Part 23 (1/2)

”In verse?” Georges asked innocently.

”Georges! As head of the family I desire to be treated with more respect,” said Oswald, laughing.

”Oh, it occurred to me, only because you were making so many corrections,” rejoined Georges.

”The thing is quite difficult--it must be so worded that Gabrielle shall understand it,--and the telegraph operators shall not; I cannot manage it.”

”Suppose you refresh your powers with a gla.s.s of sherry,” proposed Georges, taking down an appetizing lunch-basket from the rack above his head, and drawing forth a bottle and three wine-gla.s.ses.

The wine had a decidedly soporific effect upon the three travellers.

Truyn's political excitement was soothed, and after drinking to a better future, all three leaned back in silence.

Truyn pondered upon the shy, timid confession that his wife had made to him that morning early, very early, as they were sauntering together in the park, while the sun's first slant rays were breaking through the shrubbery, and the morning-dew was still glittering on the meadows.

”The whole earth seems bathed in tears of delicious joy,” his young wife had whispered, and then through her own happy tears she had begged him to give her a 'really large sum' from her own money that she might make some of the poor people on the estate happy too.

Gradually his thoughts wandered, and grew vague; the sounds of railway bells, and the shrill whistle of the engine, the grating voices of conductors, and the monotonous whirr of wheels mingled, subsided, and died away; his latest impressions faded, and, instead of the green park of Rautschin, a dim Roman street rises upon his mental vision, with a procession of masked torch-bearers accompanying a coffin;--the picture changes, the Roman street is transformed to a lofty hall so tragically solemn that the sunbeams lose their smile as they enter the high windows and glide pale and wan through the twilight gloom to die at the feet of ancient statues. He looks about him, lost in surprise and wondering where is he?--in the tomb of the Medici?--or among the monuments of the melancholy gray church of Santa Croce? No, he suddenly recollects it is the Bargello, and yon white marble, that gleams through the dim religious light in such lifelike, or rather deathlike, beauty, revealing, as it lies outstretched, such clear-cut, nay, such sharp outlines, and the n.o.ble attenuation of youth, eager and fiery, is Michael Angelo's 'dead Adonis,' the ideal embodiment of the springtime of manhood crushed in its bloom. Anon vapour curls upward, and the crimson flicker of torches plays over the white statue, the masked torch-bearers stand around it, a wailing chant echoes through the hall--who is it lying there listlessly, with the ineffable charm of a fair young form, which death has suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed, before the poison of disease has wasted and deformed it?--

Truyn started, broad awake, every pulse throbbing.--Merciful G.o.d! how could he dream anything so horrible! Oswald sat opposite, with eyes half-closed, an extinguished cigarette in his hand. His face wore the expression of absolute content which is so often strangely seen on the face of the dead and which none except the dead ever wear, save the few, who, by G.o.d's grace, have been permitted to behold Heaven upon earth. Truyn could not away with a sensation of painful anxiety.

”For Heaven's sake, Ossi, open your eyes!” he exclaimed.

”What is the matter?” asked Oswald.

”Nothing,” said Truyn, ”only....” at that moment the train stopped.

”Pemik!” shouted the conductor, ”ten minute's stop,” and then opening the coupe door he politely informed the travellers that another coupe was now at their service.

CHAPTER II.

Pernik is the junction of several railway lines, trains coming from two separate watering-places connect here with trains from Prague, and set free the travellers who have tried the virtue of the various baths.

Ladies with faded faces, and bouquets of faded flowers, were wandering about looking for hand-bags gone astray or for waiting-maids, men were busily munching, glad to forget over their first sandwich, the dietetic limitations to which they had been forced to submit while undergoing a course of the baths; locomotives were hissing and puffing like monsters out of breath after a race; the suns.h.i.+ne glittered on the flat roofs of the railway-carriages, the whole atmosphere reeked with coal-dust, and hot iron; there was the usual bustle of hand-cars piled with luggage pushed along the rails, of the s.h.i.+fting of cars on the tracks, and of vendors of fresh water and Pernik beer, with newspaper boys loudly extolling their various wares.

Escorted by the obsequious conductor, and followed by the servants, the three conservatives were making their way through the hurly-burly when they nearly ran against a young man, who, with his hands in the pockets of his rough coat, was striding through the crowd, never turning to the right or the left, in a line as straight as that of the railway between St. Petersburg and Moscow.

”Pistasch!” exclaimed Oswald.

”Ah, I thought I should meet you somewhere.”

All began to talk at once, when suddenly Pistasch turned, and said, ”Good-day!” to Conte Capriani, who was coming towards him with extended hand, and an air of great cordiality.

Oswald and Truyn held themselves very erect, looked straight before them, and, pa.s.sing Pistasch and Capriani, entered their coupe.

”I do not understand Kamenz,” said Truyn, after they had installed themselves comfortably, and Georges had called from the window for a gla.s.s of Pernik beer. Oswald, his elbows propped on the frame of his window, was taking a prolonged observation of the interview between Capriani and Pistasch Kamenz.

The third bell rang--the speculator and the n.o.bleman shook hands and separated; then Pistasch approached the coupe where sat the three conservatives, and asked, ”Any room in there for me?”