CHAPTER II.
It is evening in the drawing-room at Tornow, and the air breathes soft and fragrance-laden through the open window; the monotonous chirp of the crickets sounds loud and shrill as if to drown the sweet plaint of the nightingale. Beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps more than half of the spacious room is quite dark.
The Countess Lodrin is bending over an embroidery frame, busied in working the Zinsenburg crest upon a hassock; Oswald, Georges, and Pistasch, who, when the races were over had accepted an invitation to come to Tornow with Georges, are eagerly discussing a false start. Oswald, the quietest of the three, glances from time to time at his mother.
He has, to be sure, succeeded in shaking off his ugly idée fixe, and in regaining his former cheerfulness; but yet, by fits and starts, he is assailed by a paralysing sensation of dread. Then he takes refuge with his mother; by her side the odious fancies have no power. There are times when he is possessed by a wild impulse to deliver Capriani's message, to ask his mother whether she ever really knew Doctor Stein and to watch the effect; but at the critical moment his heart has always failed him, and he has been ashamed of yielding even thus much to his disgraceful weakness.
When they have exhausted the false start, Georges and Pistasch enter upon a discussion of the best method of shoeing horses. This interesting topic absorbs them so entirely that neither perceives that for several minutes the Countess has been searching for something which she has mislaid,--finally even stooping to look for it on the floor. It is Oswald who rises and asks, "What are you looking for, mamma?"
"A strand of scarlet silk."
The two gentlemen of course feel it their duty to offer their services, but too late; Oswald has already picked up the silk. This trifling diversion, however, puts a stop to the sporting talk.
"Mimi Dey came to see me this morning; I asked her to dine with us on Thursday."
"Is Elli Rhoeden coming too?" asked Oswald.
"If I am not mistaken she has gone to Kreuznach," observed Pistasch.
"Yes," said the Countess, "unfortunately we cannot depend upon her, but you will probably enjoy the society of Fräulein von Klette. Mimi will do her best to make her stay at home, but she cannot promise."
"Is she living still,--that Spanish fly?" asked Georges, surprised.
"Indeed she is, and with the same enormous appetite," Pistasch calmly declared, "I believe she is qualifying herself for the post of Minister of Finance; her talent for levying taxes is more brilliantly developed every year. Unfortunately her sphere of action is limited to the circle of her most intimate friends."
"It appears that she has just embarked in a novel and very interesting financial enterprise," remarked the Countess with a smile, "she is raffling a sofa cushion."
"Oh, that famous negro head," observed Pistasch, "she has been working at it for two years, and she issues a fresh batch of chances every three months."
"Before I forget it," said the Countess half to herself, "would you not like to write to Fritz to come to dinner day after to-morrow, Ossi? we shall be entirely by ourselves. He will feel at home, and I am always glad to entice him to forget his sorrows, if only for a few hours."
"I paid him a visit yesterday," said Georges, "he is going down hill very fast in health. He asked eagerly after you, Ossi, and mentioned that he had not seen you for a long while."
"Ossi avoids Schneeburg, for fear of an encounter with the Phylloxera vastatrix who, as he prophesies, is to be the ruin of us all," said Pistasch banteringly.
Oswald had risen to light a cigarette at the lamp; his hand trembled a little. "I will write to Fritz, mamma," he said, "I am afraid I have rather neglected him of late."