Part 30 (1/2)
”Oh, the price may be all right,” she rejoined, sharply, ”but the extravagance seems great to me. Of course, if you have it----”
Everything swam before his eyes. He turned and left the room. That very day he sold the horses, fortunately without loss. He brought the bank-notes to his wife, who was seated at her writing-table, and put them down before her. She was startled, and tried to compromise matters. He was inflexible. For half a day the apple of discord in the shape of a bundle of bank-notes lay on the writing-table, a bait for dishonest servants; then it vanished within Selina's desk.
From that moment Lato was not to be induced to use a single penny of his wife's money. He retrenched in all directions, living as well as he could upon his own small income, derived from his maternal inheritance, and paid him punctually by his father.
He was not in the least annoyed by the shabby part he was consequently obliged to play among his wealthy a.s.sociates, but when he recalled how he had previously appropriated his wife's money his cheeks and ears burned furiously.
There was no longer any talk of buying an estate. Instead, Selina's mother bought one. The Treurenbergs could pa.s.s their summers there. Why squander money on an estate? One magnificent castle in the family was enough.
Shortly after Lato's estrangement from his wife his little son died of the croup. This was the annihilation of his existence; the last sunbeam upon his path faded; all around and within him was dark and cold.
He ponders all this as he rides from Komaritz to Dobrotschau. His horse's pace grows slower and slower, his bridle hangs loose. Evening has set in. Suddenly a sharp whirr rouses the lonely man. He looks up, to see a belated bird hurrying home to its nest. His dreamy gaze follows the black fluttering thing, and he wonders vaguely whether the little wanderer will find his home and be received with affection by his feathered family. The idle fancy makes him smile; but, ”What is there to laugh at?” he suddenly reflects. ”Good heavens! a life that warms itself beside another life, in which it finds peace and comfort,--is not this the central idea of all existence, great or small? Everything else in the world is but of secondary interest.”
For him there is no human being in whom he can confide, to whom he can turn for sympathy; for him there is only cheerless solitude.
The moon is setting; above the low mountain-spur its silver crescent hovers in the liquid light green of the summer evening sky. The castle of Dobrotschau looms up in the twilight.
”What is that? Along the road, towards the belated horseman, comes a white figure. Can it be Selina? His heart beats fast; he is ready to be grateful for the smallest proof of affection, so strong is the yearning within him for a little human sympathy. No, it is not Selina; it is a tall, slender girl. She has seen him, and hastens her steps.
”Lato!” calls an anxious, familiar voice.
”Olga!” he exclaims, and, springing from his horse, he approaches her.
Yes, it is Olga,--Olga in a white dress, without hat or gloves, and with a look of anxiety in her eyes.
”Thank heaven!” she exclaims.
”My child, what is the matter?” he asks, half laughing.
”I have been so anxious,” she confesses. ”You are an hour and a half late for dinner, and you know how foolish I am. All sorts of fancies beset me. My imagination works swiftly.”
”You are a dear child, Olga,” he whispers, softly, taking her hand and kissing it twice. Then they walk together towards the castle. He leads his horse by the bridle, and listens to all the trifling matters of which she tells him.
The world is no longer dreary and empty for him. Here is at least one person who is not indifferent to his going and coming.
At Dobrotschau he finds the entire party in the garden-room. Selina and the Pole are playing a duett. Dinner is over. They could not wait for him, Selina explains, because the cook was trying to-day for the first time a souffl of Parmesan cheese and truffles, which would have been ruined by delay. But his hospitable mother-in-law adds,--
”Your dinner is all ready in the dining-room. I gave orders that it should be served as soon as you came.”
And Lato goes to the dining-hall, a magnificent oak-wainscoted room, in which the chandelier, lighted in his honour, represents a round island of light in a sea of black darkness. The soup-tureen is on the sideboard: a servant lifts the cover, and the butler ladles out a plateful of the soup and places it before Lato.
He takes a spoonful discontentedly, then motions to the butler to take the plate away. Olga suddenly appears.
”Have you left any for me?” she asks. ”I am fearfully hungry, for I could not eat any dinner.”
”From anxiety?” asks Lato.