A RAINY EVENING.
It has been raining all the afternoon,--it is raining still. The inmates of Erlach Court are house-bound. Freddy, because of disobedience, and in consequence of his sneezing thrice during the afternoon, has been sent to bed early and sentenced to a dose of elder-flower tea. His elders, instead of spending the evening, as usual, in the open air, are a.s.sembled in the drawing-room.
Stasy has for the twentieth time finished "Paul and Virginia," and is now devoting herself to another kind of literature, Zola"s "Joie de vivre,"--of course only that she may testify to the horror with which such a book must inspire her. Every few minutes she utters an indignant "no!" in an undertone, or holds out the book to Katrine, one hand over her blushing face, with "That is really too bad!" Katrine, however, shows no inclination to partic.i.p.ate in her horror; she waves the book aside, saying, "I do not care to read everything," and goes on crochetting at the afghan which is to be ready for Freddy"s approaching birthday.
The Baroness Meineck, meanwhile, is playing chess, the only game which she does not despise, with the general; and the captain is idling.
Hitherto Stella has been singing to her own accompaniment, for the entertainment of the company, the pretty Italian songs she caught from the gondoliers on the Ca.n.a.l. She is still sitting at the piano, but she has stopped singing. Her slender hands touch the keys of the instrument, playing softly now and then a couple of bars from a Chopin mazourka, as she looks up at Rohritz, who, with both elbows on the top of the piano, leans towards her, talking.
"How interested Rohritz seems in his talk with Stella! he is quite transformed," Leskjewitsch remarks.
"He must answer when he is addressed," Stasy rejoins, sharply, looking up from her "Joie de vivre."
"If he does not like to talk to the girl he can go away," the captain observes. "She has not nailed him to the piano."
"He-he! she nails him with her eyes. Do you not see how she ogles him?"
Stasy replies, with a giggle. "I wonder what he is telling her."
"He is talking of Mexico, and of the phosph.o.r.escence of the tropical seas," the captain says, curtly.
"Indeed? nothing more sentimental and personal than that? Since, then, it is not indiscreet, I think I will listen." And, clapping to her book, Anastasia stretches her long thin neck to hear.
It is very quiet in the large apartment; except for the monotonous drip of the rain outside, and the click made by setting down the pieces on the chess-board, there is nothing to interfere with those who wish to listen to the conversation at the piano.
"Knowing only the poor little sparks which you have seen twinkling through our Northern ocean on warm September evenings, you can form no idea of the gleaming splendour of the tropical seas, Fraulein Meineck.
The nights I spent on the deck of the Europa on my Mexican voyage I never can forget," says Rohritz.
Stella, who has. .h.i.therto shown a genuine interest in all he has told her, suddenly a.s.sumes a whimsically wise air, and, striking a dissonant chord, asks, "How old were you then?"
"I really do not understand----" he remarks, in some surprise.
"Oh, there is no necessity for your understanding,--only for replying,"
she rejoins, very calmly.
"Twenty-four."
It is one of her peculiarities, the result of her desultory and imperfect training, that she often plunges into a discussion of topics which every well-trained girl should carefully avoid.
"Twenty-four," she repeats, thoughtfully; then, pursuing her inquiries, "And were you in love?"
He laughs in some confusion.
"You are putting me through an examination."
"I allow you the same privilege," she declares, magnanimously. "Your answer sounds evasive. Apparently you were in love. I merely wanted to know, that I might judge how large a percentage of romance I must deduct from your description. All things considered, I can no longer accord any genuine faith to your account of the phosph.o.r.escence of the tropical seas; when people are in love they see everything as by a Bengal light."
This sententious remark of course induces Rohritz to put the laughing inquiry, "Do you speak from experience, Baroness Stella?"
"Certainly," she replies, with a convincing absence of embarra.s.sment.
"I have been through it all with my sister: she saw her artillery-officer by a Bengal light, or she never would have left science in the lurch for his sake, for, heaven knows, he was just like all the rest, except that in addition--he played the piano. Just fancy!
an artillery-officer playing the piano!--Wagner, of course! Two dogs and a cat of ours went mad at the sight. But Franzi a.s.sured me that her artillery-officer"s touch reminded her of Rubinstein. So you see how trustworthy your descriptions are."
Rohritz laughs good-humouredly, then says, "Even if I admit that on board the Europa I still had a little touch of the disease you mention, I must maintain that the delirious period had pa.s.sed."
"Hm! one thing more," says Stella, pursuing still more boldly the devious path upon which she has entered. "I must know this precisely.
Were you in love with a married woman? _Un homme qui se respecte_ is never in love except with a married woman,--at least in all the novels."
"Stella!" Stasy calls, horrified.
Even Rohritz, who has. .h.i.therto listened very patiently to Stella"s nonsense, seems unpleasantly affected by this speech of hers. He looks penetratingly into the young girl"s eyes, and becomes aware that he is gazing into depths of innocence. Before he has time to say anything, Stasy calls out, in a shocked tone,--
"Stella, you are frivolous to a degree----"
Stella blushes crimson; her eyes fill with tears; she makes awkward little motions with her hands upon the keys, and plays a couple of bars from Thalberg"s etude in Cis-moll.
"Frivolous?--frivolous? But, Anastasia, I was only jesting," she murmurs, and, turning to Rohritz as if for protection, she adds, "It needed very little logic to guess that, for if you had been in love with a young girl there would have been no need for you to be unhappy and to go sailing about on tropical seas to distract your mind: you could simply have married her."
"But suppose the young girl would not have him?" the captain asks, merrily.
Stella looks first at Rohritz, then at her uncle, and murmurs, "That never occurred to me."
A burst of laughter from the captain--laughter in which Katrine joins heartily and Stasy ironically--is the reply to this confession.
"Acknowledge the compliment, Rohritz; come, acknowledge it,"
Leskjewitsch exclaims in the midst of his laughter.
But Rohritz maintains unmoved his serious, kindly expression of countenance.
"It is not given to even the greatest minds to contemplate all possible contingencies," he says, dryly.
The Baroness Meineck, absorbed in her game, has heard little, meanwhile, of what has been going on about her; she now suddenly remembers that it is inc.u.mbent upon her to attend to her daughter"s training.
"I suppose you have been uttering some stupidity again, Stella," she observes, coldly; "you are incorrigible!"
"Poor mamma, she really is to be pitied," Stella sighs, her sense of humour a.s.serting itself in spite of her; "she has no luck with her children. Her clever daughter _commits_ stupidities, and her silly daughter _utters_ them. Which is the worse?"
CHAPTER VIII.
A LOVE-AFFAIR.
It rains the entire ensuing night, and far into the forenoon of the next day. The hollows worn in the stone pavement of the terrace are filled with water, and form little brown ponds. The buff-coloured castle has become orange-coloured, and looks quite worn with weeping.
The lawns reek with moisture, and the Malmaison roses are pale and draggled. Drowned b.u.t.terflies float on the surface of the pools, and fantastic wreaths of mist curl about the foot of the mountains on the farther side of the Save. No sun is to be seen amid the gray-brown rack of clouds.