CHAPTER VII.
If he could only have got hold of these Lodrins,--if he could only have found an opportunity to speak with them, he could have humbled their pride before now, the Conte said to himself. He was still endeavouring to find some such opportunity; yesterday he had positively forced his friend the Baroness Melkweyser to drive over at last to Tornow to lay at the feet of the Countess Lodrin the antique set of china, albeit not in the name of the Conte Capriani, but of her humble servant, Doctor Alfred Stein. He was curious to hear what Zoë would have to tell, but after her return from Tornow Zoë had incontinently retired to her apartment with a violent headache, and the request that a cup of strong tea might be sent to her.
The headache lasted all through the next forenoon to the great vexation of the Conte, who was, moreover, in extreme bad humour. He was annoyed by a trifle, a perfectly absurd trifle, but it had sufficed to stir up all the gall in his nature. His maître d'hôtel had given him warning this morning, or, as that worthy expressed it, had handed in his resignation. When the Conte, who set great store by him, asked him his reason for so doing, and whether his salary was not sufficiently large, Monsieur Leloir, with the respectful air proper to the well-trained servant that he was, but with a distinctness that left nothing to be desired, replied that the salary corresponded to his wishes, and he had nothing to object to in the treatment that he had received, but--he felt too lonely, secluded,--"Monsieur le Comte voit trop peu de monde."
Two highly satisfactory messages, brought him shortly afterwards by the telegraph that connected his study at Schneeburg with the business world, did not suffice to drive this vexatious occurrence from his mind. He looked considerably sallower than usual when he appeared at lunch. All the rest were seated at table when the Baroness Melkweyser appeared. In her character of convalescent she wore a gorgeous, brocade dressing-gown upon which was portrayed a forest of gigantic sunflowers against an olive-green background. Otherwise she betrayed no indication of feeble health; her appetite was particularly reassuring.
"You are very subject to headache nowadays," said the Conte, in a tone of reproof.
Instead of replying Zoë helped herself for the second time to omelette with truffles, and Parmesan cheese.
"Perhaps the long drive was too fatiguing," suggested the mistress of the house, always kindly desirous of atoning for her husband's rudeness.
"Had you a pleasant visit at Tornow?" asked Fermor.
"It is always pleasant to see dear old friends again," said Zoë curtly. Her mood was undeniably irritable; apparently she had laid in a stock of arrogance at Tornow, that would last her several days.
"I really must go over to Tornow," said Fermor, "I trust, Baroness, that you did not mention my having been here so long; the Countess might well think it very strange that I had not been over to see her." Kilary smiled, and Fermor went on in his affected, drawling way. "Very admirable people, the Lodrins, but they are not very interesting to me;--they are too matter-of-fact;--they have too little feeling for art."
After lunch, whilst Fermor was testifying to the depth of his feeling for art, by improvising on the grand piano an accompaniment to a new ode by Paul Angelico, who, in his immortal waterproof, draped like Sophocles, stood opposite and read the ode aloud in a sonorous voice out of a little volume bound in red morocco, Capriani took occasion to draw Zoë Melkweyser aside that he might ask: "Did you have any opportunity yesterday to deliver my message to the Countess Lodrin?"
"Yes," replied Zoë drily.
"And what answer have you brought me?"
"The Countess says she is quite ready to purchase the china of you."
"To purchase it of me!" repeated the Conte, pale with anger, "but my dear Zoë,"--in moments of great excitement the Conte was wont to call the Baroness by her first name,--"but my dear Zoë what did you propose to her?"
"Exactly what you told me."
"Indeed?"--the Count drew closer to her, and leaned forward,--"did you tell her that I laid the china at her feet, not in the name of the Count Capriani, but of the Doctor Stein whom she knew years ago in the Riviera?"
"Yes, and I told her that you said you had formerly attended the Count, her husband."
"Well?"
"She replied--do you really wish to hear her reply."
"Yes."
"Well, then, she replied, 'that may possibly be so, but I do not remember it.'"
The Conte grew still paler, and his face wore an ugly expression;--he picked up a paper-knife of beautiful oriental workmanship, and began to toy with it restlessly.
"I beg you to observe," Zoë began, "that I am entirely innocent in this matter. You certainly remember that I postponed for weeks the delivery of your message, and that I fulfilled your commission reluctantly at last. I told you beforehand what the result would be; but you were so perfectly sure that the Countess would remember the name of Stein...."
"What's the matter?" asked Kilary approaching them. "What agitates you so, my dear Capriani."
"The Conte is determined to prove to me that nothing can withstand his power, not even a paperknife," said Zoë sharply, pointing to the one which the Conte was bending.
"Or the Lodrin arrogance," observed Kilary, "eh? My dear Capriani, in my native town in Upper Austria they have an old proverb, 'What can't be lifted must be let alone.' Now if you would only take this proverb to heart you would save yourself a vast amount of time and vexation."
Just then the paper-knife snapped in two, and the Conte threw the pieces on the floor.
"Who is riding past?" asked the baroness, with undisguised curiosity, leaning out of the window by which she had been standing.
"It must be Count Kamenz," said Ad'lin, who had been busy encouraging by her applause the united, artistic efforts of Fermor and Paul Angelico, "I am surprised that he has not paid us a visit before now."
"No, it is the Lodrin cousins," said Kilary, "they are evidently going to see Malzin."
Ad'lin looked disappointed. And the Conte turning away from the Baroness and Kilary began to pace the room slowly to and fro. After a while he paused in front of his wife, who with a sadder face than usual was cutting out her cretonne flowers. "You went to see the Malzins to-day,--how is he?"
"Very ill; unlike other consumptives, he is perfectly aware of his condition, and consequently the future of his children lies heavy on his heart. I did my best to comfort him--but that was little enough." "Do you know whether he still proposes to go to Gleichenberg?" her husband interrupted her.
"Yes, he is getting ready to go. Müller, the old nurse voluntarily offered to accompany him; she could not find it in her heart to have him waited upon and tended by strangers."
But Müller's touching devotion did not interest Capriani in the least. "This is evidently just the time to talk with him about the vault," he said as if to himself.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Frau von Capriani startled out of her usual submissive gentleness,--"with an invalid!" ....
"Come, come, let us have no sentimentality!" he interrupted her sharply. "You know I understand nothing of the kind."