“What is the matter with her?” pursued the baroness, with evident distress.
The count now recognized the woman’s face. He had seen her with the lad who had been his protégé, and who was now a member of the baroness’s household. It was the wife of Satan Laczi.
“No, she is not dead,” he repeated; “she has only fainted.”
The baroness hastily fetched her smelling-salts, and held them to the unconscious woman’s nostrils.
“Peasant women have strong constitutions,” observed the count. “When such a one loses consciousness a perfume like that will not restore her; she needs to be bled.”
“But good heavens! What are we to do? I can’t think of sending for the doctor now! I don’t want him to hear of what has happened here to-night.”
“I understand bloodletting,” observed Vavel.
“You, Herr Count?”
“Yes; I have studied medicine and surgery.”
“But you have no lance.”
“I brought my chirurgic instruments with me.”
“Then you thought you might find here some one who had fainted?” exclaimed the baroness, wonderingly.
“Yes. I shall require the assistance of a maid to hold the woman’s arm while I perform the operation.”
“I don’t want any of the servants wakened. Can’t I—help you?” she suggested hesitatingly.
“Are not you afraid of the sight of blood, baroness?”
“Of course I am; but I will endure that rather than have one of my maids see you here at this hour.”
“But this one will see me when she recovers consciousness.”
“Oh, I can trust this one; she will be silent.”
“Then let us make an attempt.”
The result of the attempt was, the fainting maid was restored to consciousness by the skilfully applied lance, while the face of the assisting lady became deathly pale. Her eyes closed, her lips became blue. Fortunately, she had a more susceptible nature than her maid. A few drops of cold water sprinkled on her face, and the smelling-salts, quickly restored her to consciousness. During these few moments her head had rested on the young man’s shoulder, her form had been supported on his arm.
“Don’t trouble any further about me,” she murmured, when she opened her eyes and saw herself in Vavel’s arms; “but attend to that poor woman”; and she hastily rose from her recumbent position.
The woman was shivering with a chill—or was it the result of extreme terror? If the former, then a little medicine would soon help her; but if it was terror, there was no remedy for it.
To all questions she returned but the one answer: “Oh, my God! my God!”
The baroness and Count Vavel now returned to the outer room.
“I regret very much, baroness, that you have had an unpleasant experience like this—here in our peaceful neighborhood, where every one is so honest that you might leave your purse lying out in the court; no one would take it.”
The baroness laughingly interrupted him:
“The robber adventure amused more than it frightened me. All my life I have wanted to see a real Hungarian robber, of whom the Viennese tell such wonderful tales. My wish has been gratified, and I have had a real adventure—the sort one reads in romances.”
“Your romance might have had a sorrowful conclusion,” responded Count Ludwig, seriously.
“Yes—if Heaven had not sent a brave deliverer to my rescue.”
“You may well say Heaven sent him,” smilingly returned the count; “for if there had not been an eclipse of the moon to-night, which I was observing through my telescope, and at the same time taking a look about the neighborhood, I should not have seen the masked men enter the manor.”
“What!” in astonishment exclaimed the baroness; “you saw the men through a telescope? Truly, I shall have to be on my guard in future! But,” she added more seriously, lifting from the table the count’s walking-stick, toward which he had extended his hand, “before you go I want to beg a favor. Please do not mention the occurrence of this night to any one. I don’t want the authorities to make any inquiries concerning the attempted robbery.”
“That favor I grant most willingly,” replied Count Vavel, who had not the least desire for a legal examination which would require him to tell who he was, what he was, whence he came, and what he was doing here.
“I can tell you why I don’t want the affair known,” continued the baroness. “The woman in yonder is the one of whom I wrote you some time ago—the wife of Ladislaus Satan, or, as he is called, Satan Laczi. Should it become known that a robbery was attempted here, the villagers will say at once, ‘It was the wife of the robber Satan Laczi who helped the men to rob her mistress,’ and the poor woman will be sent back to prison.”
“And do you really believe her innocent?”
“I can assure you that she knew nothing about this matter. I shall not send her away, but, as a proof that I trust her entirely, shall let her sleep in the room next to mine, and let her carry all my keys!” To emphasize her declaration, she thumped the floor vigorously with Vavel’s iron-ferruled stick.
Involuntarily the count extended his hand to her. She grasped it cordially, and, shaking it, added: “Don’t speak of our meeting to-night to any one; I shall not mention it, I can promise you! And now, I will give you your stick; I am certain some one at home is anxious about you. God be with you!”
At home Count Vavel found Henry on guard at the door of Marie’s room, his musket cocked, ready for action.
“Did anything happen here?” asked the count. “Did Marie waken?”
“No; but she called out several times in her sleep, and once I heard her say quite distinctly: ‘Ludwig, take care; she will bite!”
Count Vavel could not deny that his fair neighbor had made a very favorable impression on him. In astronomy she had taken the place of the moon, in classic literature that of an ideal, and in metaphysics that of the absolutely good.
He had sufficient command of himself, however, to suppress the desire to see her again. From that day he did not again turn his telescope toward the neighboring manor. But to prevent his thoughts from straying there was beyond his power. These straying thoughts after a while began to betray themselves in his countenance and in his eyes; and there are persons who understand how to read faces and eyes.
“Are you troubled about anything, Ludwig?” one day inquired Marie, after they had been sitting in silence together for a long while.
Ludwig started guiltily.
“Ye-es; I have bad news from abroad.”
Such a reply, however, cannot deceive those who understand the language of the face and eyes.
One afternoon Marie stole noiselessly up to the observatory, and surprised Ludwig at the telescope.
“Let me see, too, Ludwig. Are you looking at something pretty?”
“Very pretty,” answered Ludwig, giving place to the young girl.
Marie looked through the glass, and saw a farm-yard overgrown with weeds. On an inverted tub near the door of the cottage sat a little old grandmother teaching her grandchildren how to knit a stocking.
“Then you were not looking at our lovely neighbor,” said Marie. “Why don’t you look at her?”
“Because it is not necessary for me to know what she is doing.”
Marie turned the telescope toward the manor, and persisted until she had found what she was looking for.
“How sad she looks!” she said to Ludwig.
But he paid no attention to her words.
“Now it seems as though she were looking straight into my eyes; now she clasps her hands as if she were praying.”
Ludwig said, with pedagogic calmness: