Part 50 (1/2)
Poor old woman! How important she is in her own eyes! Her gown is the ugliest and shabbiest there (the one the sporting Countess wears was given her by Selina), but six strings of wonderful pearls which she wears around her neck make her all right. Hedwig,--well, she is a little more affected than usual; she is flirting with little Baron Knigsfeld, who took her in to dinner, playing him off against her neighbour on the other side, Count Fermor. And Harry,--with profound sympathy and intense compa.s.sion Lato's eyes rest upon his friend.
Simple, without pretension or affectation, very courteous without condescension, a little formal, perhaps, withal,--as the most natural of men must be where he feels himself a stranger,--with that in his face and bearing that distinguishes him above every one present, he is the only specimen of his own caste there with whom Lato feels satisfied.
”They may abuse us as they please,” he thinks to himself,--”nay, I even join them in abusing,--but if one of us gives his word he stands to it.” And then he questions whether in any other rank could be found such an example of n.o.ble and manly beauty, or of such quixotic, self-annihilating, chivalrous honour. ”Good heavens! why not?” he makes reply to himself. ”So far as moral worth is concerned, a.s.suredly; only in form it would probably be less refined.”
Lato has had much experience of life. He has laid aside all the prejudices of his cla.s.s, but the subtile caste-instinct still abides with him. He asks himself whether his family--the Harfink family--notice the difference between Harry and the other aristocrats present; whether the Harfinks will not be finally disgusted by the impertinence of these c.o.xcombs; whether they do not feel the offensive condescension of the Countess Zriny. It would seem not. The Harfinks, mother and daughters, are quite satisfied with what is accorded them; they are overflowing with gratified vanity, and are enjoying the success of the festival. Even Selina is pleased; Olga's absence seems to have soothed her. She informs Lato, by all kinds of amiable devices,--hints which she lets fall in conversation, glances which she casts towards him,--that she is sorry for the scene of the morning, and is ready to acquiesce. She tells her neighbour at dinner, Baron Kilary, that to-day is the anniversary of her betrothal.
Lato becomes more and more strongly impressed by the conviction that her severe attack of jealousy has aroused within her something of her old sentiment for him. The thought disgusts him profoundly; he feels for her a positive aversion.
His attention is chiefly bestowed upon Harry. How the poor fellow suffers! writhing beneath the ostentatious anxiety of his betrothed, who exhausts herself in sympathetic inquiries as to his pallor, ascribing it to every cause save the true one.
”What will become of him if he does not succeed in ridding himself of this intolerable burden?” Lato asks himself. An inexpressible dread a.s.sails him. ”A candidate for suicide,” he thinks, and for a moment he feels dizzy and ill.
But why should Harry die, when his life might be adjusted by one word firmly uttered? He might be saved, and then what a sunny bright future would be his! If one could but help him!
The dinner is half over; punch is being served. The tall windows of the dining-hall are wide open, the breeze has died away for the time, the night is quiet, the outlook upon the park enchanting. Coloured lamps, shaped like fantastic flowers, illumine the shrubbery, whence comes soft music.
All the anguish which had been stilled for the moment stirs within Lato's breast at sound of the sweet insinuating tones. They arouse within him an insane thirst for happiness. If it were but possible to obtain a divorce! Caressingly, dreamily, the notes of ”Southern Roses”
float in from the park.
”Ah! how that reminds me of my betrothal!” says Selina, moving her fan to and fro in time with the music. Involuntarily Lato glances at her.
She wears a red gown, _decolete_ as of old. Her shoulders have grown stouter, her features sharper, but she is hardly changed otherwise; many would p.r.o.nounce her handsomer than she had been on that other sultry September evening when it had first occurred to him that he--loved her--no, when he lied to himself--because it seemed so easy.
He falls into a revery, from which he is aroused by the poet Angelico Orchys, who rises, gla.s.s in hand, and in fluent verse proposes the health of the betrothed couple. Gla.s.ses are clinked, and scarcely are all seated again when Fainacky toasts the married pair who are celebrating to-day the sixth anniversary of their betrothal. Every one rises; Selina holds her gla.s.s out to Lato with a languis.h.i.+ng glance from her half-closed eyes as she smiles at him over the brim.
He shudders. And he has dared to hope for a divorce!
The clinking of gla.s.ses has ceased; again all are seated; a fresh course of viands is in progress; there is a pause in the conversation, while the music wails and sighs outside, Fainacky from his place at table making all sorts of mysterious signs to the leader.
Treurenberg's misery has become so intense within the last few minutes that he can scarcely endure it without some outward sign of it, when suddenly a thought occurs to him, a little, gloomy thought, that slowly increases like a thunder-cloud. His breath comes quick, the cold perspiration breaks out upon his forehead, his heart beats strong and fast.
”Is anything the matter, Lato?” Selina asks, across the table; ”you have grown so pale. Do you feel the draught?”
He does not answer. His heart has ceased to beat wildly; a soothing calm, a sense of relief, takes possession of him; he seems to have discovered the solution of a huge, tormenting riddle.
Presently the wine begins to take effect, and conversation drowns the tones of the music. Culinary triumphs have been discussed, there has been some political talk, anti-Semitic opinions, in very bad taste, have been expressed, and now, in spite of the presence of several young girls, various scandals are alluded to.
”Have any of you heard the latest developments in the Reinsfeld-Gladnjik case?” Kilary asks.
Treurenberg listens.
The sporting Countess replies: ”No: for two years I have seen nothing of Ada Reinsfeld--since the--well, since she left her husband; one really had to give her up. I am very lenient in such affairs, but one has no choice where the scandal is a matter of such publicity.”
”I entirely agree with you, my dear Countess,” says the Baroness Harfink. ”So long as due respect is paid to external forms, the private weaknesses of my neighbours are no concern of mine; but external forms must be observed.”
”My cousin's course throughout that business was that of a crazy woman,” says ”the numismatician,” with his mouth full. ”She was mistress of the best-ordered house in Grz. Reinsfeld's cook was----!
never in my life did I taste such salmi of partridges--except on this occasion,” he adds, with an inclination towards his hostess. The next moment he motions to a servant to fill his gla.s.s, and forgets all about his cousin Ada.