"I cannot come to-morrow, signora, so I ventured--"
"I have no time to-day. You see I am just going out." She said it in a hasty tone, for which there was apparently not the smallest occasion, and which was a wonderful contrast to the Italian's courteous, "Mi ritiro, e le domando perdona--buona sera, signora," and the low bow with which he passed again through the portière.
"Why were you so sharp with the young man?" asked Aunt Rikchen. Ferdinanda did not answer; she was listening for the soft footstep as it retired, and for the sound of the closing door. Would it be the glass door leading to the garden, or the other one which led to the entrance hall? It was the glass door; he had not gone out then. And yet. Why had she said that she was going out? Should she give it up? But there was no time to think. With a half-murmured: "Good-bye, aunt, I will make haste back," she had left the room and was standing in the street, almost without knowing how she had got there. She had intended to take a cab at the corner of the street, but the stand was empty; she must make up her mind to walk along the Springbrunnenstrasse as far as the Parkstrasse, where she hoped to find one. Perhaps it would be better; she could more easily make sure of not being followed than in a close carriage. As she walked hastily along she looked back two or three times; a few people met her; no one was behind her; she breathed more freely; he had not followed her. She feared no one but him. But he whom she feared to see behind her was at that moment far in front. Since this morning Antonio had felt certain that the relations between the handsome young officer and Ferdinanda had entered on a new stage, and probably something was going to take place, something that he must know at any price, that he would know, however secretly they might go about it. He had, therefore, made the lesson which he gave her once a week in his own language, an excuse for approaching her, in order to find fresh food for his jealous curiosity, which imagined all possible things. He had found her, who so seldom left the house in the evening, ready to go out, without having ordered the carriage as she usually did. She had sharply rebuffed him, as if she suspected his motive; and what at another time would have irritated him, now delighted him; his suspicions had taken a definite form; a rendezvous was in question! His determination to follow on her track was made even before the portière had closed behind him. He had purposely shut the garden door loudly in order that Ferdinanda might believe that he had not left the grounds. But when he got into the garden he had turned to the right and passed through an iron gate into the court-yard, and in a few steps was in the entrance hall, through which he passed into the street. The cab-stand at the corner was his first aim also; he was obliged to pass the window at which Aunt Rikchen sat; but if he stooped his head would be hidden by the elder bush in the front garden. It was a disappointment to find the cab-stand empty, but she would experience the same disappointment, but not before she got to the corner of the street. At this corner there was a small public-house which the workmen belonging to the studio were in the habit of frequenting. He sprang down the steps, and stationed himself at the window opposite the cab-stand. It was a mere chance--she might go towards the town, or might already have done so; but no! there she was! She paused a few moments exactly as he had done himself, and came then past the window behind which he was concealed; his eyes were on a level with the pavement; he could see her slender feet as she walked quickly along, with her dress slightly raised. He let her get a little in advance, then emerged again, assured himself that she was walking down the street, dashed across the street and ran up the Kanalstrasse towards a private path that ran between villas and gardens parallel with the Springbrunnenstrasse and led also to the Parkstrasse. This narrow lane was now, as almost always, quite deserted; he could run along it without exciting any attention--not that he would have cared about that; he should reach the Parkstrasse some minutes before she did. Arrived there, he flew across the street, and stationed himself between the shrubs in the Thiergarten, in such a manner that he could command the opposite side of the Parkstrasse and the opening of the three side streets. The opening of the private path immediately before him was no longer of any consequence to him, but she must come along the Springbrunnenstrasse on the left, and at the corner of the last side street to the right there was a cab-stand. She might, it was true, turn to the left, towards the town, but he would still see her, and he was convinced that she would turn to the right. And she did turn to the right. She emerged from the Springbrunnenstrasse and walked quickly along the opposite side by the houses, past the cross street to where the cabs stood. There were two cabs, she took the first; the driver of the second politely shut the door after her, and then as the first driver drove off, seized the reins and drew his horse forward. The next moment Antonio was by his side.
"Where to?" asked the driver,
"Where that cab goes."
"To the Grosse Stern, then." Antonio drew back his foot which was already on the step. The Grosse Stern, at the opposite side of the Thiergarten, where the Charlottenburg Avenue is crossed by several other paths, was not a favourable place for a pursuit in a carriage, which in the great Platz, and indeed on the way there, must excite remark and suspicion. There was a surer way. What signified to him the energetic curse which the disappointed cab-driver sent after him, as Antonio hastened past him along the road into the Thiergarten! The Grosse Stern Avenue, a broad ride, shadowed by old trees, by the side of which were foot-paths, led, as he knew, right across the Thiergarten to the Grosse Stern; Ferdinanda's cab must go round by the Corso Avenue. It was not much out of the way, and her cab went unusually quickly; but he was in the direct path, and could depend upon his muscles and sinews. He ran the several thousand yards that he had to go with wonderful rapidity, heeding as little the beating of his heart as the bloodhound heeds it when on the track of a stag; in fact, the immense exertion seemed to refresh him by overpowering for the moment his pangs of jealousy. He had reached his destination; the Platz lay before him; an omnibus coming from Charlottenburg rattled by without stopping; a few carts were coming from the town; between them, and then in front of them, a cab came rapidly along. It must be he! Antonio had hidden himself amongst the bushes--he would be quite safe here: behind him was the entire park, where he could, at the worst, at any moment retreat into the darkness; and the bushes were so thick that the danger of being detected from the Platz was very slight, while he could see everything that passed there. The cab from the town had stopped; a gentleman sprang out. The cab immediately turned round and drove back to the town; the gentleman walked slowly along the Platz without stopping, looking around him on all sides. Antonio was startled at the first glance; the gentleman was not in uniform. Then with a scornful "Bestia!" he struck his forehead; and now that the gentleman passed his hiding-place at a short distance, he recognised his detested enemy by his slight figure and easy movements. It was too dark to see his features distinctly. But what matter? He knew quite well who was before him, and his hand grasped more firmly the handle of his stiletto, which he had drawn out, as a huntsman takes aim even when he knows that he is not within shot; and he gnashed his white teeth as at this moment the cab which he had passed came round the corner of the Corso Avenue, turned on to the Platz, and there stopped, but only for a moment, only that the man he hated might say a few words through the open door, then jump in and close the door behind him. The cab went on across the Platz, along the road to the Bellevue Schloss, and then disappeared amongst the trees. Antonio murmured through his teeth the bitterest curse that he knew. The pursuit was at an end. He could not take a short cut, because he did not know what direction they would take; he could not follow them, that was impossible along the public road. It mattered little, either, where the pursuit ended--for to-day! But he could not make up his mind to go back or quit the Platz. It was a splendid place for brooding over his revenge, while the darkness sank deeper and deeper, and the leaves around him hissed like serpents' tongues, and above him in the tops of the mighty trees there were sighings and groanings as of a victim lying mortally wounded on the ground.
CHAPTER V.
In the meantime the cab had only proceeded a short distance, to the entrance of the Bellevue Garden.
"We are quite secure here, I swear to you," Ottomar had whispered, as he helped Ferdinanda to alight. The driver contentedly pocketed his thaler and immediately drove off. Ottomar gave Ferdinanda his arm and led her, bewildered, frightened, and half stunned, into the garden. He could hear her gasping for breath. "I swear it!" he repeated.
"Swear that you love me! I only ask that!" Instead of answering he put his arm round her. She encircled him with both hers. Their lips met in a long, burning kiss. They then hastened, hand in hand, deeper into the park, till they were concealed by trees and shrubs and then sank again into one another's arms, exchanging burning kisses and words of love, intoxicated with the bliss of which they had so long been dreaming, and which was now more precious than they had ever imagined in their wildest dreams. So at least thought Ferdinanda, and so she said, while her lips again sought his, and so said Ottomar; and yet, at the very moment that he returned her burning kisses, there was a feeling in his heart that he had never known before, a dread of the flames that surrounded him, a sensation as of powerlessness in the presence of a passion which raged around and overpowered him with the irresistible might of a tempest. He had until now played at love, had looked upon his easy conquests as triumphs, had accepted the mute homage of beautiful eyes, the flattering words of gentle lips, as a tribute due to him, and not demanding any gratitude. Here, for the first time, he was the weaker. He would not acknowledge it to himself, and yet he knew it, as an experienced wrestler knows at the first touch that he has found his master, and that he must succumb, unless some accident gives him the advantage. Ottomar was already looking out for this accident, for some event to occur, some circumstance that should give him the advantage; then he blushed at his own cowardice, at his mean ingratitude towards this beautiful, gifted being, who so confidingly, so devotedly, and with such self-forgetfulness threw herself into his arms, and he redoubled the tenderness of his caresses and the sweet flattery of his loving words. And then, that uneasy feeling might be a delusion; but she who had done what he had so often, so pressingly implored of her, who had at length granted him an interview, in which he could put before her his plans for the future, she would and must expect that he would at length trace out that sketch of the future over which he had so long delayed, and which at this moment seemed to him as uncertain as ever. He did not believe what she assured him, that she wanted nothing more than to love him, to be beloved by him, that everything of which he spoke--his father, her father, circumstances which must be taken into consideration, difficulties which must be overcome--all, all was only a mist, which would disperse before the rays of the sun; trifles not worthy that they should expend upon them one moment of precious time, one breath! He did not believe her; but he only too willingly took her at her word, even now silently absolving himself from the responsibility of the consequences which might, which must follow such a neglect of the simplest rules of prudence and wisdom. And then he, too, forgot everything but the present moment, and she had to remind him that time was flying, that he was expected at home, and must not arrive too late for the party.