Part 21 (2/2)

”Your Highness win leave to morrow?”

”The countess intends to remain some time,” said Ludwig, pressing his friend's arm lightly, as a warning not to wound her feeling.

”Ah,” replied Freyer, thoughtfully, ”then perhaps we shall meet again.”

”I have not yet answered what you have said to-day; will you permit me to do so to-morrow?” asked the countess, gently; an expression of quiet suffering hovered around her lips.

”To-morrow I play the Christ again, Countess--but doubtless some opportunity will be found within the next few days.”

”As you please--farewell!”

Freyer bowed respectfully, but as distantly as if he did not think it possible that the lady would offer him her hand. Ludwig, on the contrary, as if to make amends for his friend's omission, frankly extended his. She clasped it, saying in a low, hurried tone: ”Stay!”

”I will merely go with Freyer to the door, and then return, if you will allow me.”

”Yes,” she said, dismissing Freyer with a haughty wave of the hand.

Then, throwing herself into the chair by the table, she burst into bitter weeping. She had always been surrounded by men who sued for her favor as though it were a royal gift. And here--here she was disdained, and by whom? A man of the people--a plebeian! No, a keen pang pierced her heart as she tried to give him that name. If _he_ was a plebeian, so, too, was Christ. Christ, too, sprang from the people--the ideal of the human race was born in a _manger_! She could summon to confront Him only _one_ kind of pride, that of the _woman_, not of the high-born lady. Alas--she had not even _this_. How often she had flung her heart away without love. For the mess of pottage of gratified vanity or an interesting situation, as the prince had said yesterday, she had bartered the birthright of the holiest feeling. Of what did she dare to be proud? That, for the first time in her life, she really loved? Was she to avenge herself by arrogance upon the man who had awakened this divine emotion because he did not share it? No, that would be petty and ungrateful. Yet what could she do? He was so far above her in his una.s.suming simplicity, so utterly inviolable. She was captured by his n.o.bility, her weapons were powerless against him. As she gazed around her for some support by which she might lift herself above him, every prop of her former artificial life snapped in her grasp before the grand, colossal verity of this apparition. She could do nothing save love and suffer, and accept whatever fate he bestowed.

Some one knocked at the door; almost mechanically she gave the permission to enter.

Ludwig Gross came in noiselessly and approached her. Without a word she held out her hand, as a patient extends it to the physician. He stood by her side and his eyes rested on the weeping woman with the sympathy and understanding born of experience in suffering. But his presence was infinitely soothing. This man would allow nothing to harm her! So far as his power extended, she was safe.

She looked at him as if beseeching help--and he understood her.

”Freyer was unusually excited to-day,” he said, ”I do not know what was pa.s.sing in his mind. I never saw him in such a mood before! When we entered the garden, he embraced me as if something extraordinary had happened, and then rushed off as though the ground was burning under his feet--of course in the direction opposite to his home, for the whole street was full of people waiting to see him.”

The countess held her breath to listen.

”Was he in this mood when you called for him?” she asked.

”No, he was as usual, calm and weary.”

”What changed him so suddenly?”

”I believe, Countess, that you have made an impression upon him which he desires to understand. You have thrown him out of the regular routine, and he no longer comprehends his own feelings.”

”But I--I said so little--I don't understand,” cried the countess, blus.h.i.+ng.

”The important point does not always depend on what is said, but on what is _not_ said, Countess. To deep souls what is unuttered is often more significant than words.”

Madeleine von Wildenau lowered her eyes and silently clasped Ludwig's hand.

”Do you think that he--” she did not finish the sentence, Ludwig spared her.

”From my knowledge of Freyer--either he will _never_ return, or--he will come _to-morrow_.”

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