Chapter VI: An Alarm

Amid the pure satisfaction arising from the knowledge that Ernestine loved him, and the natural anxiety to discover how she was ever to be his wife, there was fated to come to Charlie Pierrepont the fear of greater opposition to his--as yet--secret hopes and wishes, in the person of a formidable rival, who, in a few weeks after the visit to the Dom Kirche, came suddenly into the field.

One evening, when the Count, his son, and Charlie were seated cosily in a place which the former called his study (but which more resembled a harness and gun room, and littered with pipes of all kinds, as the literature there consisted of a few volumes on hunting, shooting, farriery), with their pipes and flasks of Rhine wine, which they drank from silver tankards, the Count startled our hero by a revelation which he made to him as a friend of the family.

A wealthy and great man--an intimate friend of the house of Frankenburg, who, though not noble, was nevertheless Hochwohlgeboren, had made proposals for the hand of Ernestine.

The cloud of smoke in which the trio had enveloped themselves perhaps prevented the father and son from seeing the sudden contraction of Charlie's brow on getting this unpleasant information.

'Does it meet with your approval, Count?' he asked, with a violent effort to appear calm.

'In every respect.'

'And yours, Heinrich?'

'No, Carl.'

'Why?'

'Because the man is more than double her age,' replied the young Count.

'That is----' Charlie was about to say 'unfortunate;' but the fib remained unuttered. Then after a pause he asked, 'And what says the Grafine?'

'She dismissed him with kind words, certainly,' replied the Count, 'and well-bred wishes for his happiness. He then came to me, begging me to use my authority over her as a parent, which I shall certainly do.'

'Herr Graf!' exclaimed Charlie, who felt a keener interest in all this than his hearers imagined; for even Heinrich, in the absorption of his passion for his cousin, had not the faintest suspicion that his friend did more than admire his sister; 'Herr Graf, would you actually attempt to control your daughter's affections?'

'Der Teufel! attempt it? I shall do it!' replied the Count angrily, as he laid his hand emphatically on the arm of his chair.

So this was the first intimation Charlie had of the coming storm. A rival in the field, and his leave of absence on the verge of expiry! The situation--with all his trust in Ernestine--was, to say the least of it, alarming. Would she actually be torn from him after all? Fearing to speak, he remained perfectly silent; but, as his curiosity was irrepressible, he asked after a time--

'May I ask, Herr Graf, who this suitor is?'

'The Baron Grünthal, Oberdirector of the Consistory Court in Aix-la-Chapelle.'

Then Charlie remembered that the Baron had been at the Schloss that morning, and been long in the Graf's 'study' in consultation, and that he failed to see Ernestine as usual, save at dinner, after which she had hastily left the table. It occurred now to Charlie, too, that she had seemed both disturbed and taciturn during the progress of the meal.

Such an offer was deemed flattering, even for a daughter of the house of Frankenburg. Ernestine had dismissed the Baron; but, backed by her father's authority, he returned to the charge, and came the following day to dinner; and until the bell rang for that meal, Charlie, to his perplexity and annoyance, could see nothing of Ernestine, who remained sequestered in her room. Had her mother any suspicions? thought he; but as yet the Countess had none.

On this day, in honour of the suitor, whose aspirations met with her full approval, her white hair was done over a _toupée_ that was higher than usual, her train was longer than ever, and she wore the best of the family diamonds.

This was the most miserable meal ever made by Charlie Pierrepont. The Count was rubicund, smiling, and conscious. He had smoked many pipes and imbibed much beer over the idea of having such a son-in-law. The Baron had made a careful study of his costume, and was most gracious to the ladies, but more especially to the Countess, who addressed nearly all her conversation to him--the winner of one of 'the Belles of Frankenburg.' Herminia looked waggish, Heinrich somewhat provoked, as he deemed the suitor too old, and that his sister's wishes should be consulted; while Ernestine--whose toilette (a golden-coloured silk, trimmed with black lace), a most becoming one for a brunette, had been made under the critical eye of her mother--looked pale, 'worried,' and worn, and, like Heinrich, provoked too, for, as we have said elsewhere, she was a self-willed little beauty, and somewhat opinionated.

In spite of the desire of all to appear at their perfect ease, the meal passed off awkwardly; the conversation flagged, and was unequal; and if the eyes of Ernestine met those of Charlie, he would read in them an imploring and sad expression, and when they looked down, they seemed to sparkle with anger.

At last the meal passed over--and it proved the last that Charlie Pierrepont was to consume in Frankenburg; the ladies rose from the table to retire.

As Charlie opened the dining-room door for them, Ernestine contrived to be the last who passed out, and swiftly and unseen, she slipped into Charlie's hand a tiny scrap of folded paper. This he hastened to open and read covertly, on resuming his place at table. It contained but one pencilled line--

'Be in mamma's boudoir to-night at eleven, when all are in bed.'

He would have pressed it to his lips, but for the presence of those who were with him. Eleven o'clock? The hour was then eight, as a great ormolu clock on the side buffet informed him, and so he had three long hours to wait for this most coveted interview! And for two of those hours he would have to endure the society--or rather the presence--of this most obnoxious rival who had so suddenly started up in his path, and with whom he felt a violent desire to quarrel, but that such an episode would have been alike unseemly, unwise, and calculated to excite suspicion.

They could meet in conversation on the neutral ground of the French war; but in everything he stated, Charlie could not suppress a keen desire to contradict the Baron. The latter asserted that King William would lead the Prussian army in person. To this Charlie gave a contradiction as flat as if he had it from the royal lips. Metz would be, undoubtedly, the chief base of the French operations. This idea he utterly scouted! England would take part in the war, through the influence of the Crown Princess. England would do nothing of the kind, said Charlie--what was the Rhine to her?

The Baron began to elevate his eyebrows, and became silent. The Count looked uneasy; one glass more, he suggested, and then they would join the ladies. They did so; but on entering the drawing-room found the Countess asleep as usual, with the Spitz pug in her lap; Herminia idling over the piano, while longing for Heinrich; and that Ernestine was--which was never her wont--absent.

She had pleaded a headache, and retired to her own room. The Baron looked glum and disconcerted. He had been framing many fine speeches to make to his intended; but now they were no longer required. He should see her no more for that night.

Charlie fingered the little note in his waistcoat-pocket, and felt defiant and jubilant.

The truth was that the Countess and her daughter had almost had high words on the subject of the Baron.

'Mamma,' the latter had said, 'the idea of such a thing is intolerable and absurd!'

'Why absurd, Grafine?' asked her mother, with asperity.

'A man of forty or more, getting bald already,' said Ernestine mockingly; 'a stout man in a blue coat and brass buttons, with a red ribbon, of course, at his lapelle; a man who, for twenty years, has never made up his august mind to marry, comes now to make a matrimonial victim of me. Thanks--no. I am the Grafine Ernestine of Frankenburg, and such I shall remain.'

'Do you prefer anyone else?' asked the Countess, her eyes glittering with sudden suspicion.

'No--none,' she falteringly said, with her cheeks aflame.

'Is there not _one_?'

'What do you mean, mamma?'

'I mean this,' said the Countess, with grim asperity, hiding her suspicions, if she had any, 'my dear child, the regiment of Heinrich is under orders for foreign service! his leave is conditional, and may be cancelled by telegraph at any moment; so that if we wish his presence at the marriage, the ceremony must be performed without much delay.'

'It shall never take place with me,' replied Ernestine resolutely.

'To your room, Grafine,' said the Countess with hauteur; so her daughter gladly withdrew, leaving her to make excuses for her absence as she pleased, so the usual female ailment of a headache came at once into play.