“I long to speak with you,” said Madame Ziska, “but I must now give the archdukes and archduchesses their dancing lesson. Come to my house—in the Teinfeltstrasse—you can easily find it—at five o’clock, and remain to supper with my husband, my children, and me. We will talk all night, that I promise you.”
Making a low bow to the lady in charge, Madame Ziska then began her task, while Derschau, with St. Arnaud and Gavin, withdrew.
“Madame Ziska is well known and highly respected in Vienna, as you may judge by her being dancing mistress to the imperial children,” said Derschau. “She is also first dancer at the opera. She is the wife of Count Kalenga, an Hungarian nobleman. Ziska is only her stage name. He married her, to the ruin of his worldly prospects. He was disinherited by his family for it, and Madame Ziska’s profession and her humble origin made it impossible for her to be recognized in Viennese society. Nevertheless, they lived very happily together upon the small remnant of his fortune that remained to them until about four years ago. Kalenga, who was one of the handsomest men in the world, became a hopeless paralytic. Madame Ziska, who has retained, as you see, her youth and grace, returned to the stage, and by her own exertions maintains her husband and family, giving Kalenga all the comforts that his sad condition requires. The Empress Queen, who is herself the best of wives and mothers, determined to encourage Madame Ziska by employing her as dancing mistress to the imperial children. As you see, although of humble birth, she is far superior to most of her profession. Her husband has educated her, and to-day she is one of the most accomplished women in Vienna.”
“We know it,” replied St. Arnaud. “Her conversation charmed the King of Prussia, and the tender, womanly interest she took in two strangers and prisoners showed that her sympathies were large enough to go beyond the narrow circle of her family.”
They were then arrived at the small door of the palace by which they had entered, and Derschau bade them a courteous farewell, after engaging to receive the promised commission for Gavin, and keep it until he called for it next day.
Five o’clock found them before the door of a comfortable house in the Teinfeltstrasse. The door was opened by Madame Ziska herself, who led them to a pleasant room opening into a garden. Through the glass they could see Count Kalenga, muffled up, and sitting in a wheel-chair. Two handsome boys of ten and twelve were pushing the chair to a sheltered spot warmed by the last rays of the setting sun, two younger girls leaning on their father’s lap; he was evidently telling them a story, to which all four were listening. The scene touched both Gavin and St. Arnaud, who knew the story of the man so physically afflicted, but so blessed with the devotion of a wife and children.
“Derschau has told you my story and my husband’s, I know,” said Madame Ziska good-humouredly. “He is a pleasant fellow, but a great gossip—everybody knows everything that Derschau knows. But seeing my husband, even as he is now”—she pointed to Count Kalenga, who was being wheeled toward the house by the two boys—and her soft eyes filled with tears, “are you surprised that a young and tender-hearted girl should have married him? The time came when I reproached myself bitterly for having done it, after I saw that it cost him his fortune and most of his association with his equals. But if he ever regretted it, he was too noble to let me suspect it. And when his affliction came upon him, could I ever do enough to show my devotion to him? Ah, do you wonder that I try to make myself his companion by reading, by studying—that every moment I spend away from him I grudge? Yet it is sweetened by the thought that I am labouring for him and our children. And at the opera, when the idle young men throw me bouquets and write verses to me, my only thought is, ‘It will make my husband smile’—it amuses him very much; and when I find a jewel in a bouquet I very quickly exchange it for something to make his lot more comfortable.” She rose while she was speaking, and opening the door, the chair was rolled in.
As Madame Ziska said, a view of her husband made it quite plain why he won the heart of a young and impressionable girl. His countenance, still handsome, was full of candour and intelligence, and his figure, in spite of his dreadful affliction, retained its military uprightness. The little girls, Gretchen and Freda, unfastened his cloak and removed his fur cap and gloves, while the lads, Franz and Carl, well trained and polite, stood silent near him, ready to be of service.
“You know who these friends are, Franz,” said Madame Ziska to Count Kalenga. St. Arnaud and Gavin shook hands cordially with Kalenga, who greeted them with the utmost grace and kindness. The children were then dismissed, and Madame Ziska, drawing her chair to the fire, said:
“Thank heaven I do not go to the opera to-night. We will have supper here, and you shall tell us all your adventures. But first, mother-like, I must see to your comfort. Have you lodgings yet?”