Chapter VII: Among the Breakers

The Baron had been driven home to Aix in his britzka, promising to return for some final arrangements on the morrow, when he hoped to find the health of the Grafine restored; prayers were over; the household were all a-bed, or supposed to be so, and Charlie sat in his own room, looking sadly out upon the distant lights of Aix, which seemed to twinkle like the stars above them.

He had ample food for reflection. Fear of the Baron's influence on Ernestine he had none; but he had real fear of the influence her family, and long-trained habits of implicit obedience, might have on her, and genuine love and truth are commodities too scarce and valuable in this world to be wasted.

How much, thought Charlie, were Herminia and her cousin to be envied; they had been, and were, so successful in their love, and all through the fortunate little scheme of the Countess and Ernestine.

How he longed to show the latter to his sisters; for Charlie had three, in that dear old home in Warwickshire, all softly featured and gently mannered girls, such as England excels in, more than all the world besides. Would they love her? But could they fail to do so? Well, his father might, perhaps, oh, no! he could not look coldly on her, because she was a foreigner. Pure innocence and beauty belong to no country in particular; and Ernestine looked more thoroughly English than many an English lady Charlie had seen in Regent Street and the Row.

What was to be the end of all this?

In spite of all his prudence and the suggestions of reason, Charlie had fallen madly in love, without considering what a costly whim a high-born wife would prove to a Prussian subaltern; or how the prize was to be obtained, the whim gratified.

Eleven was struck by the great old clock in the hall of the Schloss, and Charlie, who had been awaiting it, watch in hand, took his wax taper, and softly and swiftly descended the great staircase to the boudoir of the Countess, a small octagonal apartment that opened off the drawing-room.

It was, of course, without a fireplace; but, in lieu thereof, in one corner stood the prettiest of little German stoves, a black iron cylinder, or column, surmounted by a large coronet of ornamental brass, and set on a block of white marble. Numerous statuettes under glass shades, and pretty bijou articles, littered all the marble and marqueterie tables, with Dresden china vases of flowers, gathered fresh that morning by Ernestine and Herminia in the garden at the foot of the castle rock. The furniture and hangings were all pale blue silk, trimmed with white lace or silver; water-colours decorated the wall, and, in a place of honour, hung a Berlin engraving representing the meeting of Wellington and Blucher at La Belle Alliance.

A moderator lamp, upheld by a bronze Atlas, was suddenly flashed up, and Ernestine stood before Charlie Pierrepont. She had let all her hair down, probably previous to coiling it up for the night, and now its silky masses floated over her shoulders far below her waist, and out of their darkness, her pale, minute, and delicately cut face came with strong distinctness in the subdued light of the lamp. How lovely she looked just then; her form, though _mignonne_, round and full. She threw her arms round Charlie, and putting her head on his shoulder, in a way she had like a petted love-bird, placed her sweet face amid the masses of her hair on his neck, and her lover gazed at her for some seconds ere he seated her by his side, with a kind of adoration, for she was in all the pride of her beauty and purity; and, as a writer says, with truth, 'There is nothing in the universe so exquisite, so fascinating, so irresistibly alluring, as a young girl! A girl in the first dawn of earliest womanhood, fresh and fragrant as a flower, and, alas! as fragile, for that bloom of youth is as evanescent as it is lovely, and its loss is never, to my mind, compensated by any maturer charm. Let who will inhale the perfume of the opening rose, but the sweet shy mystery of the folded bud for me!'

And some such thoughts ran through the mind of Charlie as he gazed upon her.

In the perfect confidence of this love, they did not at first speak of this sudden suitor (who had come like a thunder-cloud into their sunny summer sky), for rival he could scarcely be deemed by Charlie; but they referred to the last time they had been happy together in each other's society. Oh, _so_ happy! and but two days ago!

They had ridden to Stolberg, after losing Heinrich and Herminia together in the wood (rather a common occurrence, by the way, when these four went out on excursions), and had taken shelter from a storm of rain in a village church, where a marriage ceremony had been performed before them, and they now recurred to this little episode.

'How sweetly pretty the bride looked!' said Charlie, playing with her rippling hair.

'And how happy the bridegroom!' she added, pulling Charlie's moustache, in her momentary joy, forgetful of the tears she had been shedding.

'How I envied them, Ernestine! Will our day ever come?'

'We can but hope.'

'And if it never comes?'

'I shall die--I shall die faithful to you, Carl. Faithful in life and in death!' said Ernestine, with passionate energy.

'You say this so often that you alarm me,' said Charlie, with great tenderness of tone.

'How can my promises of faith alarm you?'

'Nay. It is these references to death.'

Her eyes were tender, dreamy, and sad, yet full of love, as they looked into his. After a pause, he said,

'I, Ernestine, am more in danger of death and peril than you, dearest.'

'Oh, say not so! And yet, of course, it must be, Carl, my darling Carl!' she exclaimed, throwing herself upon his breast, in a passion of tears and affection.

'Heaven and earth! So _these_ are the terms on which you two are!' exclaimed a shrill, stern voice behind them, and a low wail of terror escaped from Ernestine, on perceiving the Countess, her mother, standing there in her _robe-de-chambre_, a wax taper in her hand, and her usually pale cheeks and cold grey eyes inflamed with indignation. On this night she had, unfortunately, forgotten her unlucky Spitz cur (who was quietly looking on the scene from his basket of mother-of-pearl) and had descended from her room in search of him.

'So! so!' she exclaimed again, 'these are the terms on which you are; and such are the hopes in which you dare to indulge!'

How long she had been there, or how much she had heard or seen, they knew not. They had but one common thought--that they had been discovered, and all was over! This _dénouement_, occurring immediately after the proposal of the Baron, was too much for the patience or equanimity of the irate Countess. Even Charlie's friendship for her son Heinrich, and the duel he had fought in defence of his honour, were forgotten now.

There was a pause, during which they all surveyed each other with undisguised signs of discomposure. At last Charlie spoke, while Ernestine withdrew a little way from him.

'Gnädige Frau' (gracious madame), he began, 'blame not your daughter, but me, for all this; and pardon me for having so far forgotten my position in this house as to love her without your permission; but could I resist doing so--even without the hope of obtaining it? What can I say to mitigate your probable severity to her--your resentment to me? What am I to do?'

'Much!'

'Oh, say it!'

'Leave my roof at once!'

'Mamma, it is close on midnight,' urged Ernestine piteously.

'Silence, minx!'

Charlie's face had flushed to the temples at a tone and command so unusual and so humiliating.

'Oh, mamma,' urged Ernestine, attempting, but in vain, to catch her mother's hand, 'spare me and pardon him!'

'Him? Who!'

'Carl.'

'You call him Carl already--and this to my face! This intruder, who, though in the king's uniform, is little better in the scale of society than a poor Handwerks-Burschen!'

Charlie now grew deadly pale at this insulting comparison, but restrained his rising anger for the sake of Ernestine, who said, piteously:

'Dearest mamma, I implore you not to adopt this tone to Heinrich's firm and tried friend. It is inhospitable! It is rude! It is cruel!' she added, amid a torrent of tears.

'You are no judge, _now_, of what is rude or not rude--proper or improper--to a violator of our hospitality. Oh, Herr Pierrepont, how little could I have foreseen all this!'

Unless the old lady had been as blind as a mole, she might, or ought, very well to have foreseen it.

'You know my views of all this matter, and I am certain they will be fully shared by the Count,' said the old lady, with intense hauteur. 'You also know the measures we expect you to take with as little delay as possible.'

She made a brief and haughty half-contemptuous bow, and taking her daughter by the hand, and, without permitting her to give even one farewell glance, led her away.

Charlie stood for a moment as if rooted to the spot. He then very quietly extinguished the moderator lamp, in a mechanical kind of way, and, taking his taper, ascended the great gaunt staircase to his room, where, with his heart torn by the contending emotions of love and sorrow, rage and mortification--for the insult to which he, an English gentleman, had been subjected by that intolerant and insufferable old German woman--he sat for a time without thinking of undressing.

Were she not the mother of Ernestine, he would have scattered a few pretty hard adjectives with reference to her. He then suddenly began to pack his portmanteau. He had but one desire and craving--to get as far away from Frankenburg as possible, though it was the cage that held his love-bird! And as if his wish had been anticipated, just as twelve o'clock was struck by the sonorous timepiece in the echoing hall, a knock came to his door.

'It is Heinrich,' thought he; 'come in!'

The visitor was not Heinrich, but the old family butler, who entered, bowing low, and looking very sleepy, cross, and very much surprised.

'The Herr Graf's compliments to the Herr Lieutenant. At what time would he require the carriage to take him to Aix?' (He called it Aachen.)

'Now!'

'Now--at this hour, mein Herr?'

'Now, I repeat--instantly--thanks; you may go.'

The old butler, who had served as man and boy in the Frankenburg family from shortly after the days of Waterloo and Ligny, who had attended Marshal Blucher when on a visit, and had made the fortunes and honour of the denizens of the Schloss his own, as hereditary retainers of the Caleb Balderstone type occasionally do, even in this age of iron, opened his grey eyes very wide, alike at the fierce energy and the order of Charlie Pierrepont, but vanished at once to rouse the grooms and comply.

So he was actually turned out of the house, however politely, at last; thrust out from _her home_ as if his presence there degraded it. He thought of the old arms of the Pierreponts carved about his father's gate--the lion rampant _sable_, between two wings, the mullets _semée_, and the motto '_Pie repone te_,' though he had never valued such things much; and his anger boiled up--nor did it cool down till he found himself on the eve of departure.

Why did Heinrich not appear? for good or for evil? Had he also been informed, and, like his father, mounted a high horse? It seemed so. The carriage was duly announced, at last.

As Charlie descended to it, the silver-haired butler appeared again with a salver, on which were a decanter and glass, saying:

'The Herr Graf requests that mein Herr will take a little glass of cognac, before leaving the Schloss; the night is cold.'

To have declined to accept this last act of old German hospitality would have been churlish, and the cause of comment among the domestics; so Charlie, with the name of her he loved on his lips, drained a _petit verre_, and sprang into the carriage.

'Aachen,' said the butler to the driver, as he closed the door, and bowing, said--

'Gute nacht--leben sie wohl, mein Herr.'

And Charlie, as he thought, turned his back on Frankenburg for ever.

Ernestine was as much, if not more, than any _only_ daughter could be to Count Ulrich. He was selfish enough to have looked with stern, black, and utter discouragement on any swain who had no high rank; then how much more with anger on a penniless soldier of Fortune--a sub. of the Thuringians, like Charlie Pierrepont.

'All is at an end between the Frankenburgs and me,' thought the latter, as the carriage bowled on in the dark; 'but the war once over, if I escape it, I shall carry her off at all hazards--by Heaven, I shall.'

As a soldier accustomed to change of quarters, billets, camps, and barracks, Charlie could make himself at home anywhere; but nowhere (save his father's house) had he found himself so much at home as in that old German castle: a shrine he deemed it--a shrine of which Ernestine was the idol; and now he was exiled from it.