low that his breath scarcely stirred the -air.</p> - -<p>She thought that he was tormented by a doubt that she would not be -faithful to him if he died. She stooped and kissed him.</p> - -<p>'My own, I would sooner be faithless to you in your life than after -death. Surely you know me well enough to know that at the least?'</p> - -<p>He was silent. A great sigh struggled from his breast and escaped his -pale lips like a parting breath.</p> - -<p>'Kiss me again,' he murmured; 'kiss me again, whilst——That gives me -life,' he said, as he drew her head down upon his bosom, where his -heart throbbed labouredly. A little while later he fell asleep. He -slept some hours. When he awoke he was consumed by a nameless fear.</p> - -<p>'Is your cousin gone?' he asked.</p> - -<p>She told him that it was one o'clock in the same night; she had not -written yet.</p> - -<p>'Let him stay,' he said feverishly. 'He shall not think I fear him. Do -you hear me? Let him stay.'</p> - -<p>The words seemed to her the causeless caprice of a jealousy magnified -and distorted by the weakness of fever. She strove to answer him -calmly. 'He shall go or stay as you please,' she assured him. 'What -does it matter, dear, what Egon does? You always speak of Egon. You -have never spoken of the children once.'</p> - -<p>She wanted to distract his thoughts. She was pained to think how deep, -though unspoken, his antagonism to her cousin must have been, that now -in his feebleness it—was the one paramount absorbing thought.</p> - -<p>A great sadness came upon his face as she spoke; his lips trembled a -little.</p> - -<p>'Ah! the children,' he repeated. 'Yes, bring them to me to-morrow. Bela -is too like me. Poor Bela, it will be his curse.'</p> - -<p>'It is my joy of joys,' she murmured, afraid to see how his mind seemed -astray.</p> - -<p>A shudder that was almost a spasm passed over him. He did not reply. He -turned his face away from her, and seemed to sleep.</p> - -<p>The day following he was somewhat calmer, somewhat stronger, though his -fever was high.</p> - -<p>The species of paralysis that had seemed to; fall on all his faculties -had in a great measure left him. 'You wish, me to recover,' he said to -her. 'I will do so, though perhaps it were, better not?'</p> - -<p>'He says strange things,' she said to Greswold. 'I cannot think why he -has such thoughts.'</p> - -<p>'It is not he, himself, that has them, it is his fever,' answered the -doctor. 'Why, in fever, do people often hate what they most adore when -they are in health?'</p> - -<p>She was reassured, but not contented.</p> - -<p>The children were brought to see him. Bela had with him an ivory -air-gun, with which he was accustomed to blow down his metal soldiers; -he looked at his father with awed, dilated eyes, and said that he would -go out with the gun and kill the brothers of the bear that had done the -harm.</p> - -<p>'The bear was quite right,' said Sabran. 'It was I who was wrong to -take a life not my own.'</p> - -<p>'That is beyond Bela,' said his wife. 'But I will translate it to him -into language he shall understand, though I fear very much, say what I -will, he will be a hunter and a soldier one day.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked from one to the other, knitting, his fair brows as he sat -on the edge of the bed.</p> - -<p>'Bela will be like Egon,' he said, 'with all gold and fur to dress up -in, and a big jewelled sword, and ten hundred men and horses, and Bela -will be a great killer of things!'</p> - -<p>Sabran smiled languidly, but she saw that he flinched at her cousin's -name.</p> - -<p>'I shall not love you, Bela, if you are a killer of things that are -God's dear creatures,' she said, as she sent the child away.</p> - -<p>His blue eyes grew dark with anger.</p> - -<p>'God only cares about Bela,' he said in innocent profanity, with -a profound sense of his own vastness in the sight of heaven, 'and -Gela,' he added, with the condescending tenderness wherewith he always -associated his brother and himself.</p> - -<p>'Where could he get all that overwhelming pride?' she said, as he was -led away. 'I have tried to rear him so simply. Do what I may he will -grow arrogant and selfish.'</p> - -<p>'My dear,' said Sabran, very bitterly, 'what avails that he was borne -in your bosom? He is my son!'</p> - -<p>'Gela is your son, and he is so different,' she answered, not seeking -to combat the self-censure to which she was accustomed in him, and -which she attributed to faults or follies of a past life, magnified by -a conscience too sensitive.</p> - -<p>'He is all yours then,' he said, with a wan smile. 'You have prevailed -over evil.'</p> - -<p>In a few days later his recovery had progressed so far that he had -regained his usual tone and look; his wounds were healing, and his -strength was returning. He seemed to the keen eyes of Greswold to have -made a supreme effort to conquer the moral depression into which he had -sunk, and to have thrust away his malady almost by force of will. As he -grew better he never spoke of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>On the fifteenth day from his accident he was restored enough to health -for apprehension to cease. He passed some hours seated at an open -window in his own room. He never asked if Vàsàrhely were still there or -not.</p> - -<p>Wanda, who never left him, wondered at that silence, but she forbore to -bring forward a name which had had such power to agitate him. She was -troubled at the nervousness which still remained to him. The opening of -a door, the sound of a step, the entrance of a servant made him start -and turn pale. When she spoke of it with anxiety to Herr Joachim, he -said vague sentences as to the nervousness which was consequent on -great loss of blood, and brought forward instances of soldiers who had -lost their nerve from the same cause. It did not satisfy her. She was -the descendant of a long line of warriors; she could not easily believe -that her husband's intrepid and careless courage could have been -shattered by a flesh wound.</p> - -<p>'Did you really mean,' he said abruptly to her that afternoon, as he -sat for the first time beside the open panes of the oriel; 'did you -really mean that were I to die you would never forget me for any other?'</p> - -<p>She rose quickly as if she had been stung, and her face flushed.</p> - -<p>'Do I merit that doubt from you? she said. 'I think not.'</p> - -<p>She spoke rather in sadness than in anger. He had hurt her, he could -not anger her. He felt the rebuke.</p> - -<p>'Even if I were dead, should I have all your life?' he murmured, in -wonder at that priceless gift.</p> - -<p>'You and your children,' she said gravely. 'Ah! what can death do -against great love? Make its bands stronger perhaps, its power purer. -Nothing else.'</p> - -<p>'I thank you,' he said very low, with great humility, with intense -emotion. For a moment he thought——should he tell her, should he trust -this deep tenderness which could brave death; and might brave even -shame unblenching? He looked at her from under his drooped eyelids, and -then—he dared not. He knew the pride which was in her better than she -did——her pride, which was inherited by her firstborn, and had been -the sign manual of all her imperious race.</p> - -<p>He looked at her where she stood with the light falling on her through -the amber hues of painted glass; worn, wan, and tired by so many days -and nights of anxious vigil, she yet looked a woman whom a nation -might salute with the <i>pro rege nostro!</i> that Maria Theresa heard. All -that a great race possesses and rejoices in of valour, of tradition, -of dignity, of high honour, and of blameless truth were expressed in -her; every movement, attitude, and gesture spoke of the aristocracy of -blood. All that potent and subtle sense of patrician descent which had -most allured and intoxicated him in other days now awed and daunted -him. He dared not tell her of his treason. He dared not. He was as a -false conspirator before a great queen he has betrayed.</p> - -<p>'Are you faint, my love?' she asked him, alarmed to see the change upon -his face and the exhaustion with which he sunk, backward against the -cushions of his chair.</p> - -<p>'Mere weakness; it will pass,' he said, smiling as best he might, to -reassure her. He felt like a man who slides down a crevasse, and has -time and consciousness enough to see the treacherous ice go by him, -the black abyss yawning below him, the cold, dark death awaiting him -beyond, whilst on the heights the sun is shining.</p> - -<p>That night he entreated her to leave him and rest. He assured her he -felt well; he feigned a need of sleep. For fifteen nights she had not -herself lain down. To please him she obeyed, and the deep slumber of -tired nature soon fell upon her. When he thought she slept, he rose -noiselessly and threw on a long velvet coat, sable-lined, that was by -his bedside, and looked at his watch. It was midnight.</p> - -<p>He crossed the threshold of the open door into his wife's chamber and -stood beside her bed for a moment, gazing at her as she slept. She -seemed like the marble statue of some sleeping saint; she lay in the -attitude of S. Cecilia on her bier at Home. The faint lamplight made -her fair skin white as snow. Bound her arm was a bracelet of his hair -like the one which he wore of hers. He stood and gazed on her, then -slowly turned away. Great tears fell down his cheeks as he left her -chamber. He opened the door of his own room, the outer one which led -into the corridor, and walked down the long tapestry-hung gallery -leading to the guest-chambers. It was the first time that he had walked -without assistance; his limbs felt strange and broken, but he held on, -leaning now and then to rest against the arras. The whole house was -still.</p> - -<p>He took his way straight to the apartments set aside for guests. All -was dark. The little lamp he carried shed a circle of light about his -steps but none beyond him. When he reached the chamber which he knew -was Egon Vàsàrhely's he did not pause. He struck on its panels with a -firm hand.</p> - -<p>The voice of Vàsàrhely asked from within, 'Who is there? Is there -anything wrong?'</p> - -<p>'It is I! Open,' answered Sabran.</p> - -<p>In a moment more the door unclosed. Vàsàrhely stood within it; he was -not undressed. There were a dozen wax candles burning in silver sconces -on the table within. The tapestried figures on the walls grew pale and -colossal in their light. He did not speak, but waited.</p> - -<p>Sabran entered and closed the door behind him. His face was bloodless, -but he carried himself erect despite the sense of faintness which -assailed him.</p> - -<p>'You know who I am?' he said simply, without preface or supplication.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely gave a gesture of assent.</p> - -<p>'How did you know it?'</p> - -<p>'I remembered,' answered the other.</p> - -<p>There was a moment's silence. If Vàsàrhely could have withered to the -earth by a gaze of scorn the man before him, Sabran would have fallen -dead. As it was his eyes dropped beneath the look, but the courage and -the dignity of his attitude did not alter. He had played his part of -a great noble for so long that it had ceased to be assumption and had -become his nature.</p> - -<p>'You will tell her?' he said, and his voice did not tremble, though his -very soul seemed to swoon within him.</p> - -<p>'I shall not tell her!'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely spoke with effort; his words were hoarse and stern.</p> - -<p>'You will not?'</p> - -<p>An immense joy, unlooked for, undreamed of, sprang up in him, checked -as it rose by incredulity.</p> - -<p>'But you loved her!' he said, on an impulse which he regretted even -as the exclamation escaped him. Vàsàrhely threw his head back with a -gesture of fine anger.</p> - -<p>'If I loved' her what is that to you?' he said, with a restrained -violence vibrating in his words. 'It is, perhaps, because I once loved -her that your foul secret is safe with me now. I shall not tell her. I -waited to say this to you. I could not write it lest it should meet her -eyes. You came to ask me this? Be satisfied and go.'</p> - -<p>'I came to ask you this because, had you said otherwise, I would have -shot myself ere she could have heard.'</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely said nothing; a great scorn was still set like the grimness -of death upon his face. He looked far away at the dim figures on the -tapestries; he shrunk from the sight of his boyhood's enemy as from -some loathly unclean thing he must not kill.</p> - -<p>'Suicide!' he thought, 'the Slav's courage, the serf's refuge!</p> - -<p>Before the sight of Sabran the room went round, the lights grew dull, -the figures on the walls became, fantastic and unreal. His heart beat -with painful effort, yet his ears, his throat, his brain seemed full -of blood. The nerves of his whole body seemed to shrink and thrill and -quiver, but the force of habit kept him composed and erect before this -man who was his foe, yet did for him what few friends would have done.</p> - -<p>'I do not thank you,' he said at last. 'I understand; you spare me for -her sake, not mine.'</p> - -<p>'But for her, I would treat you so.'</p> - -<p>As he spoke he broke in two a slender agate ruler which lay on the -writing-table at his elbow.</p> - -<p>'Go,' he added, 'you have had my word; though we live fifty years you -are safe from me, because——because——God forgive you! you are hers.'</p> - -<p>He made a gesture towards the door. Sabran shivered under the insult -which his conscience could not resent, his hand dared not avenge.</p> - -<p>Hearing this there fell away from him the arrogance that had been his -mask, the courage that had been his shield. He saw himself for the -first time as this man saw him, as all the world would see him if once -it knew his secret. For the first time his past offences rose up like -ghosts naked from their graves. The calmness, the indifference, the -cynicism, the pride which had been so long in his manner and in his -nature deserted him. He felt base-born before a noble, a liar before a -gentleman, a coward before a man of honour.</p> - -<p>Where he stood, leaning on a high caned chair to support himself -against the sickly weakness which still came on him from his scarce -healed wounds, he felt for the first time to cower and shrink before -this man who was his judge, and might become his accuser did he choose. -Something in the last words of Egon Vàsàrhely suddenly brought home -to him the enormity of his own sin, the immensity of the other's -forbearance. He suddenly realised all the offence to honour, all the -outrage to pride, all the ineffaceable indignity which he had brought -upon a great race: all that he had done, never to be undone by any -expiation of his own, in making Wanda von Szalras the mother of his -sons. Submissive, he turned without a word of gesture or of pleading, -and felt his way out of the chamber through the dusky mists of the -faintness stealing on him.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> - - -<p>He reached his own room unseen, feeling his way with his hands against -the tapestry of the wall, and had presence of mind enough to fling his -clothes off him and stagger to his bed, where he sank down insensible.</p> - -<p>She was still asleep.</p> - -<p>When dawn broke they found him ill, exhausted, with a return of fever. -He had once a fit of weeping like a child. He could not bear his wife a -moment from his sight. She reproached herself for having acceded to his -desire and left him unattended whilst she slept.</p> - -<p>But of that midnight interview she guessed nothing.</p> - -<p>Her cousin Egon sent her a few lines, saying that he had been summoned -to represent his monarch at the autumn manœuvres of Prussia, and had -left at daybreak without being able to make his farewell in person, -as he had previously to go to his castle of Taróc. She attached no -importance to it. When Sabran was told of his departure he said -nothing. He had recovered his power of self-control: the oriental -impassibility under emotion which was in his blood from his Persian -mother. If he betrayed himself he knew that it would be of little use -to have been spared by his enemy. The depression upon him his wife -attributed to his incapacity to move and lead his usual life; a trial -always so heavy to a strong man. As little by little his strength -returned, he became more like himself. In addressing her he had a -gentleness almost timid; and now and then she caught his gaze fastened -upon her with a strange appeal.</p> - -<p>One day, when he had persuaded her to ride in the forest, and he was -certain to be alone for two or three hours, he wrote the following -words to his foe and his judge:</p> - -<p>'Sir,——You will perhaps refuse to read anything written by me. Yet I -send you this letter, because I desire to say to you what the physical -weakness which was upon me the other night prevented my having time -or strength to explain. I desire also to put in your hands a proof -absolute against myself, with which you can do as you please, so that -the forbearance which you exercised, if it be your pleasure to continue -it, shall not be surprised from you by any momentary generosity, but -shall be your deliberate choice and decision. I have another course of -action to propose to you, to which I will come later. For the present -permit me to give you the outline of all the circumstances which have -governed my acts. I am not coward enough to throw the blame on fate or -chance; I am well aware that good men and great men combat and govern -both. Yet, something of course there lies in these, or, if not, excuse -at least explanation. You knew me (when you were a boy) as Vassia -Kazán, the natural son of the Prince Paul Ivanovitch Zabaroff. Up to -nine years old I dwelt with my grandmother, a Persian woman, on the -great plain between the Volga water and the Ural range. Thence I was -taken to the Lycée Clovis, a famous college. Prince Zabaroff I never -saw but one day in my Volga village, until, when I was fifteen years -old, I was sent to his house, Fleur de Roi, near Villerville, where I -remained two months, and where you insulted me and I chastised you, -and you gave me the wound that I have the mark of to this day. I then -returned to the Lycée, and stayed there two years unnoticed by him. -One day I was summoned by the principal, and told abruptly that the -Prince Zabaroff was dead—my protector, as they termed him—and that -I was penniless, with the world before me. I could not hope to make -you understand the passions that raged in me. You, who have always -been in the light of fortune, and always the head of a mighty family, -could comprehend nothing of the sombre hatreds, the futile revolts, -the bitter wrath against heaven and humanity which consumed me then, -thus left alone without even the remembrance of a word from my father. -I should have returned straightway to the Volga plains, and buried my -fevered griefs under their snows, had not I known that my grandmother -Maritza, the only living being I had ever loved, had died half a year -after I had been taken from her to be sent to the school in Paris. You -see, had I been left there I should have been a hunter of wild things -or a raftsman on the Volga all my years, and have done no harm. I had -a great passion in my childhood for an open-air, free life; my vices, -like my artificial tastes, were all learned in Paris. They, and the -love of pleasure they created, checked in me that socialistic spirit -which is the usual outcome of such â social anomaly as they had made of -me. I might have been a Nihilist but for that, and for the instinctive -tendency towards aristocratic and absolutist theories which were in -my blood. I was a true Russian noble, though a bastard one; and those -three months which I had passed at Fleur de Roi had intoxicated me -with the thirst for pleasure and enervated me with the longing to be -rich and idle. An actress whom I knew intimately also at that time did -me much harm. When Paul Zabaroff died he left me nothing, not even a -word. It is true that he died suddenly. I quitted the Lycée Clovis -with my clothes and my books; I had nothing else in the world. I sold -some of these and got to Havre. There I took a passage on a barque -going to Mexico with wine. The craft was unseaworthy; she went down -with all hands off the Pinos Island, and I, swimming for miles, alone -reached the shore. Women there were good to me. I got away in a canoe, -and rowed many miles and many days; the sea was calm, and I had bread, -fruit, and water enough to last two weeks. At the end of ten days I -neared a brig, which took me to Yucatan. My adventurous voyage made me -popular there. I gave a false name, of course, for I hated the name -of Vassia Kazán. War was going on at the time in Mexico, and I went -there and offered myself to the military adventurer who was at the -moment uppermost. I saw a good deal of guerilla warfare for a year. I -liked it: I fear I was cruel. The ruler of the hour, who was scarcely -more than a brigand, was defeated and assassinated. At the time of his -fall I was at the head of a few troopers far away in the interior. -Bands of Indians fell on us in great numbers. I was shot down and left -for dead. A stranger found me on the morning after, carried me to his -hut, and saved my life by his skill and care. This stranger was the -Marquis Xavier de Sabran, who had dwelt for nearly seventy years in the -solitude of those virgin forests, which nothing ever disturbed excepts -the hiss of an Indian's arrow or the roar of woods on fire. How he -lived there, and why, is all told in the monograph I have published of -him. He was a great and a good man. His life, lost under the shadows -of those virgin forests was the life of a saint and of a philosopher -in one. His influence upon me was the noblest that I had ever been -subject to; he did me nothing but good. His son had died early, having -wedded a Spanish Mexican ere he was twenty. His grandson had died -of snake-bite: he had been of my age. At times: he almost seemed to -think that this lad lived again in me. I spent eight years of my life -with him. His profound studies attracted me; his vast learning awed -me. The free life of the woods and sierras, the perilous sports, the -dangers from the Indian tribes, the researches into the lost history -of the perished nation, all these interested and occupied me. I was -glad to forget that I had ever lived another existence. Wholly unlike -as it was in climate, in scenery, in custom, the liberty of life on -the pampas and in the forests recalled to me my childhood on the -steppes of the Volga. I saw no European all those years. The only men -I came in contact with were Indians and half breeds; the only woman I -loved was an Indian girl; there was not even a Mexican <i>ranch</i> near, -within hundreds of miles. The dense close-woven forest was between us -and the rest of the world; our only highway was a river, made almost -inaccessible by dense fields of reeds and banks of jungle and swamps -covered with huge lilies. It was a very simple existence, but in it -all the wants of nature were satisfied, all healthy desires could be -gratified, and it was elevated from brutishness by the lofty studies -which I prosecuted under the direction of the Marquis Xavier. Eight -whole years passed so. I was twenty-five years old when my protector -and friend died of sheer old age in one burning summer, against whose -heat he had no strength. He talked long and tenderly with me ere he -died; told me where to find all his papers, and gave me everything -he owned. It was not much. He made me one last request, that I would -collect his manuscripts, complete them, and publish them in France. -For some weeks after his death I could think of nothing but his loss. -I buried him myself, with the aid of an Indian who had loved him; and -his grave is there beside the ruins that he revered, beneath a grove of -cypress. I carved a cross in cedar wood, and raised it above the grave. -I found all his papers where he had indicated, underneath one of the -temple porticoes; his manuscripts I had already in my possession: all -those which had been brought with him from France by his Jesuit tutors, -and the certificates of his own and his father's births and marriages, -with those of his son, and of his grandson. There was also a paper -containing directions how to find other documents, with the orders and -patents of nobility of the Sabrans of Romaris, which had been hidden -in the oak wood upon their sea-shore in Finisterre. All these he had -desired me to seek and take. Now came upon me the temptation to a great -sin. The age of his grandson, the young Réné de Sabran, had been mine: -he also had perished from snake-bite, as I said, without any human -being knowing of it save his grandfather and a few natives. It seemed -to me that if I assumed his name I should do no one any wrong. It boots -not to dwell on the sophisms with which I persuaded myself that I had -the right to repair an injustice done to me by human law ere I was -born. Men less intelligent than I can always find a million plausible -reasons for doing that which they desire to do; and although the years -I had spent beside the Marquis Xavier had purified my character and -purged it of much of the vice and the cynicism I had learned in Paris, -yet I had little moral conscientiousness. I lived outside the law in -many ways, and was indifferent to those measures of right and wrong -which too often appeared to me mere puerilities. Do not suppose that -I ceased to be grateful to my benefactor; I adored his memory, but it -seemed to me I should do him no wrong whatever. Again and again he had -deplored to me that I was not his heir; he had loved me very truly, and -had given me all he held most dear——the fruits of his researches. -To be brief, I was sorely tempted, and I gave way to the temptation. -I had no difficulty in claiming recognition in the city of Mexico as -the Marquis de Sabran. The documents were there, and no creature knew -that they were not mine except a few wild Puebla Indians, who spoke -no tongue but their own, and never left their forest solitudes. I was -recognised by all the necessary authorities of that country. I returned -to France as the Marquis de Sabran. On my voyage I made acquaintance -with two Frenchmen of very high station, who proved true friends to -me, and had power enough to protect me from the consequences of not -having served a military term in France. On my arrival in Europe, I -went first to the Bay of Romaris: there I found at once all that had -been indicated to me as hidden in the oak wood above the sea. The -priest of Romaris, and the peasantry, at the first utterance of the -name, welcomed me with rapture; they had forgotten nothing——Bretons -never do forget. Vassia Kazán had been numbered with the drowned dead -men who had gone down when the <i>Estelle</i> had foundered off the Pinos. -I had therefore no fear of recognition. I had grown and changed, so -much during my seven years' absence from Paris that I did not suppose -anyone would recognise the Russian collegian in the Marquis de Sabran. -And I was not in error. Even you, most probably, would never have known -me again had not your perceptions been abnormally quickened by hatred -of me as your cousin's husband; and had you even had suspicions you -could never have presumed to formulate them but for that accident in -the forest. It is always some such unforeseen trifle which breaks down -the wariest schemes. I will not linger on all the causes that made me -take the name I did. I can honestly say that had there been any fortune -involved, or any even distant heir to be wronged, I should not have -done it. As there was nothing save some insignia of knightly orders and -some acres of utterly unproductive sea-coast, I wronged no one. What -was left of the old manor I purchased with the little money I took over -with me. I repeat that I have wronged no one except your cousin, who is -my wife. The rest of my life you know. Society in Paris became gracious -and cordial to me. You will say that I must have had every moral sense -perverted before I could take such a course. But I did not regard it -as an immorality. Here was an empty title, like an empty shell, lying -ready for any occupant. Its usurpation harmed no one. I intended to -justify my assumption of it by a distinguished career, and I was aware -that my education had been beyond that of most gentlemen. It is true -that when I was fairly launched on a Parisian life pleasure governed -me more than ambition; and I found, which had not before occurred to -me, that the aristocratic creeds and the political loyalties which I -had perforce adopted with the name of the Sabrans de Romaris completely -closed all the portals of political ambition to me. Hence I became -almost by necessity a <i>fainéant</i>, and fate smiled upon me more than I -merited. I discharged my duty to the dead by the publication of all -his manuscripts. In this at least I was faithful. Paris applauded me. -I became in a manner celebrated. I need not say more, except that I -can declare to you the position I had entered upon soon became so -natural to me that I absolutely forgot it was assumed. Nature had made -me arrogant, contemptuous, courageous; it was quite natural to me to -act the part of a great noble. My want of fortune often hampered and -irritated me, but I had that instinct in public events which we call -<i>flair.</i> I made with slender means some audacious and happy ventures on -the Bourse. I was also, famous for <i>la main heureuse</i> in all forms of -gambling. I led a selfish and perhaps even a vicious life, but I kept -always within those lines which the usages of the world has prescribed -to gentlemen even in their licence. I never did anything that degraded -the name I had taken, as men of the world read degradation. I should -not have satisfied severe moralists, but, my one crime apart, I was -a man of honour until——I loved your cousin. I do not attempt to -defend my marriage with her. It was a fraud, a crime; I am well aware -of that. If you had struck me the other night, I would not have denied -your perfect right to do so. I will say no more. You have loved her. -You know what my temptation was: my crime is one you cannot pardon. It -is a treason to your rank, to your relatives, to all the traditions -of your order. When you were a little lad you said a bitter truth to -me. I was born a serf in Russia. There are serfs no more in Russia, -but Alexander, who affranchised them, cannot affranchise me. I am -base-born. I am like those cross-bred hounds cursed by conflicting -elements in their blood: I am an aristocrat in temper and in taste and -mind. I am a bastard in class, the chance child of a peasant begotten -by a great lord's momentary <i>ennui</i> and caprice! But if you will stoop -so far——if you will consider me ennobled by <i>her</i> enough to meet -you as an equal would do——we can find with facility some pretext -of quarrel, and under cover and semblance of a duel you can kill me. -You will be only taking the just vengeance of a race of which you are -the only male champion—what her brothers would surely have taken had -they been living. She will mourn for me without shame, since you have -passed me your promise never to tell her of my past. I await your -commands. That my little sons will transmit the infamy of my blood to -their descendants will be disgrace to them for ever in your sight. Yet -you will not utterly hate them, for children are more their mother's -than their father's, and she will rear them in all noble ways.'</p> - -<p>Then he signed the letter with the name of Vassia Kazán, and addressed -it to Egon Vàsàrhely at his castle of Taróc, there to await the return -of Vàsàrhely from the Prussian camp. That done, he felt more at peace -with himself, more nearly a gentleman, less heavily weighted with his -own cowardice and shame.</p> - -<p>It was not until three weeks later that he received the reply of -Vàsàrhely written from the castle of Taróc. It was very brief:——</p> - -<p>'I have read your letter and I have burned it. I cannot kill you, for -she would never pardon me. Live on in such peace as you may find.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'PRINCE VÀSÀRHELY.'</p> - -<p>To his cousin Vàsàrhely wrote at the same time, and to her said:</p> - -<p>'Forgive me that I left you so abruptly. It was necessary, and I did -not rebel against necessity, for so I avoided some pain. The world has -seen me at Hohenszalras; let that suffice. Do not ask me to return. -It hurts me to refuse you anything, but residence there is only a -prolonged suffering to me and must cause irritation to your lord. I go -to my soldiers in Central Hungary, amongst whom I make my family. If -ever you need me you will know that I am at your service; but I hope -this will never be, since it will mean that some evil has befallen -you.' Rear your sons in the traditions of your race, and teach them to -be worthy of yourself: being so they will be also worthy of your name. -Adieu, my ever beloved Wanda! Show what I have said herein to your -husband, and give me a remembrance in your prayers.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'EGON.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Countess Brancka meanwhile had been staying at Taróc for the autumn -shooting when her brother-in-law had returned there unexpectedly, and -to her chagrin, since she had filled the old castle with friends of -her own, such as Egon Vàsàrhely little favoured, and it amused her to -play the châtelaine there and organise all manner of extravagant and -eccentric pastimes. When he arrived she could no longer enjoy this -unchecked independence of folly, and he did not hesitate to make it -plain to her that the sooner Taróc should be cleared of its Parisian -world the better would he be pleased. Indeed she knew well that it -was only his sense of hospitality, as the first duty of a gentleman, -which restrained him from enforcing a rough and sudden exodus upon -her guests. He returned, moreover, unusually silent, reserved, and -what she termed ill-tempered. It was clear to her that his sojourn at -Hohenszalras had been painful to him; and whenever she spoke to him of -it he replied to her in a tone which forbade her further interrogation. -If she feared anyone in the world it was Egon, who had again and again -paid her debts to spare his brother annoyance, and who received her and -her caprices with a contemptuous unalterable disdain.</p> - -<p>'Wanda has ruined him!' she always thought angrily. 'He always expects -every other woman to have a soul above <i>chiffons</i> and to bury herself -in the country with children and horses.'</p> - -<p>Her quick instincts perceived that the hold upon his thoughts which -his cousin always possessed had been only strengthened by his visit to -her, and she attributed the gloom which had settled down on him to the -pain which the happiness that reigned at Hohenszalras had given him. -Little souls always try to cram great ones into their own narrowed -measurements. As he did not absolutely dismiss her she continued to -entertain her own people at Taróc, ignoring his tacit disapproval, and -was still there when the letter of Sabran reached her brother-in-law. -She had very quick eyes; she was present when the letters, which only -came to Taróc once a week, being fetched over many leagues of wild -forest, and hill, and torrent, and ravine, were brought to Vàsàrhely, -and she noticed that his face changed as he took out a thick envelope, -which she, standing by his shoulder, with her hand outstretched for -her own correspondence from Paris and Petersburg, could see bore the -post-mark of Matrey. He threw it amongst a mass of other letters, and -soon after took all his papers away with him into the room which was -called a library, being full of Hungarian black-letter and monkish -literature, gathered in centuries gone by by great priests of the race -of Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>What was in that letter?</p> - -<p>She attended to none of her own, so absorbed was she in the impression -which gained upon her that the packet which had brought so much -surprise and even emotion upon his face came from the hand of Wanda. -'If even she should be no saint at all?' she thought, with a malicious -amusement. She did not see Egon Vàsàrhely for many hours, but she -did not lose her curiosity nor cease to cast about for a method of -gratifying it. At the close of the day when she came back from hunting -she went into the library, which was then empty. She did not seriously -expect to see anything that would reward her enterprise, but she knew -he read his letters there and wrote the few he was obliged to write: -like most soldiers he disliked using pen and ink. It was dusk, and -there were a few lights burning in the old silver sconces fixed upon -the horns of forest animals against the walls. With a quick, calm -touch, she moved all the litter of papers lying on the huge table -where he was wont to do such business as he was compelled to transact. -She found nothing that gratified her inquisitiveness. She was about -to leave the room in baffled impatience——impatience of she knew not -what——when her eyes fell upon a pile of charred paper lying on the -stove.</p> - -<p>It was one of those monumental polychrome stoves of fifteenth-century -work in which the country-houses of Central Europe are so rich; a -grand pile of fretted pottery, towering half way to the ceiling, with -the crown and arms of the Vàsàrhely princes on its summit. There was -no fire in it, for the weather was not cold, and Vàsàrhely, who alone -used the room, was an ascetic in such matters; but upon its jutting -step, which was guarded by lions of gilded bronze, there had been some -paper burned: the ashes lay there in a little heap. Almost all of -it was ash, but a few torn pieces were only blackened and coloured. -With the eager curiosity of a woman who is longing to find another -woman at fault, she kneeled down by the stove and patiently examined -these pieces. Only one was so little burned that it had a word or two -legible upon it; two of those words were Vassia Kazán. Nothing else was -traceable; she recognised the handwriting of Sabran. She attached no -importance to it, yet she slipped the little scrap, burnt and black as -it was, within one of her gauntlets; then, as quickly as she had come -there, she retreated and in another half hour, smiling and radiant, -covered with jewels, and with no trace of fatigue or of weather, she -descended the great banqueting-hall, clad as though the heart of the -Greater Karpathians was the centre of the Boulevard S. Germain.</p> - -<p>Who was Vassia Kazán?</p> - -<p>The question floated above all her thoughts all that evening. Who was -he, she, or it, and what could Sabran have to say of him, or her, or -it to Egon Vàsàrhely? A less wise woman might have asked straightway -what the unknown name might mean, but straight ways are not those -which commend themselves to temperaments like hers. The pleasure and -the purpose of her life was intrigue. In great things she deemed -it necessity; in trifles it was an amusement; without it life was -flavourless.</p> - -<p>The next day her brother-in-law abandoned Taróc, to join his hussars -and prepare for the autumn manœuvres in the plains, and left her and -Stefan in possession of the great place, half palace, half fortress, -which had withstood more than one siege of Ottoman armies, where it -stood across a deep gorge with the water foaming black below. But she -kept the charred, torn, triangular scrap of paper; and she treasured -in her memory the two words Vassia Kazán; and she said again and again -and again to herself: 'Why should he write to Egon? Why should Egon -burn what he writes?' Deep down in her mind there was always at work -a bitter jealousy of Wanda von Szalras; jealousy of her regular and -perfect beauty, of her vast possessions, of her influence at the Court, -of her serene and unspotted repute, and now of her ascendency over the -lives of Sabran and of Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>'Why should they both love that woman so much?' she thought very often. -'She is always alike. She has no temptations. She goes over life as if -it were frozen snow. She did one senseless thing, but then she was rich -enough to do it with impunity. She is so habitually fortunate that she -is utterly uninteresting; and yet they are both her slaves!'</p> - -<p>She went home and wrote to a cousin of her own who had been a member -of the famous Third Section at Petersburg. She said in her letter: 'Is -there anyone known in Russia as Vassia Kazán? I want you to learn for -me to what or to whom this name belongs. It is certainly Russian, and -appears to me to have been taken by some one who has been named <i>more -hebrœo</i> from the city of Kazán. You, who know everything past, -present, and to come, will be able to know this.'</p> - -<p>In a few days she received an answer from Petersburg. Her cousin wrote: -'I cannot give you the information you desire. It must be a thing of -the past. But I will keep it in mind, and sooner or later you shall -have the knowledge you wish. You will do us the justice to admit that -we are not easily baffled.'</p> - -<p>She was not satisfied, but knew how to be patient.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> - - -<p>Strangely enough the consciousness that one person lived who knew -his secret unnerved him. He had said truly that so much were all his -instincts and temper those of an aristocrat that he had long ceased to -remember that he was not the true Marquis de Sabran. The admiration men -frankly gave him, and the ascendency he exercised over women, had alike -concurred in fostering his self-delusion. Since his recognition by the -foe of his boyhood a vivid sense of his own shamefulness, however, had -come upon him; a morbid consciousness that he was not what he seemed, -and what all the world believed him, had returned to him. Egon would -never speak, but he himself could never forget. He said to himself in -his solitude, 'I am Vassia Kazán! and what he had done appeared to him -intolerable, infamous, beyond all expiation.</p> - -<p>It was like an impalpable but impassable wall built up between himself -and her. Nothing was changed except that one man knew his secret, but -this one fact seemed to change the face of the world. For the first -time all the deference, all the homage with which the people of the -Tauern treated him seemed to him a derision. Naturally of proud temper, -and of an intellect which gave him ascendency over others, he had from -the first moment he had assumed the marquisate of Sabran received -all the acknowledgments of his rank with an honest unconsciousness -of imposture. After all he had in his veins blood as patrician as -that of the Sabrans; but now that Egon Vàsàrhely knew the truth he -was perpetually conscious of not being what he seemed. The mere sense -that about the world there was another living being who knew what he -knew, shook down all the self-possession and philosophy which had so -long made him assure himself that the assumption of a name was an -immaterial circumstance, which, harming no one, could concern no one. -Egon Vàsàrhely seemed to have seized his sophisms in a rude grasp, and -shaken them down as blossoms fall in wind. He thought with bitter -self-contempt how true the cynic was who said that no sin exists so -long as it is not found out; that discovery is the sole form which -remorse takes.</p> - -<p>At times his remorse made him almost afraid of Wanda, almost shrink -from her, almost tremble at her regard; at other times it intensified -his passion and infused into his embraces a kind of ferocity of -triumph. He would show an almost brutal ardour in his caresses, and -would think with an almost cruel exultation, 'I was born a serf, and I -am her lover, her lord! Strangely enough, she began to lose something -of her high influence upon him, of her spiritual superiority in his -sight. She was so entirely, so perpetually his, that she became in a -manner tainted with his own degradation. She could no longer check him -with a word, calm him with a gesture of restraint. She was conscious of -a change in him which she could not explain to herself. His sweetness -of temper was broken by occasional irritability that she had never seen -before. He was at times melancholy and absorbed; he at times displayed -a jealousy which appeared unworthy of herself and him; at other moments -he adored her, submitted to her with too great a humility. They were -still happy, but their happiness was more uncertain, more disturbed by -passing shadows. She told herself that it was always so in marriage, -that in the old trite phrase nothing mortal was ever perfect long. But -this philosophy failed to reconcile her. She found herself continually -pondering on the alteration that she perceived in him, without being -able to explain it to herself in any satisfactory manner.</p> - -<p>One day he announced to her without preface that he had decided to -renounce the name of Sabran; that he preferred to any other the title -which she had given him in the Countship of Idrac. She was astonished, -but on reflection only saw, in his choice, devotion and deference to -herself. Perhaps, too, she reflected with a pang, he desired some -foreign mission such as she had once proposed to him; perhaps the life -at Hohenszalras was monotonous and too quiet for a man so long used -to the movement and excitation of Paris. She suggested the invitation -of a circle of guests more often, but he rejected the idea with some -impatience. He, who had previously amused himself so well with the -part of host to a brilliant society, now professed that he saw nothing -but trouble and <i>ennui</i> in a house full of people, who changed every -week, and of royal personages who exacted ceremonious observances -that were tedious and burdensome. So they remained alone, for even -the Princess Ottilie had gone away to Lilienslust. For her own part -she asked nothing better. Her people, her lands, her occupations, her -responsibilities, were always interest enough. She loved the stately, -serene tread of Time in these mountain solitudes. Life always seemed -to her a purer, graver, more august thing when no echo of the world -without jarred on the solemnity of the woods and hills. She wanted her -children to grow up to love Hohenszalras, as she had always done, far -above all pomps and pleasures of courts and cities.</p> - -<p>The winter went by, and he spent most of the days out of doors in -violent exercise, sledging, skating, wolf hunting. In the evenings he -made music for her in the white room: beautiful, dreamy music, that -carried her soul from earth. He played for hours and hours far into the -night; he seemed more willing to do anything than to converse. When he -talked to her she was sensible of an effort of constraint; it was no -longer the careless, happy, spontaneous conversation of a man certain -of receiving sympathy in all his opinions, indulgence in all his -errors, comprehension in even his vaguest or most eccentric ideas: a -certain charm was gone out of their intercourse. She thought sometimes -humbly enough, was it because a man always wearies of a woman? Yet -she could scarcely think that, for his reverential deference to her -alternated with a passion that had lost nothing of its voluptuous -intensity.</p> - -<p>So the winter passed away. Madame Ottilie was in the South for her -health, with her relatives of Lilienhöhe; they invited no one, and so -no one could approach them. The children grew and throve. Bela and his -brother had a little sledge of their own, drawn by two Spanish donkeys, -white as the snows that wrapped the Iselthal in their serenity and -silence. In their little sable coats and their sable-lined hoods the -two little boys looked like rosebuds wrapped in brown moss. They were a -pretty spectacle upon the ice, with their stately Heiduck, wrapped in -his scarlet and black cloak, walking by the gilded shell-shaped sledge.</p> - -<p>'Bela loves the ice best. Bela wishes the summer never was!' said the -little heir of the Counts of Szalras one day, as he leaped out from -under the bearskin of his snow-carriage. His father heard him, and -smiled a little bitterly.</p> - -<p>'You have the snow in your blood,' he thought. 'I, too, know how I -loved the winter with all its privations, how I skimmed like a swallow -down the frozen Volga, how I breasted the wind of the North Sea, sad -with the dying cries of the swans! But I had an empty stomach and -naked limbs under my rough goatskin, and you ride there in your sables -and velvets, a proud little prince, and yet you are my son!'</p> - -<p>Was he almost angered against his own child for the great heirship to -which he was born, as kings are often of their dauphins? Bela looked up -at him a little timidly, always being in a certain awe of his father.</p> - -<p>'May Bela go with you some day with the big black horses, one day when -you go very far?'</p> - -<p>'Ask your mother,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'She will like it,' said the child. 'Yesterday she said you never do -think of Bela. She did not say it <i>to</i> Bela, but he heard.'</p> - -<p>'I will think of him,' said Sabran, with some emotion: he had a certain -antagonism to the child, of which he was vaguely ashamed; he was sorry -that she should have noticed it. He disliked him because Bela so -visibly resembled himself that he was a perpetual reproach; a living -sign of how the blood of a Russian lord and of a Persian peasant had -been infused into the blood of the Austrian nobles.</p> - -<p>The next day he took the child with him on a drive of many leagues, -through the frozen highways winding through the frosted forests under -the huge snow-covered range of the Glöckner mountains. Bela was in -raptures; the grand black Russian horses, whose speed was as the wind, -were much more to his taste than the sedate and solemn Spanish asses. -When they returned, and Sabran lifted him out of the sledge in the -twilight, the child kissed his hand.</p> - -<p>'Bela loves you,' he said timidly.</p> - -<p>'Why do you?' said his father, surprised and touched. 'Because you are -your mother's child?'</p> - -<p>Bela did not understand. He said, after a moment of reflection:</p> - -<p>'Bela is afraid, when you are angry; very afraid. But Bela does love -you.'</p> - -<p>Sabran laid his hand on the child's shoulder. 'I shall never be angry -if Bela obey his mother, and never pain her. Remember that.'</p> - -<p>'He will remember,' said Bela. 'And may he go with the big black horses -very soon again?'</p> - -<p>'Your mother's horses are just as big, and just as black. Is it not the -same thing to go with her?'</p> - -<p>'No. Because she takes Bela often; you never.'</p> - -<p>'You are ungrateful,' said Sabran, in the tone which always alarmed and -awed the bold, bright spirit of his child. 'Your mother's love beside -mine is like the great mountain beside the speck of dust. Can you -understand? You will when you are a man. Obey her and adore her. So you -will best please me.'</p> - -<p>Bela looked at him with troubled suffused eyes; he went within doors a -little sadly, led away by Hubert, and when he reached his nursery and -had his furs taken from off him he was still serious, and for once he -did not tell his thoughts to Gela, for they were too many for him to -be able to master them in words. His father was a beautiful, august, -terrible, magnificent figure in his eyes; with the confused fancies -of a child's scarce-opened mind he blended together in his admiration -Sabran and the great marble form of S. Johann of Prague which stretched -its arm towards the lake from the doors of the great entrance, and, as -Bela always understood, controlled the waters and the storms at will. -Bela feared no one else in all the world, but he feared his father, -and for that reason loved him as he loved nothing else in his somewhat -selfish and imperious little life.</p> - -<p>'It is so good of you to have given Bela that pleasure,' his wife said -to him when he entered the white room. 'I know you cannot care to hear -a child chatter as I do. It can only be tiresome to you.'</p> - -<p>'I will drive him every day if it please <i>you</i>,' said Sabran.</p> - -<p>'No, no; that would be too much to exact from you. Besides, he would -soon despise his donkeys, and desert poor Gela. I take him but seldom -myself for that reason. He has an idea that he is immeasurably older -than Gela. It is true a year at their ages is more difference than are -ten years at ours.'</p> - -<p>'The child said something to me, as if he had heard you say I do not -care for him?'</p> - -<p>'You do not, very much. Surely you are inclined to be harsh to him?'</p> - -<p>'If I be so, it is only because I see so much of myself in him.'</p> - -<p>He looked at her, assailed once more by the longing which at times came -over him to tell her the truth of himself, to risk everything rather -than deceive her longer, to throw himself upon her mercy, and cut short -this life which had so much of duplicity, so much of concealment, that -every year added to it was a stone added to the mountain of his sins. -But when he looked at her he dared not. The very grace and serenity -of her daunted him; all the signs of nobility in her, from the repose -of her manner to the very beauty of her hands, with their great rings -gleaming on the long and slender fingers, seemed to awe him into -silence. She was so proud a woman, so great a lady, so patrician in -all her prejudices, her habits, her hereditary qualities, he dared not -tell her that he had betrayed her thus. An infidelity, a folly, even -any other crime he thought he could have summoned courage to confess -to her; but to say to her, the daughter of a line of princes: 'I, who -have made you the mother of my children, I was born a bastard and a -serf!' How could he dare say that? Anything else she might forgive, -he thought, since love is great, but never that. Nay, a cold sickness -stole over him as he thought again that she came of great lords who had -meted justice out over whole provinces for a thousand years; and he -had wronged her so deeply that the human tongue scarcely held any word -of infamy enough to name his crime. The law would set her free, if she -chose, from a man who had so betrayed her, and his children would be -bastards like himself.</p> - -<p>He had stretched himself on a great couch, covered with white -bear-skins. He was in shadow; she was in the light that came from the -fire on the wide hearth, and from the oriel window near, a red warm -dusky light, that fell on the jewels on her hands, the furs on her -skirts, the very pearls about her throat.</p> - -<p>She glanced at him anxiously, seeing how motionless he lay there, with -his head turned backward on the cushions.</p> - -<p>'I am afraid you are weak still from that wound,' she said, as she rose -and approached him. 'Greswold assures me it has left no trace, but I am -always afraid. And you look often so pale. Perhaps you exert yourself -too much? Let the wolves be. Perhaps it is too cold for you? Would you -like to go to the south? Do not think of me; my only happiness is to do -whatever you wish.'</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand with deep unfeigned emotion. 'I believe in angels -since I knew you,' he murmured. 'No; I will not take you away from the -winter and the people that you love. I am well enough. Greswold is -right. I could not master those horses if I were not strong; be sure of -that.'</p> - -<p>'But I always fear that it is dull here for you?'</p> - -<p>'Dull! with you? "Custom cannot stale her infinite variety." That was -written in prophecy of your charm for me.'</p> - -<p>'You will always flatter me! And I am not "various" at all; I am too -grave to be entertaining. I am just the German house-mother who cares -for the children and for you.'</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>'Is that your portrait of yourself? I think Carolus Duran's is truer, -my grand châtelaine. When you are at Court the whole circle seems to -fade to nothing before your presence. Though there are so many women -high-born and beautiful there, you eclipse them all.'</p> - -<p>'Only in your eyes! And you know I care nothing for courts. What I like -is the life here, where one quiet day is the pattern of all the other -days. If I were sure that you were content in it——'</p> - -<p>'Why should you think of that?'</p> - -<p>'My love, tell me honestly, do you never miss the world?'</p> - -<p>He rose and walked to the hearth. He, whose life was a long lie, never -lied to her if he could avoid it; and he knew very well that he did -miss the world with all its folly, stimulant, and sin. Sometimes the -moral air here seemed to him too pure, too clear.</p> - -<p>'Did I do so I should be thankless indeed—thankless as madmen are who -do not know the good done to them. I am like a ship that has anchored -in a fair haven after press of weather. I infinitely prefer to see -none but yourself: when others are here we are of necessity so much -apart. If the weather,' he added more lightly, 'did not so very often -wear Milton's grey sandals, there would be nothing one could ever -wish changed in the life here. For such great riders as we are, that -is a matter of regret. Wet saddles are too often our fate, but in -compensation our forests are so green.'</p> - -<p>She did not press the question.</p> - -<p>But the next day she wrote a letter to a relative who was a great -minister and had preponderating influence in the council chamber of the -Austrian Empire. She did not speak to Sabran of the letter that she -sent.</p> - -<p>She had not known any of that disillusion which befalls most women in -their love. Her husband had remained her lover, passionately, ardently, -jealously; and the sincerity of his devotion to her had spared her -all that terrible consciousness of the man's satiety which usually -confronts a woman in the earliest years of union. She shrank now with -horror from the fear which came to her that this passion might, like so -many others, alter and fade under the dulness of habit. She had high -courage and clear vision; she met half-way the evil that she dreaded.</p> - -<p>In the spring a Foreign Office despatch from Vienna came to him and -surprised and moved him strongly. With it in his hand he sought her at -once.</p> - -<p>'You did this!' he said quickly. 'They offer me the Russian mission.'</p> - -<p>She grew a little pale, but had courage to smile. She had seen by a -glance at his face the pleasure the offer gave him.</p> - -<p>'I only told my cousin Kunst that I thought you might be persuaded to -try public life, if he proposed it to you.'</p> - -<p>'When did you say that?'</p> - -<p>'One day in the winter, when I asked you if you did not miss the world.'</p> - -<p>'I never thought I betrayed that I did so.'</p> - -<p>'You were only over eager to deny it. And I know your generosity, my -love. You miss the world; we will go back to it for a little. It will -only make our life here dearer—I hope.'</p> - -<p>He was silent; emotion mastered him. 'You have the most unselfish -nature that was!' he said brokenly. 'It will be a cruel sacrifice to -you, and yet you urge it for my sake.'</p> - -<p>'Dear, will you not understand? What is for your sake is what is most -for mine. I see you long, despite yourself, to be amidst men once more, -and use your rare talents as you cannot use them here. It is only right -that you should have the power to do so. If our life here has taken -the hold on your heart then, I think you will come back to it all the -more gladly. And then I too have my vanity; I shall be proud for the -world to see how you can fill a great station, conduct a difficult -negotiation, distinguish yourself in every way. When they praise you, -I shall be repaid a thousand times for any sacrifice of my own tastes -that there may be.'</p> - -<p>He heard her with many conflicting emotions, of which a passionate -gratitude was the first and highest.</p> - -<p>'You make me ashamed,' he said in a low voice. 'No man can be worthy of -such goodness as yours; and I——'</p> - -<p>Once more the avowal of the truth rose to his lips, but stayed -unuttered. His want of courage took refuge in procrastination.</p> - -<p>'We need not decide for a day or two,' he added; 'they give me time; we -will think well. When do you think I must reply?'</p> - -<p>'Surely soon; your delay would seem disrespect. You know we Austrians -are very ceremonious.'</p> - -<p>'And if I accept, it will not make you unhappy?'</p> - -<p>'My love, no, a thousand times, no; your choice is always mine.'</p> - -<p>He stooped and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>'You are ever the same,' he murmured. 'The noblest, the most -generous——'</p> - -<p>She smiled bravely. 'I am quite sure you have decided already. Go to my -table yonder, and write a graceful acceptance to my cousin Kunst. You -will be happier when it is posted.'</p> - -<p>'No, I will think a little. It is not a thing to be done in haste. It -will be irrevocable.'</p> - -<p>'Irrevocable? A diplomatic mission? You can throw it up when you -please. You are not bound to serve longer than you choose.'</p> - -<p>He was silent: what he had thought himself had been of the irrevocable -insult he would be held to have offered to the emperor, the nation, and -the world, if ever they knew.</p> - -<p>'It will not be liked if I accept for a mere caprice. One must never -treat a State as Bela treats his playthings,' he said as he rang, and -when the servant answered the summons ordered them to saddle his horse.</p> - -<p>'No; there is no haste. Glearemberg is not definitely recalled, I -think.'</p> - -<p>But as she spoke she knew very well that, unknown to himself, he had -already decided; that the joy and triumph the offer had brought to him -were both too great for him eventually to resist them. He sat down and -re-read the letter.</p> - -<p>She had said the truth to him, but she had not said all the truth. She -had a certain desire that he should justify her marriage in the eyes of -the world by some political career brilliantly followed; but this was -not her chief motive in wishing him to return to the life of cities. -She had seen that he was in a manner disquieted, discontented, and -attributed it to discontent at the even routine of their lives. The -change in his moods and tempers, the arbitrary violence of his love -for her, vaguely alarmed and troubled her; she seemed to see the germ -of much that might render their lives far less happy. She realised -that she had given herself to one who had the capacity of becoming a -tyrannical possessor, and retained, even after six years of marriage, -the irritable ardour of a lover. She knew that it was better for them -both that the distraction and the restraint of the life of the world -should occupy some of his thoughts, and check the over-indulgence of -a passion which in solitude grew feverish and morbid. She had not the -secret of the change in him, of which the result alone was apparent to -her, and she could only act according to her light. If he grew morose, -tyrannical, violent, all the joy of their life would be gone. She knew -that men alter curiously under the sense of possession. She felt that -her influence, though strong, was not paramount as it had been, and she -perceived that he no longer took much interest in the administration -of the estates, in which he had shown great ability in the first years -of their marriage. She had been forced to resume her old governance -of all those matters, and she knew that it was not good for him to -live without occupation. She feared that the sameness of the days, to -her so delightful, to him grew tiresome. To ride constantly, to hunt -sometimes, to make music in the evenings——this was scarcely enough to -fill up the life of a man who had been a <i>viveur</i> on the bitumen of the -boulevards for so long.</p> - -<p>A woman of a lesser nature would have been too vain to doubt the -all-sufficiency of her own presence to enthral and to content him; but -she was without vanity, and had more wisdom than most women. It did -not even once occur to her, as it would have done incessantly to most, -that the magnificence of all her gifts to him were title-deeds to his -content for life.</p> - -<p>Public life would be her enemy, would take her from the solitudes she -loved, would change her plans for her children's education, would bring -the world continually betwixt herself and her husband; but since he -wished it that was all she thought of, all her law.</p> - -<p>'Surely he will accept?' said Mdme. Ottilie, who had returned from the -south of France.</p> - -<p>'Yes, he will accept,' said his wife. 'He does not know it, but he -will.'</p> - -<p>'I cannot imagine why he should affect to hesitate. It is the career -he is made for, with his talents, his social graces.'</p> - -<p>'He does not affect; he hesitates for my sake. He knows I am never -happy away from Hohenszalras.'</p> - -<p>'Why did you write then to Kunst?'</p> - -<p>'Because it will be better for him; he is neither a poet nor a -philosopher, to be able to live away from the world.'</p> - -<p>'Which are you?'</p> - -<p>'Neither; only a woman who loves the home she was born in, and the -people she——'</p> - -<p>'Reigns over,' added the Princess. 'Admit, my beloved, that a part of -your passion for Hohenszalras comes of the fact that you cannot be -quite as omnipotent in the world as you are here!'</p> - -<p>Wanda von Szalras smiled. 'Perhaps; the best motive is always mixed -with a baser. But I adore the country and country life. I abhor cities.'</p> - -<p>'Men are always like Horace,' said the Princess. 'They admire rural -life, but they remain for all that with Augustus.'</p> - -<p>At that moment they heard the hoofs of his horse galloping up the great -avenue. A quarter of an hour went by, for he changed his dress before -coming into his wife's presence. He would no more have gone to her with -the dust or the mud of the roads upon him than he would have gone in -such disarray into the inner circle of the Kaiserin.</p> - -<p>When he entered, she did not speak, but the Princess Ottilie said with -vivacity:</p> - -<p>'Well! you accept, of course?</p> - -<p>'I will neither accept nor decline. I will do what Wanda wishes.'</p> - -<p>The Princess gave an impatient movement of her little foot on the -carpet.</p> - -<p>'Wanda is a hermit,' she said; 'she should have dwelt in a cave, and -lived on berries with S. Scholastica. What is the use of leaving it to -her? She will say No. She loves her mountains.'</p> - -<p>'Then she shall stay amidst her mountains.'</p> - -<p>'And you will throw all your future away?'</p> - -<p>'Dear mother, I have no future——should have had none but for her.'</p> - -<p>'All that is very pretty, but after nearly six years of marriage it is -not necessary to <i>faire des madrigaux.</i>'</p> - -<p>The Princess sat a little more erect, angrily, and continued to tap her -foot upon the floor. His wife was silent for a little while; then she -went over to her writing-table, and wrote with a firm hand a few lines -in German. She rose and gave the sheet to Sabran.</p> - -<p>'Copy that,' she said, 'or give it as many graces of style as you like.'</p> - -<p>His heart beat, his sight seemed dim as he read what she had written.</p> - -<p>It was an acceptance.</p> - -<p>'See, my dear Réné!' said the Princess, when she understood; -'never combat a woman on her own ground and with her own weapon— -unselfishness! The man must always lose in a conflict of that sort.'</p> - -<p>The tears stood in his eyes as he answered her——</p> - -<p>'Ah, madame! if I say what I think, you will accuse me again of -<i>faisant des madrigaux!</i>'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>A week or two later Sabran arrived alone at their palace in Vienna, -and was cordially received by the great minister whom Wanda called -her cousin Kunst. He had also an audience of his Imperial master, who -showed him great kindness and esteem; he had been always popular and -welcome at the Hofburg. His new career awaited him under auspices the -most engaging; his intelligence, which was great, took pleasure at the -prospect of the field awaiting it; and his personal pride was gratified -and flattered at the personal success which he enjoyed. He was aware -that the brain he was gifted with would amply sustain all the demands -for <i>finesse</i> and penetration that a high diplomatic mission would make -upon it, and he knew that the immense fortune he commanded through his -wife would enable him to fill his place with the social brilliancy and -splendour it required.</p> - -<p>He felt happier than he had done ever since the day in the forest when -the name of Vassia Kazán had been said in his ear; he had recovered his -nerve, his self-command, his <i>insouciance</i>; he was once more capable of -honestly forgetting that he was anything besides the great gentleman -he appeared. There was an additional pungency for him in the fact of -his mission being to Russia. He hated the country as a renegade hates -a religion he has abandoned. The undying hereditary enmity which must -always exist, <i>sub rosa</i>, betwixt Austria and Russia was in accordance -with the antagonism he himself felt for every rood of the soil, for -every syllable of the tongue, of the Muscovite. He knew that Paul -Zabaroff, his father's legitimate son, was a mighty prince, a keen -politician, a favourite courtier at the Court of St. Petersburg. The -prospect of himself appearing at that Court as the representative of -a great nation, with the occasion and the power to meet Paul Zabaroff -as an equal, and defeat his most cherished intrigues, his most subtle -projects, gave an intensity to his triumph such as no mere social -honours or gratified ambition could alone have given him. If the -minister had searched the whole of the Austrian empire through, in -all the ranks of men he could have found no one so eager to serve the -purpose and the interests of his Imperial master against the rivalry of -Russia, as he found in one who had been born a naked <i>moujik</i> in the -<i>isba</i> of a Persian peasant.</p> - -<p>Even though this distinction which was offered him would rest like -all else on a false basis, yet it intoxicated him, and would gratify -his desires to be something above and beyond the mere prince-consort -that he was. He knew that his talents were real, that his tact and -perception were unerring, that his power to analyse and influence men -was great. All these qualities he felt would enable him in a public -career to conquer admiration and eminence. He was not yet old enough to -be content to regard the future as a thing belonging to his sons, nor -had he enough philo-progenitiveness ever to do so at any age.</p> - -<p>'To return so to Russia!' he thought, with rapture. All the ambition -that had been in him in his college days at the Lycée Clovis, which -had never taken definite shape, partly from indolence and partly from -circumstance, and had not been satisfied even by the brilliancy of -his marriage, was often awakened and spurred by the greatness of the -social position of all those with whom he associated. In his better -moments be sometimes thought, 'I am only the husband of the Countess -von Szalras; I am only the father of the future lords of Hohenszalras;' -and the reflection that the world might regard him so made him restless -and ill at ease.</p> - -<p>He knew that, being what he was, he would add to his crime tenfold -by acceptance of the honour offered to him. He knew that the more -prominent he was in the sight of men, the deeper would be his fall if -ever the truth were told. What gauge had he that some old school-mate, -dowered with as long a memory as Vàsàrhely's, might not confront him -with the same charge and challenge? True, this danger had always seemed -to him so remote that never since he had landed at Romaris bay had he -been troubled by any apprehension of it. His own assured position, his -own hauteur of bearing, his own perfect presence of mind, would have -always enabled him to brave safely such an ordeal under the suspicion -of any other than Vàsàrhely; with any other he could have relied on his -own coolness and courage to have borne him with immunity through any -such recognition. Besides, he had always reckoned, and reckoned justly, -that no one would ever dare to insult the Marquis de Sabran with a -suspicion that could have no proof to sustain it. So he had always -reasoned, and events had justified his expectations and deductions.</p> - -<p>This month that he now passed in Vienna was the proudest of his life; -not perhaps the happiest, for beneath his contentment there was a -jarring remembrance that he was deceiving a great sovereign and his -ministers. But he thrust this sting of conscience aside whenever it -touched him, and abandoned himself with almost youthful gladness to the -felicitations he received, the arrangements he had to make, and the -contemplation of the future before him. The pleasures of the gay and -witty city surrounded him, and he was too handsome, too seductive, and -too popular not to be sought by women of all ranks, who rallied him on -his long devotion to his wife, and did their best to make him ashamed -of constancy.</p> - -<p>'What beasts we are!' he thought, as he left Damn's at the flush of -dawn, after a supper there which he had given, and which had nearly -degenerated into an orgie. 'Yet is it unfaithfulness to her? My soul is -always hers and my love.'</p> - -<p>Still his conscience smote him, and he felt ashamed as he thought of -her proud frank eyes, of her noble trust in him, of her pure and lofty -life led there under the show summits of her hills.</p> - -<p>He worshipped her, with all his life he worshipped her; a moment's -caprice, a mere fume and fever of senses surprised and astray, were not -infidelity to her. So he told himself, with such sophisms as men most -use when most they are at fault, as he walked home in the rose of the -daybreak to her great palace, which like all else of hers was his.</p> - -<p>As he ascended the grand staircase, with the escutcheon of the -Szalras repeated on the gilded bronze of its balustrade, a chill and -a depression stole upon him. He loved her with intensity and ardour -and truth, yet he had been disloyal to her; he had forgotten her, he -had been unworthy of her. What worth were all the women in the world -beside her? What did they seem to him now, those Delilahs who had -beguiled him? He loathed the memory of them; he wondered at himself. He -went through the great house slowly towards his own rooms, pausing now -and then, as though he had never seen them before, to glance at some -portrait, some stand of arms, some banner commemorative of battle, some -quiver, bow, and pussikan taken from the Turk.</p> - -<p>On his table he found a telegram sent from Lienz:</p> - -<p>'I am so glad you are amused and happy. We are all well here.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">(Signed) 'WANDA.'</p> - -<p>No torrents of rebuke, no scenes of rage, no passion of reproaches -could have carried reproach to him like those simple words of trustful -affection.</p> - -<p>'An angel of God should have descended to be worthy her!' he thought.</p> - -<p>The next evening there was a ball at the Hof. It was later in the -season than such things were usually, but the visit to the court of the -sovereign of a neighbouring nation had detained their majesties and -the nobility in Vienna. The ball was accompanied by all that pomp and -magnificence which characterise such festivities, and Sabran, present -at it, was the object of universal congratulation and much observation, -as the ambassador-designate to Russia.</p> - -<p>Court dress became him, and his great height and elegance of manner -made him noticeable even in that brilliant crowd of notables. All the -greatest ladies distinguished him with their smiles, but he gave them -no more than courtesy. He saw only before the 'eye of memory' his wife -as he had seen her at the last court ball, with the famous pearls about -her throat, and her train of silver tissue sown with pearls and looped -up with white lilac.</p> - -<p>'It is the flower I like best,' she had said to him. 'It brought me -your first love-message in Paris, do you remember? It said little; it -was very discreet, but it said enough!'</p> - -<p>'You are always thinking of Wanda!' said the Countess Brancka to him -now, with a tinge of impatience in her tone.</p> - -<p>He coloured a little, and said with that hauteur with which he always -repressed any passing jest at his love for his wife:</p> - -<p>'When both one's duty and joy point the same way it is easy to follow -them in thought.'</p> - -<p>'I hope you follow them in action too,' said Mdme. Brancka.</p> - -<p>'If I do not, I am at least only responsible to Wanda.'</p> - -<p>'Who would be a lenient judge you mean? said the Countess, with a -certain smile that displeased him. 'Do not be too sure; she is a von -Szalras. They are not agreeable persons when they are angered.'</p> - -<p>'I have not been so unhappy as to see her so,' said Sabran coldly, -with a vague sense of uneasiness. As much as it is possible for a man -to dislike a woman who is very lovely, and young enough to be still -charming in the eyes of the world, he disliked Olga Brancka. He had -known her for many years in Paris, not intimately, but by force of -being in the same society, and, like many men who do not lead very -decent lives themselves, he frankly detested <i>cocodettes.</i></p> - -<p>'If we want these manners we have our <i>lionnes</i>,' he was wont to say, -at a time when Cochonette was seen every day behind his horses by the -Cascade, and it had been the height of the Countess Olga's ambition at -that time to be called like Cochonette. A certain resemblance there -was between the great lady and the wicked one; they had the same small -delicate sarcastic features, the same red gold curls, the same perfect -colourless complexion; but where Cochonette had eyes of the slightest -blue, the wife of Count Stefan had the luminous piercing black eyes of -the Muscovite physiognomy. Still the likeness was there, and it made -the sight of Mdme. Brancka distasteful to him, since his memories of -the other were far from welcome. It was for Cochonette that he had -broken the bank at Monte Carlo, and into her lap that he had thrown -all the gold rouleaux at a time when in his soul he had already adored -Wanda von Szalras, and had despised himself for returning to the slough -of his old pleasures. It was Cochonette who had sold his secrets to -the Prussians, and brought them down upon him in the farmhouse amongst -the orchards of the Orléannais, whilst she passed safely through, the -German lines and across the frontier, laden with her jewels and her -<i>valeurs</i> of all kinds, saying in her teeth as she went: 'He will -never see that Austrian woman again!' That had been the end of all he -had known of Cochonette, and a presentiment of perfidy, of danger, of -animosity always came over him whenever he saw the <i>joli petit minois</i> -which in profile was so like Cochonette's, looking up from under the -loose auburn curls that Mdme. Olga had copied from her.</p> - -<p>Olga Brancka now looked at him with some malice and with more -admiration; she was very pretty that night, blazing with diamonds; -and with her beautifully shaped person as bare as Court etiquette -would permit. In her red gold curls she had some butterflies in jewels -flashing all the colours of the rainbow and glowing like sunbeams. -There was such a butterfly, big as the great Emperor moth, between her -breasts, making their whiteness look like snow.</p> - -<p>Instinctively Sabran glanced away from her. He felt an <i>étourdissement</i> -that irritated him. The movement did not escape her. She took his arm.</p> - -<p>'We will move about a little while,' she said. 'Let us talk of Wanda, -<i>mon beau</i> cousin; since you can think of no one else. And so you are -really going to Russia?'</p> - -<p>'I believe so.'</p> - -<p>'It will be a great sacrifice to her; any other woman would be in -paradise in St. Petersburg, but she will be wretched.'</p> - -<p>'I hope not; if I thought so I would not go.'</p> - -<p>'You cannot but go now; you have made your choice. You will be happy -enough. You will play again enormously, and Wanda has so much money -that if you lose millions it will not ruin her.'</p> - -<p>'I shall certainly not play with my wife's money. I have never played -since my marriage.'</p> - -<p>'For all that you will play in St. Petersburg. It is in the air. A -saint could not help doing it, and you are not a saint by nature, -though you have become one since marriage. But you know conversions by -marriage do not last. They are like compulsory confessions. They mean -nothing.'</p> - -<p>'You are very malicious to-night, madame,' said Sabran, absently; he -was in no mood for banter, and was disinclined to take up her challenge.</p> - -<p>'Call me at least <i>cousinette</i>,' said Mdme. Olga; 'we are cousins, you -know, thanks to Wanda. Oh! she will be very unhappy in St. Petersburg; -she will not amuse herself, she never does. She is incapable of a -flirtation; she never touches a card. When she dances it is only -because she must, and then it is only a quadrille or a contre-dance. -She always reminds me of Marie Thérèse's "In our position nothing is a -trifle." You remember the Empress's letters to Versailles?'</p> - -<p>Sabran was very much angered, but he was afraid to express his anger -lest it should seem to make him absurd.</p> - -<p>'Madame,' he said, with ill-repressed irritation, 'I know you speak -only in jest, but I must take the liberty to tell you——however -bourgeois it appear——that I do not allow a jest even from you upon my -wife. Anything she does is perfect in my sight, and if she be imbued -with the old traditions of gentle blood, too many ladies desert them in -these days for me not to be grateful to her for her loyalty.'</p> - -<p>She listened, with her bright black eyes fixed on him; then she leaned -a little more closely on his arm.</p> - -<p>'Do you know that you said that very well? Most men are ridiculous -when they are in love with their wives, but it becomes you, Wanda is -perfect, we all know that; you are not alone in thinking so. Ask Egon!'</p> - -<p>The face of Sabran changed as he heard that name. As she saw the -change she thought: 'Can it be possible that he is jealous?'</p> - -<p>Aloud she said with a little laugh: 'I almost wonder Egon did not -run you through the heart before you married. Now, of course, he -is reconciled to the inevitable; or, if not reconciled, he has to -submit to it as we all have to do. He grows very <i>farouche</i>; he lives -between his troopers and his castle of Taróc, like a barbaric lord -of the Middle Ages. Were you ever at Taróc? It is worth seeing——a -huge fortress, old as the days of Ottokar, in the very heart of the -Karpathians. He leads a wild, fierce life enough there. If he keep the -memory of Wanda with him it is as some men keep an idolatry for what is -dead.'</p> - -<p>Sabran listened with a sombre irritation. 'Suppose we leave my wife's -name in peace,' he said coldly. 'The <i>grosser cotillon</i> is about to -begin; may I aspire to the honour?'</p> - -<p>As he led her out, and the light fell on her red gold curls, on her -dazzling butterflies, her armour of diamonds, her snow-white skin, a -thousand memories of Cochonette came over him, though the scene around -him was the ball-room of the Hofburg, and the woman whose great bouquet -of <i>rêve d'or</i> roses touched his hand was a great lady who had been the -wife of Gela von Szalras, and the daughter of the Prince Serriatine. -He distrusted her, he despised her, he disliked her so strongly that -he was almost ashamed of his own antagonism; and yet her contact, her -grace of movement, the mere scent of the bouquet of roses had a sort of -painful and unwilling intoxication for the moment for him.</p> - -<p>He was glad when the long and gorgeous figures of the cotillon had -tired out even her steel-like nerves, and he was free to leave the -palace and go home to sleep. He looked at a miniature of his wife as -he undressed; the face of it, with its tenderness and its nobility, -seemed to him, after the face of this other woman, like the pure high -air of the Iselthal after the heated and unhealthy atmosphere of a -gambling-room.</p> - -<p>The next day there was a review of troops in the Prater. His presence -was especially desired; he rode his favourite horse Siegfried, which -had been brought up from the Tauern for the occasion. The weather was -brilliant, the spectacle was grand; his spirits rose, his natural -gaiety of temper returned. He was addressed repeatedly by the -sovereigns present. Other men spoke of him, some with admiration, some -with envy, as one who would become a power at the court and in the -empire.</p> - -<p>As he rode homeward, when the manœuvres were over, making his way -slowly through the merry crowds of the good-humoured populace, through -the streets thronged with glittering troops and hung with banners, and -odorous with flowers, he thought to himself with a light heart: 'After -all, I may do her some honour before I die.'</p> - -<p>When he reached home and his horse was led away, a servant approached -him with a sealed letter lying on a gold salver. A courier, who said -that he had travelled with it without stopping from Taróc, had brought -it from the Most High the Prince Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>Sabran's heart stood still as he took the letter and passed up the -staircase to his own apartments. Once there he ordered his servants -away, locked the doors, and, then only, broke the seal.</p> - -<p>There were two lines written on the sheet inside. They said:</p> - -<p>'I forbid you to serve my Sovereign. If you persist, I must relate to -him, under secrecy, what I know.'</p> - -<p>They were fully signed——'Egon Vàsàrhely.' They had been sent by a -courier, to insure delivery and avoid the publicity of the telegraph. -They had been written as soon as the tidings of his appointment to the -Russian mission had become known at the mountain fortress of Taróc.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> - - -<p>As the carriage of the Countess Olga rolled home through the Graben -after the military spectacle, she stopped it suddenly, and signed to an -old man in the crowd who was waiting to cross the road until a regiment -of cuirassiers had rolled by. He was eyeing them critically, as only an -old soldier does look at troops.</p> - -<p>'Is it you, Georg?' said Madame Olga. 'What brings you here?'</p> - -<p>'I came from Taróc with a letter from the Prince, my master,' answered -the man, an old hussar who had carried Vàsàrhely in his arms off the -field of Königsgrätz, after dragging him from under a heap of dead men -and horses.</p> - -<p>'A letter! To whom?' asked Olga, who always was curious and persistent -in investigation of all her brother-in-law's movements and actions.</p> - -<p>Vàsàrhely had not laid any injunction as to secrecy, only as to speed, -upon his faithful servant; so that Georg replied, unwitting of harm, -'To the Markgraf von Sabran, my Countess.'</p> - -<p>'A letter that could not go by post—how strange! And from Egon to -Wanda's husband!' she thought, with her inquisitive eagerness awakened. -Aloud she bade the old trooper call at her palace for a packet for -Taróc, to make excuse for having stopped and questioned him, and drove -onward lost in thought.</p> - -<p>'Perhaps it is a challenge late in the day!' she thought, with a laugh; -but she was astonished and perplexed that any communication should take -place between these men; she perplexed her mind in vain in the effort -to imagine what tie could connect them, what mystery mutually affecting -them could lie beneath the secret of Vassia Kazán.</p> - -<p>When, on the morrow, she heard at Court that the Emperor was deeply -incensed at the caprice and disrespect of the Count von Idrac, as -he was called at Court, who, at the eleventh hour, had declined a -mission already accepted by him, and of which the offer had been in -itself an unprecedented mark of honour and confidence, her swift -sagacity instantly associated the action, apparently so excuseless and -inexcusable, with the letter sent up from Taróc. It was still as great -a mystery to her as it had been before what the contents of the letter -could have been, but she had no doubt that in some way or another it -had brought about the resignation of the appointment. It awakened a -still more intense curiosity in her, but she was too wise to whisper -her suspicion to anyone. To her friends at the Court she said, with -laughter: 'A night or two ago I chanced to tell Sabran that his wife -would be wretched at St. Petersburg. That is sure to have been enough -for him. He is such a devoted husband.'</p> - -<p>No one of course believed her, but they received the impression that -she knew the real cause of his resignation, though she could not be -induced to say it.</p> - -<p>What did it matter to her? Nothing, indeed. But the sense of a secret -withheld from her was to Mdme. Olga like the slot of the fox to a young -hound. She might have a thousand secrets of her own if it pleased her, -but she could not endure anyone else to guard one. Besides, in a vague, -feverish, angry way, she was almost in love with the man who was so -faithful to his wife that he had looked away from her as from some -unclean thing when she had wished to dazzle him. She had no perception -that the secret could concern him himself very nearly, but she thought -it was probably one which he and Egon Vàsàrhely, for reasons of their -own, chose to share and keep hidden. And if it were a secret that -prevented Sabran from going to the Court of Russia? Then, surely, it -was one worth knowing? And if she gained a knowledge of it, and his -wife had none?——what a superiority would be hers, what a weapon -always to hand!</p> - -<p>She did not intend any especial cruelty or compass any especial end: -she was actuated by a vague desire to interrupt a current of happiness -that flowed on smoothly without her, to interfere where she had no -earthly title or reason to do so, merely because she was disregarded -by persons content with each other. It is not always definite motives -which have the most influence; the subtlest poisons are those which -enter the system we know not how, and penetrate it ere we are aware. -The only thing which had ever held her back from any extremes of evil -had been the mere habit of good-breeding and an absolute egotism which -had saved her from all strong passions. Now something that was like -passion had touched her under the sting of Sabran's indifference, and -with it she became tenacious, malignant, and unsparing: adroit she had -always been. Instinct is seldom at fault when we are conscious of an -enemy, and Sabran's had not erred when it had warned him against the -wife of Stefan Brancka as the serpent who would bring woe and disaster -to his paradise.</p> - -<p>In some three months' time she received a more explicit answer from her -cousin in St. Petersburg. Giving the precise dates, he told her that -Vassia Kazán was the name given to the son of Count Paul Ivanovitch -Zabaroff by a wayside amour with one of his own serfs at a village -near the border line of Astrachan. He narrated the early history of -the youth, and said that he had been amongst the passengers on board a -Havre ship, which had foundered with all hands. So far the brief record -of Vassia Kazán was clear and complete. But it told her nothing. She -was unreasonably enraged, and looked at the little piece of burnt paper -as though she would wrench the secret out of it.</p> - -<p>'There must be so much more to know,' she thought. 'What would a mere -drowned boy be to either of those men——a boy dead too all these years -before?'</p> - -<p>She wrote insolently to her cousin, that the Third Section, with -its eyes of Argus and its limbs of Vishnoo, had always been but an -overgrown imbecile, and set her woman's wits to accomplish what the -Third Section had failed to do for her. So much she thought of it that -the name seemed forced into her very brain; she seemed to hear every -one saying——'Vassia Kazán.' It was a word to conjure with, at least: -she could at the least try the effect of its utterance any day upon -either of those who had made it the key of their correspondence. Russia -had written down Vassia Kazán as dead, and the mystery which enveloped -the name would not open to her. She knew her country too well not to -know that this bold statement might cover some political secret, some -story wholly unlike that which was given her. Vassia Kazán might have -lived and have incurred the suspicions of the police, and be dwelling -far away in the death in life of Siberian mines, or deep sunk in some -fortress, like a stone at the bottom of a well. The reply not only -did not beget her belief in it, but gave her range for the widest and -wildest conjectures of imagination. 'It is some fault, some folly, some -crime, who can tell? And Vassia Kazán is the victim or the associate, -or the confidant of it. But what is it? And how does Egon know of it?'</p> - -<p>She passed the summer in pleasures of all kinds, but the subject did -not lose its power over her, nor did she forget the face of Sabran as -he had turned it away from her in the ball-room of the Hofburg.</p> - -<p>He himself had left the capital, after affirming to the minister that -private reasons, which he could not enter into, had induced him to -entreat the Imperial pardon for so sudden a change of resolve, and to -solicit permission to decline the high honour that had been vouchsafed -to him.</p> - -<p>'What shall I say to Wanda?' he asked himself incessantly, as the -express train swung through the grand green country towards Salzburg.</p> - -<p>She was sitting on the lake terrace with the Princess, when a telegram -from her cousin Kunst was brought to her. Bela and Gela were playing -near with squadrons of painted cuirassiers, and the great dogs were -lying on the marble pavement at her feet. It was a golden close to a -sunless but fine day; the snow peaks were growing rosy as the sun shone -for an instant behind the Venediger range, and the lake was calm and -still and green, one little boat going noiselessly across it from the -Holy Isle to the further side.</p> - -<p>'What a pity to leave it all!' she thought as she took the telegram.</p> - -<p>The Minister's message was curt and angered:</p> - -<p>'Your husband has resigned; he makes himself and me ridiculous. Unable -to guess his motive, I am troubled and embarrassed beyond expression.'</p> - -<p>The other, from Sabran, said simply: 'I am coming home. I give up -Russia.'</p> - -<p>'Any bad news?' the Princess asked, seeing the seriousness of her face. -Her niece rose and gave her the papers.</p> - -<p>'Is Réné mad!' she exclaimed as she read. His wife, who was startled -and dismayed at the affront to her cousin and to her sovereign, yet had -been unable to repress a movement of personal gladness, hastened to say -in his defence:</p> - -<p>'Be sure he has some grave, good reason, dear mother. He knows the -world too well to commit a folly. Unexplained, it looks strange, -certainly; but he will be home to-night or in the early morning; then -we shall know; and be sure we shall find him right.'</p> - -<p>'Right!' echoed the Princess, lifting the little girl who was her -namesake off her knee, a child white as a snowdrop, with golden curls, -who looked as if she had come out of a band of Correggio's baby angels.</p> - -<p>'He is always right,' said his wife, with a gesture towards Bela, who -had paused in his play to listen, with a leaden cuirassier of the guard -suspended in the air.</p> - -<p>'You are an admirable wife, Wanda,' said the Princess, with extreme -displeasure on her delicate features. 'You defend your lord when -through him you are probably <i>brouillée</i> with your Sovereign for life.'</p> - -<p>She added, her voice tremulous with astonishment and anger: 'It is a -caprice, an insolence, that no Sovereign and no minister could pardon. -I am most truly your husband's friend, but I can conceive no possible -excuse for such a change at the very last moment in a matter of such -vast importance.'</p> - -<p>'Let us wait, dear mother,' said Wanda softly. 'It is not you who would -condemn Réné unheard?'</p> - -<p>'But such a breach of etiquette! What explanation can ever annul it?'</p> - -<p>'Perhaps none. I know it is a very grave offence that he has committed, -and yet I cannot help being happy,' said his wife with a smile, as she -lifted up the little Ottilie, and murmured over the child's fair curls, -'Ah, my dear little dove! We are not going to Russia after all. You -little birds will not leave your nest!'</p> - -<p>'Bela is not going to the snow palace?' said he, whose ears were very -quick, and to whom his attendants had told marvellous narratives of an -utterly imaginary Russia.</p> - -<p>'No; are not you glad, my dear?'</p> - -<p>He thought very gravely for a moment.</p> - -<p>'Bela is not sure. Marc says Bela would have slaves in Russia, and -might beat them.'</p> - -<p>'Bela would be beaten himself if he did, and by my own hand, said his -mother very gravely. 'Oh, child! where did you get your cruelty?'</p> - -<p>'He is not cruel,' said the Princess. 'He is only masterful.'</p> - -<p>'Alas! it is the same thing.'</p> - -<p>She sent the children indoors, and remained after the sun-glow had all -faded, and Mdme. Ottilie had gone away to her own rooms, and paced -to and fro the length of the terrace, troubled by an anxiety which -she would have owned to no one. What could have happened to make -him so offend alike the State and the Court? She tormented herself -with wondering again and again whether she had used any incautious -expression in her letters which could have betrayed to him the poignant -regret the coming exile gave her. No! she was sure she had not done -so. She had only written twice, preferring telegrams as quicker, and, -to a man, less troublesome than letters. She knew courts and cabinets -too well not to know that the step her husband had taken was one which -would wholly ruin the favour he enjoyed with the former, and wholly -take away all chance of his being ever called again to serve the -latter. Personally she was indifferent to that kind of ambition; but -her attachment to the Imperial house was too strong, and her loyalty -to it too hereditary, for her not to be alarmed at the idea of losing -its good-will. Disquieted and afraid of all kinds of formless unknown -ills, she went with a heavy heart into the Rittersaal to a dinner for -which she could find no appetite. The Princess also, so talkative and -vivacious at other times, was silent and pre-occupied. The evening -passed tediously. He did not come.</p> - -<p>It was past midnight, and she had given up all hope of his arrival, -when she heard the returning trot of the horses, who had been sent over -to Matrey in the evening on the chance of his being there. She was in -her own chamber, having dismissed her women, and was trying in vain to -keep her thoughts to nightly prayer. At the sound of the horses' feet -without, she threw on a <i>négligé</i> of white satin and lace, and went, -out on to the staircase to meet him. As he came up the broad stairs, -with Donau and Neva gladly leaping on him, he looked up and saw her -against the background of oak and tapestry and old armour, with the -light of a great Persian lamp in metal that swung above shed full upon -her. She had never looked more lovely to him than as she stood so, her -eyes eagerly searching the dim shadow for him, and the loose white -folds embroidered in silk with pale roses flowing downward from her -throat to her feet. He drew her within her chamber, and took her in his -arms with a passionate gesture.</p> - -<p>'Let us forget everything,' he murmured, 'except that we have been -parted nearly a month!'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> - - -<p>In the morning, after breakfast in the little Saxe room, she said to -him with gentle firmness: 'Réné, you must tell me now—why have you -refused Russia?'</p> - -<p>He had known that the question must come, and all the way on his -homeward journey he had been revolving in his mind the answer he would -give to it. He was very pale, but otherwise he betrayed no agitation as -he turned and looked at her.</p> - -<p>'That is what I cannot tell you,' he replied.</p> - -<p>She could not believe she heard aright.</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?' she asked him. 'I have had a message from Kunst; -he is deeply angered. I understand that, after all was arranged, you -abruptly resigned the Russian mission. I ask your reasons. It is a very -grave step to have taken. I suppose your motives must be very strong -ones?'</p> - -<p>'They are so,' said Sabran; and he continued in the forced and measured -tone of one who recites what he has taught himself to say: 'It is quite -natural that your cousin Kunst should be offended; the Emperor also. -You perhaps will be the same when I say to you that I cannot tell you, -as I cannot tell them, the grounds of my withdrawal. Perhaps you, like -them, will not forgive it.'</p> - -<p>Her nostrils dilated and her breast heaved: she was startled, -mortified, amazed. 'You do not choose to tell <i>me</i>!' she said in -stupefaction.</p> - -<p>'I cannot tell you.'</p> - -<p>'She gazed at him with the first bitterness of wrath that he had ever -seen upon her face. She had been used to perfect submission of others -all her life. She had the blood in her of stern princes, who had meted -out rule and justice against which there had been no appeal. She was -accustomed even in him to deference, homage, consideration, to be -consulted always, deferred to often. His answer for the moment seemed -to her an unwarrantable insult.</p> - -<p>Her influence, her relatives, her sovereign, had given him one of the -highest honours conceivable, and he did not choose to even say why he -was thankless for it! Passionate and withering words rose to her lips, -but she restrained their utterance. Not even in that moment could she -bring herself to speak what might seem to rebuke him with the weight -of all his debt to her. She remained silent, but he understood all the -intense indignation that held her speechless there. He approached her -more nearly, and spoke with emotion, but with a certain sternness in -his voice——</p> - -<p>'I know very well that I must offend and even outrage you. But I -cannot tell you my motives. It is the first time that I have ever -acted independently of you or failed to consult your wishes. I only -venture to remind you that marriage does give to the man the right to -do so, though I have never availed myself of it. Nay, even now, I owe -you too much to be ingrate enough to take refuge in my authority as -your husband. I prefer to owe more, as I have owed so much, to your -tenderness. I prefer to ask of you, by your love for me, not to press -me for an answer that I am not in a position to make; to be content -with what I say—that I have relinquished the Russian mission because I -have no choice but to do so.'</p> - -<p>He spoke firmly, because he spoke only the truth, although not all the -truth.</p> - -<p>A great anger rose up in her, the first that she had ever been moved to -by him. All the pride of her temper and all her dignity were outraged -by this refusal to have confidence in her. It seemed incredible -to her. She still thought herself the prey of some dream, of some -hallucination. Her lips parted to speak, but again she withheld the -words she was about to utter. Her strong justice compelled her to admit -that he was but within his rights, and her sense of duty was stronger -than her sense of self-love.</p> - -<p>She did not look at him, nor could she trust her voice. She turned -from him without a syllable, and left the room. She was afraid of the -violence of the anger that she felt.</p> - -<p>'If it had been only to myself I would pardon it,' she thought; 'but an -insult to my people, to my country, to my sovereign!—an insult without -excuse, or explanation, or apology——'</p> - -<p>She shut herself alone within her oratory and passed the most bitter -hour of her life. The imperious and violent temper of the Szalras -was dormant in her character, though she had chastened and tamed it, -and the natural sweetness and serenity of her disposition had been a -counterpoise to it so strong that the latter had become the only thing -visible in her. But all the wrath of her race was now aroused and in -arms against what she loved best on earth.</p> - -<p>'If it had been anything else,' she thought; 'but a public act like -this—an ingratitude to the Crown itself! A caprice for all the world -to chatter of and blame!'</p> - -<p>It would have been hard enough to bear, difficult enough to explain -away to others, if he had told her his reasons, however captious, -unwise, or selfish they might be; but to have the door of his soul -thus shut upon her, his thoughts thus closed to her, hurt her with -intolerable pain, and filled her with a deep and burning indignation.</p> - -<p>She passed all the early morning hours alone in her little temple of -prayer, striving in vain against the bitterness of her heart; above -her the great ivory Crucifixion, the work of Angermayer, beneath which -so many generations of the women of the House of Szalras had knelt in -their hours of tribulation or bereavement.</p> - -<p>When she left the oratory she had conquered herself. Though she could -not extinguish the human passions that smarted and throbbed within her, -she knew her duty well enough to know that it must lie in submission -and in silence.</p> - -<p>She sought for him at once. She found him in the library: he was -playing to himself a long dreamy concerto of Schubert's, to soothe the -irritation of his own nerves and pass away a time of keen suspense. He -rose as she came into the room, and awaited her approach with a timid -anxiety in his eyes, which she was too absorbed by her own emotions to -observe. He had assumed a boldness that he had not, and had used his -power to dominate her rather in desperation than in any sense of actual -mastery. In his heart it was he who feared her.</p> - -<p>'You were quite right,' she said simply to him. 'Of course, you are -master of your own actions, and owe no account of them to me. We will -say no more about it. For myself, you know I am content enough to -escape exile to any embassy.'</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand with an unfeigned reverence and humility.</p> - -<p>'You are as merciful as you are great,' he murmured. 'If I be silent it -is my misfortune.' He paused abruptly.</p> - -<p>A sudden thought came over her as he spoke.</p> - -<p>'It is some State secret that he knows and cannot speak of, and that -has made him unwilling to go. Why did I never think of that before?'</p> - -<p>An explanation that had its root in honour, a reticence that sprang -from conscience, were so welcome to her, and to her appeared so -natural, that they now consoled her at once, and healed the wounds to -her own pride.</p> - -<p>'Of course, if it be so, he is right not to speak even to me,' she -mused, and her only desire was now to save him from the insistence and -the indignation of the Princess, and the examination which these were -sure to entail upon him when he should meet her at the noon breakfast -now at hand.</p> - -<p>To that end she sought out her aunt in her own apartments, taking -with her the tiny Ottilie, who always disarmed all irritation in her -godmother by the mere presence of her little flower-like face.</p> - -<p>'Dear mother,' she said softly, when the child had made her morning -obeisance, 'I am come to ask of you a great favour and kindness to me. -Réné returned last night. He has done what he thought right. I do not -even ask his reasons. He has acted from <i>force majeure</i> by dictate of -his own honour. Will you do as I mean to do? Will you spare him any -interrogation? I shall be so grateful to you, and so will he.'</p> - -<p>Mdme. Ottilie, opening her bonbonnière for her namesake, drew up her -fragile figure with a severity unusual to her.</p> - -<p>'Do I hear you aright? You do not even know the reasons of the insult -M. de Sabran has passed upon the Crown and Cabinet, and you do not even -mean to ask them?'</p> - -<p>'I do mean that; and what I do not ask I feel sure you will admit no -one else has any right to ask of him.'</p> - -<p>'No one certainly except His Majesty.'</p> - -<p>'I presume His Majesty has had all information due to him as our -Imperial master. All I entreat of you, dearest mother, is to do as -I have done; assume, as we are bound to assume, that Réné has acted -wisely and rightly, and not weary him with questions to which it will -be painful to him not to respond.'</p> - -<p>'Questions! I never yet indulged in anything so vulgar as curiosity, -that you should imagine I shall be capable of subjecting your husband -to a cross-examination. If you be satisfied, I can have no right to -be more exacting than yourself. The occurrence is to me lamentable, -inexcusable, unintelligible; but if explanation be not offered me you -may rest assured I shall not intrude my request for it.'</p> - -<p>'Of that I am sure; but I am not contented only with that. I want you -to feel no dissatisfaction, no doubt, no anger against him. You may be -sure that he has acted from conviction, because he was most desirous to -go to Russia, as you saw when you urged him to accept the mission.'</p> - -<p>'I have said the utmost that I can say,' replied the Princess, with a -chill light in her blue eyes. 'This little child is no more likely to -ask questions than I am, after what you have stated. But you must not -regard my silence as any condonation of what must always appear to me a -step disrespectful to the Crown, contrary to all usages of etiquette, -and injurious to his own future and that of his children. His scruples -of conscience came too late.'</p> - -<p>'I did not say they were exactly that. I believe he learned something -which made him consider that his honour required him to withdraw.'</p> - -<p>'That may be,' said the Princess, frigidly. 'As I observed, it came -lamentably late. You will excuse me if I breakfast in my own rooms this -morning.'</p> - -<p>Wanda left her, gave the child to a nurse who waited without, and -returned to the library. She had offended and pained Mdme. Ottilie, -but she had saved her husband from annoyance. She knew that though -the Princess was by no means as free from curiosity as she declared -herself, she was too high-bred and too proud to solicit a confidence -withheld from her.</p> - -<p>Sabran was seated at the piano where she had left him, but his forehead -rested on the woodwork of it, and his whole attitude was suggestive -of sad and absorbed thought and abandonment to regrets that were -unavailing.</p> - -<p>'It has cost him so much,' she reflected as she looked at him. 'Perhaps -it has been a self-sacrifice, a heroism even; and I, from mere wounded -feeling, have been angered against him and almost cruel!'</p> - -<p>With the exaggeration in self-censure of all generous natures, she was -full of remorse at having added any pain to the disappointment which -had been his portion; a disappointment none the less poignant, as she -saw, because it had been voluntarily, as she imagined, accepted.</p> - -<p>As he heard her approach he started and rose, and the expression of his -face startled her for a moment; it was so full of pain, of melancholy, -almost (could she have believed it) of despair. What could this matter -be to affect him thus, since being of the State it could be at its -worst only some painful and compromising secret of political life which -could have no personal meaning for him? It was surely impossible that -mere disappointment——a disappointment self-inflicted——could bring -upon him such suffering? But she threw these thoughts away. In her -great loyalty she had told herself that she must not even think of this -thing, lest she should let it come between them once again and tempt -her from her duty and obedience. Her trust in him was perfect.</p> - -<p>The abandonment of a coveted distinction was in itself a bitter -disappointment, but it seemed to him as nothing beside the sense of -submission and obedience compelled from him to Vàsàrhely. He felt as -though an iron hand, invisible, weighed on his life, and forced it into -subjection. When he had almost grown secure that his enemy's knowledge -was a buried harmless thing, it had risen and barred his way, speaking -with an authority which it was not possible to disobey. With all his -errors he was a man of high courage, who had always held his own with -all men. How the old forgotten humiliation of his earliest years -revived, and enforced from him the servile timidity of the Slav blood -which he had abjured. He had never for an instant conceived it possible -to disregard the mandate he received; that an apparently voluntary -resignation was permitted to him was, his conscience acknowledged, more -mercy than he could have expected. That Vàsàrhely would act thus had -not occurred to him; but before the act he could not do otherwise than -admit its justice and obey.</p> - -<p>But the consciousness of that superior will compelling him, left in him -a chill tremor of constant fear, of perpetual self-abasement. What was -natural to him was the reckless daring which many Russians, such as -Skobeleff, have shown in a thousand ways of peril. He was here forced -only to crouch and to submit; it was more galling, more cruel to him -than utter exposure would have been. The sense of coercion was always -upon him like a dragging chain. It produced on him a despondency, which -not even the presence of his wife or the elasticity of his own nature -could dispel.</p> - -<p>He had to play a part to her, and to do this was unfamiliar and hateful -to him. In all the years before he had concealed a fact from her, but -he had never been otherwise false. Though to his knowledge there had -been always between them the shadow of a secret untold, there had -never been any sense upon him of obligation to measure his words, to -feign sentiments he had not, to hide behind a carefully constructed -screen of untruth. Now, though he had indeed not lied with his lips, -he had to sustain a concealment which was a thousand times more trying -to him than that concealment of his birth and station to which he had -been so long accustomed that he hardly realised it as any error. The -very nobility with which she had accepted his silence, and given it, -unasked, a worthy construction, smote him with a deeper sense of shame -than even that which galled him when he remembered the yoke laid on him -by the will of Egon Vàsàrhely.</p> - -<p>He roused himself to meet her with composure.</p> - -<p>She rested her hand caressingly on his.</p> - -<p>'We will never speak of Russia any more. I should be sorry were the -Kaiser to think you capricious or disloyal, but you have too much -ability to have incurred this risk. Let it all be as though there had -never arisen any question of public life for you. I have explained -to Aunt Ottilie; she will not weary you with interrogation; she -understands that you have acted as your honour bade you. That is enough -for those who love you as do she and I.'</p> - -<p>Every word she spoke entered his very soul with the cruellest irony, -the sharpest reproach. But of these he let her see nothing. Yet he -was none the less abjectly ashamed, less passionately self-condemned, -because he had to consume his pain in silence, and had the self-control -to answer, still with a smile, as he touched a chord or two of music:</p> - -<p>'When the Israelites were free they hankered after the flesh-pots of -Egypt. They deserved eternal exile, eternal bondage. So do I, for -having ever been ingrate enough to dream of leaving Hohenszalras for -the world of men!'</p> - -<p>Then he turned wholly towards the Erard keyboard, and with splendour -and might there rolled forth under his touch the military march of -Rákóczi: he was glad of the majesty and passion of the music which -supplanted and silenced speech.</p> - -<p>'That is very grand,' she said, when the last notes had died away. -'One seems to hear the <i>Eljén!</i> of the whole nation in it. But play me -something more tender, more pathetic——some <i>lieder</i> half sorrow and -half gladness, you know so many of all countries.'</p> - -<p>He paused a moment; then his hands wandered lightly across the notes, -and called up the mournful folk-songs that he had heard so long, so -long, before; songs of the Russian peasants, of the maidens borne off -by the Tartar in war, of the blue-eyed children carried away to be -slaves, of the homeless villagers beholding their straw-roofed huts -licked up by the hungry hurrying flame lit by the Kossack or the Kurd; -songs of a people without joy, that he had heard in his childish days, -when the great rafts had drifted slowly down the Volga water, and -across the plains the lines of chained prisoners had crept as slowly -through the dust; or songs that he had sung to himself, not knowing -why, where the winter was white on all the land, and the bay of the -famished wolves afar off had blent with the shrill sad cry of the wild -swans dying of cold and of hunger and of thirst on the frozen rivers, -and the reeds were grown hard as spears of iron, and the waves were -changed to stone.</p> - -<p>The intense melancholy penetrated her very heart. She listened with -the tears in her eyes, and her whole being stirred and thrilled by a -pain not her own. A kind of consciousness came to her, borne on that -melancholy melody, of some unspoken sorrow which lived in this heart -which beat so near her own, and whose every throb she had thought she -knew. A sudden terror seized her lest all this while she who believed -his whole life hers was in truth a stranger to his deepest grief, his -dearest memories.</p> - -<p>When the last sigh of those plaintive songs without words had died -away, she signed to him to approach her.</p> - -<p>'Tell me,' she said very gently, 'tell me the truth. Réné, did you ever -care for any woman, dead or lost, more than, or as much as, you care -for me? I do not ask you if you loved others. I know all men have many -caprices, but was any one of them so dear to you that you regret her -still? Tell me the truth; I will be strong to bear it.'</p> - -<p>He, relieved beyond expression that she but asked him that on which his -conscience was clear and his answer could be wholly sincere, sat down -at her feet and leaned his head against her knee.</p> - -<p>'Never, so hear me God!' he said simply. 'I have loved no woman as I -love you.'</p> - -<p>'And there is not one that you regret?'</p> - -<p>'There is not one.'</p> - -<p>'Then what is it that you do regret? Something more weighs on you than -the mere loss of diplomatic life, which; after all, to you is no more -than the loss of a toy to Bela.'</p> - -<p>'If I do regret,' he said, with a smile, 'it is foolish and thankless. -The happiness you give me here is worth all the fret and fever of -the world's ambitions. You are so great and good to be so little -angered with me for my reticence. All my life, such as it is, shall be -dedicated to my gratitude.'</p> - -<p>Once more an impulse to tell her all passed over him——a sense that -he might trust her absolutely for all tenderness and all pity came -upon him; but with the weakness which so constantly holds back human -souls from their own deliverance, his courage once again failed him. -He once more looking at her thought: 'Nay! I dare not. She would never -understand, she would never pardon, she would never listen. At the -first word she would abhor me.'</p> - -<p>He did not dare; he bent his face down on her knees as any child might -have done.</p> - -<p>'What I ever must regret is not to be worthy of you!' he murmured; and -the subterfuge was also a truth.</p> - -<p>She looked down at him wistfully with doubt and confusion mingled. She -sighed, for she understood that buried in his heart there was some pain -he would not share, perchance some half involuntary unfaithfulness he -did not dare confess. She thrust this latter thought away quickly; it -hurt her as the touch of a hot iron hurts tender flesh; she would not -harbour it. It might well be, she knew.</p> - -<p>She was silent some little time, then she said calmly:</p> - -<p>'I think you worthy. Is not that enough? Never say to me what you do -not wish to say. But——but——if there be anything you believe that I -should blame, be sure of this, love: I am no fair weather friend. Try -me in deep water, in dark storm!'</p> - -<p>And still he did not speak.</p> - -<p>His evil angel held him back and said to him, 'Nay! she would never -forgive.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> - - -<p>One day in this winter time she sat alone in her octagon-room whilst he -was out driving in the teeth of a strong wind blowing from the north -and frequent bursts of snowstorm. Rapid exercise, eager movements, were -necessary to him at once as tonic and as anodyne, and the northern -blood that was in him made the bitter cold, the keen and angry air, the -conflict with the frantic horses tearing at their curbs welcome and -wholesome to him. Paul Zabaroff had many a day driven so over the hard -snows of Russian plains.</p> - -<p>She sat at home as the twilight drew on, her feet buried in the furs -before her chair, the fragrance shed about her from a basket of forced -narcissus and bowls full of orange flowers and of violets, the light -of the burning wood shining on the variegated and mellow hues of the -tiles of the hearth. The last poems of Coppée were on her lap, but -her thoughts had wandered away from those to Sabran, to her children, -to a thousand happy trifles connected with one or the other. She was -dreaming idly in that vague reverie which suits the last hour of the -reclining day in the grey still winter of a mountain-land. She was -almost sorry when Hubert entered and brought her the mail-bag, which -had just come through the gloomy defiles and the frosted woods which -stretched between them and Matrey.</p> - -<p>'It grows late,' she said to him. 'I fear it will be a stormy night. -Have you heard the Marquis return?</p> - -<p>He told her that Sabran had not yet driven in, and ventured to add -his hope that his master would not be out long; then he asked if she -desired the lamps lit, and on being told she did not, withdrew, leaving -the leather bag on a table close to one of the Saxe bowls of violets. -There was plenty of light from the fire, and even from the windows, to -read her letters by; she went first to one of the casements and looked -at the night, which was growing very wild and dark. Though day still -lingered, she could hear the wind go screaming down the lake, and -the rush of the swollen water swirling against the terrace buttresses -below. All beyond, woods, hills, mountains, were invisible under the -grey mist.</p> - -<p>'I hope he will not be late,' she thought, but she was too keen a -mountaineer to be apprehensive. Sabran now knew every road and path -through all the Tauern as well as she did. She returned to her seat and -unlocked the leather bag; there were several newspapers, two letters -for the Princess, three or four for Sabran, and one only for herself. -She laid his aside for him, sent those of the Princess to her room, -and opened her own. The writing of it she did not recognise; it was -anonymous, and was very brief.</p> - - -<p>'If you wish to know why the Marquis de Sabran did not go to Russia, -ask Egon Vàsàrhely.'</p> - - -<p>That was all: so asps are little.</p> - -<p>She sat quite still, and felt as if a bolt had fallen on her from the -leaden skies without. Vàsàrhely knew, the writer of the letter knew, -and she——<i>she——</i> did not know! That was her first distinct thought.</p> - -<p>If Sabran had entered the room at that instant she would have held to -him this letter, and would have said, 'I ask you, not him.' He was -absent, and she sat motionless, keeping the unsigned note in her hand, -and staring down on it. Then she turned and looked at the post-mark. -It was 'Vienna,' A city of a million souls! What clue to the writer -was there? She read it again and again, as even the wisest will read -such poisonous things, as though by repeated study that mystery would -be compelled to stand out clearly revealed. It did not say enough to -have been the mere invention of the sender; it was not worded as an -insinuation, but as a fact. For that reason it took a hold upon her -mind which would at once have rejected a fouler or a darker suggestion. -Although free from any baseness of suspicion there was yet that in the -name of her cousin, in juxtaposition with her husband's, which could -not do otherwise than startle and carry with it a corroboration of the -statement made. A wave of the deep anger which had moved her on her -husband's first refusal swept over her again. Her hand clenched, her -eyes hashed, where she sat alone in the gathering shadows.</p> - -<p>There came a sound at the door of the room and a small golden head came -from behind the tapestry.</p> - -<p>'May we come in?' said Bela; it was the children's hour.</p> - -<p>She rose, and put him backward.</p> - -<p>'Not now, my darling; I am occupied. Go away for a little while.'</p> - -<p>The women who were with them took the children back to their -apartments. She sat down with the note still in her hand. What could -it mean? No good thing was ever said thus. She pondered long, and was -unable to imagine any sense or meaning it could have, though all the -while memories thronged upon, her of words, and looks, and many trifles -which had told her of the enmity that was existent between her cousin -and Sabran. That she saw; but there her knowledge ceased, her vision -failed. She could go no further, conjecture nothing more.</p> - -<p>'Ask Egon!' Did they think she would ask him or any living being that -which Sabran had refused to confide in her? Whoever wrote this knew her -little, she thought. Perhaps there were women who would have done so. -She was not one of them.</p> - -<p>With a sudden impulse of scorn she cast the sheet of paper into the -fire before her. Then she went to her writing-table and enclosed the -envelope in another, which she addressed to her lawyers in Salzburg. -She wrote with it: 'This is the cover to an anonymous letter which I -have received. Try your uttermost to discover the sender.'</p> - -<p>Then she sat down again and thought long, and wearily, and vainly. She -could make nothing of it. She could see no more than a wayfarer whom a -blank wall faces as he goes. The violets and orange blossoms were close -at her elbow; she never in after time smelt their perfume without a -sick memory of the stunned, stupefied bewilderment of that hour.</p> - -<p>The door unclosed again, a voice again spoke behind as a hand drew back -the folds of the tapestry.</p> - -<p>'What, are you in darkness here? I am very cold. Have you no tea for -me?' said Sabran, as he entered, his eyes brilliant; his cheeks warm, -from the long gallop against the wind. He had changed his clothes, and -wore a loose suit of velvet; the servants, entering behind him, lit the -candelabra, and brought in the lamps; warmth, and gladness, and light -seemed to come with him; she looked up and thought, 'Ah! what does any -thing matter? He is home in safety!'</p> - -<p>The impulse to ask of him what she had been bidden to ask of Egon -Vàsàrhely had passed with the intense surprise of the first moment. She -could not ask of him what she had promised never to seek to know; she -could not reopen a long-closed wound. But neither could she forget the -letter lying burnt there amongst the flames of the wood. He noticed -that her usual perfect calm was broken as she welcomed him, gave him -his letters, and bade the servants bring tea; but he thought it mere -anxiety, and his belated drive; and being tired with a pleasant fatigue -which made rest sweet, he stretched his limbs out on a low couch beside -the hearth, and gave himself up to that delicious dreamy sense of -<i>bien-être</i> which a beautiful woman, a beautiful room, tempered warmth -and light, and welcome repose, bring to any man after some hours effort -and exposure in wild weather and intense cold and increasing darkness.</p> - -<p>'I almost began to think I should not see you to-night,' he said -happily, as he took from her hand the little cup of Frankenthal china -which sparkled like a jewel in the light. 'I had fairly lost my way, -and Josef knew it no better than I; the snow fell with incredible -rapidity, and it seemed to grow night in an instant. I let the horses -take their road, and they brought us home; but if there be any poor -pedlars or carriers on the hills to-night I fear they will go to their -last sleep.'</p> - -<p>She shuddered and looked at him with dim, fond eyes, 'He is here; he is -mine,' she thought; 'what else matters?'</p> - -<p>Sabran stretched out his fingers and took some of the violets from the -Saxe bowl and fastened them in his coat as he went on speaking of the -weather, of the perils of the roads whose tracks were obliterated, and -of the prowess and intelligence of his horses, who had found the way -home when he and his groom, a man born and bred in the Tauern, had both -been utterly at a loss. The octagon-room had never looked lovelier and -gayer to him, and his wife had never looked more beautiful than both -did now as he came to them out of the darkness and the snowstorm and -the anxiety of the last hour.</p> - -<p>'Do not run those risks,' she murmured. 'You know all that your life is -to me.'</p> - -<p>The letter which lay burnt in the fire, and the dusky night of ice -and wind without, had made him dearer to her than ever. And yet the -startled, shocked sense of some mystery, of some evil, was heavy upon -her, and did not leave her that evening nor for many a day after.</p> - -<p>'You are not well?' he said to her anxiously later, as they left the -dinner-table. She answered evasively.</p> - -<p>'You know I am not always quite well now. It is nothing. It will pass.'</p> - -<p>'I was wrong to alarm you by being out so late in such weather,' he -said with self-reproach. 'I will go out earlier in future.'</p> - -<p>'Do not wear those violets,' she said, with a trivial caprice wholly -unlike her, as she took them from his coat. 'They are Bonapartist -emblems—<i>fleurs de malheur</i>.'</p> - -<p>He smiled, but he was surprised, for he had never seen in her any one -of those fanciful whims and vagaries that are common to women.</p> - -<p>'Give me any others instead,' he said; 'I wear but your symbol, O my -lady!'</p> - -<p>She took some myrtle and lilies of the valley from one of the large -porcelain jars in the Rittersaal.</p> - -<p>'These are our flowers,' she said as she gave them to him. 'They mean -love and peace.'</p> - -<p>He turned from her slightly as he fastened them where the others had -been.</p> - -<p>All the evening she was pre-occupied and nervous. She could not forget -the intimation she had received. It was intolerable to her to have -anything of which she could not speak to her husband. Though they had -their own affairs apart one from the other, there had been nothing -of moment in hers that she had ever concealed from him. But here it -was impossible for her to speak to him, since she had pledged herself -never to seek to know the reason of an action which, however plausibly -she explained it to herself, remained practically inexplicable and -unintelligible. It was terrible to her, too, to feel that the lines -of a coward who dared not sign them had sunk so deeply into her mind -that she did not question their veracity. They had at once carried -conviction to her that Egon Vàsàrhely did know what they said he did. -She could not have told why this was, but it was so. It was what hurt -her most——others knew; she did not.</p> - -<p>She felt that if she could have spoken to Sabran of it, the matter -would have become wholly indifferent to her; but the obligation of -reticence, the sense of separation which it involved, oppressed her -greatly. She was also haunted by the memory of the enmity which existed -between these men, whose names were so strangely coupled in the -anonymous counsel given her.</p> - -<p>She stayed long in her oratory that night, seeking vainly for calmness -and patience under this temptation; seeking beyond all things for -strength to put the poison of it wholly from her mind. She dreaded lest -it should render her irritable and suspicious. She reproached herself -for having been guilty of even so much insinuation of rebuke to him -as her words with the flower had carried in them. She had ideas of -the duties of a woman to her husband widely different to those which -prevail in the world. She allowed herself neither irritation nor irony -against him. 'When the thoughts rebel, the acts soon revolt,' she was -wont to say to herself, and even in her thoughts she would never blame -him.</p> - -<p>Prayer, even if it have no other issue or effect, rarely fails to -tranquillise and fortify the heart which is lifted up ever so vaguely -in search of a superhuman aid. She left her oratory strengthened and -calmed, resolved in no way to allow such partial success to their -unknown foe as would be given if the treacherous warning brought any -suspicion or bitterness to her mind. She passed through the open -archway in the wall which divided his rooms from hers, and looked at -him where he lay already asleep upon his bed, early fatigued by the -long cold drive from which he had returned at nightfall. He was never -more handsome than sleeping calmly thus, with the mellow light of a -distant lamp reaching the fairness of his face. She looked at him with -all her heart in her eyes; then stooped and kissed him without awaking -him.</p> - -<p>'Ah! my love,' she thought, 'what should ever come between us? Hardly -even death, I think, for if I lost you I should not live long without -you.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> - - -<p>The Salzburg lawyers employed all the resources of the Viennese police -to discover the sender of the envelope, but vainly; nothing was -learned by all the efforts made. But the letter constantly haunted her -thoughts. It produced in her an uneasiness and an apprehensiveness -wholly foreign to her temper. The impossibility also of saying anything -about it increased the weight of it on her memory. Yet she never once -thought of asking Vàsàrhely. She wrote to him now and then, as she had -always done, to give him tidings of her health or of her movements, -but she never once alluded in the most distant terms to the anonymous -information she had received. If he had been there beside her she would -not have spoken of it. Of the two, she would sooner have reopened the -subject to her husband. But she never did so. She had promised him -to be silent, and to her creed a promise was inviolate, never to be -retracted, be the pressure or the desire to do so what it would.</p> - -<p>It was these grand lines on which her character and her habits were -cast that awed him, and made him afraid to tell her his true history. -Had he revered her less he would probably have deceived her less. Had -she been of a less noble temperament she would also probably have been -much less easy to deceive.</p> - -<p>Her health was at this time languid, and more uncertain than usual, -and the two lines of the letter were often present to her thoughts, -tormenting her with idle conjecture, painful doubt, none the less -painful because it could take no definite shape. Sometimes when she -was not well enough to accompany him out of doors or drive her own -sleigh through the keen clear winter air, she sat doing nothing, and -thinking only of this thing, in the same room, with the same smell of -violets about her, musing on what it might by any possibility mean. Any -secret was safe with Egon, but then since the anonymous writer was in -possession of it the secret was not only his. She wondered sometimes in -terror whether it could be anything that might in after years affect -her children's future, and then as rapidly discarded the bare thought -as so much dishonour to their father. 'It is only because I am now -nervous and impressionable,' she said to herself,'that this folly takes -such a hold upon me. When I am well again I shall not think of it. Who -is it says of anonymous letters that they are like "<i>les immondices des -rues: il faut boucher le nez, tourner la tête et passer outre?</i>"'</p> - -<p>But '<i>les immondices</i>' spoiled the odours of the new year violets to -her.</p> - -<p>In the early spring of the year she gave birth to another son. She -suffered more than she had ever done before, and recovered less -quickly. The child was like all the others, fair, vigorous, and full -of health. She wished to give him her husband's name, but Sabran so -strenuously opposed the idea that she yielded, and named him after her -brother Victor, who had fallen at Magenta.</p> - -<p>There were the usual rejoicings throughout the estates, rejoicings -that were the outcome of genuine affection and fealty to the race of -Szalras, whose hold on the people of the Tauern had resisted all the -revolutionary movements of the earlier part of the century, and had -fast root in the hearts of the staunch and conservative mountaineers. -But for the first time as she heard the hearty '<i>Hoch!</i>' of the -assembled peasantry echoing beneath her windows, and the salvos fired -from the old culverins on the keep, a certain fear mingled with her -maternal pride, and she thought: 'Will the people love them as well -twenty years hence, fifty years hence, when I shall be no more? Will my -memory be any shield to them? Will the traditions of our race outlast -the devouring changes of the world?'</p> - -<p>Meantime the Princess, happy and smiling, showed the little new-born -noble to the stalwart chamois hunters, the comely farmers and -fishermen, the clear-eyed stout-limbed shepherds and labourers gathered -bareheaded round the Schloss.</p> - -<p>Bela stood by contemplating the crowd he knew so well; he did not see -why they should cheer any other child beside himself. He stood with his -little velvet cap in his hand, because he was always told to do so, but -he felt very inclined to put it on; if his father had not been present -there he would have done so.</p> - -<p>'If I have ever so many brothers,' he said at last thoughtfully to -Greswold, who was by his side, 'it will not make any difference, will -it? I shall always be <i>the</i> one?'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?' asked the physician.</p> - -<p>'They will none of them be like me? They will none of them be as great -as I am? Not if I have twenty?'</p> - -<p>'You will be always the eldest son, of course,' said the old man, -repressing a smile. 'Yes; you will be their head, their chief, their -leading spirit; but for that reason you will have much more expected of -you than will be expected of them; you will have to learn much more, -and try to be always good. Do you follow me, Count Bela?'</p> - -<p>Bela's little rosy mouth shut itself up contemptuously. 'I shall be -always the eldest, and I shall do whatever I like. I do not see why -they want any others than me.'</p> - -<p>'You will not do always what you like, Count Bela.'</p> - -<p>'Who shall prevent me?'</p> - -<p>'The law, which you will have to obey like everyone else.'</p> - -<p>'I shall make the laws when I am a little older,' said Bela. 'And they -will be for my brothers and all the people, but not for me. I shall do -what I like.'</p> - -<p>'That will be very ungenerous,' said Greswold, quietly. 'Your mother, -the Countess, is very different. She is stern to herself, and indulgent -to all others. That is why she is beloved. If you will think of -yourself so much when you are grown up, you will be hated.'</p> - -<p>Bela flushed a little guiltily and angrily.</p> - -<p>'That will not matter,' he said sturdily. 'I shall please myself -always.'</p> - -<p>'And be unkind to your brothers?'</p> - -<p>'Not if they do what I tell them; I will be very kind if they are good. -Gela always does what I tell him,' he added after a little pause; 'I do -not want any but Gela.'</p> - -<p>'It is natural you should be fondest of Gela, as he is nearest your -age, but you must love all the brothers you may have, or you will -distress your mother very greatly.'</p> - -<p>'Why does she want any but me?' said Bela, clinging to his sense of -personal wrong. And he was not to be turned from that.</p> - -<p>'She wants others beside you,' said the physician, adroitly, 'because -to be happy she needs children who are tender-hearted, unselfish, and -obedient. You are none of those things, my Count Bela, so Heavens ends -her consolation.'</p> - -<p>Bela opened his blue eyes very wide, and he coloured with mortification.</p> - -<p>'She always loves me best!' he said haughtily. 'She always will!'</p> - -<p>'That will depend on yourself, my little lord,' said Greswold, with a -significance which was not lost on the quick intelligence of the child; -and he never forgot this day when his brother Victor was shown to the -people.</p> - -<p>'There will be no lack of heirs to Hohenszalras,' said the Princess -meanwhile to his father.</p> - -<p>He thought as he heard:</p> - -<p>'And if ever she know she can break her marriage like a rotten thread! -Those boys can all be made as nameless as I was! Would she do it? -Perhaps not, for the children's sake. God knows——she might change -even to them; she might hate them as she loves them now, because they -are mine.'</p> - -<p>Even as he sat beside her couch with her hand in his these thoughts -pursued and haunted him. Remorse and fear consumed him. When she looked -at the blue eyes of her new-born son, and said to him with a happy -smile: 'He will be just as much like you as the others are,' he could -only think with a burning sense of shame, 'Like me! like a traitor! -like a liar! like a thief!'——and the faces of these children seemed -to him like those of avenging angels.</p> - -<p>He thought with irrepressible agony of the fact that her country's -laws would divorce her from him if she chose, did ever the truth come -to her ear. He had always known this indeed, as he had known all the -other risks he ran in doing what he did. Put it had been far away, -indistinct, unasserted; whenever the memory of it had passed over him -he had thrust it away. Now when another knew his secret, he could -not do so. He had a strange sensation of having fallen from some -great height; of having all his life slide away like melting ice out -of his hands. He never once doubted for an instant the good faith of -Egon Vàsàrhely. He knew that his lips would no more unclose to tell -his secret than the glaciers yonder would find human voice. But the -consciousness that one man lived, moved, breathed, rose with each day, -and went amongst other men, bearing with him that fatal knowledge, -made it now impossible for himself ever to forget it. A dull remorse, -a sharp apprehension, were for ever his companions, and never left him -for long even in his sweetest hours. He did justice to the magnificent -generosity of the one who spared him. Egon Vàsàrhely knew, as he knew, -that she, hearing the truth, could annul the marriage if she chose. -His children would have no rights, no name, if their mother chose to -separate herself from him. The law would make her once more as free -as though she had never wedded him. He knew that, and the other man -who loved her knew it too. He could measure the force of Vàsàrhely's -temptation as that simple and heroic soldier could not stoop to measure -his.</p> - -<p>He was deeply unhappy, but he concealed it from her. Even when his -heart beat against hers it seemed to him always that there was an -invisible wall between himself and her. He longed to tell the whole -truth to her, but he was afraid; if the whole pain and shame had been -his own that the confession would have caused, he would have dared it; -but he had not the heart to inflict on her such suffering, not the -courage to destroy their happiness with his own hand. Egon Vàsàrhely -alone knew, and he for her sake would never speak. As for the reproach -of his own conscience, as for the remorse that the words of his -children might at any moment call up in him, these lie must bear. He -was a man of cool judgment and of ready resource, and though he had -never foreseen the sharp repentance which his better nature now felt, -he knew that he would be able to live it down as he had crushed out so -many other scruples. He vowed to himself that as far as in him lay he -would atone for his act. The moral influence of his wife had not been -without effect on him. Not altogether, but partially, he had grown to -believe in what she believed in, of the duty of human life to other -lives; he had not her sympathy for others, but he had admired it, and -in his own way followed it, though without her faith.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>Life went on in its old pathways at Hohenszalras. Nothing more, was -said by him, or to him, as to his rejection of the Russian mission. She -was niggard in nothing, and when she offered her faith or pledged her -silence, gave both entirely and ungrudgingly. Sabran to her showed an -increase of devotion, an absolute adoration which would in themselves -have sufficed to console any woman; and if the most observant member -of their household, Greswold, perceived in him a preoccupation, a -languor, a gloom, which boded ill for their future peace, the old man -was too loyal in his attachment not to endeavour to shake off his own -suspicions and discredit his own penetration.</p> - -<p>The Princess had been favoured by a note from Olga Brancka, in which -that lady wrote: 'Have you discovered the nature of his refusal of -Russia? Myself, I believe that I was to blame. I hinted to him that -he would be tempted to his old sins in St. Petersburg, and that Wanda -would be very miserable there. It seems that this was enough for the -tender heart of this devoted lover, and too much for his wisdom and -his judgment; he rejected the mission after accepting it. I believe -the Court is furious. I am not <i>de service</i> now, so that I have no -opportunity of endeavouring to restore him to favour; but I imagine the -Emperor will not quarrel for ever with the Hohenszalrasburg.</p> - -<p>The letter restored him at least to the favour of Mdme. Ottilie. -Exaggerated as such a scruple appeared it did not seem to her -impossible in a man whose devotion to his wife she daily witnessed, -shown in a hundred traits. She blamed him still severely in her own -thoughts for what she held an inexcusable disrespect to the Crown, but -she kept her word scrupulously and never spoke to him on the subject.</p> - -<p>'Where else in the wide world would any man have found such -forbearance?' he thought with gratitude, and he knew that nowhere -would such delicate sentiment have existed outside the pale of that -fine patrician dignity which is as incapable of the vulgarity of -inquisitiveness and interrogation as was the Spartan of lament.</p> - -<p>The months went by. They did not leave home; he seemed to have lost -all wish for any absence, and even repulsed the idea of inviting the -usual house parties of the year. She supposed that he was averse to -meeting people who might recur to his rejection of the post he had -once accepted. The summer passed and the autumn came; he spent his -time in occasional sport, the keen and perilous sport of the Austrian -mountains, and more often and more faithfully beguiled himself with -those arts of which he was a brilliant master, though he would call -himself no more than a mere amateur. From the administration of the -estates he had altogether withdrawn himself.</p> - -<p>'You are so much wiser than I,' he always said to her; and when she -would have referred to him, replied: 'You have your lawyers; they are -all honest men. Consult them rather than me.'</p> - -<p>With the affairs of Idrac only he continued to concern himself a -little, and was persistent in setting aside all its revenues to -accumulate for his second son.</p> - -<p>'I wish you cared more about all these things,' she said to him one -day, when she had in her hand the reports from the mines of Galicia. -He answered angrily, 'I have no right to them. They are not mine. If -you chose to give them all away to the Crown I should say nothing.'</p> - -<p>'Not even for the children's sake?'</p> - -<p>'No: you would be entirely justified if you liked to give the children -nothing.'</p> - -<p>'I really do not understand you,' she said in great surprise.</p> - -<p>'Everything is yours,' he said abruptly.</p> - -<p>'And the children too, surely!' she said, with a smile: but the -strangeness of the remark disquieted her. 'It is over-sensitiveness,' -she thought; 'he can never altogether forget that he was poor. It is -for that reason public life would have been so good for him; dignities -which he enjoyed of his own, honours that he arrived at through his own -attainments.'</p> - -<p>Chagrined to have lost, the opportunity of winning personal honours -in a field congenial to him, the sense that everything was hers could -hardly fail to gall him sometimes constantly, though she strove to -efface any remembrance or reminder that it was so.</p> - -<p>In the midsummer of that year, whilst they were quite alone, they were -surprised by another letter from Mdme. Brancka, in which she proposed -to take Hohenszalras on her way from France to Tsarköe Selo, where she -was about to pay a visit which could not be declined by her.</p> - -<p>When in the spring he had written with formality to her to announce the -birth of his son Victor, she had answered with a witty coquettish reply -such as might well have been provocative of further correspondence. -But he had not taken up the invitation. Mortified and irritated, she -had compared his writing with the piece of burnt paper, and been more -satisfied than ever that he had penned the name of Vassia Kazán. But -even were it so, what, she wondered, had it to do with Russia? He -and Egon Vàsàrhely were not friends so intimate that they had any -common interests one with the other. The mystery had interested her -intensely when her rapid intuition had connected the resignation of -Sabran's appointment with the messenger sent to him from Taróc. Her -impatience to be again in his presence grew intense. She imagined a -thousand stories, to cast each aside in derision as impossible. All her -suppositions were built upon no better basis than a fragment of charred -paper; but her shrewd intuition bore her into the region of truth, -though the actual truth of course never suggested itself to her even in -her most fantastic and dramatic visions. Finally she thus proposed to -visit Hohenszalras in the midsummer months.</p> - -<p>'Last year you had such a crowd about you,' she wrote, 'that I -positively saw nothing of you, <i>liebe</i> Wanda. You are alone now, and -I venture to propose myself for a fortnight. You cannot exactly be -said to be in the way to anywhere, but I shall make you so. When one -is going to Russia, a matter of another five hundred miles or so is a -bagatelle.'</p> - -<p>'We must let her come,' said Wanda, as she gave the letter to Sabran, -who, having read it, said with much sincerity——</p> - -<p>'For heaven's sake, do not. A fortnight of Madame Olga! as well -have——a century of "Madame Angot!"'</p> - -<p>'Can I prevent her?'</p> - -<p>'You can make some excuse. I do not like Mdme. Brancka.'</p> - -<p>'Why?'</p> - -<p>He hesitated; he could not tell her what he had felt at the ball of -the Hofburg. 'She reminds me of a woman who drew me into a thousand -follies, and to cap her good deeds betrayed me to the Prussians. If you -must let her come I will go away. I will go and see your haras on the -Pusztas.'</p> - -<p>'Are you serious?'</p> - -<p>'Quite serious. Were I not ashamed of such a weakness, I should use a -feminine expression. I should say "<i>elle me donne des nerfs.</i>"'</p> - -<p>'I think she has a great admiration for you, and she does not conceal -it.'</p> - -<p>'Merely because she is sensible that I do not like her. Such women as -she are discontented if only one person fail to admit their charm. She -is accustomed to admiration, and she is not scrupulous as to how she -obtains it.'</p> - -<p>'My dear! pray remember that she is our guest, and doubly our relative.'</p> - -<p>'I will try and remember it; but, believe me, all honour is wholly -wasted upon Mdme. Olga. You offer her a coin of which the person and -the superscription are alike unknown to her.'</p> - -<p>'You are very severe,' said his wife.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, and perceived that he was not jesting, that he -was on the contrary disturbed and annoyed, and she remembered the -persistence with which Olga Brancka had sought his companionship and -accompanied him on his sport in the summer of her visit there.</p> - -<p>'If she had not married first my brother and then my cousin, she would -never have been an intimate friend of mine,' she continued. 'She is of -a world wholly opposed to all my tastes. For you to be absent, if she -came, would be too marked, I think; but we can both leave, if you like. -I am well enough for any movement now, and I can leave the child with -his nurse. Shall we make a tour in Hungary? The haras will interest -you. There are the mines, too, that one ought to visit.'</p> - -<p>He received her assent with gratitude and delight. He felt that he -would have gone to the uttermost ends of the earth rather than run the -risk of spending long lonely summer days in the excitation of Mdme. -Brancka's presence. He detested her, he would always detest her; and -yet when he shut his eyes he saw her so clearly, with the malicious -light in her dusky glance, and the jewelled butterfly trembling about -her breasts.</p> - -<p>'She shall never come under Wanda's roof if I can prevent it,' he -thought, remembering her as she had been that night.</p> - -<p>A few days later the Countess Brancka, much to her rage, had a note -from the Hohenszalrasburg, which said that they were on the point of -leaving for Hungary and Galicia, but that if she would come there in -their absence, the Princess Ottilie, who remained, would be charmed to -receive her. Of course she excused herself, and did not go. A visit to -the solitudes of the Iselthal, where she would, see no one but a lady -of eighty years old and four little children, had few attractions for -the adventurous and vivacious wife of Stefan Brancka.</p> - -<p>'It is only Wanda's jealousy,' she thought, and was furious; but she -looked at herself in the mirror, and was almost consoled as she thought -also, 'He avoids me. Therefore he is afraid of me!'</p> - -<p>She went to her god, <i>le monde</i>, and worshipped at all its shrines and -in all its fashions; but in the midst of the turmoil and the triumphs, -the worries and the intoxications of her life, she did not lose her -hold on her purpose, nor forget that he had slighted her. His beautiful -face, serene and scornful, was always before her. He might have been at -her feet, and he chose to dwell beside his wife under those solitary -forests, amongst those solitary mountains of the High Tauern!</p> - -<p>'With a woman he has lived with all these eight years!' she thought, -with furious impatience. 'With a woman who has grafted the Lady of La -Garaye on Libussa, who never gives him a moment's jealousy, who is -as flawless as an ivory statue or a marble throne, who suckles her -children and could spin their clothes if she wanted, who never cares -to go outside the hills of her own home——the Teuton <i>Hausfrau</i> to -her finger-tips.' And she was all the more bitter and the more angered -because, always as she tried to think thus, the image of Wanda rose up -before her, as she had seen her so often at Vienna or Hohenszalras, -with the great pearls on her hair and on her breast.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -A planet at whose passing, lo!<br /> -All lesser stars recede, and night<br /> -Grows clear as day thus lighted up<br /> -By all her loveliness, which burns<br /> -With pure white flame of chastity;<br /> -And fires of fair thought....<br /> -</p> - - -<h4>END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</h4> -<hr class="full" /> -<p style="margin-left: 20%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -CONTENTS<br /><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wanda, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Ouida - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDA, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 52136-h.htm or 52136-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52136/ - -Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc -D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images -generouslly made available by the Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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