Chapter VI: Part 6

"As your Excellency commands. I did not seek this interview: it was forced upon me; but I imagine you are now entirely relieved of all fear lest I should presume upon any tie of relationship. You fancy yourself, with your ancient pedigree, exalted far above the world around us; you have, with an iron hand, thrust out and blotted from your life the only member of your family who dared to defy your pride of ancestry. But your escutcheon is not, after all, as high as the sun in the heavens; there may come a day when it will wear a stain that you cannot wipe out. Then you will know what it is to be obliged, while a passionate love of honour glows in your heart, to atone for the sin and the disgrace of another, as you now force me to expiate the memory of my father; then you will comprehend what a pitiless judge you have been towards my mother. May I consider myself dismissed, your Excellency?"

He stood erect in stiff military guise. The general did not reply; something like a shudder thrilled through him at Michael's words, sounding as they did almost prophetic; for an instant there rose before his mind something dark and formless, like a foreboding of coming evil, but it faded instantly. He mutely motioned to the young officer to withdraw, and Michael went without one backward glance. In another minute the door was closed behind him.

When Steinrueck was alone he began to pace the room restlessly to and fro, but his glance rested again and again upon a portrait on the wall of himself as a young officer. No, there was no resemblance between that handsome head, with its nobly-formed, regular features, and that other characteristic but plain face, not the least! And yet those very eyes had flashed at him from that face; it was his voice that he had heard from Michael's lips, and his was the inflexible pride, the iron resolve which did not shun a strife with whatever life might bring; the resemblance lay, not in the features, but in the look and the air.

This was borne in irresistibly upon the mind of the Count, as he stood still at last, and gazed fixedly and gloomily at his youthful presentment. He was indignant, offended, and yet there was in his soul a glimmer of something which had always been lacking in his thoughts of his son and his grandson,--the consciousness that there existed an heir of his blood, and of his character. He had tried in vain to discover a trace of it in Raoul,--in vain! But the repudiated son of the outcast daughter, the young man who had just left his presence as a stranger, had this blood in his veins, and in spite of all his hatred and indignation his grandfather felt that he was an offshoot of his race.

* * * * *

Professor Wehlau occupied a moderately-sized but very pretty villa in the western part of the city. The garden attached to it was large, and the comfortable and tasteful arrangement of the whole bore witness to the fact that advanced science is in no wise hostile to the amenities of life.

The winter was nearing its end; March had begun, and the air was full of hints of spring. In the Wehlau mansion, however, there was always a threatening of storm; the discord between father and son was still far from being resolved into harmony, and the 'thunder-cloud,' as Hans disrespectfully dubbed his father's mood, frequently lowered above his head. This was the case to-day, when the young artist was sitting in the study of the Professor, who had just emptied the vials of his wrath upon his disobedient son.

"Look at Michael," he said at last, in conclusion. "He knows what it is to work, and he gets on in the world. Here he is a captain at only twenty-nine,--and what are you?"

"I wish Michael would for once make an infernal ass of himself!" Hans said, fretfully, "just that I might not have his excellence forever dinned into my ears. You behold in the new-fangled captain the future general field-marshal, who will win no end of battles for our country, and in your son, your own flesh and blood, a fellow of undoubted genius, you see nothing to admire. Really, father, it is past endurance."

"Have done with your nonsense!" Wehlau interrupted him in the worst possible humour. "You would fain persuade me that you are 'industrious'! Of course, according to your artistic conception of the word! Run about and amuse yourself for half the day, under the pretence of making studies, and spend the rest of it playing all kinds of pranks in the various studios! And then comes the inevitable Italian tour, when amusement is the order of the day, all of course in the interest of art! And that you call working industriously! Oh, the life is precisely to your taste, and, moreover, it is the only one for which you are fit."

These reproaches, unfortunately, produced not the slightest effect. Hans seated himself astride of his chair and rejoined without any irritation, "Don't scold, papa, or I will paint you life-size and present the portrait to the university, which will, you may be sure, return me a vote of thanks. I have long wanted to ask you to sit to me."

"This is too much!" the Professor burst forth. "I positively forbid you to represent me with your daubs."

"Then come at least and see my studio. You have never seen one of my 'daubs.'"

"No," growled Wehlau, "I will not put myself in the way of being so irritated; crazy, idealistic stuff,--faded sentimentality,--at best some exasperating caricature. You never can go beyond that, as I know well enough. I do not want to see or to hear anything of the matter."

"But you have heard something of it already," the young artist said, with exultation. "When I sent the portrait of my master, Professor Walter, to the exhibition, various newspapers discussed it; one of them even introduced a very agreeable variation of the usual theme, 'the son of our distinguished investigator;' it said, 'the talented son of a distinguished father!' Take care, papa, I shall one day cast all your scientific fame into the shade. But will you excuse me now? I am to have some distinguished visitors."

Wehlau shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Fine visitors, I've no doubt!"

"The Countesses Steinrueck, an it please you."

"What! they are going to pay _you_ a visit?" The Professor gazed at his son in surprise.

"Of course; we are beginning to be famous, and we receive the aristocracy in our studio. It is not all in vain to be the 'talented son of a distinguished father.' Are you really determined not to sit to me for your portrait, papa?"

"Confound you, no!" shouted the Professor.

"Very well; then I shall paint you clandestinely, and shall send you treacherously to the exhibition. Adieu, papa!"

And with the most amiable smile, as if the best understanding reigned between himself and his father, Hans withdrew. Outside the door he encountered Michael, who had just come home, and who asked him whether the Professor were in his study.

"Yes; but there is thunder in the air again," said Hans. "Come to the studio for half an hour, Michael, after you have seen my father. I want to make a slight change in my picture, and I must have you."

The young officer nodded compliance, and went to the Professor, whose gloomy face brightened somewhat at his entrance.

"I am glad you are come," he said. "Hans has just irritated me to such a degree that I fairly long for the sight of a sensible man."

"What has Hans been doing now?"

"Nothing at all; that's just it. I have been remonstrating with him about the idleness to which he has been given over for the past five months, and which he is pleased to call work. And what effect do you suppose I produced? None, except to make him more nonsensical than ever. That boy will be my death."

"Do not be unjust, uncle," said Michael, reproachfully. "You know that Hans is at work upon an important picture, and I assure you that he works very hard, although you persistently refuse to bestow a glance upon it. I should suppose that you, as well as the rest of us, have had sufficient proof of his talent. His portrait of Professor Walter made quite a sensation; it was universally admired, and the newspapers even alluded to----"

"To 'the talented son of a distinguished father!'" Wehlau angrily interrupted him. "Are you going to harp upon the same string? Have I not had to endure all sorts of congratulations, and have I not been rude enough in reply to them? But 'tis of no use. Every one sides with the boy; everybody takes his part, and is immensely delighted with the trick he played me at the university."

"Even Professor Bauer took his part, as you call it, when he stopped to see you on his way through the city," interposed Michael.

"Yes, that capped the climax. 'Do you know,' I asked him, 'how that wretched lad of mine employed himself at your lectures? He caricatured you and your audience. He made a sketch of you, recognizable at once, surrounded by all the emblems of natural science, stirring up the four elements in a witches' caldron, while your favourite pupils were blowing the fire.' And what was his reply? 'I know, my dear friend, I know. I saw the picture, and it really was so clever, so capitally done, that I had to laugh and forgive my recreant pupil on the spot; do you do the same.'"

"You had better take his advice, uncle. However, I only meant to say good-morning. I promised Hans to go to his studio."

"To his studio?" the Professor said, with a sneer. "There must be a deal going on there. I wish that pavilion in the garden had been dark as pitch, and foul with damp, rather than have that fellow daubing there. He has taken up his abode right under my nose, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Go, go, for all I care, to the 'studio'! The aristocracy may stare, if they choose, at what it contains,--I'll not set my foot inside it, you may rely upon that."

He turned grumbling to his books, and Michael, who knew that it was best to leave him alone in his present mood, betook himself to his friend.

The pavilion in which the young painter had temporarily set up his modest studio was at the end of the garden, and contained one good-sized room. A window had been closed up, another enlarged, a skylight had been put in, and thus had been arranged the studio that so outraged the Professor, all the more that his permission had never been asked for these changes. Hans always pursued the same line of conduct with his father. 'Certainly, sir,' was his constant phrase, while he calmly and persistently acted in direct opposition to his parent's commands; this being in fact the only way to deal with the choleric old Herr.

Wehlau had in the harshest terms refused to supply his son with the means for renting a studio, and Hans, who as yet had no income of his own, was forced to submit. But that very day he took possession of the garden pavilion, sent for masons and carpenters, had everything arranged according to his wishes, and when his father returned from a short excursion he found the bill for the whole upon his writing-table. Of course the Professor was furious; he protested that he would have nothing of the kind upon his property, and would not even glance towards the pavilion; but he paid the bill, and Hans had again carried his point.

At the present moment the young artist was standing before his easel, painting away at a large picture, while Michael stood opposite him with folded arms, leaning against a short pillar. Conversation was evidently at a stand-still, quite ten minutes having passed without a word from either of the two; suddenly Hans paused in his work and said, "I tell you what, Michael, you're no good to-day."

Michael seemed to have entirely forgotten that he was there as a model for his friend. There was something in his look of the old boyish dreaminess. At the sound of Hans's voice he started as if awakening. "Who? I? Why not?"

"There it is! Yon start like a somnambulist suddenly awakened. What were you thinking of? You have been a perfect John-a-Dreams since we came back from the mountains. You are not the same fellow at all."

The young captain passed his hand across his forehead and smiled in a constrained way. "I think I need active service. I may have overtasked my brain during these last few months."

"Probably. You are a thorough fanatic in respect to work,--quite unlike myself. But please do me the favour of adopting another expression of countenance; I can do nothing at all with your present melancholy air."

"How shall I look, then?"

"As furious as possible. Just as my papa looks when he surveys my studio at the distance of a couple of hundred paces, only grander, more heroic. Oh, you can look just as I want you to, and I have been tormenting myself for weeks with trying to put what I mean on canvas, and in vain. I must copy it from nature, and you must help me."

"I cannot understand why you are so persistently determined to make use of my face," Michael said, impatiently. "It is not at all suitable for an ideal picture, and it is not in the least like the face you have put upon your canvas."

"You don't understand," Hans declared, with an air of conviction. "Your face is the best model I could have. Of course I shall not make the thing a portrait. All that I can use of your features is already in the picture. But the expression,--the eyes are all wrong! I wish I could provoke you to the last degree,--put you into such a passion with something that you would like to hurl it into an abyss ten hundred thousand fathoms deep, after the example of your namesake with the Evil One,--then I should be all right!"

"Your desire is very disinterested. Unfortunately, there is little hope of its fulfilment, for I am not in a mood to be provoked."

"No, you are in a very tiresome mood, to which your face is admirably adapted; we must give it up for to-day. 'Tis a pity; I should like to give the characteristic expression to my archangel to-day, for he is to be marched out before the aristocratic family whose patron saint he is."

He laid aside his palette and brush with a sigh, but Michael had suddenly grown attentive.

"Before whom is he to be marched out?" said he.

"Before the Countess Steinrueck and her daughter---- What's the matter?"

"Nothing; I am only surprised that they should visit your studio. Did you invite them to come?"

"Not exactly, but it came about in the course of conversation. I met the ladies yesterday at Frau von Reval's; they asked about my pictures, the subject of this one seemed to interest them, and they arranged to come here to-day. I have a suspicion that they are thinking of giving me a commission for the church of their patron saint, which would gratify me hugely, for it would prove to my father that my 'daubing' might have practical results; at present he thinks it all child's play. What! are you going?"

"Certainly; you do not want me any longer."

"No; but I told the Countess, who asked after you, that you were always at home at this time, and would be delighted to pay your respects to her."

Michael's face grew dark; he seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then said, coldly, "Then I cannot but stay."

"Assuredly not, if you would atone in any degree for your unconscionable behaviour in the summer. The Countess Hertha was evidently provoked about it; I perceived that very clearly when you were spoken of. Moreover, she was very grave and depressed yesterday."

"Happily betrothed as she is?"

There was contempt in the tone of inquiry, but Hans took no notice of it as he went on: "Why, as for her future happiness, I should hardly go surety for that. If the old general thinks he can restrain his grandson and keep him within bounds by this marriage, he is greatly mistaken."

"How so? What do you know of the young fellow?" asked Michael.

"I hear enough of him. An artist frequents all kinds of society, and I have met the young Count several times. He is undeniably attractive, talented, chivalrously amiable, but I am afraid---- There come the ladies. Their carriage has just driven up. I call that punctuality."

He had cast a glance through the window, and had seen the Countess Steinrueck and her daughter in the act of alighting from their carriage, which was drawn up before the garden-gate. He hastened to receive them, and in a few minutes ushered them into the studio.

Captain Rodenberg had not seen the ladies since meeting them at St. Michael's, although they had been in town for six weeks, for they frequented aristocratic circles almost exclusively. The Countess returned his salutation with her accustomed gentle cordiality. She no longer reproached him for not coming to Castle Steinrueck, in spite of her express invitation, for she had learned in conversation with the general that the young officer for some reason or other was not liked by his chief. He probably was aware of this, and hence his reserve; but the gentle lady felt herself all the more called upon to treat him with the greatest kindness.

"We have not seen each other for a long time," she said, offering him her hand; "and our last meeting at St. Michael was disturbed by my daughter's indisposition. Hertha was very imprudent to stay out in the open air while a storm was coming up, and then to come home through the rising tempest. It was fortunate that the rain fell only in the valleys, or her cold might have had serious results."

Michael touched the offered hand with his lips, and bowed low to the young Countess, who had taken advantage of the first available pretext to avoid a meeting which, after the scene on the mountain roadside, would have been impossible for each of those concerned. He had seen the ladies only for an instant, when he had taken leave of them as they were getting into their carriage. Now the young Countess hastily interposed, "It was of no consequence, mamma; I begged you to hasten your departure only because I knew how anxious you always are."

"Nevertheless, you were indisposed for several days," observed her mother. "I am sure that Lieutenant Rodenberg, or rather----" She glanced at his uniform. "You have since been promoted, I see. Let me congratulate you, Captain Rodenberg."

"He has worn his new dignity for two weeks now," said Hans. "I have begged permission to paint the future general as soon as that rank is attained."

The Countess smiled. "Well, who knows? Captain Rodenberg advances quickly in his career. We, too, have had an event in our family, of which you may have heard; my daughter has been betrothed."

"I am aware of it." Michael turned to Hertha, whose eyes for the first time encountered his own. He was forced to utter his good wishes upon the occasion of her betrothal; but if she looked for any sign of agitation in his manner, any trace of the passionate gleam that sometimes proved the traitor to his cold reserve, she was mistaken. His bow was as coolly courteous as his words were purely conventional. They could not have been more politely or more indifferently uttered to one whom he had never before seen.

"Countess Hertha is in her haughtiest mood to-day," Hans thought, observing the air with which she received Michael's good wishes, as he led the ladies to the picture, which occupied the prominent place in the studio, although it was only partly finished. The life-size figure of the Archangel stood forth powerfully and effectively upon the canvas, but the face was unfinished, and the head of the Fiend was only sketched in. Nevertheless, the grandeur and boldness of the conception of the picture were manifest, as were also the technical skill and the artistic force of the young painter, who might well be content with the impression produced by his work.

Hertha, who first approached the picture, shuddered slightly, and cast a glance of surprised inquiry at the artist, while her mother, who had followed her immediately, exclaimed, eagerly, "That is--no, it is not Captain Rodenberg, but you have made your archangel strikingly like him."

"Very naturally, since he was my model," Hans said, with a laugh. "I have indeed only made use of his characteristic expression,--one of indignant reproof."

The Countess seemed quite carried away by the picture, and was lavish in her praise. Hertha thought the conception fine, the composition broad, the colouring magnificent, but while noticing and admiring all this, she had no word of praise for the countenance of the Saint.

Hans, with his wonted amiability, played the part of cicerone to the ladies in his studio, since they were desirous to see all his work. He brought out a picture that had been leaning face to the wall, set it up, and was endeavouring to place it in the best light, while the Countess opened a large portfolio lying upon the table, containing a number of sketches and studies, all the result of the young artist's last autumnal excursion,--clever drawings of huntsmen and peasants in the national costume, with here and there a head of some pretty peasant-girl; there was a sketch--slight enough, but wonderfully like--of the priest of Saint Michael, and there were various mountain and forest views, all so fresh and full of life that the Countess turned over leaf after leaf with delight. Suddenly Hans perceived what she was doing, and hurried towards her as if to guard his portfolio from attack: "Allow me, madame,--the portfolio is very awkwardly placed. Let me show you the sketches," he said, hastily, pushing forward a chair with eager courtesy, and beginning to lay the sketches out upon the table one by one. As he did so, he took one of them, apparently by chance, and laid it aside.

"Am I not to see that drawing?" the lady asked, a fleeting glimpse having shown her a study of the head of a young girl.

"Oh, it is not worth showing. A mere study,--a failure," the young man declared, but his face flushed as he spoke.

The Countess shook her finger at him: "Aha! Herr Hans Wehlau seems to have secrets of his own. Who can tell what romances have been woven among the mountains?"

Hans defended himself with a laugh; but when the portfolio had been looked through, and the Countess turned to the picture he had placed on an easel, he thought it best to hide his 'failure' behind a window-curtain, where it was quite safe from curious eyes.

Hertha was still standing before the large painting, and Michael was at her side. He made no attempt to avoid her, but kept his place with perfect composure, and went on talking of his friend's talent, of his prospects, of his intention to compete for the prize offered for a large historical painting, and of the sketches he had already made of it. The entire absence of constraint in his conversation was a relief to the young Countess, although it slightly embarrassed her. Woman of the world though she were, she could hardly adopt the same tone after--after that hour at Saint Michael.

"I frankly confess," she said, in an undertone, "that this picture of Herr Wehlau's surprises me. We have known only one side of his talent. His sketches and caricatures at M----, where we met him, were clever, and abounded in merriment, like himself. I should not have credited him with the force, the energy, shown in this work."

"And yet it has been play to him," observed Rodenberg. "Hans is one of those fortunate beings who attain the highest aims almost without any effort. To all his other physical and mental endowments a kind fate added this talent, which lifts him far above all commonplace existence."

"A kind fate, indeed. Do you not envy your friend these gifts?"

"No; I should scarcely know how to prize them, for I value highest what must be struggled for. Hans, with his constantly cheerful, sunny disposition, is born for the smiles and sunshine of existence; I am created more for the tempests and conflicts of life. Each has a part to play."

Hertha gazed at the picture that portrayed a scene of tempest and conflict. She knew that the man beside her could contend not only with an enemy from without, but with himself, if need were. She had seen him when his every fibre was quivering with passion, and yet here he stood beside her, perfectly composed and calm; not one traitorous glance gave the lie to his repose of manner. Her presence seemed to produce not the slightest effect upon him.

"Do you prefer conflict, then?" she asked, with something of a sneer. "You seem to me very ambitious, Captain Rodenberg."

"It may be so. I certainly wish to rise, and no one can do so who does not at the outset fix his eyes upon a lofty goal. I can never be aided and abetted by circumstances, like my friend Hans, but it is surely worth something to be conscious of being entirely self-dependent; to know that you have no one save yourself, and that you likewise belong to no one save yourself."

Quietly as the words were uttered, there was iron resolution in them, and they were comprehended. Hertha suddenly turned her eyes full upon the speaker, with something like anger gleaming in their depths. "And you really think thus? Can ambition, indeed, indemnify you for all else?"

"Yes," was the cold reply. "All that I carry towards the future with me is gratitude to the man who has been a father to me, and friendship for his son; in all other respects I have cleared away everything from my path."

The young Countess's lip quivered slightly, but she held her head proudly erect as she said, "Good fortune attend you, Captain Rodenberg. I do not doubt that you will make a career for yourself."

She turned away to her mother, but while together they discussed his sketches with the young painter, Hertha's thoughts were busy with the last conversation. She could not have been more distinctly informed that Michael had come off conqueror in his struggle, and the conviction that this was the case aroused an inexplicable emotion within her. He had chosen to crush out and annihilate his love, and speedy success had crowned his efforts.

When the Countess took leave of the young artist, Michael paid his farewell respects in the studio, while Hans escorted the ladies to their carriage. When he returned, he made haste to take the 'failure' from its hiding-place and to put it in a separate portfolio, which he locked up. "There would have been a pretty to-do if the Countess had seen this," said he; "she would instantly have recognized her god-child, and what would have become of the dignity of Hans Wehlau Wehlenberg of the Forschungstein? He would no longer have formed a part of the chivalric reminiscences of the Ebersburg."

"Whom did the picture represent?" asked Michael, who had been pacing the floor, lost in thought.

"Gerlinda von Eberstein. I drew it from memory. I told you of my adventure among the mountains, and of my promotion in rank. 'Tis odd, but I cannot help thinking continually of the little Dornroeschen, who seemed so ridiculous, and yet was so lovely; she thrusts herself between me and all other memories. Just now, in presence of the Fair One with the Golden Locks, I was haunted by her sweet little face with its dark eyes looking out so dreamily upon a world that vanished ages ago. Moreover, Countess Hertha seems to me changed since her betrothal. It is sure to be so in these _mariages de convenance_, where there is no question of love. Count Raoul is not so very much devoted, either, to his fair betrothed; he certainly is wilder and more dissipated than ever, and I am greatly mistaken if he is not entangled elsewhere."

Michael suddenly stood still. "What? Now? And betrothed? That would be villanous!"

Hans looked at him in surprise. "What a tragic tone! Are you acquainted with the young Count?"

"I first saw him at the general's, and since then we have met several times. I was compelled to make it emphatically clear to him that he was in company of an officer who, if need were, would exact the consideration he seemed inclined to deny him. He seemed to understand at last."

There was a peculiar expression in the glance which the young artist riveted upon his friend, while with apparent unconcern he took up his palette and brushes and began to paint again. "You surprise me. Count Raoul probably prides himself upon his long line of ancestors, but I have never found him as haughty as is usual with his class. He must have some reason for disliking you."

"Or I for disliking him? I think each is pretty well aware of the other's sentiments."

"Aha! now it's coming," Hans muttered to himself, while he painted away. Then aloud, he continued, quietly: "You see, I have only known the amiable side of the Count. As for his betrothal, every one knows that it is all his grandfather's doing. His Excellency commanded, and the grandson bowed to his august will."

"So much the worse, and the more pitiable," Rodenberg burst forth. "Who forced him to obey? Why did he not refuse to comply? The fact is that this much-lauded, accomplished Steinrueck is, with all his boasted chivalry, but a poor coward where there is any need of moral courage."

There was so passionate a hatred expressed in his words that Hans was startled. But with the egotism of the artist, who has no regard save for his work, and who overlooks all else, he never sought to discover the cause of his friend's almost savage irritability. He continued to gaze at him steadily, while his brush made stroke after stroke upon the canvas. "I think the Count would have come to grief if he had attempted any resistance," he observed. "They say the general preserves the same discipline in his household as among his soldiers, and will not suffer any opposition to his will. You know your iron chief. How would you like to confront him with a frank 'no'?"

"I have said much more to him than merely 'no.'"

"You--to the general?" Hans was so astonished that for a moment he stopped painting. Michael forgot all his usual caution, and went on, carried away by his emotion: "To General Count Steinrueck? Yes. He tried to quell me with his commanding glance, and ordered me to be silent in the tone to which every one else bows; but I was not silent. He had to hear from my lips what he had probably never in his life heard before. I hurled it ruthlessly in his teeth, and he listened. Now, indeed, we are done with each other, but he knows how much I value his name and his coronet, and that as for him and his entire race, I----"

"Would fain dash them down ten hundred thousand fathoms deep into the burning pit! At last!" the artist burst forth, exultantly, as he laid down his brush. "Bravo, Michael! Now you can be good-humoured again; I have got it!"

"Got what?" asked Michael.

"The expression, the glance of flame, for which I have been looking so long. You were incomparable in your indignation,--you were Saint Michael himself."

Rodenberg seemed to recollect himself for the first time; he bit his lip. "And you have been all this time studying me in cold blood? Hans, it is unpardonable."

"Possibly, but it was necessary. Look at the picture yourself; see that brow and those eyes. I hit it off with a few strokes of the brush."

Michael, still irritated and annoyed, approached the easel and looked at the picture. He was struck with the change in it, but before he could speak Hans threw his arm around his shoulder and said, with sudden seriousness, "Come, tell me about yourself and the Steinruecks. Why do you hate Count Raoul, and what gives you the right to say such things to the general, your chief? There must be something here which yon have concealed from me."

Rodenberg made no reply, and turned away.

"Do I not deserve your confidence?" Hans asked, reproachfully. "I never have had a secret from you. What are your relations with Steinrueck?"

There ensued a brief pause, and then Michael said, coldly and sternly, "The same as Count Raoul's."

Hans stared at him in blank incredulity; he could not trust his ears. "What do you mean? The general----?"

"Is the father of my mother. Her name was Louise Steinrueck."

* * * * *

March of this year was a very disagreeable month. After being ushered in by a few bright sunny days it veiled the city in gray mist and rain for weeks. The first buds perished of cold and damp, and people gazed out from behind their window-panes, disgusted with the spring month that did so little honour to its name.

On one of these rainy afternoons Count Raoul Steinrueck mounted the steps and pulled the bell of the apartments upon the first floor of a house in the fashionable quarter of the city. He must have been well known to the servant who opened the door, for he merely bowed in answer to the inquiry whether Herr de Clermont was at home, and admitted the visitor without further question.

The young Count entered the drawing-room, in which, in spite of its rich furniture, an air of comfort was lacking. All the demands of the prevailing fashion were fully met in its arrangement, but there was nothing to indicate the individuality of the owners of the apartment. Everything seemed placed where it was only for the time being, and to suggest that the entire interior might shortly be removed, to be put at the disposal of others requiring a temporary home.

At the Count's entrance a young man who had been standing at a window turned and came towards him eagerly. "Ah, here you are, Raoul! We had given you up for to-day."

"I have only half an hour," said Raoul, taking off his overcoat and throwing himself into a chair with an ease betokening that he was quite at home here. "I have just come from the department."

"And the future minister has of course brought away a fit of ill-humour," said Clermont, laughing. "Important government business,--oh, we have no chance at all where that is in question."

The conversation was carried on in French. Henri de Clermont was perhaps a few years older than the young Count Steinrueck, and was wonderfully attractive in appearance and manner, although the innocent gayety of his air was not entirely in harmony with the keen glance of his dark eyes, which were those of a sharp observer. They now rested searchingly upon Raoul's countenance as he replied, impatiently,--

"Minister--government business--of course! If you only knew what an endless waste of dulness and ennui there is to be struggled through. I have been an entire year in the department, and nothing has yet fallen to my lot save the veriest trifles. A Count Steinrueck is of no more importance to our chief than is any one of his bourgeois officials, and indeed not of as much if the latter happens to have a greater power of application. You must rise from the ranks."

"Yes, you Germans are wonderfully thorough in such matters," Clermont said, ironically. "With us one rises more quickly with a name and connections to aid him. And so you have been intrusted as yet with nothing important?"

"No." Raoul glanced impatiently towards the door that led into the next apartment, as if expecting some one. "At best a transcript of some confidential transaction, in which the name and position of the one concerned are due warranty for his silence; and this may go on for years."

"If you can endure it. Do you really mean to remain in the government employ?"

The young Count looked up surprised. "Certainly; why not?"

"That's an odd question for a man who is about to marry a very wealthy heiress. You might live in future as sovereign lord upon your estates, although I hardly think such an existence would satisfy you. You need life, society, the stir and action of a capital. Well, contrive to become attached to the embassy at Paris, as your father was before you. It cannot be a difficult position to attain if one pulls the right wires, and the dearest wish of your mother's heart would then be fulfilled."

"And my grandfather? He never would consent."

"If he were consulted; but his power ceases with the termination of his guardianship of your future wife. The will settles that. When does the Countess Hertha come of age?"

"Upon her twentieth birthday,--next autumn."

"And then you need consult no one, and heed nothing save the wishes of your young wife, who will hardly refuse to live with you in the capital of Europe, its brilliant centre. The general's views can then have no weight with you or with her."

"You do not know my grandfather," said Raoul, gloomily. "He will maintain his authority even then, and I---- Is Madame de Nerac not visible to-day?"

"She is dressing; we are going out to dine. Where shall you be this evening?"

"With my betrothed."

"And what a face you put on as you announce it!" Clermont said, laughing. "Every one envies you your brilliant match, and with justice. Countess Hertha is beautiful, wealthy, and----"

"Cold as ice." Raoul completed the sentence with a bitter intonation. "I can assure you that I am not so much to be envied as you suppose."

"True, the young Countess has a certain reputation for caprice. But that is the prerogative of handsome women."

"If it were caprice only, that would be nothing new: she was always capricious. But since our betrothal she has adopted a distant tone; she is perfectly unapproachable. It puts my patience to the severest test. I cannot stand it much longer."

There was extreme irritation in his tone. Clermont shrugged his shoulders. "Who of us can make his own choice? I cannot, although sooner or later I must marry, and my sister was married at sixteen to a man over fifty, Needs must."

Raoul scarcely heard the last words; he had continued to watch the door expectantly, and he suddenly started up, for it opened, and a silken train rustled across the threshold.

The lady who entered was of medium height, slender, and, although no longer in her first youth, exquisitely graceful. Her face could not be called beautiful, perhaps not even pretty, but it had an odd, piquant charm of its own. The black hair dressed in short close curls all over the head made the face look younger than it really was; there was a tender, veiled look in the dark eyes, which could, nevertheless, sparkle brilliantly, as they did now when they perceived the young Count. In vain was all attempt to analyze the charm that lay in those irregular and scarcely refined features; there it was, and when the face grew animated in conversation every line of it was interesting and brilliant.

Raoul had risen instantly and hastened towards the new-comer, whose hand he raised to his lips. "I have only a moment," he said, "but I could not help waiting for a glimpse of you, since Henri tells me you are going out."

"Oh, we need not go for half an hour yet," Frau von Nerac said, with a glance at the clock. "You see, Henri is not dressed yet."

"I must go and dress now," said Clermont. "Excuse me, Raoul; I shall be here again shortly."

He left the room, and Raoul certainly seemed nothing loath to be left to a _tete-a-tete_ with his friend's sister. He took a seat opposite her, and in a few moments the pair were engaged in eager and lively conversation, chiefly concerning airy trifles, but gay and brilliant in the extreme. Frau von Nerac showed herself a mistress of persiflage, and the young Count was no whit her inferior in this regard. The cloud upon his brow vanished, leaving not a trace; he was in his element.

But suddenly the talk took a different turn. Raoul casually mentioned Castle Steinrueck, and the name evoked a smile from Frau von Nerac that was half sarcastic, half malicious. "Ah, the castle in the mountains," said she; "Henri and I were to have made acquaintance with it, but unfortunately our visit was prevented by the indisposition of the Countess."

"My mother suffers frequently from those nervous attacks; they are very sudden, and very distressing," said Raoul, quickly overcoming his embarrassment. "They deprived her, on that occasion, of the pleasure of receiving her guests."

Frau von Nerac smiled again very sweetly and very significantly. "I am afraid that the guests were the cause of the nervous attack."

"Madame!"

"The general may have had some share in it; but we certainly were the innocent cause."

"You still visit upon me that unfortunate occurrence," Raoul said; "Henri does not; he knows how difficult is the position in which my mother and I are placed, and makes allowances."

"So do I. I persisted in going to see the Countess, although we were obliged to confine ourselves to the merest call, since the general did not feel called upon to renew the invitation. His Excellency seems to be a very absolute monarch, and he certainly has a very obedient grandson."

"What can I do but obey!" exclaimed Raoul, with suppressed impatience. "My mother is right: she and I are both subject to an iron will that is wont recklessly to bend everything beneath it and to break what will not bend. If you knew how humiliating it is to be lectured, examined, hectored like a boy! I have had enough, and more than enough, of it all!"

He had started up in his agitation, whilst Frau von Nerac, leaning back gracefully in her chair, toyed with her fan, and now rejoined, very calmly, "Well, all that will end with your marriage."

"Yes,--with my marriage," the Count slowly repeated.

"How tragic that sounds! Take care that the Countess Hertha does not hear you speak in that tone; she might resent it."

Raoul did not reply, but went up to where the lady was sitting, and bent over her: "Heloise!"

The word sounded half reproachful, half entreating, but was apparently not understood, for she looked up at the speaker as though in surprise. "Well?"

"You best know what this marriage is to me. I have been hurried into it, over-persuaded by my mother, and I feel it to be a fetter even before it has taken place."

"And yet it will take place."

"That is the question."

There was a flash as of lightning in Heloise's dark eyes; then her eyelashes drooped, and, as she seemed to examine the picture on her fan, she said, in a careless tone, "Would you attempt a rebellion? It would raise a tempest indeed, and would call down upon you supreme displeasure."

"What should I care, if I could but hope for a certain prize? For its sake I would defy my grandfather's anger. I thought I should be able to overcome--to forget--when Hertha should be my betrothed. I saw you again, Heloise, and I knew that the old spell was still around me, and would always hold me fast. You are silent? Have you no word of reply for me?"

His eyes sought and found hers; her glance was veiled and tender, and her voice was as tender as she said, softly, "You are a fool, Raoul!"

"Do you call it folly to desire happiness?" he exclaimed. "You are a widow, Heloise, you are free, and if----"

He could not finish his sentence, for the door opened rather noisily and Clermont entered. The intruder did not seem to notice his friend's start, or the annoyed glance which his sister bestowed upon him, but called out, gayly, "Here I am! Now we can have a quarter of an hour together, Raoul."

The young Count's face betrayed his annoyance at this interruption, and, in the worst possible humour, he replied, "Unfortunately, I have no more time. I told you I had but a minute. Madame----"

He turned to Heloise, and would apparently have addressed a question to her in an undertone, but Clermont suddenly interposed between them, and, laying his hand lightly upon his sister's arm, said, not without a certain significance, "If you are really in such a hurry we will not detain you, eh, Heloise? Until tomorrow, then."

"Until to-morrow," Raoul repeated, grasping his hand hurriedly. He was evidently not inclined to make a confidant of his friend, but took his leave in no very satisfied mood.

Scarcely had the door closed after him, when the young widow turned to her brother with a very ungracious air: "You came most inopportunely, Henri."

"So I perceived," he replied, calmly; "but I thought it high time to put an end to the scene, which you were inclined to take seriously."

Heloise tossed her head defiantly. "And if I were? Would you interfere to prevent it?"

"No; but I should explain to you that you were inclined to commit an act of supreme folly, and I trust nothing more would be required to bring you to reason."

"Do you think so? You may be mistaken," she said, exultingly. "You underestimate my power over Raoul. I have but to speak the word, and he will dissolve his betrothal and defy his family."

"And what then?"

The cool direct question put an end to the young widow's triumphant tone; she looked in surprise at her brother, who continued, very composedly: "You know the general. Do you suppose that he ever would forgive such a step, that he would ever consent to Raoul's marrying you? And Raoul _cannot_ marry against his will, for he is entirely dependent upon him."

"He is his grandfather's heir, and the general is over seventy----"

"And has a constitution of iron," Clermont interposed. "He may live ten years longer, and you are scarcely so infatuated as to suppose that Raoul's passion or your own youth will last so long. You are full five years older than he."

Frau von Nerac folded her fan hastily and noisily. "Henri, you go almost too far!"

"I am sorry, but I cannot spare you. You cannot reckon upon the future; therefore you must comprehend the present. In a few years there will be no choice left you."

Heloise made no reply, but her air was one of intense irritation. Evidently she felt outraged, but Clermont coolly continued: "And even supposing that Raoul should enter very shortly upon his inheritance, he would still be no fitting match for you. The general's salary enables him to live with a degree of elegance, but his grandson inherits nothing of that. Castle Steinrueck is an article of luxury; it probably costs a yearly outlay; it certainly brings in nothing, and all the available property of the family belongs to the South German branch. The North German cousins all have very good reasons for entering either the army or the civil service. Their estates would, to be sure, be sufficient for the support of a country nobleman who, with his family, could consent to live upon his own soil and occupy himself with agriculture. But for you and Raoul,--the idea is ridiculous. Moreover, I am especially anxious that Raoul should remain at present upon good terms with his grandfather; through him alone can we know aught of the Steinrueck establishment."

"You might do that much more easily through the Marquis de Montigny," said Heloise, still irritated. "He has just been attached to our embassy here, and of course goes to his sister's very frequently."

"Certainly; but you are much mistaken if you imagine that the haughty Montigny would lend himself to such matters. He already treats me with a careless indifference that sometimes makes my blood boil. He would sacrifice his position rather than condescend---- But enough of this! I fancy you now comprehend that Raoul's circumstances could never adapt themselves to your requirements; what those requirements are you proved with sufficient clearness during Nerac's lifetime."

"Was it my fault that he squandered his entire fortune?"

"You certainly helped him honestly in doing so; but we will not discuss that. The fact is that we are without means, and that you are forced to make a brilliant marriage. Your romance with Raoul must be nothing but a romance, and you would be very unwise to induce him to break with his betrothed. As long as the general lives, a marriage between you is an impossibility; after that it would be a folly. Remember this, and be reasonable."

"What is it?" asked the young widow, turning impatiently towards the servant, who brought her a card. "We are just going out, and can receive no visitors."

"A gentleman from the embassy wishes to speak with Herr von Clermont for a few minutes only," the servant said, by way of excuse.

"Ah, that is another affair," Henri said quickly, taking the card; but after a surprised glance at it he handed it to his sister, who, evidently startled in her turn, said,--

"Montigny? Calling upon you? You said just now----"

"Yes, I do not understand it; there must be some special cause for his visit. Leave us for a few minutes, Heloise; I must receive him."

The lady withdrew, and Clermont desired the servant to admit the visitor, who straightway entered the room.

The Marquis de Montigny was a man about fifty years old, of very distinguished appearance, whose bearing, at all times rather haughty, was at present characterized by a certain cold formality. In spite of it, Henri received him with the greatest cordiality. "Ah, Herr Marquis, I am charmed to have the pleasure of receiving you. Let me beg you,"--he invited his guest by a gesture to be seated, but Montigny remained standing, and coldly rejoined,--

"You are probably surprised to see me here, Herr von Clermont."

"Not at all; our relations socially and nationally----"

"Are of a very superficial nature," the Marquis interrupted him. "It is an entirely personal matter that brings me here. I did not wish to discuss it at the embassy."

His tone was certainly slighting. Clermont compressed his lips and darted a menacing glance at the man who ventured to treat him thus cavalierly beneath his own roof, but he said nothing and awaited further explanations.

"I met my nephew a moment ago," Montigny began again; "he was probably coming from you."

"Certainly; he has just left here."

"And he, Count Steinrueck, frequents your house daily, I hear."

"He does; we are intimate friends."

"Indeed?" was the cold rejoinder. "Well, Raoul is young and inexperienced; but I would call your attention to the fact that this friendship is quite worthless for you. No state secrets are confided to so young and insignificant a member of the department. They are very cautious here in such respects."

"Herr Marquis!" Clermont burst forth, angrily.

"Herr von Clermont?"

"I have frequently had occasion to object to the tone which you see fit to adopt towards me. I must beg you to alter it."

Montigny shrugged his shoulders. "I was not aware that I had neglected to treat you with due courtesy in society. Now that we are alone, you must permit me to be frank. I learned but lately of Count Steinrueck's intimacy in your household, and I do not know how great may be Frau von Nerac's share in this intimacy. Be that as it may, however, you will understand me when I beg, or rather require, that the Countess be left entirely out of the question in the schemes which you are both pursuing. Select another individual,--one who is not the son of the Countess Hortense and the nephew of the Marquis de Montigny."

Clermont had grown very pale; he clinched his hands and his voice was hoarse as he rejoined, "You appear to forget that we are equals in rank. My name is as ancient and as noble as your own, and I demand respect for it."

Montigny measured him from head to foot with a haughty glance as he replied, "I respect your name, Herr von Clermont, but not your calling."

Henri made a movement as if to throw himself upon the insulter. "This is too much! I demand satisfaction!"

"No," said Montigny, as haughtily as before.

"I shall force you to grant it----"