When Timar burst through the closet out of the hiding-place, a dark figure stood in his way. Was it a shadow, a phantom, or a spirit? It was Athalie. Timar pushed, the dark figure away, and while he pressed her with one hand against the wall, he whispered in her ear, "I curse you! and accursed be this house and the ashes of him who built it!"
Then he rushed like a madman down the stairs.
CHAPTER II.
THE FIRST LOSS.
Escape! But where? That is the question.
The church clocks in the town struck ten: the barriers were down by now across the wooden bridge over the narrow part of the river to the island, from which the ice formed the only road across the rest of the Danube. It was impossible to get past without alarming the sentries, who had orders from the commandant of the garrison to let no one go on the ice between eight in the evening and seven in the morning—not even the pope himself. It is true that a couple of bank-notes of Herr Levetinczy's might compass what a papal bull could not procure, but then it would be reported next day all over the town that the "man of gold" had fled in haste and alone, at dead of night, across the dangerous ice. That would be a good sequel to the gossip which had arisen from the duel. It would at once be said, "There, you see he is already thinking of escaping to America," and Timéa would hear it too.
Timéa! oh, how hard it is to evade that name; it follows him everywhere. He can do nothing but return home and wait for daylight. As cautiously as a thief he opened his door. At this hour all the other inhabitants were asleep.
When he got to his room, he lighted no lamp, and threw himself on the sofa. But the phantoms which pursued him found him quite as easily in the dark.
How that marble face blushed!
So there is life there under the ice, only the sun is wanting. Marriage is for her eternal winter—a polar winter. The wife is faithful; and the rival is a true friend. He breaks his sword over the skull of him who dared to slander the husband of the beloved woman. And Timéa loves the man, and is as unhappy as he. The misery of both comes from Timar's imputation as an honest man; those who love him idealize him; no one ventures to think of deceiving or robbing or disgracing him—of breaking a splinter from the diamond of his honor: they guard it like a jewel.
Why do they all respect him? Because no one knows him.