"Very simply: My father, who suddenly sought me, as usual when he was in debt, saw that I wanted to marry Freyer and, fearing a public scandal, advised me, in order to save the property--which he needed almost more than I--to marry _secretly_. Wherever the Tridentine Council ruled, the sole requisite of a valid marriage was that the two persons should state, in the presence of an ordained priest and two witnesses, that they intended to marry. As my father was never very reliable, and might change his opinion any day, I hastened to follow his advice before it occurred to him to put any obstacles in my way, as the pastor at Prankenberg was wholly in his power. So I set off with Freyer and Josepha that very night. An old coachman, Martin, whose fidelity I had known from childhood, lived at Prankenberg. I took him and Josepha for witnesses, and we surprised the old pastor while he was drinking his coffee."
The prince made a gesture of surprise. "What--over his coffee?"
"Yes--before he could push back his cup, we had made our statement--and the deed was done."
The prince started up; his eyes sparkled, his whole manner betrayed the utmost agitation. "And you call that being married? And give me this fright?" He drew a long breath, as if relieved of a burden. "Madeleine, if you had only told me this at once!"
"But why? Does it change the matter?"
"Surely you will not persuade yourself that this farce with the old pastor in his dressing-gown and slippers, his morning-pipe and the fragrance of Mocha--was a wedding? You will not expect me as a Protestant, or any enlightened Catholic, to regard it in that light?"
"But what does the form matter? Protestantism cares nothing for the form--it heeds only the meaning."
"But the meaning was lacking--at least to you--to you it was a mere form which you owed to the sanct.i.ty of your lover"s mask of Christus."
He seized her hand with unwonted pa.s.sion. "Madeleine, for once be truthful to yourself and to me--am I not right?"
"Yes!" she murmured almost inaudibly.
"Well, then--if the _meaning_ was lacking and the chosen form an _illegal_ one--what binds you?"
Madeleine was silent. This question was connected with her secret, which he would never understand. His nature was too positive to reckon with anything except facts. The duke felt that she was withholding an answer, not because she had none, but because she did not wish to give the true one. But he did not allow himself to be disconcerted. "Did the old pastor give you any written proof of this "sacred rite"--we will give it the proud name of a marriage certificate."
"Yes."
"Who has the doc.u.ment?"
"Freyer!"
"That is unfortunate; for it gives him an apparent right to consider himself married and make difficulties, which complicate the case. But we can settle with Freyer--I have less fear of him. Your situation is more imperilled by this tale of a secret marriage, which Josepha, in good faith, brought to the ears of the Wildenaus. This is a disaster which requires speedy remedy. In other respects everything is precisely as it was when you went to Cannes. This complication changes nothing in my opinion. I hold the same view. If you no longer _love_ Freyer, break with him; the way of doing so is a minor matter. I leave it to you. But break with him and give me your hand--then the whole spectre will melt.
We will gladly restore the Wildenau property to the cousins, and they will then have no farther motive for pursuing the affair."
"Is that true? Could you still think seriously of it--and I, good Heavens, must I become doubly a criminal?"
"But, _chere amie_, look at things objectively a little."
"Even if I do look at them objectively, I don"t understand how I could marry again without being divorced, and to apply for a divorce now would be acknowledging the marriage."
"Who is to divorce you, if no one married you? According to civil law, you are still single, for you are not registered in accordance with your rank--according to religious law you are not married, at least not in the opinion of the great majority of Christian countries and sects, to whom the Tridentine Council is not authoritative! Will you insist upon sacrificing your existence and honor to a sentimental scruple?
Will you confess to the Wildenaus that you are married? In that case you must not only restore the property, but also the interest you have illegally appropriated for nine years, which will swallow your little private property and rob you of your sole means of support. What will follow then? Do you mean to retire with the "steward" from the scene amid the jeering laughter of society, make soup for him at his home in Ammergau, live by the labor of his hands, and at Christmas receive the gift of a calico gown?"
The countess shuddered, as though shaken by a feverish chill.
"Or will you continue to live on with Freyer as before and suffer the cousins to begin an inquiry against you, and afford the world the spectacle of seeing you wrangle with them over the property? Then you must produce the dogmatic and legal proof that you are not married.
This certainly would not be difficult--but I must beg you to note certain possibilities. If it is decided that your marriage was _illegal_, then the question will be brought forward--how did _you yourself_ regard it? And it might occur to the Wildenaus" lawyers that, no matter whether correctly or not, you considered yourself married and intentionally defrauded them of the property!"
"Merciful Heaven!"
"Or will you then escape a criminal procedure by declaring that you regarded your connection with Freyer as an illegal marriage?"
"Oh!" the countess crimsoned with shame.
"There the vindication would be more dishonoring than the accusation--so you must renounce _that_. You see that you have been betrayed into a _circulus vitiosus_ from which you can no longer escape. Wherever you turn--you have but the choice between poverty or disgrace,--unless you decide to become d.u.c.h.ess of Metten-Barnheim and thus, at one bound, spring from the muddy waves which now threaten you, into the pure, unapproachable sphere of power and dignity to which you belong. My arms are always open to save you--my heart is ready to love and to protect you--can you still hesitate?"
The tortured woman threw herself at his feet. "Duke--Emil--save me--I am _yours_!"
CHAPTER XXVIII.
PARTING.
Several minutes have pa.s.sed--to the duke a world of happiness--to the countess of misery. The duke bent over the beautiful trembling form to clasp her in his arms for the first time.
"Have I won you at last--my long-sought love?" he exclaimed, rapturously. "Do you now perceive what your dispensations of Providence mean? The shrewdness and persistence of a single man who knows what he wants, has baffled them, and driven all the heroes of signs and wonders from the field! Do you now believe what I said just now: that we are our own Providence?"
"That will appear in due time, do not exalt yourself and do not blaspheme, G.o.d might punish your arrogance!" she said faintly, slipping gently from his embrace.
"Madeleine--no betrothal kiss--after these weary years of waiting and hoping."
"I am _still_ Freyer"s wife," she said, evasively--"not until I am parted from him."
"You are right! I will not steal my bride"s first kiss from another. I thank you for honoring my future right in his." His lips touched her brow with a calm, friendly caress. Then he rose: "It is time to go, I have not a moment to lose." He glanced at the clock: "Seven! I will make my preparations at once and set out for Prankenberg to-morrow."
"What do you wish to do?"
"First of all to see what is recorded in the church register, and to ascertain what kind of a man the Catholic pastor is, that I may form some idea of what the Wildenaus have discovered and how much proof they have obtained. Then we can judge how far we must dissimulate with these gentlemen until your relation with Freyer can be dissolved without any violent outbreak or without being compelled to use any undue haste. I will also go to Barnheim and quietly prepare everything there for our marriage. The more quickly all these business matters are settled, the sooner our betrothal can be announced. And that I am ardently longing to be at last permitted to call you mine, you will--I hope, understand?"
"But my relation with Freyer must first be arranged," said the countess, evasively. "We cannot dispose of him like an ordinary business matter. He is a man of heart and mind--we must remember that I could not be happy for an hour, if I knew that he was miserable."
"Yet you have left him alone for weeks and months without any pangs of conscience," said the duke with a shade of sternness.
"It was not _I_, but the force of circ.u.mstances. What happens now _I_ shall do--and must bear the responsibility. Help me to provide that it is not too heavy." Her face wore a lofty, beautiful expression as she spoke, and deeply moved, he raised her hand to his lips.
"Certainly, Madeleine! We will show him every consideration and do everything as forbearingly as possible. But remember that, as I just respected _his_ rights, you must now guard _mine_, and that every hour in which you retain this relation to him longer than necessary--is treason to _both_. It cannot suit your taste to play such a part--so do not lose a moment in renouncing it."
"Certainly--you are right."
"Will you be strong--will you have the power to do what is unavoidable--and do it soon?"
"I have always been able to do what I desired--I can do this also."
The duke took her hand and gazed long and earnestly into her eyes.
"Madeleine--I do not ask: do you love me? I ask only: do you believe that you _will_ love me?"
The profound modesty of this question touched her heart with indescribable melancholy, and in overflowing grat.i.tude for such great love, which gave all and asked nothing, she bowed her head: "Yes--I do believe it."
The duke"s usual readiness of speech deserted him--he had no words to express the happiness of this moment.