The Alpine Fay

Meanwhile, Erna had called at the court-councillor's, where she had waited in the carriage for five minutes before the little Baroness appeared in a state of great agitation, quite startling her friend by the stormy embrace with which she greeted her.

"What is the matter, Molly?" she asked. "You seem quite beside yourself."

"I am betrothed!–betrothed to Albert," the girl exclaimed, "and we are to be married in three months! Oh, my granduncle is the dearest, most delightful of men! I could kiss him if he were not so very ugly!"

Erna's composure was not so easily shaken as Molly's, but, knowing as she did the views of the entire Ernsthausen family, this news was certainly surprising.

"Your parents have given their consent?" she asked. "And so suddenly? It seemed quite impossible a few days ago."

"Nothing is impossible!" Molly cried, in a rapture. "Oh, I prayed so fervently that my granduncle would commit some folly! But I never dreamed of this; and you will hardly believe it, Erna,–you cannot!"

"Do talk sensibly. Pray explain yourself," said Erna.

"He has married! Seventy, and married! He is a bridegroom. Oh, I shall die of laughter!" And she did laugh until the tears came.

"The old Baron–married?" Erna repeated, incredulously.

"Yes, to an old maid of irreproachable descent. The affair was arranged long ago; but it was kept secret, because he was afraid of a scene with my father and mother. He came to town simply and solely to alter his will, which was left with his attorney, and immediately after his return he had the knot tied fast by church and state, and papa says he has left all his money to his bride, and we shall not have a penny, so I am no match at all. Think what good luck!"

The young girl ran on without pausing for an instant, so that it was impossible to interpose a word. She scarcely gave herself time to take breath before she began again: "They had actually formed a conspiracy,–papa and your wise old duenna, to whom I owe something for her conduct as long as I live. I was to be tied up like a parcel and sent to my granduncle's address. My prayers and tears were of no avail,–my trunks were packed. Suddenly my granduncle's letter announcing his marriage fell into the midst of us like a bombshell. Papa looked ready to have a stroke, mamma went into violent hysterics, and I danced about my room tossing the things out of my trunks, for of course the journey was out of the question. The next morning was like the calm after ten thunder-storms; my granduncle was excommunicated with bell, book, and candle. There was a secret conference between my parents, and when Albert came in the afternoon, he was accepted without a word."

"And you were absolutely happy, I am sure," Erna at last contrived to interpose.

"No; at first I was angry," Molly declared, with a little grimace, "Albert behaved so prosaically. Instead of talking of our eternal love and our half-broken hearts, he told my father the exact amount of his income, and explained his prospects. Of course I was listening in the next room, and I was outraged; but papa and mamma seemed really quite gentle and amiable. At last they called me in, and there was general embracing and emotion. Of course I cried too, although I would far rather have danced, and I was provoked with Albert for not shedding a single tear! A telegram was despatched to my granduncle,–it will embitter his honeymoon,–and to-morrow the announcements of the betrothal are to be sent out, and in three months we are to be married."

In the excess of her happiness the little Baroness threw her arms around her friend and embraced her afresh. The carriage, however, now reached its destination, and Molly's supreme moment of triumph was at hand. While the master of the house was receiving Fräulein von Thurgau, Gersdorf, secure in his lately-acquired right, hastened towards his betrothed, thus provoking an indignant glance from Frau von Lasberg. "I supposed you had already left town, Baroness," she remarked, in her sharpest tone.

"Oh, no, madame," Molly replied, with the most innocent air. "I did, it is true, propose to pay my granduncle a visit, but as he is just married–"

"What?" asked the old lady, imagining she had not heard correctly.

"The marriage of my granduncle, Baron Ernsthausen of Frankenstein, and my betrothal took place at the same time. Allow me, madame, to present my betrothed to you."

The smile on Waltenberg's face at these words showed that he was in the secret, but Frau von Lasberg sat quite dumfounded, and it was not until all the rest had eagerly pressed around Molly with their wishes for her happiness that she made up her mind to utter a few formal, congratulatory words, which the girl received with a smile that was not without malice. But Molly was too happy to-day to have refused forgiveness to her worst enemy, and her brilliant gaiety was contagious. All present seemed greatly to enjoy the occasion, although, as Gronau expressed it, 'there was nothing fit to eat.' He required some refreshment more solid than fruit, rare as such exquisite fruit was at this season of the year, and something better to drink than the heavy, fragrant cordial, which could be but sparingly sipped. The ladies, however, did not seem to share his opinion, and all left the table in a most cheerful mood to inspect the host's collection, which occupied the entire upper story.

Waltenberg conducted his guests up the staircase, and when the tall folding-doors opened into the suite of rooms, the entire party seemed suddenly transported as by magic from the gray wintry atmosphere of this northern March day to the sunny, glowing East.

Foreign treasures from every zone were here heaped up in such lavish profusion as only years spent abroad, and abundant means, could make possible; but the arrangement of this almost priceless collection would have driven a man of science to despair. There was not the faintest attempt at order of a scientific kind,–picturesque effect alone was aimed at, and this was achieved; groups of exotic plants placed here and there combined to present a picture before which all preconceived ideas of a genuine 'collection' vanished.

Rugs of the richest Oriental fabrics and colours covered the walls and draped the windows and tables; gorgeously ornamented weapons were hung against these tapestries; cabinets contained specimens of glass and porcelain exquisite in hue and shape; skins of tigers and lions were spread upon the floor; and Said and Djelma in their fantastic costume added to the foreign effect, which was heightened by the yellow light which penetrated the coloured glass of the windows and bathed the whole in what seemed a magical southern sunshine.

Waltenberg was a delightful cicerone. He led his guests from one room to another, explaining and pointing out rare objects of art, and enjoying to the full their appreciation of his treasures. As he told of how and where this and that article had been obtained, his hearers were impressed with the strange, unreal character of the life the man had led. It was natural that he should address himself especially to Erna, for the girl's remarks showed intense interest in the fantastic character of her surroundings. Elmhorst preserved a courteous but cold reserve in his expressions of admiration, and Alice and Frau von Lasberg were soon wearied.

Gersdorf, who was familiar with his friend's collection, played the part of guide to his betrothed; by no means an easy task, for while Molly desired to see and to admire everything, her chief object of interest was her Albert. She fluttered about like some gay butterfly just escaped from the chrysalis, and was so like a joyous child at sight of each new and rare object, that Frau von Lasberg felt it her duty to interfere, although she knew well how little such interference would avail. She actually barred the young girl's way while Gersdorf was talking with Alice.

"My dear Baroness, I really must remind you that there are proprieties which a young girl must observe when she is betrothed. She should preserve her feminine dignity, and not proclaim to all the world that she is quite beside herself with delight. A betrothal is–"

"Something heavenly!" Molly interrupted her. "I should like to know how my granduncle behaved; if he longed to dance all day long as I do?"

"One would suppose you still a child, Molly," the old lady said, indignantly. "Look at Alice; she too is betrothed, and has been so for only a few days."

Molly clasped her hands with an expression of mock horror: "Oh, yes, but heaven defend me from a lover like hers!"

"Baroness, you forget yourself!"

"Indeed I cannot help it, madame; but Alice is quite content, and Herr Elmhorst is the pink of courtesy. All that one hears is, 'Does this please you, my dear Alice?' and, 'Just as you choose, my dear Alice.' Always polite, always considerate. But if Albert should treat me with such cool deference, his manner always at the freezing-point, I should straightway send him back his ring."

Frau von Lasberg heaved a long sigh. It was plainly impossible to impress Molly with a sense of decorum, and she held her peace, whereupon the girl, forgetting all the old Baroness's admonitions, shot off like an arrow to rejoin her lover.

Meanwhile, Elmhorst had entered into conversation with Veit Gronau, who had been presented to him as to the rest as Waltenberg's private secretary, and who, true to his expressed opinion that the presence of ladies was an honour but not a pleasure, held himself aloof from them. Of course they talked of the objects about them, and Wolfgang said, pointing to the negro and the Malay, who were busy in bringing forward for closer inspection various articles indicated by their master, "Herr Waltenberg seems to prefer foreigners for servants; and you too, Herr Secretary, in spite of your name and your German tongue, appear to me more than half a foreigner."

"You are right," Gronau assented. "I have been away from Germany for twenty-five years, and never thought to see old Europe again. I met Herr Waltenberg in Australia; that black fellow there, Said, we brought back from an African tour, and we picked up Djelma only the year before last, in Ceylon, which is why he is still so stupid. We lack only a pig-tailed Chinaman and a cannibal from the South Seas to make our menagerie complete."

"There is no disputing about tastes," Elmhorst said, with a shrug; "but I am afraid that Herr Waltenberg has become so entirely estranged from his native land in all his habits of life that he will find it impossible to live here."

"We have no idea of doing so," Veit replied, with blunt frankness. "How under heaven could we ever reconcile ourselves to the dull existence led here? We shall leave Germany as soon as possible."

Involuntarily Wolfgang breathed a sigh of relief. "You appear to have no special love for your native land," he observed.

"None at all. As Herr Waltenberg says, one must outgrow all national prejudices. He delivered me a long sermon upon that text when on the ship coming home a bragging American undertook to revile Germany."

"What! you quarrelled with him for so speaking?"

"Not exactly. I only knocked him down," Veit said, coolly. "It did not come to a quarrel; he picked himself up and ran to the captain, who made himself rather disagreeable, but Herr Waltenberg finally interfered, and paid the man for his outraged dignity, and I was quite a distinguished person thereafter. Not another word was uttered in dispraise of Germany."

"I had a deal of trouble, however, in arranging the affair," said Waltenberg, who overheard the last words. "If the man had refused to be appeased, we should have had no end of annoyance. You behaved like an irritable game-cock, Gronau, and the provocation was not worth it."

"Why, what would you have had me do?" growled Gronau.

"Shrug your shoulders and keep silent. Of what importance is the opinion of a stranger? The man had a right to his views, as you had to yours."

"You seem indeed to have outgrown all 'national prejudice,' Herr Waltenberg," Wolfgang said, with evident irony.

"I certainly consider it an honourable distinction to be as free from prejudice as possible."

"But under certain circumstances one neither could nor should be thus free. Doubtless you are right, but I should have been in the wrong with Herr Gronau; I should have acted as he did."

"Indeed, Herr Elmhorst? Such sentiments from you surprise me."

"Why from me?" The tone in which the question was put was sharp and cold.

"Because you seem to me perfectly capable of preserving your self-control. Your entire personality is indicative of such decision, such perfect command of circumstances, that I am convinced you always know what you are about. Unfortunately, that is not so with us idealists; we ought to learn of you."

The words sounded courteous, but the sting in them made itself felt, and Elmhorst was not a man to allow them to pass unresented. His look grew dark: "Ah, indeed? You consider yourself an idealist, Herr Waltenberg?"

"I do,–or do you count yourself among them?"

"No," Wolfgang said, coldly; "but among those quick to resent an insult."

His attitude and manner were so provoking that Waltenberg perceived the necessity for moderation, although his nature rebelled against yielding to the 'fortune-hunter' who confronted him so proudly. What turn the conversation might have taken, however, it is impossible to say, for Herr Gersdorf here interrupted it. He had no suspicion of what was going on, and turned to Wolfgang with, "I have just heard, Herr Elmhorst, that you leave town to-morrow. May I beg you to carry my warm remembrances to my cousin Reinsfeld?"

"I will do so with pleasure, Herr Gersdorf. I may tell him of your betrothal?"

"Certainly. I shall write to him shortly, and trust we may see him upon our wedding-tour."

Waltenberg had turned away, quite conscious that he could not possibly provoke a quarrel with his guest, and well pleased that Gersdorf had intervened. Veit Gronau, however, seemed suddenly interested.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," said he: "you mentioned a name which I remember from the time of my boyhood. Are you speaking of the engineer Benno Reinsfeld?"

"No, but of his son," Gersdorf said, in some surprise,–"a young physician, and a friend of Herr Elmhorst's."

"And the father?"

"Dead, more than twenty years ago."

Gronau's rugged features worked strangely, and he hastily passed his hand across his eyes:

"Ah, yes, I might have known it. When one inquires after twenty-five years he finds death has been busy among his friends and comrades. And so Benno Reinsfeld is gone! He was the best of us all, and the most talented. I suppose his inventive genius never brought him wealth?"

"Had he a gift that way?" asked Gersdorf. "I never heard of it, and it was never recognized, for he died a simple engineer. His son has had to make his own way in the world, and has become a very clever physician, as Herr Elmhorst will tell you."

"An extremely skilful physician," Elmhorst declared; "only too modest. He has no capacity for bringing himself and his talent into notice."

"Just like his father," said Gronau. "He always allowed himself to be thrust aside and made use of by any one who knew how to do so. God rest his soul! he was the kindest, most faithful comrade man ever had!"

Meanwhile, Waltenberg had joined Erna von Thurgau at the other end of the room. He had just shown her a rarely beautiful specimen of coral, and as he replaced it he said, "Have you been at all interested? I should be so glad if my 'treasures,' as you call them, could arouse more than a fleeting interest with you; I might then look for some indulgence in those grave eyes, in which I seem always to read reproach. Confess, Fräulein von Thurgau, that you cannot forgive the cosmopolite for becoming so entirely estranged from his home."

"At least I can now make excuses for him," said Erna, smiling. "This enchanted domain is fascinatingly bewildering; it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to withstand its spell."

"And yet these are only the mute, dead witnesses of a life inexhaustible in beauty and charm. If you could see it all in its home where it belongs, you would understand why I cannot exist beneath these cold northern skies, why I am so powerfully attracted to lands of sunshine. You too would find their charm irresistible."

"Perhaps so. And still I might be possessed in your lands of sunshine by intense yearning for the cool mountains of my home. But we will not dispute about a question that only a trial could decide, a trial that I shall hardly make."

"Why should you not make it?"

"Because such an amount of freedom is not accorded to my sex. We cannot wander about the world alone at will as you do."

"Alone!" Ernst repeated, in a low tone. "But you might trust yourself to a protector, a guide who would reveal this new world to you, whose delight it would be to unlock its pleasures for you. You may visit it some day with such a one beside you."

His last words were spoken so as to be audible to Erna alone. She looked up at him in surprise, and encountered a glance of such unmistakable passion that she changed colour and involuntarily turned aside.

"It is very improbable," she said, coldly. "One must have a natural inclination for such a life, and I–"

"You are made for it," he eagerly interrupted her,–"you alone among hundreds of women. I am sure of it."

"Are you so wonderfully gifted with insight, Herr Waltenberg?" the girl asked, calmly. "We meet today for the second time,–surely your estimate of the character of a stranger is overbold."

The rebuff was evident; Waltenberg bit his lip. "You are right, Fräulein von Thurgau," he replied, "perfectly right. In this world of forms and unrealities one may easily be mistaken in an estimate of character. There is no intensity of feeling here, and an ardent word that rises involuntarily to the lips may well be accounted overbold. All here must conform to times and rules. I beg pardon for my inadvertence."

He bowed and joined the other ladies. Erna felt relieved by his absence; she had received his evident attentions without attaching any importance to them, without a suspicion of her uncle's plans. It certainly was bold to address her thus in a second interview, but it was not offensive, and she–she liked what was bold and unusual, inconsistent with form and rule. Why did she so shrink from his half-concealed declaration? Why did a kind of terror possess her at the thought of ever being obliged to face the question at which he had hinted? She could not answer.

Frau von Lasberg now rose to go. In truth, the visit had been greatly prolonged, and all took leave. Farewells and courteous expressions of pleasure were interchanged, and Ernst Waltenberg took pains to show himself to the last the amiable, courteous host. But he hardly succeeded in controlling the mood which his conversation with Erna had induced. There was a degree of constraint in his manner of taking leave of his guests, and he was relieved by their departure. He stood looking gloomily after the carriages as they rolled away, and then turned back to the deserted rooms.

He was deeply wounded and vexed by the rebuff he had met with. It grated upon his impassioned nature like a breath from the icy north which he so detested; he retired to his beloved Orient, which here surrounded him with its lights and colour. But something of the chill seemed to linger here,–everything looked dreary and colourless,–it was, after all, but a lifeless image of the reality.

"Mister Gronau, what ails the master?" asked Said, who appeared after a while with Djelma in the balconied room to clear away the table. "He wants to be alone; he's in a very bad humour."

"Yes, very bad," Djelma added, quick to use the few German words he knew.

Veit Gronau had also observed the master's change of mood, but could find no explanation for it. However, in his reply to the servants he unconsciously hit the nail upon the head. He said, briefly, "It is all because he invited ladies. Wherever there are ladies there is always sure to be trouble."

"What, always?" asked Said, who seemed hardly to understand.

"Always!" Gronau declared, impressively. "No matter whether they are white or brown or black, they always make trouble. And so the only thing to do is to keep out of their way. Remember that, you scoundrels."

CHAPTER IX.

THE HERR PRESIDENT SPEAKS

Summer had come; it was only early summer still however, in the mountains, for it was the middle of June; but the woods and meadows were clothed in fresh green, and only the loftiest peaks wore the mantle of snow which was never laid aside. Up there neither spring, summer, nor autumn had any existence: winter reigned in eternal, icy splendour.

The extensive Alpine valley which three years ago lay undisturbed in its solemn, dreary solitude, now showed all the traces of the human intellect which was then just invading it with its host of obedient forces. Dark openings yawned in the walls of rock, and from the depths a narrow path wound upward in serpentine lines,–the iron road to which forest and rock had been forced to yield,–while across the Wolkenstein chasm the masterpiece of the whole gigantic undertaking, the bridge, now wellnigh completed, seemed to hover in air above the dizzy depths.

It had been no easy task to build this railway, and the Wolkenstein domain had presented the greatest obstacles to its completion. They seemed actually to spring out of the ground at every step; the most careful calculations continually turned out to be imperfect, well-devised schemes proved ineffectual, unforeseen catastrophes occurred, and more than once imperilled the success of the undertaking.

But the man who conducted the road through the Wolkenstein section was equal to every difficulty, was daunted by no obstacle, discouraged by no catastrophe. He proceeded on his way with his myrmidons, step by step subjecting to his sway the rugged and hitherto unquelled nature of the Alpine fastnesses.

The railway company was well aware of the force it possessed in its superintending engineer, and now extolled the wisdom of its president in the choice it had at first opposed. Gradually a power to act almost without limits was placed in the hands of the young man, and he knew well how to keep and to use it. The engineer-in-chief had long given nothing save his name to the undertaking; every project, every decision, was the work of his energetic and talented chief of staff, and when the young man was betrothed to Nordheim's daughter and became the probable heir to millions, all opposition was mute,–everything bowed before him.

Every trace of Wolkenstein Court had vanished; it was levelled to the ground the year in which its master closed his eyes forever. There was no longer any need to regard the feelings of the eccentric old man whose heart had been broken by the invasion of his home. On the spot where the ancestral abode of the Thurgaus had once stood there was now a stately structure, the future railway-station, built just at the entrance of the huge bridge. Until the line of railway should be opened in the coming spring, the building was occupied by various offices, and Superintendent Elmhorst had his rooms in the upper story. It formed, so to speak, the head-quarters of the Wolkenstein section, and the centre of gravitation of the entire railway.

Wolfgang had established himself here after the manner which had become a necessity to him since his salary had been increased. The bright, spacious apartments had a most comfortable aspect, the pleasantest being his office, with its dark hangings and rugs, its carved oaken furniture, and its well-filled bookshelves. The corner window before which the writing-table was placed commanded the entire view of the great bridge. The bold structure was always before the eyes of its architect.

Elmhorst sat at his writing-table talking with Benno Reinsfeld, who had just appeared. The young physician was unchanged in person and manner, except that he had become rather more unconventional and awkward. Long years passed in a retired mountain-village, the laborious nature of the practice of a country doctor, and constant intercourse with men for whom the forms of society did not exist, had produced their effect.

At present, indeed, the Herr Doctor was in full dress; he wore a black coat, which saw the light only on state occasions; unfortunately, its cut was that of ten years previous. He certainly did not show in it to advantage, it pinched him too much; his gray jacket and felt hat were infinitely more comfortable. There was no denying that Reinsfeld looked a good deal like a peasant, and he was probably conscious of it himself, for he was enduring with a very meek air the reproaches of his friend, who shook his head as he looked at him.