"No one mentions her now," Lori murmurs. "She married without love; not from vanity as I did, but she sacrificed herself for her family,--sisters unprovided for, father old, no money. She was far better than I, and for a long time she honestly tried to do her duty,----and so she finally had to leave her husband!"
The Countess stops; a long pause ensues. The steps of the passers-by sound through the languid September air; an Italian hurdy-gurdy is grinding out the lullaby from "Trovatore," sleepy and sentimental. The clatter from the barracks interrupts it now and then. A sunbeam slips through the window-shade into the half-light of the room and gleams upon the buhl furniture.
"Well, she had the courage of her opinions," the Countess begins afresh at last. "She left her husband and lives with--well, with another man,--good heavens! you knew him too, Niki Gladnjik, in Switzerland; they live there for each other in perfect seclusion. He adores her; the world--our world, the one I do not want to meet at your ball--ignores Ada, but I write to her sometimes, and she to me. I have been reading over her letters to-day. She seems to be very happy, enthusiastically happy, so happy that I envy her; but I am sorry for her, for--you see, Niki really loves her, and wants to marry her--they have been waiting two years for the divorce which her husband opposes; and Niki is consumptive; you understand, if he should die before----"
Lato's heart throbs fast at his cousin's tale. At this moment the door opens, and Count Wodin enters.
[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]
AT LAST.
Flammingen's affairs are satisfactorily adjusted. Treurenberg is relieved of that anxiety. He can devote his thoughts to his own complications, as he rides back from X---- to Dobrotschau.
The dreamy lullaby from "Trovatore" still thrills his nerves, and again and again he recalls the pair living happily in Switzerland. He sees their valley in his mental vision enclosed amid lofty mountains,--walls erected by God Himself to protect that green Paradise from the intrusion and cruelty of mankind,--walls which shut out the world and reveal only the blue heavens. How happy one could be in that green seclusion, forgotten by the world! In fancy he breathes the fresh Alpine air laden with the wholesome scent of the pines; upon his ear there falls the rushing murmur of the mountain-stream. He sees a charming home on a mountain-slope, and at the door stands a lovely woman dressed in white, with large, tender eyes filled with divine sympathy. She is waiting for some one's return; whence does he come? From the nearest town, whither he is forced to go from time to time to adjust his affairs, but whither she never goes; oh, no! People pain her,--people who despise and envy her. But what matters it? He opens his arms to her, she flies to meet him; ah, what bliss, what rapture!
His horse stumbles slightly; he rouses with a start. A shudder thrills him, and, as in the morning, he is horrified at himself. Will it always be thus? Can he not relax his hold upon himself for one instant without having every thought rush in one direction, without being possessed by one intense longing? How can he thus desecrate Olga's image?
Meanwhile, the expected guests have arrived at Dobrotschau. They came an hour ago,--three carriage-loads of distinction from, Vienna, some of them decorated with feudal titles. A very aristocratic party will assemble at table in Dobrotschau to-day. Countess Weiseneck, a born Grinzing, wife of a rather disgraceful mauvais sujet, whose very expensive maintenance she contests paying, and from whom she has been separated for more than a year; Countess Mayenfeld, née Gerstel, the wife of a gentleman not quite five feet in height, who is known in Vienna by the sobriquet of "the numismatician." When his betrothal to the wealthy Amanda Gerstel was announced, society declared that he had chosen his bride to augment his collection of coins. His passion for collecting coins enables this knightly aristocrat to endure with philosophy the cold shoulders which his nearest relatives turned to him after his marriage; moreover, he lives upon excellent terms with his wizened little wife. One more couple with a brand-new but high-sounding title; then an unmarried countess, with short hair and a masculine passion for sport,--an acquaintance made at a watering-place; then Baron Kilary, the cleverest business-man among Vienna aristocrats, who is always ready to eat oysters and pâte de foie gras at any man's table, without, however, so far forgetting himself as to require his wife and daughter to visit any one of his entertainers who is socially his inferior. The famous poet, Paul Angelico Orchys, and little Baron Königsfeld, complete the list of arrivals.