CHAPTER II.
The outburst was so violent, and lasted so long, that Elsa became painfully embarrassed. How likely it was that the man of whom Aunt Sidonie had just said that he was sure to be present at their reception would come into the room--how soon Aunt Sidonie herself must follow her! She had only hastened up the staircase before her aunt, while the latter entered into conversation with the Councillor, who met them in the hall. While they were on their way to the hotel, she had been dreading all the time the solemn ceremoniousness of the good lady's behaviour on so important an occasion--the long-winded address, the offensive condescension with which she would meet her sister. She had silently regretted that she had persuaded her aunt to an immediate visit, and that she had not rather fulfilled her threat and gone alone. Now, thanks to her prompt decision, everything had happened so favourably; but now, too, poor Aunt Valerie must calm herself--must stop crying, and dry her tears, even if they were tears of joy--if she were really her good angel. So much the more indeed! Her good angel--she would try to be it, most certainly, and, oh, so willingly! She would never leave her again, at least in her thoughts and in her heart--would always be in thought and in heart near her, to comfort her, to help her, where she could, as much as she could; only now--now she must compose herself, and, quick, quick! let the black lace veil be arranged on her beautiful soft hair, and become again the great, dignified, proud lady that Aunt Sidonie had told her off, whom Aunt Sidonie must find there, or lose all belief in the penetration and knowledge of character on which she prided herself so highly. Thus Elsa comforted and coaxed and jested, till she had the pleasure of bringing a smile to the delicate pale lips and the mild brown eyes--the true Werben eyes, said Elsa; a melancholy smile, thought Elsa, but still a smile. And it came just in time, for the next moment the curly-headed young man in black coat, silk stockings, and knee-breeches, whose assiduity Elsa had with some difficulty escaped in the anteroom, opened the door and announced, in polite respect for the stately appearance of the lady whose card he held in his hand--"Madame Sidonie de Werben!" Sidonie rustled through the door, and found herself face to face with a slight, pale lady, who, supporting herself on Elsa's arm, held out her slender white hand, and who must be her sister Valerie, only that she did not in the least resemble the Valerie whom she had known, and whom she had last seen seven and twenty years ago. Not that the lady who stood before her was not still elegant and distinguished looking--she was even more so than formerly, Sidonie thought--she was still handsome too in her way, very handsome indeed; but the brilliant glance of the dark eyes, the rich carnation of the fair cheeks, the fascinating smile of the small red mouth, the luxuriant masses of her splendid chestnut-brown hair, which had formed a rich crown over her brow, and knotted loosely together at the back, had fallen in a few scented locks over her round, white shoulders, where were gone those magical charms over whose worldliness and sinfulness she had so often sighed and lamented? Sidonie was bewildered, almost dismayed. The little speech which she had prepared on the way was meant for the vain, pretentious, coquettish Valerie of former days, and was evidently quite unsuited to the Valerie of to-day. But her hurried efforts to think of something else to say were quite unsuccessful. Besides, the longer she gazed on the pale, noble countenance that was turned with a gentle smile towards her, and at every moment discovered an expression that brought back to her the former Valerie, the more she was overcome by a curious mingled sensation of the old love and of a new pity, so that, interrupting herself in the midst of the formal phrases through which she was labouring with a heartfelt "Dear Valerie, dearest sister!" she opened her arms, kissed Valerie on both cheeks, and then, as if terrified at this unjustifiable ebullition, sat down in stiff dignity in an arm-chair, and looked as severe and unapproachable as her short-sighted, good-humoured eyes would allow her. But the ice was broken, and Elsa took care that it should not form again, although there were some difficult points to be got over still. When Aunt Sidonie had mentioned casually that her brother had already left the house when Valerie's letter came, and consequently knew and could know nothing of their visit, "though he would doubtless have given his permission for it," Elsa blushed for Aunt Sidonie when she saw how painfully Aunt Valerie's lips quivered at the thoughtless words. She hastened to say that, after the letter received yesterday from her aunt, her father had only expected her on the evening of this day, when it occurred to her that her father's message would now seem very improbable, and, blushing again at the contradiction in which she had involved herself, she was silent.
"Never mind, dear Elsa," said Valerie, kindly pressing her hand, "I am grateful enough as it is. Everything cannot come right at once;" and she added, to herself, "Nothing will come right so long as I am in the power of my tyrant, who has once again seen, with one glance of his unerring eyes, what was hidden from my longing heart." In the meantime, Aunt Sidonie had entered on a subject which had occupied all her attention since the day before yesterday, and which she talked of now with the greater pleasure that she considered it a perfectly safe one:
"Though I hardly know, my dear Valerie, how far your long absence may have influenced your interest in the joys and sorrows of your family. Here it is only a question, of joys. You need not raise your eyebrows, Elsa--it does not improve your looks; besides that, it shows a want of confidence in my discretion, which, to put it mildly, is not very flattering to me, and is so much the more out of place that you ought by this time to be convinced of the groundlessness of your doubts and fancies. It is certainly not saying too much if I declare that I guessed the truth before any one, not even excepting Ottomar himself. The worldly advantages of the connection, its suitableness from all points of view--good heavens! no reasonable person could doubt it or ever has doubted it, as Baroness Kniebreche assured me yesterday, and she would certainly know if the contrary were the case, and if any one voice had been raised against it. The Baroness, dear Valerie, born a Countess Drachenstein, of the Drachenstein-Wolfszahn branch, the widow of the Lieutenant-General, a comrade and friend of our late father--eighty-two years old, but still astonishingly fresh, an extremely clever, delightful old lady, whose acquaintance you would be charmed to make--very intimate with the Wallbachs, and whose particular favourite our Carla always was. You have upset my ideas with your unnecessary grimaces, my dear Elsa, and it is your fault if I appear to your Aunt Valerie as absent as I am usually collected. You know me of old, Valerie, and Elsa herself knows best what strong concentration of thought is necessary for the conception and carrying out of my 'Court Etiquette.'" Elsa here tried to keep her aunt to her usually favourite topic, but in vain.
"There are moments," said Sidonie, "even in the lives of those who, like myself, most perfectly estimate the whole moral and political necessity of the growth and prosperity of the smaller courts, in which the firmly-rooted love and fidelity to the highest personages must not, indeed, be overpowered by family interests--that would be an improper expression--but allow the latter somewhat more liberty than usual; and in my mind that moment has now arrived." Sidonie now went on to describe the happiness that she felt at the aspect of the betrothed pair, who were themselves so happy, if they delicately refrained from giving to their happiness that expression which to less observant eyes might seem necessary or at least desirable, but for those who, during a long life at court, had learnt the requisite knowledge of humanity was neither necessary nor desirable. She, at least, must confess that Ottomar's modest gratitude and Carla's timid reticence moved her to the bottom of her heart, and all the more that she was constantly reminded by it of the bewitching idyl of the budding love of her Princess towards the then hereditary Prince, now the reigning sovereign; and if Elsa, as it seemed, intended to make the objection that the marriage in question had to be broken off later on account of higher interests, they were higher interests which had nothing to do with the present question, and never could have. Elsa had given up the attempt to stem her aunt's inexhaustible flow of words; she hardly dared, for fear of drawing upon herself fresh reproaches for her unkindness and frivolity, even to raise her eyes to Aunt Valerie, who, leaning back in her chair, listened with an attention which Sidonie pointed out to Elsa as "exemplary." Neither she nor Elsa suspected what feelings were tearing the heart of the poor woman, while her smiling lips from time to time put in a courteous, kindly word of interest. She must take notice of every turn of the conversation if she would go through the examination which her inexorable tyrant would impose upon her later. Woe to her if she had overlooked or failed to hear anything! Woe to her if she contradicted herself! Thrice woe to her if she had exclaimed what her heart cried within her: "I know it all already, better than you, foolish sister, or you, dear child! Poor things, do you not see that you are in the tiger's den, to which there are many tracks that lead, but none that come out again?" And then her anxious glance turned to the door. How did it happen that he left her alone for so long? What was his intention, he who never did anything without intention?