Part 22 (2/2)

When the peasant women pa.s.s by her on the road with their children in their arms, she takes the children from them, presses them to her bosom, kisses, and talks to them. She is the G.o.dmother of every new-born infant, and what a tender G.o.dmother! Day after day she visits the churches, and before the altar of the Virgin-Mother prays that she also may have her portion of that happiness which is the greatest joy G.o.d gives to women.

After the battle of St. Gothard it was Prince Ghyka's first thought to send a courier to his wife, bidding her not to be anxious about her husband, for he was alive and would soon be home.

This was Mariska's first tidings of the lost battle, and she thanked G.o.d for it. What did she care that the battle was lost, that the glory of the Turkish Sultan was cracked beyond repair, so long as her husband remained to her? With him the husbands of all the other poor Wallachian wives were also safe. She at once hastened to tell the more remote of these poor women that they were not to be alarmed if they heard that the Turkish army had been cut down, for their husbands were free and quite near to them.

What joy at the thought of seeing him again! How she watched for her husband from morn till eve, and awoke at night at the slightest noise.

If a horse neighed in the street, if she heard a trumpet far away, she fancied that her husband was coming.

One night she was aroused by the sound of a light tapping at her bedroom door, and her husband's voice replied to her question of ”Who is there?”

Her surprise and her joy were so great that in the first moment of awaking she knew not what to do, whereupon her husband impatiently repeated:

”Mariska, open the door!”

The wife hastened to embrace her husband, admitted him, fell upon his neck, and covered him with kisses; but, perceiving suddenly that the kisses her husband gave her back were quite cold, and that his arm trembled when he embraced her, she looked anxiously at his face--it was grave and full of anxiety.

”My husband!” cried the unusually sensitive woman with a shaky voice.

”Why do you embrace me--us, so coldly,” her downcast eyes seemed to say.

The Prince did not fail to notice the expression, and very sadly, and sighing slightly, he said:

”So much the worse for me!”

His hands, his whole frame shook so in the arms of his wife; and yet the Prince was a muscular as well as a brave man.

”What has happened? What is the matter?” asked his wife anxiously.

”Nothing,” said the Prince, kissing her forehead. ”Be quiet. Lie down. I have some business to do which must be done to-night. Then I'll come to you, and we'll talk about things.”

Mariska took him at his word, and lay down again. But she still trembled--why, she knew not.

There must be something wrong, something very wrong with her husband, or else he would not have welcomed his wife so coldly at the very moment of his arrival.

After a few moments, during which she heard her husband talking in an undertone with someone outside, he came in with his sword in his hand, and after seeming to look for something, he turned to Mariska:

”Have you the keys of your treasure-box?”

”Yes, they are in my secretaire.”

The Prince took the keys and withdrew.

Mariska breathed again. ”Then it is only some money trouble after all,”

she thought. ”Thank G.o.d it is no worse. They have lost something in the camp, I suppose, or they are s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g some more tribute out of him.”

In a short time the Prince again returned, and stood there for a time as if he couldn't make up his mind to speak. At last he said:

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