Part 47 (1/2)
”First of all, your sympathy,” he replies, gravely.
”Oh, indeed! is this what you had to tell me that could bear no delay?”
He moves his chair a little nearer to her. ”Lina,” he murmurs, ”we have become very much estranged of late.”
”Whose fault is it?” she asks, dryly.
”Partly mine,” he sadly confesses.
”Only partly?” she replies, sharply. ”That is a matter of opinion. The other way of stating it is that you neglected me and I put up with it.”
”I left you to yourself, because--because I thought I wearied you,” he stammers, conscious that he is not telling quite the truth, knowing that he had hailed the first symptoms of her indifference as a relief.
”It certainly is true that I have not grieved myself to death over your neglect. It was not my way to sue humbly for your favour. But let that go; let us speak of real things, of the matter which will not bear delay.” She smiles contemptuously.
”True,” he replies; ”I had forgotten it in my own personal affairs. I wanted to ask a favour of you.”
”Ah!” she interposes; and he goes on: ”It happens that I have no ready money just now; what I have, at least, does not suffice. Will you advance me some?”
She drums exultantly upon her dressing-table, loaded with its apparatus of gla.s.s and silver. ”I would have wagered that we should come to this.
H'm! how much do you want?”
”Eighteen hundred guilders.”
”And do you consider that a trifle?” she exclaims, provokingly. ”If I remember rightly, it amounts to the entire year's pay of a captain in the army. And you want the money to--discharge a gambling-debt, do you not?”
”Not my own,” he says, hoa.r.s.ely. ”G.o.d knows, I would rather put a bullet through my brains than ask you for money!”
”That's very easily said,” she rejoins, coldly. ”I am glad, however, to have you a.s.sure me that you do not want the money for yourself. To pay your debts, for the honour of the name which I bear, I should have made any sacrifice, but I have no idea of supporting the extravagancies of the garrison at X----.” And Selina begins to trim her nails with a glittering little pair of scissors.
”But, Selina, you have no idea of the facts of the case!” Treurenberg exclaims. He has risen, and he takes the scissors from her and tosses them aside impatiently. ”Women can hardly understand the importance of a gambling-debt. A life hangs upon its payment,--the life of a promising young fellow, who, if no help is vouchsafed him, must choose between disgrace and death. Suppose I should tell you tomorrow that he had shot himself,--what then?”
”He will not shoot himself,” she says, calmly. ”Moreover, it was a principle with my father never to comply with the request of any one who threatened suicide; and I agree with him.”
”You are right in general; but this is an exception. This poor boy is not yet nineteen,--a child, unaccustomed to be left to himself, who has lost his head. What if you are right, and he cannot find the courage to put an end to himself,--the hand of a lad of eighteen who has condemned himself to death may well falter,--what then? Disgrace, for him, for his family; dismissal from the army; a degraded life. Have pity, Selina, for heaven's sake!”
He pleads desperately, but he might as well appeal to a wooden doll, for all the impression his words make upon her, and at last he pauses, breathless with agitation. Selina, tossing her head and with a scornful air, says, ”I have little sympathy for young good-for-naughts; it lies in the nature of things that they should bear the consequences of their actions; it is no affair of mine. I might, indeed, ask how it happens that you take such an interest in this case, did I not know that you have good reason to do so,--you are a gambler yourself.”
Treurenberg starts and gazes at her in dismay. ”A gambler! What can make you think so? I often play to distract my mind, but a gambler!--'tis a harsh word. I am not aware that you have ever had to suffer from my love for cards.”
”No; your friends.h.i.+p with Abraham Goldstein stands you in stead. You have spared me, if it can be called sparing a woman to cause her innocently to incur the reputation for intense miserliness!”
There is some truth in her words, some justice in her indignation. Lato casts down his eyes. Suddenly an idea occurs to him. ”Fainacky has told you, then, of my relations with Abraham Goldstein?”
”Yes.”
”Ah!” he exclaims; ”I now understand the change in you. For heaven's sake, do not allow yourself to be influenced by that shallow, malicious c.o.xcomb!”
”I do not allow myself to be influenced by him,” the Countess replies; ”but his information produced an impression upon me, for it was, since you do not deny it, correct. You are a gambler; you borrow money at a high rate of percentage from a usurer, because you are too arrogant or too obstinate to tell me of your debts. Is this not so?”