XV.
Now the dinner is over. They have left the drawing-room to wander through the park. There are thunder-clouds in the sky, the air is close and breathless, sultry, but at times a sharp gust of wind rises. The birds fly close to the ground, as if the black sky frightened them, and the flowers smell strangely sweet.
In vain has Linda sent inviting glances at Scirocco; he clings to Elsa as a sinner might cling to a saint through whose protection he hoped to gain admission to Paradise.
Rhoeden who, whether from policy or convenience, plays the rôle of an injured man and is very reserved, polite and attentive as he is, has undertaken to be the young Elli's partner at lawn-tennis, by which game he can meet her in the park.
Erwin has good-naturedly joined his pretty sister-in-law; chatting gayly, he tries to drive away her bitter mood. There is something in the shape of his eyes which makes them look sentimental, one might almost say loving. His temperament is such that he can be with no one, especially no woman, without trying to make her existence agreeable.
Elsa who, walking with Scirocco, meets her husband, Linda on his arm, remembers neither the one thing nor the other; the smile with which, with head slightly lowered, he listens to her chat, the glance which he rests on her, are in Elsa's eyes half crimes. After a few superficial words the two couples separate again. Erwin as he goes turns round and calls to Scirocco, "See that you do not take my wife into a draught, Sempaly. She is strangely imprudent."
"What admirable thoughtfulness," says Elsa, half aloud, and draws down the corners of her mouth so deeply that Scirocco, as an old friend, permits himself to remark laughingly, "I did not know that you could look so gloomy, Snowdrop!" whereupon Elsa blushes.
Linda and Erwin join the lawn-tennis players. Linda has studied this modern pastime thoroughly in England, and likes to play; besides that, she knows very well that nothing is more becoming to her slender yet voluptuous figure than the quick litheness required in lawn-tennis. Her voice reaches Elsa from a distance, gay, shrill, then the soft half-laughing voice of Erwin.
"You look so tired, Snowdrop," says Sempaly, sympathetically, "will you not rest a little?" With that he points to a bench in a niche of thick elder-bushes.
"Yes, I am tired," says Elsa, dully, and sits down.
"Tired after a two-hour drive and a little stroll through the park, Snowdrop," remarks Scirocco, anxiously. "I do not recognize you any more. You used to endure so much. Do you know that your health makes me anxious?"
"Nonsense! My health interests you about as much as that of the Emperor of Brazil. If you receive notice of my death some day you will shrug your shoulders and sigh sympathetically, 'Poor Garzin!'"
"You are intolerable, Snowdrop," says Scirocco, laughing. "Besides, the wind is rising and you are beginning to shiver. Let us go to the house."
"No, I like it here," she cries with a pretty childishness. "I should like to see the sun set from here, and am curious as to whether the Flora there"--pointing to a statue--"will become flushed pink. Prove your friendship and get me a wrap."
He goes away, but remains longer than the nearness of the castle seems to justify. Elsa does not notice his long absence. She prefers to be alone in this spot. The bench reminds her of old times, and is therefore dear to her. Whether the Flora becomes pink or not is perfectly indifferent to her--she does not look outward, she gazes inward. She thinks of the day when she sat there with Erwin, her betrothed. (Count Dey was still alive then.) She remembers--oh, something foolish--the little beetle which had fallen in her hair and which Erwin had brushed away with light hand; his caressing touch; how he looked lovingly at the beetle because it had touched his love's hair; how, instead of throwing the insect away, he had carried it with him when they left the bench, and had placed it carefully in the heart of the most beautiful rose which they passed.
How he loved her then! How passionately and at the same time how tenderly! "Ah! those were such lovely times," she sighs with the old song.
The voices of the lawn-tennis players are still heard. How can they play in such a gale? Suddenly she hears her name spoken near by.
"How this poor Mrs. Garzin has gone off!" cries the Klette's bass voice. "I scarcely recognized her."
"She looks badly," replies Count Pistasch's distinguished husky voice.
"She has grown old, fearfully old; she looks as if she were forty," asserts the Klette.
"Ah, bah! She looks rather like a consumptive pensioner," replies Pistasch. "What can be the matter with her? I hope no trouble is worrying her."
"Don't you think that this good Garzin is a little too fond of his pretty sister-in-law?"
"Nonsense, Caroline!" says Pistasch, reprovingly. "You are always imagining something. Recently you asked me whether poor Rudi----"
"Well, that is evidently over;" the Klette heaves a sigh of disappointment; "but she must coquet, poor Mrs. Lanzberg, to amuse herself, there is not much else for her to do; and say yourself--I do not assert that the good Garzin has already knelt to her, but would it not be natural? It would really serve this arrogant Elsa right. To force Garzin, a man of such a gay, sociable nature, to absolute solitude; to take away from him his career, his occupation, in short, everything."
Elsa springs up; she listens breathlessly. What does she care that it is ill-bred to listen? But the voices die away. Pistasch and the Klette turn into another path without noticing the white form in the dark elder niche.
Scirocco at length comes back.
"I could not find either your things or Mimi's maid all this time," he excuses himself for his long delay. "I hope this belongs to you," offering her a white crêpe shawl.
She takes it, but immediately starts back with a violent gesture. "That belongs to my sister-in-law," she cries; "my things are never so strongly perfumed. Only smell it, how strange!"
"Yes, truly," says he, holding the shawl to his face; "that is a harem perfume which some one brought her from Constantinople. But what is the matter, Snowdrop?"
"I feel the storm approach," she murmurs, tonelessly. "Let us go to the house."
They go. The swallows fly yet lower, the clouds hang heavier, almost touch the black tree-tops. There is a whistling and hissing in the leaves.
Elsa hears nothing. With dragging, and yet overhasty, steps she walks near Sempaly. "Who knows whether he would even say 'poor Garzin' if I should die?" she thinks to herself.
The lawn-tennis party, which Pistasch and the Klette have now also joined, growing more and more animated, has lasted until the first drops of rain have driven them away.
Somewhat dishevelled and heated, her morbid self-consciousness healed by the admiration which Pistasch, escaped from his cousin's control, had unreservedly displayed for her, Linda enters the drawing-room where the Countess, Felix, Elsa and Scirocco are assembled.
"How did your lawn-tennis come on?" asks Scirocco, as the Countess, vexed at Linda's triumphant look, does not condescend to address her.
"Oh, excellently," cries Linda. "Count Kamenz and my brother-in-law display the greatest talent for this noble occupation."
"To whom do you give the palm?" cries Kamenz.
"I cannot decide that to-day," says she with as much gravity as if she were deciding upon the fortieth fauteuil of the Paris Academy. "One judges talent not from what it first offers, but according to its subsequent development."
This pedantic phrase from her fresh lips is so irresistibly droll that Pistasch and Erwin laugh heartily, and even Scirocco cannot suppress a slight smile.
"We have come to the conclusion that the ground here is not favorable," continues Linda, turning to Scirocco, "and the gentlemen are coming over to Traunberg to-morrow to practise. Will you be one of the party, Count Sempaly?"
"If you will permit me, I will have the pleasure, Baroness," he replies with a bow.
"You are as full of phrases as an old copy-setter to-day," cries she, shrugs her shoulders, laughs lightly, and sinks into the arm-chair which Pistasch pushes forward for her.
Pistasch seats himself opposite her. His light laugh as he leans forward, her satisfied leaning back, the continuous conversation wholly incomprehensible to the others, indicated a dawning flirtation. What did it matter to Pistasch whether Linda's father's name was Harfink or Schmuckbuckling? A man never troubles himself about such a thing when he is paying court to a pretty woman.
Poor Mimi! for years she has treated Pistasch as her exclusive property, she grows nervous, glances discontentedly in the direction of the two.
"Rudi, will you order the carriage?" asks Felix, uneasily.
Scirocco stretches out his hand to the bell, but asks politely, "Will you not wait until the rain has ceased?"
"I have no desire to get wet in our open carriage," interposes Linda.
"I could place a close carriage at your disposal," remarks the nervous Countess, irritated even more by Pistasch's manner than by Linda's victorious expression, and adds constrainedly, "However, I really see no reason for haste."
Hardly can permission to remain be given in a colder tone. But Linda replies with astonishing aplomb, "Neither do I," and has a sweet, naïve smile for the Countess, and for Pistasch, on the contrary, a comical, expressive glance which delights him. He finds it quite in order that she should refresh herself with a little impertinence. "She is piquant as an actress," he thinks.
Then the door opens; unannounced, like very old friends, a lady and gentleman enter. She, small, fat, lively, cries out, hurrying up to the Countess, "We flee to thee, Mimi, the rain has surprised us. Ah, you have guests--how are you, Elsa? do I really see you at last?"
He, tall, thin, with a Velasquez nose, Don Quixote manner, and arrogant eyes, looking out through glasses, has meanwhile chivalrously kissed the hand of the Countess. Now he looks round, recognizes Erwin, greets him heartily, comes up to Felix, starts slightly, goes past him to Rhoeden, as if he had never seen Felix in his life before.
Felix stands motionless, ashy, rigid, with bluish lips and half-closed eyes. Scirocco has lived through many unpleasant moments, but never a more painful one. Still he rapidly collects himself, takes the new guest by both shoulders and turns him toward Felix.
"That is Lanzberg. Did you not recognize him, Max?" he cries.
After that nothing remains for Count L---- but to murmur in apology, so as not to insult the guests of the house in which he is, "I am so near-sighted," and to stretch out two arrogant fingers to Felix.
"Order the carriage, Rudi," begs Felix, very hoarsely.
Linda, who has not noticed the little scene, gives Pistasch a glance at the interruption of their tête-à-tête, which flatters his vanity.