Part 59 (1/2)
What was that? Voices in the ante-room. The noise sounded like a dispute. Then some one knocked violently at the door.
”Come in!” cried the countess, with a strange thrill of fear. The footman entered hurriedly with an excited face. ”A gentleman, he calls himself 'Steward Freyer,' is there, is following close at my heels--he would not be refused admittance.” He pointed backward to where Freyer already appeared.
The countess seemed turned to stone. ”Request the steward to wait a moment!” she said at last, with the imperiousness of the mistress.
The man stepped back, and they saw him close the door almost by force.
”Do not carry matters too far,” said the duke; ”he seems to be very much excited--such people should not be irritated. Admit him before he forces the door and makes a scandal in the presence of the servant. He comes just at the right time--in this mood it will be easy for you to dismiss him. So end the matter! But be _calm_, have no scene--shall I remain at hand?”
”No--I am not afraid--it would be ign.o.ble to permit you to listen to him. Trust me, and leave me to my fate.”
At this time the voices again grew louder, then the door was violently thrown open. Freyer stood within the room.
”What does this mean--am I a.s.saulted in my own house?” cried the countess, rebelling against this act of violence.
Freyer stood trembling from head to foot; they could hear his teeth chatter: ”I merely wished to ask whether it was the Countess Wildenau's desire that I should be insulted by her servant.”
”Certainly not!” replied the countess with dignity. ”If my servant insulted you, you shall have satisfaction--only I wish you had asked it in a less unseemly way.”
The duke quietly took his hat and kissed the countess' hand: ”_Restez calme_!” Then he pa.s.sed out, saluting Freyer with that aristocratic courtesy which at once irritates and disarms.
Freyer stepped close to the countess, his eyes wandered restlessly, his whole appearance was startling: ”Everything in the world has its limit, even patience--mine is exhausted. Tell me, are you my wife--you who stand here in this gay masquerade of laces and pearls--are you the mourning mother of a dead child? Is this my wife who decks herself for another, shuts herself up with another, or at least gives orders not to be disturbed--who has her lackeys keep her wedded husband at bay outside with blows--and deems it unseemly if the last remnant of manly dignity in his soul rebels and he demands satisfaction from his wife.
Where is the man, I ask, who would not be frenzied? Where is the woman, I ask, who once loved me? Is it you, who desert, betray, make me contemptible to myself and others? Where--where--in the wide world is there a man so deceived, so trampled under foot, as I am by you? Have you any answer to this, woman?”
The countess turned deadly pale, terror almost stifled her. For the first time, she beheld the Gorgon, popular fury, in his face and while turning to stone the thought came to her: ”Would you live _with that_?”
Horror stole over her--she did not know whether her feeling was fear or loathing, she only knew that she must fly from the ”turbid waves” ever rolling nearer.
There is no armor more impenetrable than the coldness of a dead feeling. Madeleine von Wildenau armed herself with it. ”Tell me, if you please, how you came here, what you desire, and what put you into such excitement.”
”What--merciful Heaven, do you still ask? I came here to learn where you were now, to what address I could write, as you made no reply to my announcement of Josepha's death--and I wished to say that I could no longer endure this life! While talking with the servant at the door, old Martin pa.s.sed and told me that you were here. I wanted to say one last word to you--I went upstairs, found the footman, and asked, entreated him to announce me, or at least to inquire when I could speak to you! You had a visitor and could not be disturbed, was his scornful answer. Then the consciousness of my just rights awoke within me, and I _commanded_ him to announce me. You refused to receive me: 'I must wait'--I--must wait in the ante-room while you, as I saw through the half-opened door, were whispering familiarly with you former suitor!
Then I forgot everything and approached the door--the servant tried to prevent me, I flung him aside, and then--he dealt me a blow in the face--that face which you had once likened to the countenance of your G.o.d--he, your servant. If I had not had sufficient self-control at the moment to say to myself that the lackey was only your tool--I should have torn him to pieces with my own hands, as I should now tear you, if you were not a woman and sacred to me, even in your sin.”
”I sincerely regret what has happened and do not blame you for making me--at least indirectly responsible. I will dismiss the servant, of course--although he has the excuse that you provoked him, and that he did not know you.”
”Yes, he certainly cannot know me, when I am never permitted to appear.”
”No matter, he should not venture to treat even a _stranger_ so, and therefore must be punished with dismissal.”
”Because he should not venture to treat even a _stranger_ so?” Freyer laughed sadly, bitterly: ”I thank you, keep your servant--I will renounce this satisfaction.”
”I do not know what else you desire.”
”You do not know? Oh, Heaven, had this happened earlier, what would your feelings have been! Do you remember your emotion in the Pa.s.sion Play, when I received only the _semblance_ of a blow upon the cheek?
Did it not, as you said, strike your own heart? How should you feel when you saw it in reality? Oh, tears should have streamed down your cheeks with grief for the poor deserted husband, who the only time he crossed your threshold, was insulted by your lackey. If you still retained one spark of love for me, you would feel that a single kiss pressed compa.s.sionately on my cheek to efface the brand would be a greater satisfaction than the dismissal of a servant whom you would have sacrificed to any stranger. But that is over, we no longer understand each other!”
The countess struggled a moment between pity and repugnance. But at the thought of pressing her lips to the face her servant's hand had struck, loathing overwhelmed her and she turned away.
”Yes, turn your back upon me--for should you look me in the eyes now, you would be forced to lower your own and blush with shame.”
”I beg you to consider that I am not accustomed to such outbreaks, and shall be compelled to close the conversation, if your manner does not a.s.sume a form more in accord with the standard of my circle.”