“‘Oh, indeed,’ cried the priest, ‘a pretty guest you have brought to us! She has a husband at Zlarin, and the holy truths are so many fairy tales to her. This very morning she met me in the park and cried to me: “Father Mark, tell me about hell-fire.” A child would have asked in the same tone for the story of Blue Beard. She has demoralised your house, and the devil is in the music she can make.’

“But the Count only laughed at him.

“‘Trust a priest to be busy when there is a petticoat in the place,’ said he; ‘who is your rival, Father Mark?’

“At this, excellency, the holy father went again to the oratory to pray.

“Count Paul, although he had twitted the priest, had determined secretly that he would make himself aware of his strange guest’s history without further loss of time. He had been overmuch occupied with the military affairs of the province during his absence in Serajevo; but now that he was home again he began to see that he had taken a somewhat serious responsibility upon his shoulders, and that he must face it without further loss of time. He made up his mind that he would speak to Christine on the morrow; but when the morning came there was much to hear from his steward and business to do with the Prefect of Jajce. It was not until the afternoon that he thought again of his intention, and that thought was thrust upon him curiously.

“He was riding up from the town, and had entered at a gate of the park which is near the eastern end of the lake. There is a little wood here, excellency, and great trees give shade even at the zenith of the summer. The Count had turned his horse from the road, for the sun is hot in Bosnia even when the autumn is come, and he was cantering gently towards his house, when he heard the notes of a violin, played very sweetly, yet with moments of passion and swift cunning execution which betrayed the musician of large powers. Surprised that such music was to be heard in his own park, he rode straight to the thicket whence the sounds came, and speedily unravelled the mystery. Old Mother Theresa had carried food and drink to a little bower of the woods, and there was gathered a merry party—Hans cutting odd capers to the music of the fiddle, the dame applauding, the priest leaning against a tree with laughter and disapproval marked together upon his frowning face, Christine sitting cross-legged upon the grass and wringing, from the crazy old instrument they had found her, music which would have set the oldest foot beating to its rhythm. So absorbed, indeed, was the party in the lilt of the dance that Count Paul remained for many minutes unobserved; and in this interval he used his eyes quickly. Nor could he at the first bring himself to think that the little girl he then saw, so gay, so full of happiness, and of such incontestable beauty, was the wan-faced starving creature he had found upon the Jajce road not a month ago.

“Well, indeed, may this pretty apparition have caused him wonder. You have seen Christine for yourself, excellency; have seen her now that she has passed through the heat of her trial, and sorrow has left its stamp upon her—you have seen her, and you know that she is a woman whose face is not to be forgotten by him who has once looked upon it; a woman whose lightest gesture is grace, whose limbs are the limbs of painters’ dreams. Think of her, then, when the whole sweetness of youth was written in her dancing eyes, and the new joy of her life was bursting into blossom. Oh, surely this man may well have stood dumb in his surprise, slow to believe that some trick had not been played upon him. And to this conclusion her new dress helped him. No longer did ragged finery draggle about her limbs. No longer was the dust matted in her hair. She wore a pretty gown that the dame had made for her with loving labour. Her shoes were of yellow leather, and had buckles like the priest’s. Her vest was scarlet, slashed with gold—for that had come all the way from Serajevo, and was the secret gift of the well-meaning Hans. She had a dainty white cap to hide the gold in her curls, and silver bracelets rattled upon the arm which held the bow. And when to these were added the lustre of her deep-black eyes, the ripe red flush upon her cheeks, the pout of the little mouth and the comely shape of her limbs, she was indeed a picture to please, a creature to invite the love of all that set their eyes upon her.”

CHAPTER X
COUNT PAUL AT HOME

“Here, then, excellency, is the little Christine whom the Count saw as he stood at the edge of the bower and gazed upon the scene with surprised eyes. Not until the capering Hans had sunk down exhausted upon the turf, and Mother Theresa had clapped her hands again and again, and the priest had raised his finger in warning, did the group become aware of the master’s presence, and hasten to put on some show of respect and greeting. As for Christine, Father Mark had not failed to impress upon her the nature of her obligation to the owner of the château, and no sooner had she seen him than she ran forward, and holding out her hand very prettily, she took his and pressed it to her lips.

“‘Herr Count,’ she said—for thus had they taught her to address him—‘I thank you, oh, I thank you from my heart—the Blessed Mother give me words—I will be your servant always—I am so happy here, Herr Count, and it is to you that I must speak—you will not send me back to Zlarin?’