Timar's Two Worlds Part 15

He was a full minute under water. He had held his breath the whole time, as if to try an experiment how long a man could do without breathing.

When Michael's head appeared above the water she heaved a deep sigh, and her face beamed when Timar gave her the rescued casket, but not on its account.

"Well, captain!" exclaimed the steersman, as he helped Timar into the boat, "that's thrice you've got soaked for the love of these eyebrows.

Thrice!"

Timea asked Michael in a whisper, "What is the Greek for the word thrice?" Michael translated it. Then Timea looked at him long, and repeated to herself in a low voice "Thrice."

The boat approached the sh.o.r.e in the direction of Almas.

Against the steely mirror in the twilight a long line was visible, like a distressful note of exclamation or a pause in life. It was the topmast of the "St. Barbara."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE GUARDIAN.

At six in the evening the s.h.i.+p's crew had left the sunken craft, and by half past seven Timar with Timea was in Komorn. The post-cart driver knew Brazovics' house very well, and galloped his four bell-decked horses with unmerciful cracks of the whip through the little streets up to the square, as he had been promised a good _trinkgeld_ if he brought his pa.s.sengers quickly to their destination.

Michael lifted Timea from the country wagon and told her she was now at home. Then he took the casket under his cloak and led the girl up the steps.

The house of Athanas Brazovics was of two stories--a rarity in Komorn; for in remembrance of the destructive earthquakes by which the town had been visited in the last century, people usually only built on the ground-floor. The lower story was occupied by a large cafe, which served the resident tradespeople as a casino; the whole upper floor was inhabited by the family of the merchant. It had two entrances from the street, and a third through the kitchen.

The owner was generally not at home at this hour, as Timar knew; he therefore led Timea straight to the door through which the women's rooms were reached. In these reigned fas.h.i.+onable luxury, and in the anteroom lounged a man-servant. Timar asked him to fetch his master from the cafe, and meanwhile led Timea to the ladies.

He was certainly hardly got up for company, as may be imagined when one remembers what he had gone through, and the number of times he had been soaked; but he was one of those who belonged to the house, who could come in at any time and in any dress: they looked upon him as "one of our people." In such a case one gets over the strict rules of etiquette.

The announcement revives the old habit of the mistress, as soon as the door of the anteroom is open, of putting her head through the parlor door to see who is coming. Frau Sophie has kept this habit ever since her maid-servant days. (Pardon, that slipped out by accident.) Well, yes, Herr Athanas raised her from a low station; it was a love-match, so no one has a right to reproach her.

It is therefore not as idle gossip, but only as a characteristic touch, that I mention that Frau Sophie even as "gracious lady" could not get rid of her early habit. Her clothes always fitted her as if they had been given to her by her mistress. From her coiffure an obstinate lock of hair would always stick out either in the front or at the back; even her most gorgeous costumes always looked tumbled and creased; and if nothing else went wrong, there would be invariably a pair of trodden-down shoes with which she could indulge in her old propensity.

Curiosity and tattle were the ingredients of her conversation, in which she generally introduced such extraordinary expressions that when she began to scatter them in a mixed party, the guests (that is, those who were seated) almost fell off their chairs with laughter. Then, too, she had the agreeable custom of never speaking low; her voice was a continuous scream, as if she were being stabbed and wished to call for a.s.sistance.

"Oh, good Lord, it's Michael!" she cried, as soon as she got her head through the door-way. "And where did you get the pretty fraulein? What is the casket you have under your arm? Come into the parlor! Look, look, Athalie, what Timar has brought!"

Michael let Timea pa.s.s, then he entered and politely wished the company good-evening. Timea looked round with the shyness of a first meeting.

Besides the mistress of the house there were a girl and a man in the room. The girl was a fully developed and conscious beauty, who, in spite of her naturally small waist, did not disdain tight stays; her high heels and piles of hair made her appear taller than she was; she wore mittens, and her nails were long and pointed. Her expression was of artificial amiability; she had somewhat arrogant and pouting lips, a rosy complexion, and two rows of dazzling white teeth, which she did not mind showing; when she laughed, dimples formed on chin and cheek, dark brows arched over the bright black eyes, whose brilliancy was increased by their aggressive prominence. With her head up and bust thrown forward, the beautiful creature knew how to make an imposing appearance.

This was Fraulein Athalie.

The man was a young officer, verging on thirty, with a cheerful open face and fiery black eyes. According to the military regulations of the period, he had a clean-shaven face, with the exception of a small crescent-shaped whisker. This warrior wore a violet tunic, with collar and cuffs of pink velvet, the uniform of the engineers. Timar knew him too. It was Herr Katschuka, first lieutenant at the fort, and also a commissariat officer--rather a hybrid position, but so it was.

The lieutenant has the pleasure of taking a portrait of the young lady before him in chalks; he has already finished one by daylight, and is trying one by lamplight. The entrance of Timea disturbs him in this artistic occupation.

The whole appearance of the slender delicate girl was something spiritual at this moment--it was as if a ghost, a phantom, had stepped out of the dusk.

When Herr Katschuka looked up from his easel, his dark-red chalk drew such a streak across the portrait's brow, that it would be hard for bread-crumbs to get it out, and he rose involuntarily from his seat before Timea.

Every one rose at the sight of the girl, even Athalie. Who can she be?

Timar whispered to Timea in Greek, on which she hastened to Frau Sophie and kissed her hand, while the girl herself received a kiss on her cheek.

Again Timar whispered to her. The girl went with shy obedience to Athalie, and looked steadily in her face. Shall she kiss her, or fall on the neck of her new sister? Athalie seemed to raise her head higher still. Timea bent to her hand and kissed it--or rather not her hand, but the kid mitten. Athalie allowed it, her eyes cast a flaming glance on Timea's face, and another on the officer, and she curled her lips yet more.

Herr Katschuka was completely lost in admiration of Timea.

But neither his nor Athalie's fiery looks called up any emotion on Timea's face, which remained as white as if she were a spirit.

Timar himself was not a little confused. How was he to introduce the girl and relate how he had come by her, before this officer?

Herr Brazovics helped him out of his difficulty. With a great bustle he burst in at the door. He had just now in the cafe--to the surprise of all the regular customers--read aloud from the Augsburg _Gazette_ that the escaped pasha and treasurer, Ali Tschorbadschi and his daughter, had fled on board the "St. Barbara," evaded the watchfulness of the Turkish authorities, and reached Hungary in safety. The "St. Barbara" is his s.h.i.+p. Tschorbadschi is a good friend of his--even a connection by the mother's side. An extraordinary event! One can fancy how Herr Athanas threw his chair back when the servant brought him the news that Herr Timar had just arrived with a beautiful young lady, and under his arm a gilt casket.

"So it is actually true!" cried Herr Athanas, and rushed up to his own apartments, not without upsetting a few of the card-players on his way.

Brazovics was a man of enormous corpulence. His stomach was always half a step in front of him. His face was copper-colored at its palest, and violet when he ought to have been rosy: even when he shaved in the morning his chin was all bristles by the evening, his scrubby mustache perfumed with smoke, snuff, and various spirits; his eyebrows formed a bushy wall over his prominent and bloodshot eyes. (A fearful thought, that the eyes of the lovely Athalie, when she grows old, will resemble her father's!)

When Herr Brazovics opens his mouth, one understands why Frau Sophie always screams; her husband, too, can only speak in shouts, but with the difference that he has a deep ba.s.s voice like a hippopotamus.

Naturally Frau Sophie, when she wants to overpower his voice with her own, raises it to a yell. It was as if they had a wager which could bring on the other a lung disease or a stroke of apoplexy. It is doubtful who will win; but Brazovics always stops his ears with wool, and Frau Sophie invariably has a comforter round her throat.

Athanas rushed, panting with haste, into the ladies' room, where his voice of thunder had already preceded him. "Is Michael there with the young lady? Where is the fraulein? Where is Michael?"

Timar hastened to catch him at the door. He might have succeeded in keeping back the man himself, but the weight of his approaching paunch, when once set in motion, bore down all obstacles.

Michael made a sign to him that a visitor was present. "Ah, that doesn't matter! You can speak openly before him. We are _en famille_; the Herr Lieutenant belongs to the family. Ha! ha! don't get cross, Athalie; every one knows it. You can speak freely, Michael; it is all in the papers."

"What is in the papers?" exclaimed Athalie, angrily.

"Well, well, not you; but that my friend Ali Tschorbadschi, my own cousin, the treasurer, has fled to Hungary with his daughter and his property on board my s.h.i.+p the 'St. Barbara;' and this is the daughter, isn't she? The dear little thing!" And with that Herr Brazovics suddenly fell upon her, took her in his arms, and pressed two kisses on her pale face--two loud, wet, malodorous kisses, so that the girl was quite confused.

"You are a good fellow, Michael, to have brought her here so quickly.

Have you given him a gla.s.s of wine? Go, Sophie--quick! A gla.s.s of wine!"

Frau Sophie pretended not to hear; but Herr Brazovics threw himself into an arm-chair, drew Timea between his knees, and stroked her hair with his fat palms. "And where is my worthy friend, the governor of the treasury? Where is he?"

"He died on the journey," answered Timar in a low voice.

"What a fatality!" said Brazovics, trying to give an angular form to his round face, and taking his hand from the girl's head. "But no accident happened to him?"

A curious question. But Timar understood it.

"He intrusted his property to my care, to deliver it over to you with his daughter. You were to be her adopted father and the guardian of her property."

At these words Herr Brazovics grew sentimental again; he took Timea's head between his two hands, and pressed it to his breast.

"As if she were my own child. I will regard her as my daughter;" and then again smack! smack! one kiss after another on brow and cheek of the poor victim. "And what is in this casket?"

"The gold I was to deliver to you."