Part 18 (2/2)
”What will you tell your fiancee, man? Come! What is it that you want to tell her on the eve of her wedding day?”
”What's that to you?” retorted Bela.
In this land where tempers run high, and blood courses hotly through the veins, a quarrel swiftly begun like this more often than not ends in tragedy. On Andor's face, in his menacing eyes, was writ the determination to kill if need be; in that of Bela there was the vicious snarl of an infuriated dog. Klara Goldstein was far too shrewd and prudent to allow her name to be mixed up in this kind of quarrel. Her reputation in the village was not an altogether unblemished one; by a scandal such as would result from a fight between these two men and for such a cause she might hopelessly jeopardize her chances in life, even with her own people.
Her own common sense, too, of which she had a goodly share, told her at the same time that the game was not worth the candle: the satisfaction of being asked to the most important wedding in the village, and there queening it with her fas.h.i.+onable clothes and with the bridegroom's undivided attention over a lot of stupid village folk, would not really compensate her for the scandal that was evidently brewing in the minds of Andor and of Elsa.
So she preferred for the nonce to play the part of outraged innocence, a part which she further emphasized by the display of easy-going kindliness. She placed one of her daintily-gloved hands on Bela's arm, she threw him a look of understanding and of indulgence, she cast a provoking glance on Andor and one of good-humoured contempt on Elsa, then she said lightly:
”Never mind, Bela! I can see that our little Elsa is a trifle nervy to-day; she does me more honour than I deserve by resenting your great kindness to me. But bless you, my good Bela! I don't mind. I am used to jealousies: the petty ones of my own s.e.x are quite endurable; it is when you men are jealous that we poor women often have to suffer. Leopold Hirsch, who is courting me, you know, is so madly jealous at times. He scarce can bear anyone to look at me. As if I could help not being plain, eh?”
Then she turned with a smile to Elsa.
”I don't think, my dear,” she said dryly, ”that you are treating Bela quite fairly. He won't let you suffer from his jealousies; why should you annoy him with yours?”
Another glance through her long, dark lashes on both the men, and Klara Goldstein turned to go. But before she could take a step toward the door, Bela's masterful hand was on her wrist.
”What are you doing?” he asked roughly.
”Going, my good Bela,” she replied airily, ”going. What else can I do? I am not wanted here now, or later at your feast; but there are plenty in this village and around it who will make me welcome, and their company will be more pleasing to me, I a.s.sure you, than that of your friends. We thought of having some tarok[5] this evening. Leopold will be with us, and the young Count is coming. He loves a gamble, and is most amusing when he is in the mood. So I am going where I shall be most welcome, you see.”
[Footnote 5: A game of cards--the source of much gambling in that part of Europe.]
She tried to disengage her wrist, but he was holding her with a tight, nervous grip.
”You are not going to do anything of the sort,” he muttered hoa.r.s.ely; ”she is daft, I tell you. Stay here, can't you?”
”Not I,” she retorted, with a laugh. ”Enough of your friends' company, my good Bela, is as good as a feast. Look at Elsa's face! And Andor's!
He is ready to eat me, and she to freeze the marrow in my bones. So farewell, my dear man; if you want any more of my company,” she added pointedly, ”you know where to get it.”
She had succeeded in freeing her wrist, and the next moment was standing under the lintel of the door, the afternoon sun s.h.i.+ning full upon her clinging gown, her waving feathers and the gew-gaws which hung round her neck. For a moment she stood still, blinking in the glare, her hands, which trembled a little from the emotion of the past little scene, fumbled with her parasol.
Bela turned like a snarling beast upon his fiancee.
”Ask her to stop,” he cried savagely. ”Ask her to stop, I tell you!”
”Keep your temper, my good Bela,” said Klara over her shoulder to him, with a laugh; ”and don't trouble about me. I am used to tantrums at home. Leo is a terror when he has a jealous fit, but it's nothing to me, I a.s.sure you! His rage leaves me quite cold.”
”But this sort of nonsense does not leave me cold,” retorted Bela, who by now was in a pa.s.sion of fury; ”it makes my blood boil, I tell you.
What I've said, I've said, and I'm not going to let any woman set her will up against mine, least of all the woman who is going to be my wife.
Whether you go or stay, Klara, is your affair, but Elsa will d.a.m.n well have to ask you to stay, as I told her to do; she'll have to do as I tell her, or . . .”
”Or what, Bela?” interposed Andor quietly.
Bela threw him a dark and sullen look, like an infuriated bull that pauses just before it is ready to charge.
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