Chapter XXVII: Old Nurse Müller’s Perplexity

Frau Müller was led for some distance along the sweet-scented grass, then up a gentle ascent, by what seemed to be a winding path, then down again into another valley, and then through a thick wood, where the brambles brushed into her face.

She was led so long thus bandaged that she began to fear she was being betrayed, and entreated the little girl to undo the handkerchief, and let her see how her young lady bore the transit.

“In another minute,” she replied, “we shall be in the high road to Grätz, but we are going to cross some water. You must try to step where I tell you, or you will miss the wooden bridge.”

This was not pleasant to hear; but there was nothing for it but patience, and as she heard the steps of the others before her, she hoped it was all right.

In another quarter of an hour her fears were set at rest. The little party stopped; Frau Müller’s hands and eyes were loosened; she found herself in a narrow bridle-path, which presently opened into the public road to Grätz, and to her great relief another two miles brought her and her precious charge to the little cottage she then inhabited. She placed Dorina upon the bed, and took up her quarters beside her; then sent the smuggler’s daughter, who seemed to have treated her with great kindness, to Grätz for a doctor. She then endeavoured to convince the girl’s mother that she had done very wrong in concealing the existence of the young Gräfinn from her father and the family of Hohenstein. She declared that the old Graf would have been able to shelter her husband, Peter Schmidt, from the pursuit of justice, after he could show that his wife and daughter had been the means of saving his child’s life. But Frau Schmidt, the bandit’s wife, maintained that nothing could have induced her to run the risk of her husband’s displeasure on his return--in fact, for more than a month after they found the poor lady, they had no suspicion of who she really was. A few days before they found her, Schmidt had gone off into a distant part of the country, and they were so afraid of anyone suspecting the concealment of a stranger at the cottage, or finding the way to it, that they took care to have as little communication as possible with the outer world.

When her husband returned, he heard some rumours of the strange disappearance of the bride with an Englishman, and then it struck him that the lady whose life her daughter had saved might possibly be the missing heiress. But the Graf, her father, was now dead, and his brother had succeeded to his title and vast estates, and it was well known that his character was very different from that of his elder brother, and that, until the last year or two, they had not been on good terms. For the present Graf had been extravagant, and had lost a great deal at the gaming-tables, and acted in many ways quite contrary to the wishes and advice of his brother. Therefore, Peter Schmidt was not far wrong when he told his wife that he was certain the new Graf would not thank him for being the means of depriving him of his vast inheritance by bringing forward the rightful possessor, nor could it make any difference to the poor young lady herself if she were never to recover her reason.

So they kept their secret, and soon afterwards the Graf was killed out hunting, and Peter Schmidt felt certain, from all he had heard of his daughter, Gräfinn Cunigunda, that she was even less likely than her father to forego her inheritance in favour of the woman who had been betrothed to Count Rossi. For there were some among the old retainers of Dorina’s father who saw through the well-feigned despair of Gräfinn Cunigunda, and guessed her designs and wishes. Rumours, too, of her intended marriage with Count Rossi began to circulate, in spite of the declaration she made, before leaving Hohenstein, that she was resolved to take the veil.

Soon after Frau Müller discovered her young mistress, the news reached her that they, Count Rossi and Cunigunda, were actually betrothed, and that their marriage was to take place, almost immediately.

Poor Frau Müller was most sadly perplexed by this intelligence. If the Count could but be apprised that his beautiful bride was still alive, surely, she thought, he would not be so base as to marry another--her enemy too; for Frau Müller was shrewd enough to see through the fascinating Cunigunda, and knew that, with the pretence of affection, she hated her young mistress.

Most sorely was she now perplexed. Were she to write a letter it might fall into other hands. Besides, if he were really faithless, and had ceased to care for his lost bride, it would be better to let him marry, lest the enraged Cunigunda should carry out some evil designs against her rival, while she was still helpless and bereft of reason; perhaps, under pretence of more careful watching, remove her out of Frau Müller’s care, and have her made away with, or shut up in some mad-house.

It will thus be seen that Frau Müller had no better opinion of the fascinating Cunigunda than my mother had.

The only way of clearing up these doubts and ascertaining whether the Count was still worthy of knowing the truth, was for Frau Müller to see him herself.

She resolved to travel to Venice and seek an interview with Count Rossi before it was too late to prevent the mischief.

Confiding the care of her precious charge to her favourite daughter, she started by the Schnell-wagen for Trieste, which was the quickest conveyance she could afford. At Trieste she embarked for Venice, but a storm, succeeded by a thick fog, made the voyage twice as long as usual. At last she surmounted all obstacles, and landing on the quay, hired a gondola to take her direct to the Rossi Palace on the Grand Canal.

Frau Müller knew the palace well, for she had always accompanied her young charge to the convent at Udine, and they generally passed some days with Dorina’s relations in Venice.

As she approached the entrance of the Grand Canal and came in sight of the beautiful old building, her impatience became greater, and she implored the gondolier to hasten his speed. He complied with her request, when at the same time he informed her that if she wanted to see the Count she would be disappointed, for he had left Venice the day before, just after his marriage with a beautiful young heiress.

Seeing her look of extreme concern, the good gondolier tried to comfort her with the intelligence that he had probably only taken his bride as far as his palace on the Lido, near Padua. They could soon learn his destination, and he pushed on vigorously till the gondola drew up at the palace steps.

An old servant of the Rossi family, to whom Frau Müller was well known, was standing at the grand entrance, and in answer to her anxious inquiry, he informed her that it was true. “His master was,” he said, “married yesterday, at St. Marco’s Church, and he had taken his bride to visit the courts of Europe.”

The old man said this in a tone which showed that he regretted deeply what had occurred, and the sight of the nurse of his master’s former betrothed, the lovely Dorina, brought tears to the good man’s eyes. He made her come into his own apartments on the ground floor, and they had a long talk.