“Yes—or I will blow out your brains!”
The two officers accompanying the colonel drew their swords. The baroness uttered a cry of terror, and flung herself on Vavel’s breast.
“I presume you will allow me to inquire, first, what relation this lady bears to you?”
Colonel Barthelmy asked the question in measured tones; and without an instant’s hesitation came Count Vavel’s reply:
“The lady is my betrothed wife.”
The sneer vanished from the colonel’s lips, and the swords of his companions were returned to their scabbards.
“I hasten to apologize,” said the colonel. “Accept, madame, my deepest reverence, and do not refuse to forgive the insulting scorn my ignorance caused me to express. Permit me to convince you of my sincere homage, by this salute.”
He bent his head and pressed his lips to one of the lady’s hands, which were clasped about Count Vavel’s arm. Then, with his helmet still in his hand, he turned to Count Vavel, and added: “Are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” was the curt reply.
“Then let us shake hands—without malice. Accept my sincerest congratulations. To you, baroness, I give thanks for the lesson you have taught me this morning.”
He bowed once more, then stepped to one side, indicating that the way was clear.
The baroness drew her veil over her face, and, clinging tremblingly to the arm of her escort, walked by his side back to the highway, the three officers following at a respectful distance.
When they emerged from the forest they saw the three horses which had been left by the colonel and his companions in charge of the grooms. Henry must have told the gentlemen where to find his master.
With what different emotions Count Vavel returned to the castle! The dreamer in his slumbers had given utterance to words which betrayed what he had been dreaming, and he compelled the vision to abide with him even after he had wakened. He felt that he had the right to do what he had done. This woman loved him as only a woman can love; and what he had done had only been his duty, for he loved her! What he had said was no falsehood—the words had not been forced from him merely to preserve her honor; they were the truth.
Count Vavel stopped the carriage at the park gate, assisted his companion to alight, and sent Henry on to the castle with the horses.
“What have you done?” in a deeply agitated voice exclaimed the baroness, when they were alone in the park.
“I gave expression to the feeling which is in my heart.”
“And do you realize what that has done?”
“What has it done?”
“It has made it impossible for us to meet again—for us ever to speak again to each other.”
“I cannot see it in that light.”
“You could were you to give it but a moment’s serious thought. I do not ask what the mysterious lady at the castle is to you; I know, however, that you must be everything to her. Pray don’t believe me cruel enough to rob her of her whole world. I cannot ask you to believe a lie—I cannot pretend that you are nothing to me. I have allowed you to look too deeply into my heart to deny my feelings. But there is something besides love in my heart! it is pride. I am too proud to take you from the woman to whom you are bound—no matter by what ties. Therefore, we must not meet again in this life; we may meet again in another world! Pray do not come any farther with me; I can easily find the way to my boat. No one at the manor knows of my absence. I must be careful to return as I came—unseen. And now, one request: Do not try to see me again. Should you do so, it will compel me to flee from the neighborhood. Adieu!”
She drew her veil closer over her face, and passed swiftly with noiseless steps through the gateway.
Ludwig Vavel stood where she had left him, and looked after her until she vanished from his sight amid the trees. Then he turned and walked slowly toward the castle.
CHAPTER III
Count Vavel did not see Marie, after his return from the drive with the baroness, until dinner. He had not ventured into her presence until then, when he fancied he had sufficiently mastered his emotions so that his countenance would not betray him. The consciousness of his disloyalty to the young girl troubled him, and he could not help but tremble when he came into her presence. It was not permitted to him to bestow his heart on any one. Did he not belong, soul and body, to this innocent creature, whom he had sworn to defend with his life?
From that hour, however, Marie’s behavior toward him was changed. He could see that she strove to be attentive and obedient, but she was shy and reserved. Did she suspect the change in him? or could it be possible that she had seen the baroness driving with him? It was very late when her bell signaled that she had retired, and when Ludwig entered the outer room, as usual, he found a number of books lying about on the table. Evidently the young girl had been studying.
The next morning Ludwig came at the usual hour to conduct her to the carriage.
“Thank you, but I don’t care to drive to-day,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Riding out in a carriage does not benefit me.”
“When did you discover this?”
“Some time ago.”
Ludwig looked at her in astonishment. What was the meaning of this? Could she know that some one else had occupied her place in the carriage yesterday?
“And will you not go with me tomorrow?”
“If you will allow me, I shall stay at home.”
“Is anything the matter with you, Marie?”
“Nothing. I don’t like the jolting of the carriage.”
“Then I shall sell the horses.”
“It might be well to do so—if you don’t want them for your own use. I shall take my exercise in the garden.”
“And in the winter?”
“Then I will promenade in the court, and make snow images, as the farmers’ children do.”
And the end of the matter was that Ludwig sold the horses, and Marie’s outdoor exercises were restricted to the garden. Moreover, she studied and wrote all day long.
When she went into the garden, Josef, the gardener’s boy, was sent elsewhere so long as she chose to remain among the flowers.
One afternoon Josef had been sent, as usual, to perform some task in the park while Marie promenaded in the garden. He was busily engaged raking together the fallen leaves, when Marie suddenly appeared by his side, and said breathlessly:
“Please take this letter.”
The youth, who was speechless with astonishment and confusion at sight of the lady he had been forbidden to look at, slowly extended his hand to comply with her request when Count Vavel, who had swiftly approached, unseen by either the youth or Marie, with one hand seized the letter, and with the other sent Josef flying across the sward so rapidly that he fell head over heels into some shrubbery.
Then the count thrust the letter into his pocket, and without a word drew the young girl’s hand through his arm, and walked swiftly with her into the castle. The count conducted his charge into the library. He had not yet spoken a word. His face was startlingly pale with anger and terror.
When they two were alone within the four walls of the library, he said, fixing a reproachful glance on her:
“You were going to send a letter to some one?”
The young girl calmly returned his glance, but did not open her lips.
“To whom are you writing, Marie?”
Marie smiled sadly, and drooped her head.
Vavel then drew the letter from his pocket, and read the address:
“To our beautiful and kind-hearted neighbor.”
The count looked up in surprise.
“You are writing to Baroness Landsknechtsschild!” he exclaimed, not without some confusion.