Part 6 (1/2)
The noise of the drums at this instant was deafening; the trumpets clanged in their fullest tones as they saluted Truchses, who how pa.s.sed by the musicians; and, according to the custom of those days, threw them some pieces of silver, which caused the trumpets to redouble their deafening sounds.
The whispered conversation of our two lovers was overpowered by the confounding noise of the instruments; but their eyes had so much the more to say to each other in this apparent s.h.i.+pwreck of their hopes, so that they did not notice the observations, which were pa.s.sed on them by the surrounding spectators, as being the handsomest couple in the room.
Marie's ear was not shut to the pa.s.sing remarks of the crowd. She was too kind-hearted to be envious of her cousin's praise, and consoled herself with the idea, that, were she in her place, beside the handsome young man, the couple would not be less attractive. But it was the animated conversation which Bertha kept up with her partner, that particularly attracted her attention. Her reserved cousin, who seldom or ever talked long with any man, now appeared to speak with even more earnestness than he did. The music and noise, however, hindered Marie from overhearing the subject of their conversation. This excited her curiosity to such a degree (a feeling--perhaps, not without justice--attributed specially to young ladies), that she drew her own partner nearer to them, for the purpose of listening; but whether it was by accident or design, that the conversation either dropped or was kept up in a subdued tone, the nearer she approached, she could not catch a word of it.
Marie's interest in the young man increased with these obstacles to her curiosity. Her good cousin Kraft had never appeared so great a bore to her as now, for all the pretty sayings with which he endeavoured to fix her attention, were only so many hindrances to her observing the others more closely. She was therefore glad when the dance was over. She hoped the next would be more agreeable, with the young knight for her partner.
Albert came and engaged her, when she sprang with joy to the hand which he offered; but she deceived herself in finding him the agreeable partner she had antic.i.p.ated. Indifferent, reserved, sunk in deep thought, giving short answers to her questions, it was too clear he was not the same person who had but a moment before conversed in so animated a manner with her cousin.
”Was this the courteous knight,” thought Marie, ”who had saluted them in so polite a manner, without ever having seen them before? Was it the same cheerful and merry person whom cousin Kraft had introduced? the same who had spoken with Bertha so earnestly? or could she--yes, it was too evident that Bertha had pleased him better than herself--perhaps, because she was the first to dance with him.”
Marie had been little accustomed to see her reserved cousin preferred before her, which this apparent victory seemed to indicate. Her vanity was piqued, she felt herself estranged from Bertha, and conceived herself bound to exert her talents and winning arts to re-establish herself in her lost rights. She therefore, in her usual merry mood, carried on the conversation about the coming war, which she contrived to lengthen out till the end of the dance. ”Well,” said she, ”and how many campaigns have you gone through, Albert von Sturmfeder?”
”This will be my first,” he answered, abruptly, for he was annoyed that she kept up the conversation, as he wished so much to speak to Bertha again.
”Your first!” said Marie, in astonishment. ”You surely want to deceive me, for I perceive a large scar on your forehead.”
”I got that at the university,” he replied.
”How? are you a scholar?” asked Marie, her curiosity still more excited. ”Well, then, I suppose you have visited distant countries, Padua or Bologna, or perhaps even the heretics in Wittenberg?”
”Not so far as you think,” said he, as he turned to Bertha: ”I have never been further than Tubingen.”
”In Tubingen?” cried Marie, surprised. This single word, like lightning, unravelled in a moment every thing in her mind which before had been obscure. A glance at Bertha, who stood before her with downcast eyes, her cheeks suffused with the blush of confusion, convinced her that, on that word, hung the key to a long list of inferences which had occupied her thoughts. It was now quite clear why the courteous knight saluted them; the cause of Bertha's tears could be no other, than that of finding Albert had joined the opposite party; the earnest conversation between them, and Sturmfeder's reserve to herself, were satisfactorily explained to her mind. There was no question of their having long known each other.
Indignation was the first feeling that ruffled Marie's breast. She blushed for herself, when she felt she had endeavoured to attract the attention of a young man whose heart was fully occupied by another object. Ill humour, on account of Bertha's secrecy, clouded her features. She sought excuse for her own conduct, and found it only in the duplicity of her cousin. If she had but acknowledged, she said to herself, the feeling which existed between her and the young knight, she never would have shown the interest she took in him; he would have been perfectly indifferent to her; she never would have experienced this painful confusion.
Marie did not deign to give the unhappy young man another look during the evening, and he was too much occupied with the painful sensations of his own mind, to be aware of her ill will towards him. He was also so unfortunate as to be scarcely able to say another word alone and un.o.bserved to Bertha. The ball ended, and left him in doubt as to what her future fate, or the intentions of her father were likely to be. She seized, however, a favourable moment to whisper to him on the staircase, when she was going home, begging him to remain in the town on the morrow, in the hope of finding an opportunity to speak with him.
The two girls went home, both ill at ease with each other. Marie gave short, snappish answers to Bertha's questions, who, whether it was that she suspected what was pa.s.sing in her cousin's mind, or whether she was overwhelmed by grief, became more melancholy and reserved than ever.
But when they entered their room, silent and cold towards each other, then it was that they both felt how painful was the interruption of their hitherto affectionate intercourse. Up to this eventful evening, they had always a.s.sisted each other in all those little services, which unite young girls in friends.h.i.+p. How different was it now? Marie had taken the silver pin out of her rich light hair, which fell in long ringlets over her beautiful neck. She attempted to put it up under her cap, but unaccustomed to arrange it without Bertha's help, and too proud to let her enemy, as she now called her cousin in her mind, notice her embarra.s.sment, she threw it away in a corner, and seized a handkerchief to tie it up.
Bertha, unconscious of having offended her cousin, could not fail noticing her change of affection towards her, and felt acutely the apparent sting of her ruffled temper. She quietly picked up the cap, and came to render her cousin her usual a.s.sistance.
”Away with you, you false one!” said the angry Marie, as she pushed away the helping hand.
”Dearest Marie, have I deserved this of you?” said Bertha, gently, and with tenderness. ”Oh, if you but knew how unhappy I am, you would not be so harsh with me.”
”Unhappy, indeed!” loudly laughed the other, ”unhappy! because the courteous knight only danced with you once, I suppose.”
”You are very hard, Marie,” replied Bertha; ”you are angry with me, and will not even tell me the cause of your displeasure.”
”Really! so you do not know how you have deceived me? but you cannot keep your duplicity a secret any longer, which has subjected me to scorn and confusion. I never could have thought you would have acted so ungenerously, so falsely by me!”
The wounded feeling of being out-done by her cousin, and as she thought, despised by Sturmfeder, was again awakened in Marie's mind; her tears flowed, she laid her heated forehead in her hand, and her rich locks fell over and hid her face.
Tears are the symptoms of gentle suffering, they say: Bertha had experienced it, and continued her conversation with confidence. ”Marie!
you have accused me of keeping a secret from you. I see you have discovered that, which I never could have divulged. Put yourself in my situation--ah! you yourself, cheerful and frank as you are, would never have confided to me your inmost secret. But I will conceal it no longer--you have guessed what my lips shunned to express. I love him!
Yes, and my love is returned. This mutual feeling dates much further back than yesterday. Will you hear me? and I will tell you all.”