"The old cat!" cried Fräulein von Quittelsdorf, after she had assisted the countess into the carriage. "She is furious because she was not asked to assist in the arrangements for to-day. Did not you see, Hollfeld, how very nearly that false front of hers slipped down upon her nose when she was waggling her head in such agitation? I should have laughed for two weeks without intermission if her bald head had suddenly made its appearance underneath that flower garden on top!"
She was convulsed with laughter at the idea. Her companion walked, without a word, and with accelerated pace, by her side, as though he heard nothing of her chatter. His whole bearing manifested hurry and disquiet. He seemed most desirous to overtake the rest of the assemblage as quickly as possible. He cast searching glances through the bushes on either side of the way, and, whenever he caught a glimpse of a white dress, stopped for a moment, as though to identify the wearer.
"Indeed, you are too tiresome, Hollfeld; you weary me to death!" cried the lady peevishly. "To be sure it is your privilege to be as mute as a fish and yet enjoy the reputation of a clever man. Where your wits are now I am sure I cannot imagine. What, in Heaven's name, are you running so fast for? Allow me to entreat you to have some regard for my crape dress, which will be torn to rags by these bushes through which you are hurrying me, with such speed."
The convent tower,—the only uninjured remnant of a former nunnery,—was situated in the depths of a grove of oaks and beeches in a part of the forest domain appertaining to the Lindhof estate, which here extended far towards the east.
A certain lady of Gnadewitz, a sister of the ancestor of the wheel, had built the nunnery, whither she, with twelve other young maidens, retired to pray for the soul of her brother, cut off so ignominiously in the flower of his days. Year after year the giant boughs of the oaks had tapped at the windows of the cells and leaned above the high wall over the small garden of the convent. They had seen many a fresh young creature pass hurriedly along the dim narrow forest path to ring the bell at the convent portal with feverish impatience, as though unable to wait one instant longer for the promised peace abiding within those walls. They had seen how, behind those irrevocable bolts and bars, the mute lips of the nun grew white,—how convulsively her waxen hands clutched the crucifix, while her agonized looks would seek the ground; for the sight of the clear, blue heavens, arching above the gay children of the outer world, awakened joyous memories within her, and breathed a keen desire for pleasure and life into the soul and heart muffled forever in the folds of the sackcloth of her order.
The Reformation, which overthrew the convents like card houses, had stridden through this still forest also, and had passed its mighty hand over the walls of this gloomy pile, which had, in expiation of the misery and crime that had cursed its origin, been the perpetual abode of unhappiness. And even the hollow mockery of existence within its walls had vanished to the four winds. One stone after another had tumbled to the feet of the lofty oaks, whose branches had brushed against it while it formed part of some carved arch or window-frame, and which now strewed leaves upon it till it sank away far more softly bedded than the poor bodies of the nuns, which were, so said the legend, all sleeping together in a subterranean dungeon.
The tower was square, clumsy, and ugly. On the flat roof above, that was surrounded by a stone balustrade, the stairs were capped by a very small, square apartment, from which egress upon the roof was obtained through a massive oaken door. Here there was a magnificent prospect and distant view of L——. For the sake of this prospect the tower had been rebuilt and kept in constant repair. Immense iron clamps bound the walls together at the corners, and numberless lines of fresh mortar meandered across its blackened surface, so that the old building looked at a distance like a gigantic piece of agate.
But to-day the old pile was decked out like some old fellow dressed for a wooing. Fresh flowers,—that is to say, four gigantic fir trees—were sticking in his hat; and from their tops gay banners were floating, like large birds above the green waves beneath. The old fellow, who, until to-day, had only whispered nightly and daily confidences to his comrades the oaks but had never made an advance towards them from his dignified position, was now clutching them with green wide-spread arms; huge garlands were draped from his topmost walls, and were lost among the boughs of the surrounding forest; while from one side a white sail-cloth was extended and attached to the trunks of two tall hemlocks. Beneath the shade of this tent were several refreshing-looking casks, a whole battery of dusty red-sealed flasks and countless silver-capped bottles in ice-buckets,—all presided over by a very pretty girl in the dress of a vivandiere.
Elizabeth had silently and passively left the large hall upon Herr von Walde's arm. In spite of her determination to go home, she had not had the courage to gainsay him, or to tell him of her desire,—he had spoken in a tone of such authority; and, what had influenced her still more, had entered the lists, as it were, for her, and sought to help her out of her embarrassment. Any opposition on her part would have seemed like obstinate defiance of him, and would have served only to increase her painful apprehension of drawing to herself general attention.
The silken garments of the ladies rustled along the walls of the corridor behind her. Laughing and chattering, the gay crowd followed Herr von Walde in a long train until it issued from the chief entrance door, and then it scattered hither and thither, taking the various forest paths which led to the convent tower. Those whose elaborate toilets required special care took the broad, well-kept path. Herr von Walde certainly never dreamed that his companion's simple, snowy muslin could be as precious in her eyes as were the rich dresses of the other ladies in theirs, or he certainly would not have selected the narrow, lonely pathway into which he suddenly turned.