Part 24 (2/2)
She had accompanied her mistress the morning of Albert's arrival, in her best Sunday's attire, to her pilgrimage to the church. Having confessed her sins, among which ”curiosity” preponderated above the rest, and received absolution, she returned to Lichtenstein with a lighter heart and clearer conscience than she had when she left the castle, sighing under the weight of them. But the words of the father confessor had not probed so deep in her soul as to root out effectually her besetting sin, for when she got into her apartment and was occupied in putting by her rosary and Sunday dress, she heard her young lady and a man's deep voice in angry conversation together, and she even thought her mistress was crying.
”Can the nocturnal visitor have come up here in the day time, and taken advantage of the old man's absence?” she muttered to herself. A natural feeling of curiosity and sympathy drew her eye and ear involuntarily to the keyhole, when she overheard the dispute of which we have already been witnesses.
The young man opened the door so suddenly that she had no time to retreat, scarcely sufficient to recover her upright figure from her bending position. But she did not lose her presence of mind in this awkward predicament, for stopping Albert, and before either of them could speak, seizing his hands, poured upon him a torrent of words.
”Ay, upon my veracity! Could I ever have thought that my old eyes would have beheld Albert von Sturmfeder again! And I verily believe you have grown handsomer and taller than when I last saw you! Who could have thought it? Look, he stands like a stick at the door! Well, but who is it that dares speak thus to my dear young lady? It is not my master, nor any of his servants! Ay! what does one live to see? Young Albert, it is you who have been upbraiding my child!”
During this rapid flow of exclamations, Albert in vain sought to escape from the old woman, and though he determined, in the heat of the moment, to leave the castle, he felt it unseemly to let her suppose he had been quarrelling with Bertha. He shook off the grasp which the nurse had of him, and, in spite of her reproachful smile, took the hand of Bertha, at the same time pressing it to his heart. A glance from her eye calmed the tumult of his feelings. But a fresh conflict, a new embarra.s.sment agitated him. His anger indeed subsided, he felt convinced that Bertha could not entertain that unkindness towards him which his heated imagination had conjured up--but how to reconcile it with his honour, to submit to the shame of being subdued by a squeeze of the hand, or a glance of the eye, before a witness, was a difficulty in which pride had its share. He blushed for his weakness, in standing self-convicted before the old woman; and we have often heard that the feeling of shame, and the embarra.s.sment of getting out of a sc.r.a.pe, such as Albert's precipitation had drawn him into, without committing our honour, is apt often to convert a trifling quarrel into a lasting one, and dissolve ties founded on the basis of tender affection.
Old Rosel perceived with some degree of pleasure the anxiety and sorrow of her young lady, and would perhaps have gladly taken advantage of her distress, by way of punis.h.i.+ng her for the withdrawal of her confidence, had not her natural kindness of heart resumed its sway over the malicious joy which she had given way too. She looked at the young man full in the face, and said, ”You surely don't intend to leave us so soon, since it is but an hour ago that you arrived at Lichtenstein?
Before you have had your mid-day meal, we will not allow you to depart, for that would be quite against the custom of the castle; and besides which, you have probably not yet seen my master?”
It was a great point gained for Bertha's cause to hear Albert speak again: ”I have already spoken to him,” he said; ”as a proof of it, look at the two goblets we have emptied together.”
”Well,” continued the old woman, ”but you would not leave his house without wis.h.i.+ng him farewell?”
”No, I ought not certainly, as he desired me to wait for him in the castle,” replied the young man.
”Aye, why would you go away in such a hurry, then?” she said, and forced him back into the room; ”do you call that manners? My master would wonder, indeed, to think what kind of guest he had entertained.
Whoever comes here by day,” she added, with a searching look at Bertha, ”whoever comes by broad daylight, possesses a clear conscience, and need not _slip away like a thief in the night._”
Bertha blushed, and pressed the hand of her lover, who could not refrain from smiling, when he thought of the old woman's mistaken notion respecting the nocturnal visitor, and remarked the reproachful glance which she threw at her child.
”Yes, yes, as I said,” she continued, ”you have no occasion to steal away like a thief in the night. It had been better, perhaps, had you come sooner. The proverb says, 'judge for yourself, to doubt is dangerous, and he who seeks peace and quiet, let him remain with his cow!'--but I say nothing.”
”Well, then,” said Bertha, ”you see he remains here; your proverbs are misplaced. You know, yourself, they do not always agree with the subject.”
”Really? but they sometimes. .h.i.t the right nail upon the head, however disagreeable it may be to the hearer. But repentance and good advice come too late after the evil has happened. I know well enough, that ingrat.i.tude is the wages of the world, and I can be silent! he who seeks peace and quiet, let him keep his eyes open, listen, and be silent.”
”Come then, be silent,” said Bertha, somewhat displeased; ”at any rate it will be wise of you not to let my father remark that you know Albert von Sturmfeder; it were not unlikely he might suppose he is come to Lichtenstein for our sakes alone.”
Good and ill humour strove for the mastery in old Rosel's breast. She was, on the one hand, flattered to be admitted again into her lady's confidence, by being requested to keep silence before her master, but, on the other, she still felt annoyed that her young mistress confided so little of her heart to her. She kept muttering a few indistinct words to herself, as she put the chairs in their places against the wall, and took the goblets off the table, wiping the marks which the wine had left on the slate slab with which the table was inlaid. Albert had retired to one of the windows, and though he did not feel quite reconciled to his love, yet he could not mistake a sign she gave him.
He was particularly anxious her father should, as yet, know nothing of their mutual feeling, for he feared he might attribute to it the princ.i.p.al motive which had induced him to join Wurtemburg's cause, and thereby lose the favourable opinion he had formed of him. Thinking it the wisest plan to pacify the old woman, he approached her, and tapping her gently on the shoulder, said, in a kind manner, ”Miss Rosalie, you have a very pretty cap on, but the riband does not match it properly, it looks old and faded.”
”Eh! what?” she answered in a pet, expecting to be addressed with more respect: ”don't trouble yourself about my cap; every one has enough to do to sweep before his own door. Look first to yourself and your own affairs, and then find fault with me and mine. I am a poor woman, and can't dress like a countess. If all the world were alike, and all rich, and all sat at the same table together, who would you find to serve up the eatables and drinkables?”
”I did not mean to affront you,” said Albert, and by way of soothing her, took a silver coin out of his purse, adding, ”but Rosalie will do me a favour by changing her riband: and that my request may not sound unreasonable, she will not, I hope, refuse to accept a broad piece!”
Who has not seen the sun disperse the mists of a day of October? In like manner was old Rosel's ill-humour dispelled. The polite manner of the young knight, who had touched her weak point, by calling her Rosalie, her favourite name, instead of the familiar one of old Rosel, and presenting her with a dollar, having the bust of the Duke on one side, and the arms of Teck on the reverse, were charms too potent for her to withstand. ”Ah, I see you are still the same good friendly gentleman,” she said; whilst, stooping down, she glided the dollar into a large leather pocket which hung to her side, and carried the hem of Albert's cloak to her lips: ”just so used you to do in Tubingen. When I stood at the fountain of St. George, or went from the hill down to the market place, I was sure to hear you call to me,--'Good morning, Rosalie; and how is your young lady?' And did you not often give me presents? why at least two thirds of the gown I wear comes from the bounty and kindness of your honour!”
”Never mind that now, good woman,” said Albert, interrupting the old chatterbox; ”But about your master,--you will not----”
”What do you mean?” she replied, half shutting her eyes: ”I can pretend never to have seen you in my life. You may rest a.s.sured of that. That which does not burn I will not inflame!”
With these words she left the room and went down to the first floor, to attend to her affairs in the kitchen.
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