It is clear that Harry intends to dissolve the engagement into which so mysterious a chain of circumstances has forced him. The difficulty of doing this Zdena does not take into consideration. Paula must see that he does not care for her; and then--then there will be nothing left for her save to release him. Thus Zdena concludes, and the world looks very bright to her.
Oh, the dear old room! she would not exchange it for a kingdom. How home-like and comfortable!--so shady and cool, with its deep window-recesses, where the sunshine filters in through the green, rustling net-work of vines; with its stiff antiquated furniture forming so odd a contrast to the wild luxuriance of extraordinary flowers with which a travelling fresco-painter ages ago decorated walls and ceiling; with its old-fashioned embroidered prie-dieu beneath an ancient bronze crucifix, and its little bed, so snowy white and cool, fragrant with lavender and orris!
The floor, of plain deal planks, scrubbed to a milky whiteness, is bare, except that beside the bed lies a rug upon which a very yellow tiger is rolling, and gnashing his teeth, in a very green meadow, and on the wall hangs one single picture,--a faded chromo, at which Zdena, when a child, had almost stared her eyes out.
The picture represents a young lady gazing at her reflection in a mirror. Her hair is worn in tasteless, high puffs and much powdered, her waist is unnaturally long and slim, and her skirts are bunched up about her hips. To the modern observer she is not attractive, but Zdena hails her as an old acquaintance. Beneath the picture are the words "Lui plairai-je?" The thing hangs in one of the window-embrasures, above a marquetrie work-table, upon which has been placed a nosegay of fresh, fragrant roses.
"Who has plucked and placed them there?" Zdena asks herself. Suddenly a shrill bell rings, calling to table the inmates of Komaritz in house and garden. Zdena hurriedly picks out of the nosegay the loveliest bud, and puts it in her breast, then looks at herself in the glass,--a tall, narrow glass in a smooth black frame with brass rosettes at the corners,--and murmurs, smiling, "Lui plairai-je?" then blushes violently and takes out the rose from her bosom. It is a sin even to have such a thought,--under existing circumstances.
[CHAPTER XXI.]
"POOR LATO!"
Five hours have passed since Zdena's arrival in Komaritz. Harry has been very good; that is, he has scarcely made an appearance; perhaps because he is conscious that when he is with Zdena he can hardly take his eyes off her, which, "under existing circumstances," might strike others as, to Bay the least, extraordinary.
After dinner he goes off partridge shooting, inviting his younger brother, who is devoted to him and whom he spoils like a mother, to accompany him. But Vips, as the family prefer to call him instead of Vladimir, although usually proud and happy to be thus distinguished by his elder brother, declines his invitation today. In fact, he has fallen desperately in love with Zdena. He is lying at her feet on the steps leading from the dwelling-room into the garden. His hair is beautifully brushed, and he has on his best coat.
The Countess Zriny is in her room, writing to her father confessor; Fräulein Laut is at the piano, practising something by Brahms, to which musical hero she is almost as much devoted as is Rosamunda to her idolized Wagner; and Heda is sitting beside her cousin on the garden-steps, manufacturing with praiseworthy diligence crochetted stars of silk.