XII.
"Cuckoo," hummed Erwin absently to himself as he drove back with his wife to Steinbach through the capricious, flickering evening shadows.
A filmy confusion of pink and white, a tumbled knot of pale brown hair, two large, cold eyes, mysterious greenish riddles in a flattering, open child-face, a seductive, rococo figure which leaned over the stone balustrade of the terrace, and threw gay kisses after the departing carriage, this is the last impression which Erwin takes away with him from Traunberg, in the landau in which he now sits beside his pale wife.
"She has changed greatly for the better. It is a pity that she has such bad manners," he breaks the silence after a while.
"Do you really think that she has such bad manners?" replies Elsa, without looking at him.
"There can scarcely be any doubt as to that," says he. "Some people may certainly think that it is becoming to her. Nevertheless I should wish that she gave them up. You must undertake her neglected education, child!"
"Oh, I will leave that to you," she replies, coldly, almost irritably. "Linda is not a person who will learn anything from women."
"Do not be harsh," he whispers, reproachfully, perhaps with a trace of impatience.
The gloomy Traunberg lindens are far behind them, only show as a dark spot on the horizon. The carriage rolls on between gigantic poplars; the sun has set and the shadows have vanished with it. Over the earth is that dull gray light which might be called dead light. The new moon floats in the heavens, small and white, like a tiny cloud; pale yellow and reddish tints are on the horizon, above the violet distant mountains. At the left, only separated by a blooming clover-field, is the forest.
"Elsa, do you feel strong enough to walk home through the woods?" whispers Erwin to his wife, coaxingly, and as she nods assent he stops the carriage, and they take a path through the clover to the shady woods.
"Now, was not that a good idea of mine, is it not pretty here?" he asks, gayly and proudly, as if he had made the wood, surveying all its beauties.
"Lovely," whispers she, but her voice sounds sad.
At her feet the ground is blue with forget-me-nots; under the wild rose-bushes already lie many white petals. A sob and a sigh pass through the gloomy trees as if spring mourned that the first roses were dead. All is grave and solemn, the air spiced with the odor of withered generations of leaves, with the perfume of fading or still blooming flowers.
Erwin teasingly waits for Elsa to speak to him--he waits in vain. With head thrown back and earnest eyes she wanders near him, and does not rest her little hands tenderly on his arm as usual.
What is the matter with her? That she can be jealous does not occur to him.
They have almost crossed the forest; the meadow which separates it from Steinbach park shines between the sparse trees, then Erwin discovers a striking trace of game; he bends down to observe it more closely. "A roebuck," he murmurs. "Strange--in this region."
"Is there no other way across?" asks Elsa, who has meanwhile crawled close to the edge of the meadow, and casting a somewhat anxious glance over the knee-high, dewy grass.
"No, wait a moment," he replies, still absorbed in contemplating the strange trace.
"It will cost me a pair of shoes," she murmurs somewhat vexedly, raises her gown, and resolutely prepares for a very cold foot-bath.
"Elsa, what are you doing?" cries he, perceiving her intention, and, leaving his hunter's problem, he hurries quickly up to her. "With your genius for taking cold."
Before she has time to answer he has taken her in his arms and carries her through the dew. He has wholly forgotten Linda Lanzberg, and also that he had been vexed with his poor nervous wife's unjust, childish antipathy for Linda. He looks down tenderly upon the dear head, which rests with half-closed eyes on his shoulder.
"How light you are," he remarks softly and anxiously; "you do not weigh much more than Litzi now, my mouse."
Elsa does not answer, but her slender arms twine round his neck, and as his lips seek her pale face, he feels that she is crying.
"What is the matter, my darling?" he asks.
"I do not know myself," she murmurs with a slight shiver. "I am afraid."