CHAPTER X.
Was it nothing but abstract philanthropy that suffered Irene to find no rest in any place or any occupation all that day, in spite of the comforting assurances of the doctor?--that drove her from the piano to the writing-desk, from the writing-desk out on to the balcony, and from the garden down to the shore? Not a step sounded on the floor, not a carriage rolled past in the street, but what she trembled. She had herself sufficiently under control, however, not to betray her nervousness by a single word. But her feverish restlessness did not escape her uncle, who, the night before, had gained for the first time a clear insight into a nature usually so proud. He was secretly rejoiced at this, much as he pitied the poor child in her restless grief. For the first time in years he felt that he was the wiser of the two; that he was being justified by the course things were taking, and that his good advice, which had once been scorned, was now redounding to his credit. But as he really loved her, he behaved with the most labored delicacy and consideration toward the young sufferer; never touched her hidden wound by a single word, and only grumbled now and then at the faithless Schnetz, who, considering the slight distance that separated them, might certainly have come over and given him a report of the patient by word of mouth.
He knew that this thought was never out of Irene's mind for a moment, and that all her listening and waiting turned upon it. But when the afternoon came, and no new message made its appearance, he threw his rifle over his shoulder, kissed the hand of his pale little niece, and left the house to scour the woods for a while. If Schnetz should show himself in the mean while, they were to hold him prisoner for the evening.
Scarcely did Irene find herself alone, when she fancied she could not breathe the air in the close little rooms any longer. She hastily caught up her sketch-book, put on her hat, and called her maid to accompany her for a walk. She had recently discovered a picturesque spot, with old trees and high ferns, farther back in the woods, which she wanted to sketch. She trusted that she should be able to find it again.
Once outside in the streets, she took such quick steps that the girl could hardly keep up with her. But Louisa was too well-trained to take the liberty of asking any inquisitive questions. That her mistress was not just as usual; that she kept her head turned away as much as possible, and did not address a single word to her faithful attendant, she could not, indeed, help noticing. But then these high ladies have their moods. At first, the Fräulein seemed to be looking around, right and left, in search of the goal of her artistic efforts. Then, after they had walked along the forest-road for about a quarter of an hour, and one villa after another, lying amid park and garden shrubbery, began to appear on the bank of the lake to the left, the most lovely old tree-trunks and foreground effects could not win a look from her. Several times she stood still before one of the gates, and appeared to be speculating as to who might live in the house beyond. The day before, Schnetz had given her, in his favorite manner, a humorous description of "Fat Rossel's" villa, and had cut a silhouette of its occupant out of a piece of blotting-paper. These were but weak clews. So she went on farther and farther, and her cheeks grew more and more flushed from the rapid exercise, and her companion, who was rather inclined to corpulence, found it harder than ever to keep up with her.
At last she ventured to ask a laborer whom they met, carrying a pick-axe and shovel, where Herr Rossel's villa was. The man pointed to a park-fence made of rough, pine stakes, and was very much amazed when the young lady rewarded this trivial service with a bright half-gulden.
"Louisa," the Fräulein said, standing still for a moment to recover her breath and push back her hair, "you will wait for me outside here. I have to make some inquiries about something in the garden, and will be back directly. The spot where I meant to sketch lies off to the right, in the middle of the wood, and I see now that the afternoon light will not be as favorable as I thought. It doesn't matter. I shall still be able to draw a few lines. In the mean while hold my sketch-book--or no, I will take it with me--you would be sure to get the leaves out of order. Sit down there on that stump. I sha'n't be gone more than five minutes."
The girl obeyed without a word. She had never before heard the name of the gentleman about whom Irene inquired. She tried to make out some connection in the whole mysterious affair. But as she did not succeed, she soon gave up thinking about it, and rejoiced at this comfortable rest in the cool quiet of the woods after her quick walk.
In the mean time her young mistress had hurried over the rest of the way. The park in the rear of Rossel's little house appeared to be quite empty and deserted, nor was any one to be seen at the windows. For a moment she stood hesitating at the little wicket-gate before she could muster up courage to lift the latch. Then she opened the gate quickly and entered the little shady inclosure, through which wound a number of well-swept gravel paths.
But now, as she stepped out from among the pines, and saw before her the flower-garden and the lawn, whose green turf extended to the threshold of the house, she stopped in alarm, and would have given a great deal could she have retired into the shadow again unobserved. For right in front of her, in the midst of a clump of tall rosebushes from which she was cutting the finest flowers for a bouquet, stood Zenz, who recognized her at the first glance, and did not appear at all surprised to meet the Fräulein here again, after the events of the day before.
She gave Irene a good-natured and confidential nod, and said, without waiting to be addressed:
"You have come most likely to inquire after the Herr Baron--haven't you, now? Well, I am much obliged for your kind inquiry; and he is getting on just as well as ever as he can, the doctor says. Only he must be kept very quiet and can't receive any visits from strangers. That's the reason we carried him right off last evening into the studio up there in the turret, where he can't hear a sound from the kitchen and the rooms below; so that even when old Katie has one of her tantrums, and storms and raves about, it won't disturb his peace at all. But not a soul can go in to see him except Herr von Schnetz, Herr Kohle, Herr Rossel--and I, of course, because I am his nurse. I have just run down into the garden to cut him a few roses. It's a good thing to have something pretty by a sick person's bed, so that it will please him when he wakes up. Meantime Herr Kohle is sitting by him and looking after the ice bandages."
While she was prattling on in this naïve strain, Irene had the greatest difficulty in restraining her secret aversion toward the girl, who innocently went on with her work; appearing quite a reputable person, too, now that she was without her waitress's apron, and had her red braids simply coiled around her head.
"I wish to speak to Lieutenant von Schnetz a moment," replied Irene, in the coldest possible tone, "since, as you say, he is not busy just now in the sick chamber--"
"The lieutenant? He is asleep. See, Fräulein, over there where the curtains are let down. He has been lying there for the last two hours, trying to make up a little bit for what he lost last night. Good Heavens! What a fright we did have! and every one had more than his hands full before we could get a decent bandage made, especially as old Katie couldn't have been waked out of her sleep if the world had been coming to an end. So I staid here, too, so that there might be some one to wait on the gentlemen. There are so many things about which men folks, even the very wisest of them, are as foolish as little children. Isn't it so, Fräulein? And then--I couldn't bear to be anywhere else, until I know that he is sure to get sound and well again. When people have known each other as well as we two--and only to think that such a thing as this could happen, and that a splendid handsome gentleman like him should be almost stabbed to death just because of a poor girl like me, and he quite innocent, too--"
Irene had made a movement as though to leave the place as quickly as possible. These last words made her think better of it.
"Innocent?" she said, carelessly, without looking at Zenz. "Do you know, then, how it all came about?"
"To be sure I do," cried the girl, eagerly; "I was the cause of it all! I wouldn't have anything to say to him, to Hiesl, I mean, and why shouldn't I confess that I like the baron! There can't be a handsomer or better man in the world, and when he smiles upon you, in his kind way, you seem to feel it away down in your heart. And yet he isn't proud at all, nor impudent and bad to a poor girl, like other young gentlemen; it isn't any disgrace for me to like him better than a rough fellow like Hiesl. Oh! Fräulein, I don't know how you feel about love, or whether you have a sweetheart, but I--before I saw the Herr Baron one man was just the same to me as another, and now it seems as if there were only this one man under God's heaven; and whatever he says and wants, that I must do, as if it were the Lord himself who ordered me. But he--and you may believe this on my honor and as I hope to be saved--he never thinks of such a thing. He knows well enough how I feel toward him, but he never gives me a thought, and though I'm not pretty I can't be so very ugly either. At all events if I wanted to I could twist Herr Rossel round my little finger. But many thanks! I would rather love one who doesn't care a bit about me, than be loved by one that I don't like!"
Meantime she had gone on tying up her bouquet, and now she held it up with a bright laugh which showed all her white teeth. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said. "But you won't even look at it, Fräulein. Don't you like flowers?"
Irene started out of a deep reverie. Her cheeks burned, and she struggled vainly to maintain her reserve toward this girl, whose frank and perfectly unselfish nature she could not help liking, do what she would.
"And you think it perfectly proper?" she managed at last to say. "It never occurred to you that you are doing anything out of the way in openly following into a strange house, where there are other men, some one who does not care anything about you? Though, to be sure, what does it matter to me what you do or don't do?"
The girl let fall the hand that held the flowers, and gazed straight into the eyes of this young preacher of morality, with an expression that betrayed much more surprise than anger.
"Run after him?" she repeated. "No, Fräulein, I should never think of such a thing; that would be stupid. For Black Theresa, where I used to live, has often told me that men only like a poor girl so long as they have to run after her. And because I didn't feel sure of myself, and knew that if I lived in the same city with him I could not live without seeing him and watching for him at the places where he usually went--so that I should grow hateful to him at last, while now he is at least kind to me--I came out here into the country and hired myself out as a waiter-girl in the inn over yonder. But you see for yourself I was not to get away from him; and now, when he lies at the point of death, all along of a silly thing like me, and needs my help--no, Fräulein, I didn't blame myself at all for having run after him, and I should consider myself a very bad and heartless girl indeed, if I thought anything about myself and what people might say. I would follow him through a forest of wild beasts just to nurse him, and why not into a house full of good friends of his, none of whom would bite me, just because all have seen that I don't do it for love of them, but only for the sake of him who doesn't care the least bit about me. There, now, don't be angry with me for having told you this right out. I must go back into the house and see whether Herr Kohle needs any fresh ice from the cellar. Shall I give him any message from you; tell him that you called, and hoped he would soon get well?"
Irene had turned away. She felt herself so put to shame by the nature of this girl, whom she had thought so far beneath her; her own behavior looked so mean, narrow, and selfish reflected in the mirror of this absolute, humble, joyful self-sacrifice, and the thought that she must relinquish to another the place at his sick-bed so cut her to the heart that she could not restrain her tears, and did not even think of trying to hide her overflowing eyes from the astonished girl.
"Go back to him and give him a message from me!--and nurse him--and--I will come again--to-morrow, at this time--no one need know about it besides yourself. What is your name?"
"Crescenz. But they only call me Red Zenz."
"Good-by, Crescenz--I did you wrong! You are a good girl--far, far better than many others. Adieu!"
She held out her hand to the bewildered girl, who was at a loss how to reconcile the Fräulein's sudden kindness with her former coldness. Then she turned hastily, and disappeared among the cedar-trees in the park.
Shaking her head, Zenz stood gazing after her.
"She is in love with him, too, that is certain!" she said to herself; and then it occurred to her that Felix had immediately asked her about this Fräulein, yesterday at the inn. In her thoughts she placed the two side by side, and was forced to admit, with a quiet sigh, that they looked as if they were made for one another. She did not trouble herself particularly as to how far matters had gone between them. For that matter she never had any thoughts for anything except what was near at hand; and, as she looked at her bouquet and said to herself that she should be praised for bringing it, her round face broke into a smile again and she tripped gayly into the house.
In the studio up-stairs, by the side of a low couch on which Felix was lying in a feverish sleep, sat Fat Rossel, who seemed to have completely shaken oft his indolence, now that he had to do with so serious an affair. He had, it is true, had his American rocking-chair brought upstairs, but otherwise he vied with his friends in performing the duties of the sick-room. It is possible, too, that the proximity of the girl, whose sudden appearance under his roof had made him very thoughtful, had been instrumental in working this miracle. Not only the sarcastic Schnetz, but even the innocent and artless Kohle, had been struck, from the very first, by the respectful and almost chivalrous manner with which he, usually so hard to move, bore himself toward the girl, little grateful or susceptible as she showed herself for his homage. She sought to be nothing in the house but an extra servant, and conducted herself quietly and modestly toward old Katie; and it was only when a question arose about the care of the wounded patient that she expressed her opinion unasked. It was soon evident that, with all her narrowness and her extremely limited education, she had a natural preference for everything tasteful, convenient, and pleasant, so that the little household ran like clockwork, and old Katie found no time to grumble at the increase in the number of the family, but could give herself up, just as before, to her quiet vice.
Kohle stood at his easel. In spite of the excitement of an almost sleepless night, his tireless fancy still kept on working, and he was engaged at this moment in transferring the little sketch of the second picture to a sheet of the size of the first completed cartoon.
"You are, and always will be, a confirmed idealist," said Rossel, in a low tone, without raising his eyes from Felix's sleeping figure. "Instead of taking advantage of the opportunity and making some splendid studies from real life here, you quietly work away at your fables and turn your back on this fine specimen of Nature."
"I merely want to sketch in the outlines of the figures," the artist responded. "It flashed across me, early this morning, to try whether they will do on a large scale as well as in the sketch. I think, after all, I shall have to shift this central group a little more to the left, so as to give the whole more symmetry."
"Any stranger hearing you talk in this way, Kohle, my boy, would suppose you were such an unsympathetic art-machine that even in the midst of murder and violence you could think of nothing but your Venus. But I know that with you it is merely an unconscious way of keeping up your heart, just as Schnetz drank a glass of schnapps and I smoked a chibouque after the first pull was over. Every one has a specific by which he swears, and yours, moreover, is one of the sort that never runs dry. But now, just come here and take a look at this model. After all, these aristocratic families now and then produce some fine specimens, turned out after the true noblesse oblige principle. What a neck and shoulders this youngster has! And just see, Kohle, how the biceps stands out through his tight-fitting shirt-sleeves. A young Achilles, corpo di Bacco! Upon my word I should just like, now, in this soft evening light, if I only had colors and canvas--"
"I can help you out with those," interrupted Kohle, also speaking in a carefully suppressed voice. "I provided myself with a palette only yesterday--old Katie wants to have her portrait painted for her grandchild--I think the canvas--"
"Don't bother yourself about it, my good fellow. Perhaps, after all, it is more sensible of me to study him with my eyes. But look, he tosses about so often! And now again, it's fine the way the forehead is rounded out, and then the splendid form of the brows. No wonder he has good luck with the women; and that even that witch Zenz, who, as a general thing, is as unapproachable as you please, runs after this fine fellow like Kätchen von Heilbronn. I only wish--"
At this moment the door opened, and she of whom he was speaking stole in on tiptoe with her bouquet. But, light as her step was, it seemed to have awakened the sleeper. He groaned slightly, threw his right arm above his head and then slowly opened his eyes.
"Beautiful flowers!" he murmured. "Good-morning! How goes it!--how is art getting on?"
Then, without waiting for an answer, and as if he were recalling to his mind a face that had appeared to him in his dreams, he said:
"I only wish I knew--whether it were really she. Has any one--asked after me?"
Zenz approached softly and held the bouquet before him, so that his pale face blushed from the reflection of the dark roses, and said, in a whisper:
"I have a message for you from the beautiful Fräulein; she was down in the garden to inquire after you, and she hopes you will soon be well again. Oh, you know who I mean! The one over yonder, who didn't want to dance with the rest."
His eyes still rested on the bouquet; the words that he heard overcame him with such happiness and bliss that he believed he was still dreaming. By a powerful effort he raised his head a little, so as to hide his burning face in the flowers. "Zenz," he said, "is that--really true?"
"As true as I live; and she even began to cry at last, so that I felt sorry for her myself, although--"
A smile passed over the sick man's lips. He tried to speak, but his emotion had been too violent. A dizziness overcame him, and, with a gentle sigh, which did not sound like a sigh of pain, he closed his eyes and immediately sunk back into a quiet slumber.