The Breaking of the Storm Volume Iii Part 23

Ah! her mind was no longer full of adventures! Whither had fled that bold and daring spirit which had thought it might defy fate? Whither the sunny cheerfulness which had then so filled her whole soul that that dark and rainy evening had seemed to her brighter than the brightest day! Whither, ah! whither, the joyous heart that knew nothing of love, nor wished to know anything excepting as the rose-scented, nightingale-haunted idea reflected back from the enchanted mirror of fancy and dreamland? Now the reality had come, in grim mockery of the bright fable of old! And yet--and yet! poor tormented heart, you would not resign it for Paradise, if you could not meet him there!

"And if I did not meet him again!"

She had exclaimed it aloud, horrified at the sight which presented itself to her, when having surmounted the line of hills which now descended from Wissow Head to the sea, Wissow itself lay below them.

The little peninsula, which might be at the outside a mile long and about half as wide at the foot of the headland, looked with its small houses, as seen from the moderate elevation at which they were, like a narrow plank on which children had built their toy-houses, and had then set afloat in a brawling stream. The surf, which till now they had seen only from a distance, and always partly concealed by the dunes, here rose between the open sea and the little strip of sand like a great wall, whose upper edge, torn into zigzag lines, rose and fell, and rose again, and was driven in foam and froth over the grey sand and amongst the little houses.

And yet, strange as it seemed, these little houses on the grey sand could still afford safe shelter! But how could she hope that he would meet her on the threshold of one of them? That his boat would be one of the twenty or thirty vessels of all sizes which were rocking at anchor immediately below them, in the bay between the little peninsula and the mainland? He would be out beyond, beyond where, as far as the eye could reach, foaming waves towered above each other; beyond where sea and sky mingled in one terrible darkness, as if they had met together for the destruction of the world.

"There! There!"

But the words died on Elsa's trembling lips; the hand with which she had pointed seawards fell heavily beside her.

Valerie took the cold, rigid fingers:

"He will return, Elsa!"

But Elsa shook her head.

CHAPTER VII.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. Frau von Wallbach sat in the drawing-room, in her usual place by the fire, and stared at the flames, which, after many vain efforts, had at last been successfully kindled; and, notwithstanding the terrible uproar that raged round the castle, was on the point of forgetting her annoyance in a refres.h.i.+ng afternoon nap, when Signor Giraldi was announced, having only just arrived.

"He might as well have stayed away another hour," said Frau von Wallbach. "Well, it is all the same to me; let dinner be got ready for him, Francois, and then ask him to come here."

"Signor Giraldi particularly wishes to see you at once, ma'am."

"Very well; it is all the same to me today."

Frau von Wallbach had just time to turn her head towards the door as she leant back in her chair, when Giraldi entered. He was still in his travelling dress, having only thrown down his wet cloak in the hall; his black beard, which was usually so carefully arranged, was wild and dishevelled; his calm, dark eyes glowed with a lurid fire; his usually impa.s.sive face, that had seemed chiselled in yellow marble, was furrowed and agitated.

"Dear me, how strange you look!" said Frau von Wallbach.

"I must apologise," answered Giraldi; "but I have been travelling since last night, perpetually detained by the most provoking hindrances, and I arrive here at last to learn that the Baroness, with whom I have to talk upon the most important and urgent affairs, is not at home. You can imagine----"

"Do sit down," said Frau von Wallbach. "You make me quite nervous by standing about like that, and talking so quickly."

"I must apologise again," said Giraldi.

"Not at all. I only remained here to receive you, although I tell you fairly that I had rather not have done so."

"Then I will not take up another moment of your valuable time----"

"Do sit still, and don't make any speeches. I never make any, as you know, and am not at all inclined for them to-day. Oh yes, you may look at me as scornfully as you please. I dare say you think me, as other people do, half a child or a fool; but children and fools speak the truth, and the truth, my dear Signor Giraldi, is, that if you had not intermeddled and set everything at sixes and sevens, Carla would be Ottomar's wife by this time, and everything would be properly arranged, while now she is out in this dreadful weather--you must have met them I should think--riding with the Count, although I told her to the Count's face that it was scandalous, to say nothing of her catching her death of cold."

"You cannot possibly hold me responsible for the irresistible impulse which makes heart meet heart," answered Giraldi, with an attempt at his usual supremely ironical smile, which only resulted, however, in an evil grimace.

"Hearts!" said Frau von Wallbach; "stuff! The little heart that Carla ever had was Ottomar's, and no one else's; and there would have been quite enough for matrimony, at least I know some that have done very well with less. And as for the Count, good heavens! at first she was always telling me that he talked such nonsense, and my husband said so too, and old Countess Kniebreche and every one; and then you came and cried him up to the skies, and of course what you said must be true, and so you have got your own way so far. And why? because it suited you that Ottomar should not marry, but should continue his careless way of living, and get into all sorts of troubles and sc.r.a.pes, and that you should have him in your power. And you have succeeded very nicely, as Carla would say. But I don't think it nice at all, but perfectly horrid of you; for Ottomar has always been pleasant and good-natured to me, and I like him a thousand times better than the Count; and if I had never respected Elsa before, I should now that I see she does not care one bit for the Count, but has declared honestly, as the Baroness told me and Carla this morning in Elsa's name, that she is going to marry her sailor, although it is rather a strange proceeding for a Fraulein von Werben; but that is her affair; and she has gone with the Baroness to see him at Wissow, or whatever the name of the place is, which is quite right, I think, under the circ.u.mstances. I was to tell you this, and that they would be back in a few hours; and now I will add a few words from myself. You think, perhaps, that you have done something very fine by upsetting Ottomar's and Carla's engagement; and I dare say you are not less pleased at Elsa losing her inheritance in this way, but you are very much mistaken. The Baroness and Elsa are one, heart and soul; and if Ottomar chooses to marry Captain Schmidt's cousin, the Baroness will have no objection, and she will make the brother and sister her heirs, whatever the trustees may say. If I were in her place I should do the same thing. And now here comes Francois to tell you, I suppose, that your dinner is ready. I wish you a good appet.i.te."

Frau von Wallbach's last words were spoken without the least touch of sarcasm, in the same lazily comfortable way as the former ones, with her pretty head resting sideways against the back of her chair, and her eyes turned away from Giraldi and looking at the ceiling, as if it were all written up there and she were merely reading it off.

But not the most pa.s.sionate warmth, nor the bitterest attack could have so upset the composure of the man who had sat before her gnawing his white lips, without interrupting her by a word, and who now rose to leave the room with a silent bow, as this imperturbable calmness and blunt sincerity affected him from a woman whom he had hitherto considered a nonent.i.ty, as the emptiest of all empty-headed dolls, and who now dared to tell him this to his very face; to unfold the web of intrigue which he had toiled so hard to spin with all the energy of his crafty mind, and to show him the gaps which his sharp eye had overlooked, his most watchful art had not succeeded in covering, and then calmly to tear it from top to bottom like some worn-out rag!

He had hardly entered the dining-room, where a place had been laid for him at one corner of the large table, before he gave free vent to the fury which had nearly choked him. He stamped, he swore, he tore his beard, like a madman, thought Francois, who handed him his soup as calmly as if monsieur's wild gestures had been a gymnastic exercise which every gentleman was in the habit of practising before sitting down to dinner after a fatiguing journey and a long drive.

"Why don't you speak?" shrieked Giraldi.

"I am waiting for monsieur's permission."

"Speak, then!"

"I have written all my observations to monsieur with such minuteness----"

"You have written nothing that was worth reading! You did not write me one word about the intimacy that has sprung up between madame and her niece, and which you must have seen if you had eyes in your head. You are either a fool or a traitor."

"I am unfortunate----"

"Don't let me hear any of your confounded long words! I have no time for them. What else do you know?"

"Besides what I told monsieur on his arrival, I know absolutely nothing of importance. Ah! by-the-bye, I had almost forgotten that!"

Francois slapped his forehead suddenly. He had not forgotten it for a moment; he had been considering all the time that monsieur was in the drawing-room with Frau von Wallbach, whether he should say it or not.

He could not speak without betraying madame as he had betrayed monsieur, but for what purpose take money from both if not to betray both? So far everything had gone on well; all he had to consider was that each step to right or left should be well paid; and if he were not greatly deceived, now was the moment to take another step on monsieur's side.

"Will you speak?" cried Giraldi, shaking his fist at him.

"I have forgotten it after all," said Francois, looking with impudent coolness into Giraldi's face, that was white with pa.s.sion.

Giraldi dropped his arms,

"How much?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"I cannot do it cheaply, monsieur. The matter, in case I can recollect it, is one of the utmost importance for monsieur, and as madame has been lately so extraordinarily kind to me, and has given me, through Madame Feldner, so many sterling proofs of her kindness, and monsieur will of course not trust me in future, but this will undoubtedly be the last service which I shall render monsieur----"

"How much!" shrieked Giraldi.

"Ten thousand francs, monsieur."

Giraldi pulled out a pocket-book from which he took a handful of bank-notes, and threw them on the table.

"Count them!"

"There are three thousand thalers, monsieur."

"Take them and speak!"