Part 29 (1/2)
”Settled down--upon his wife's money!” Lato muttered, without looking at his father.
”Is there anything new in that?” exclaimed the Count, with unruffled composure. ”A man of honour can take nothing from a woman whom he loves, but everything from his wife. 'Tis an old rule, and it is comical,”--Count Hans laughed softly,--”how here in Austria we require that a rich wife should always belong to the same sphere with her husband; he is forgiven for a _msalliance_ only if he marries a beggar. It is pure folly! We shall never amount to anything unless we toss aside the entire burden of prejudice which we drag about with us.
It weighs us down; we cannot keep step with the rest; how can a man run sheathed in mail? With the exception of a few magnates among us who are able to enjoy their prestige, we are wretchedly off. We spend our lives sacrificing ourselves for a position which we cannot maintain respectably; we pamper a chimera to be devoured by it in the end. Most of all do I admire the _bourgeoisie_, whom we impress, and whose servility keeps bright the nimbus about our heads. Bah! we can do nothing more with the old folly! We must mingle in the fresh life of the present.”
”Yes,” Lato muttered again, but more indistinctly than at first, ”we ought to work, to achieve somewhat.”
Count Hans did not, perhaps, hear this remark; at all events he did not heed it.
”All the huge new fortunes in England marry into the aristocracy,” he said.
Outside, the same strange alluring murmur breathed above the thirsty flowers; the breeze of the coming storm streamed into the room.
”To marry a woman for the sake of her money is detestable,” Count Hans began afresh, and his voice was almost as soft and wooing as that of the summer night outside; ”but, good heavens! why should one refuse to marry a girl whom he loves just because she is rich?”
He paused. Lato had closed his eyes.
”Are you asleep?” his father murmured.
Lato shook his head, without speaking. The old Count arose, extinguished the candle on the table, and softly withdrew.
CHAPTER XVII.
MISMATED.
About four months afterwards Lato stood with Selina Harfink before the altar, in a large splendidly-decorated church filled with a crowd of people, among whom Lato, as he walked towards the altar, mechanically sought some familiar face,--at first in vain. At last he found some one,--his old English teacher; then a horse-dealer with whom he had had transactions; and then there in the background--how could they have escaped him?--about a dozen ladies of his own circle. Some of them held their eye-gla.s.ses to their eyes, then crowded together and whispered among themselves. He turned away his head.
How dared they whisper about him! He had not sold himself; he was marrying a girl whom he loved, who was accidentally rich!
The long train moved slowly up to the altar. Lato felt as if he were dragging after him a burden that grew heavier with every step. He was glad to be able to kneel down before the priest. He looked at his bride. She knelt beside him, brilliantly beautiful, glowing with pa.s.sion, supremely content. In vain did he look for the s.h.i.+mmer of tears in her eyes, for a trace of virginal shyness in her features, for aught that could arouse sympathy and tenderness. No; about her full red lips there was the tremor of gratified vanity and of triumphant--love!
Love?
From her face Lato's gaze wandered among the wedding-guests.
Strangers,--all strangers. His family was represented by his father and the Countess Zriny, a distant cousin of Count Hans, who had once been in love with him. Lato s.h.i.+vered. Solemn music resounded through the church. Tears rose to his eyes. Suddenly a strange wailing sound mingled with the strains of the chant. He looked up. Behind the tall church windows fluttered something black, formless, like a mourning banner. It was the broken top of a young tree, not quite torn from the parent stem, waving to and fro in the wind.
And then the priest uttered the words that decided his future fate.
Before the departure of the young couple, and whilst Selina was making ready for their journey, Count Hans had an opportunity for emotion. He paced restlessly to and fro in the room where with Lato he was awaiting the bride, trying vainly to say something cheering to the bridegroom, something to arouse in him a consciousness of the great good fortune in which he himself was a sharer. At last the voices of the bride and her friends were heard approaching. The old n.o.bleman went up to his son, laid his hands tenderly upon his shoulders, and exclaimed, ”Hold up your head, old fellow: your life is before you, your life is before you!”
And Lato repeated, ”My life is before me----” The next instant the door opened.
”The carriage is waiting!”
The last words that Selina said to her friends out of the window of the carriage just before driving off were, ”Do not forget to send me the newspapers, if there is anything in them about our marriage.”
The horses started, the carriage rolled on. How swiftly the wheels flew over the stones! In the twilight, illumined only by the glare of the carriage lamps, Lato could see the outline of Selina's figure as she sat beside him, and the pure red and white of her face, only partially concealed by her veil. He put his arm around her, and she nestled close to him and raised her lips to his. His ardour was chilled by an annoying sensation which he could not at first trace to its source. It was produced by the strong perfume which Selina used. It was the same perfume that had been a favourite with the actress who had been Lato's first love, a handsome, fair woman, with an incomparable complexion. He was suddenly reminded that Selina looked like her, and it vexed him.
Selina had long since forgotten it,--women almost always forget such things,--but in the early times of her marriage it would not have pleased her to think it a ”distinguished one.” She was desperately in love with Lato, served him like a slave, racked what brain she had to prepare surprises for him in the way of costly gifts, and left entirely to him the disposal of her property. Not a penny would she call her own. It all belonged to him,--all. It was quite touching to see her penitent air when she applied to him, whispering, ”I am a terrible spendthrift, Lato. Do not be angry; but I want some more money. Will you not pay my milliner's bill for me? And then, if I am very good, you'll give me something to put in my portomonnaie,--a hundred guilders,--only a hundred guilders, Lato darling?”