Part 27 (1/2)

”To mow my field!” he answered quietly. ”I have just time, and I want to try to harvest a little hay. Almost everything goes to ruin during the Pa.s.sion!”

”But why do you cut it yourself?”

”Because I have no servant, Countess!” said Freyer, smiling, raised his hat with the dignified gesture characteristic of him, and moved on as firmly and proudly as though the business he was pursuing was worthy of a king. And so it was, when _he_ pursued it. A second blush crimsoned Madeleine von Wildenau's fair forehead. But this time it was because she had been ashamed of him for a moment. ”Poor Freyer! His little patrimony was a patch of ground, and should it be accounted a degradation that he must receive the scanty gift of nature directly from her hand, or rather win it blade by blade in the sweat of his brow?” So she reasoned.

Then he glanced back at her and she felt that the look, outs.h.i.+ning the sun, had illuminated her whole nature. The fiery greeting of a radiant soul! She waved her white hand to him, and he again raised his hat.

”Where is Freyer's field?”

”Not far from us, just outside the village. Would you like to go there?”

”No, it would trouble me. I should not like to see him toiling for his daily bread. Men such as he ought not to find it necessary, and it must end in some way. G.o.d sent me here to equalize the injustice of fate.”

”You cannot accomplish this with Freyer, Countess, he would have been a rich man long ago, if he had been willing to accept anything. What do you imagine he has had offered by ladies who, from sacred and selfish motives, under the influence of his personation of the Christ, were ready to make any sacrifice? If ever poverty was an honor to a man, it is to Freyer, for he might have been in very different circ.u.mstances and instead is content with the little property received from his father, a bit of woodland, a field, and a miserable little hut. To keep the n.o.bility and freedom of his soul, he toils like a servant and cares for house, field, and wood with his own hands.”

”Just see him now, Countess,” he added, ”You have never beheld any man look more aristocratic while at work than he, though he only wields a scythe.”

”You are a loyal friend, Ludwig Gross,” she answered. ”And an eloquent advocate! Come, take me to him.”

She hurried into the house, returning with a broad-brimmed hat on her head, which made her face look as blooming and youthful as a girl's.

Long undressed kid gloves covered her arms under the half flowing sleeves of her gown, and she carried over her shoulder a scarlet sunshade which surrounded her whole figure with a roseate glow. There was a warmth, a tempting charm in her appearance like the velvety bloom of a ripe peach. Ludwig Gross gazed at her in wonder.

”You are--_fatally_ beautiful!” he involuntarily exclaimed, shaking his head mournfully, as we do when we see some inevitable disaster approaching a friend. ”No one ought to be so beautiful,” he added, disapprovingly.

Madeleine von Wildenau laughed merrily. ”Oh! you comical friend, who offers with so sour a visage the most flattering compliments possible.

Our young society men might take lessons from you! Pardon me for laughing,” she said apologetically, as Ludwig's face darkened. ”But it came so unexpectedly, I was not prepared for such a compliment here,”

and in spite of herself, she laughed again, the compliment was too irresistible.

Her companion was deeply offended. He saw in this outbreak of mirth a levity which outraged his holiest feelings. These were ”the graceful oscillations from one mood to another,” as he had termed it that day, which he had so dreaded for his friend, and which now perplexed his own judgment!

A moment was sufficient to reveal this to the countess, in the next she had regained her self-control and with it the power of adapting herself to the earnestness of her friend's mood.

He was walking silently at her side with a heavy heart. There had been something in that laugh which he could not fathom, readily as he grasped any touch of humor. To the earnest woman he had seen that morning, he would have confided his friend in the belief that he was fulfilling a lofty destiny; to the laughing, coquettish woman of the world, he grudged him; Joseph Freyer was far too good for such a fate.

They had walked on, each absorbed in thought, leaving the village behind, into the open country. Few people were at work, for during the Pa.s.sion there is rarely time to till the fields.

”There he is!” Ludwig pointed to a man swinging his scythe with a powerful arm. The countess had dreaded the sight, yet now stood watching full of admiration, for these movements were as graceful as his gestures. The natural symmetry which was one of his characteristic qualities rendered him a picturesque figure even here, while toiling in the fields. His arms described rhythmically returning circles so smoothly, the poise of the elastic body, bending slightly forward, was so n.o.ble, and he performed the labor so easily that it seemed like a graceful gymnastic exercise for the training of the marvellous limbs.

The countess gazed at him a long time, unseen.

A woman's figure, bearing a jug, approached from the opposite side of the meadow and offered Freyer a drink. ”I have brought some milk. You must be thirsty, it is growing warm,” the countess heard her say. She was a gracious looking woman, clad in simple country garb, evidently somewhat older than Freyer, but with a n.o.ble, virginal bearing and features of cla.s.sic regularity. Every movement was dignified, and her expression was calm and full of kindly earnestness.

”I ought to know her,” said the countess in a strangely sharp tone.

”Certainly. She is the Mother of G.o.d in the Pa.s.sion Play, Anastasia Gross, the burgomaster's sister.”

”Yes, the Mary!” said the countess, and again she remembered how the two, mother and son, had remained clasped in each other's arms far longer than seemed to her necessary. What unknown pang was this which now pierced her heart? ”I suppose they are betrothed?” she asked, with quickened breath.

”Who can tell? We think she loves him, but no one knows Freyer's feelings!” said Ludwig.