Part 40 (2/2)

In fact, Lotta had been Fritz's nurse; and it was true that she had always been much valued, having been treated with great consideration on account of her absolute fidelity and her tolerably correct German.

”Yes,” she went on, careless as to her companion's attention, ”I wrote to the Baron about the wheat and the young calves, and I told him of Baron Harry's betrothal. I am curious to know what he will say to it.

For my part, it is not at all to my taste.”

”But then you are so frightfully aristocratic,” said her guest.

Lotta smiled; nothing pleased her more than to be rallied upon her aristocratic tendencies, although she made haste to disclaim them. ”Oh, no; I am by no means so feudal”--a favourite word of hers, learned from a circulating library to which she subscribed--”as you think. I never shall forget how I tried to bring about a reconciliation between Baron Fritz and his father; but the master was furious, called the widow and her little child, after poor Fritz's death, 'French baggage,' and threatened me with dismissal if I ever spoke of them. What could I do?

I could not go near the little girl when Baron Paul brought her to Zirkow; but I have watched her from a distance, and have rejoiced to see her grow lovelier every year, and the very image of her father. And when all the country around declared that Baron Harry was in love with her, I was glad; but our master was furious, although the young things were then mere children, and declared that not one penny of his money should his nephew have if he married the child of that shop-girl. I suppose Baron Harry has taken all this into consideration.” The old woman's face grew stern as she folded her arms on her flat chest and declared again, ”I am curious to know what the master will think of this betrothal.”

Outside in the farm-yard the steam thresher continued its monotonous task; the superintendent, a young man, something of a c.o.xcomb, stood apart from the puffing monster, a volume of Lenau in his hand, learning by heart a poem which he intended to recite at the next meeting of the ”Concordia a.s.sociation,” in X----. The court-fool, Studnecka, was seated at his harmonium, composing.

Suddenly a clumsy post-chaise rattled into the courtyard. The superintendent started, and thrust his Lenau into his pocket. Lotta smoothed her gray hair, and went to meet the arrival. She knew that ”the master” had come. It was his habit to appear thus unexpectedly, when it was impossible to be prepared for him. His masculine employees disliked this fas.h.i.+on extremely. Lotta was not at all disturbed by it.

Studnecka was the last to notice that something unusual was going on.

When he did so, he left the harmonium and went to the window.

In the midst of a group of servants and farm-hands stood an old man in a long green coat and a s.h.i.+ny, tall hat. The court-fool observed something strange in his master's appearance. Suddenly he fairly gasped.

”The world is coming to an end!” he exclaimed. ”Wonders will never cease,--the Herr Baron has a new hat!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A SHORT VISIT.

Lotta, too, noticed the master's new hat, but that was not the only change she observed in him. The expression of his face was not so stern as usual. Instead of sneering at the c.o.xcombical superintendent, he smiled at his approach; his complexion was far less sallow than it had been; and, above all, he allowed the superintendent to pay the driver of the post-chaise without an inquiry as to the fare.

After nodding right and left, he asked Lotta if his room were ready.

”Of course,” the housekeeper replied, and at once conducted him to a s.p.a.cious and exquisitely clean and neat apartment, rather scantily furnished with spindle-legged chairs and bra.s.s-mounted cabinets dating from the time of the First Empire. Not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere. The Baron ordered coffee, and dismissed Lotta.

When she had gone he looked about him keenly, as if in search of somewhat, from the arm-chair into which he had thrown himself. Not finding what he sought, he arose and went into the adjoining room. Yes, there it was!

On the wall hung two portraits, in broad, tasteless gilt frames. One represented a fair, handsome woman, with bare shoulders and long, soft curls; the other a dark-browed man, in the red, gold-embroidered uniform of a court chamberlain. He smiled bitterly as he looked at this picture. ”Done with!” he muttered, and turned his back upon the portraits; with those words he banished the memory of his past. A strange sensation possessed him: an antic.i.p.ation of his future,--the future of a man of seventy-three! He walked about the room uncertainly, searching for something. A dark flush mounted to his cheek; he loosened his collar. At last he turned the key in the door, as if fearful of being surprised in some misdeed, and then went to his writing-table, a large and rather complicated piece of furniture, its numerous drawers decorated with bra.s.s ornaments. From one of the most secret of these he took a small portfolio containing about a dozen photographs. All represented the same person, but at various stages of existence, from earliest infancy to boyhood and manhood.

”Fritz!” murmured the old man, hoa.r.s.ely; ”Fritz!”

Yes, always Fritz. The father looked them through, lingering over each one with the same longing, hungry look with which we would fain call to life the images of our dead. There was Fritz with his first gun, Fritz in his school-uniform, and, at last, Fritz as a young diplomat, photographed in Paris, with a mountain view in the background.

This picture trembled in the old hands. How he had admired it! how proud he had been of his handsome son! and then----

There was a knock at the door. Buried in the past, he had not heard the bustle of preparation in the next room, and now he thrust away the pictures to take his seat at his well-furnished table, where Lotta was waiting to serve him.

”Sit down, sit down,” the Baron said, with unwonted geniality, ”and tell me of what is going on here.”

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