Only a Girl: or, A Physician for the Soul.

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

And now the moment had arrived when, for the first time, she found herself helpless, opposed to a higher power,--and the effect of this first collision with invisible barriers upon the untrained heart of the countess was terrible. Hitherto she had recognized only the laws of decorum, and had transgressed them with impunity whenever they had oppressed her. Decorum is almost always subject to the will of individuals and to fashion. But the higher law that hovers over the universe, subject to no human will, to no change,--unchangeable, as is all that is divine,--is the law of morality. It was this against which the countess was now struggling, of the existence of which she seemed now first to become aware.

But such a woman could not give up the battle. It was a law of her nature to resist. She could not yield. How could she?--she had never learned submission. She would battle for her desires. As a girl, she had endured hunger and cold for days in the pursuit of the chase, while food and warmth waited for her at home. From her earliest childhood, her will had been trained to iron persistence, and now, when she had again left the comforts and delights of home in pursuit of a far nobler prey, should she desist from the chase because the game belonged to another? Such a course was impossible for such a woman, and, as strength could not avail her here, she resorted to the commonest weapon of the merest flirt,--cunning.

Herbert's malice contained a seed that swiftly ripened and bore fruit in the fertile brain of the countess, for she knew only too well how much truth there was in the charge that her friendship was a dishonour to a young girl. It was a terrible thought for her that there was no means left for her whereby she could crush a rival except by so poisoning her with her own infection that she might become an object of disgust to her lover. But, if she could gain nothing by such a course, she could at least revenge herself. She turned over the leaves of Ernestine's publications. They were too learned for her. She understood nothing from their pages, except that they contended for the emancipation of women,--that was enough for her. She too was "emancipated." It was enough to establish an understanding between them. Perhaps a meeting with Möllner might grow out of a visit to Ernestine. She was determined to make use of Herbert's malicious hint, his last bequest to her; for she had mortally offended him, and he no longer came near her. She hastily studied a few papers upon the emancipation of women, that she might comprehend what Herbert had said of "principle" in connection with the subject, and this was the day upon which she was resolved to see her victim. She selected Wednesday for her expedition, because Herbert had told her that Möllner had been with Ernestine on the previous Wednesday. Perhaps his visit might be repeated on the same day of the week.

As soon as she rose, she blew a shrill whistle upon a little silver call. There instantly appeared--not a dog--a maid with a large bucket of spring-water, which was dashed over her beautiful mistress in a little bathing-tent.

The maid then silently withdrew, and brought coffee and the newspapers. The countess, wrapped in a rich brocade dressing-gown, lighted a cigar, and, while drinking her coffee, looked carelessly through the papers.

Afterwards she went to her dressing-room, and called to the dressing-maid in attendance there, "Riding-habit!" and, after a short delay, the maid brought her all she required. "Ali!" said the countess, which meant, "Go tell the groom to saddle Ali for me."

The brief order was understood and obeyed with rapidity. Like a shadow the attendant glided from the room, appearing again like a shadow in the presence of her dreaded mistress. The servants of this woman must have neither mind, soul, nor heart,--only ears to hear, and hands and feet to obey. The poor dressing-maid did her best to fulfil all that was required of her,--she was all ear, hands, and feet. She scarcely breathed. It really seemed as if the powerful lungs of her mistress inhaled all the air of the apartment, leaving none for any other inmate.

She took her place behind the countess, who sat before the mirror, smoking, and began, as carefully as possible, to comb out her long hair. The lovely woman examined her own features critically to-day. One peculiarity of her face, otherwise faultless,--a peculiarity that reminded her of the Russian type,--irritated her excessively; she thought her cheek-bones somewhat too high.

Just as she was contemplating this imaginary defect, the maid slightly pulled her hair. It was too much for her patience.

"Maschinka!" she cried, starting up and snatching the comb from the poor girl's hand. A flash--a blow--and Maschinka stooped silently to pick up the pieces of the broken comb. The print of its teeth was left upon her pale cheek, but no word, no cry of pain, escaped her lips,--her eyes alone looked tearful.