Part 3 (1/2)
Mr. Schmenckel was startled; the question sounded suspicious. He availed himself of the light of the lamp before the house--for they had reached the street by this time--to examine Oswald's face more carefully, and he now recognized in him the gentleman whom the Czika had embraced. Mr. Schmenckel knew at once how the matter stood. This young gentleman was an immensely rich lord who had a mania for gypsies, and was in the habit of buying up young gypsy children for his amus.e.m.e.nt. Mr. Schmenckel reflected that the woman might possibly return, and that the greater his claims were upon her, the higher the price he might ask for the child.
”Well,” he said, in order to gain time for consideration, ”why would your excellency like to know?”
”That does not matter,” replied Oswald; ”it will suffice for you that I do not mean to leave the man who gives me the information I desire to obtain unrewarded,” and he slipped a dollar into Mr. Schmenckel's hand.
”Thanks, your excellency,” replied Mr. Schmenckel, whose suspicions were only confirmed by Oswald's liberality, ”nevertheless I should like to----”
”But I do not understand why you should hesitate to tell me what little you may possibly know about the woman?”
”Well,” replied Mr. Schmenckel, ”perhaps it is not so very little I know about her. When one has had somebody thirteen years in the company----”
”But I have met the gypsy only this summer at--never mind, not very far from here, and quite alone.”
”That may very well be,” replied the cunning director; ”it is not the first time to-night that Xen.o.bia has run away, but she has always come back again.”
”Thirteen years!” said Oswald, who did not think for a moment of doubting the fable; ”how old was the child, then, when she came to join you?”
”How old?” said Mr. Schmenckel. ”Why, your excellency, when she came to us, she had no child. I know that, as a matter of course, ha, ha, ha!”
”You?” said Oswald, and he shuddered. ”You?”
”Well! why not? Do I look to your excellency's eye as if a pretty young woman could not possibly fall in love with me; and did not this girl, moreover, take wages from me? I can tell your excellency that I have made very different conquests in my time. Has your excellency ever been in St. Petersburg? There is the Princess--but, after all, I am not at liberty to speak as freely of such a great lady as----”
”In one word,” said Oswald, scarcely able to restrain himself, ”the Czika is your child?”
”I couldn't swear to that,” said Mr. Schmenckel, smiling, ”but I can take my oath that she might be my child, and that I have always looked upon her in that light.”
”And you think the gypsy will come back again?”
”Oh, your excellency may rely upon that; she is never as well off as when she stays with me.”
”But why does she run away so often, then?”
”Yes, just think of it, your excellency; women are a strange kind of people,” said Mr. Schmenckel, philosophizing, ”and the kinder you are to them, the sooner they will play you some trick or other. There is no truth and no faith among them, and especially these gypsies----”
”Very well,” said Oswald, who was overcome with disgust, ”we will talk about that some other time.” And he went away quickly.
Director Schmenckel followed him with his eye for awhile, shook his head, put the dollar, which he was still holding in his hand, in his pocket, laughed and returned into the public room, feeling very happy in the pleasant conviction that he had cheated a greenhorn. Within peace had in the meantime recovered its sway, and the whole company had joined in singing the favorite ballad: ”Blue blooms a blossom.”
While Oswald was receiving this doubtful information about the true history of poor little Czika from the truth-loving lips of Director Schmenckel, Franz was waiting for his return with painful impatience.
The mail had really brought him the long-desired letter from his betrothed, but unfortunately had also confirmed the vague apprehensions which had of late troubled his mind. Sophie wrote in a hand almost illegible from anxiety, that her father had had a stroke of paralysis, from which the physicians feared the very worst. Her father, she added, was at that moment, several hours after the attack, still speechless and unable to move. If there were any hope for her father, help could only come from Him whom she looked up to with trusting confidence and perfect submission.
Franz had formed his resolution instantly. As the driver who had brought them to this place declared he was unable to go any further, he had at once ordered post-horses, in order to reach the nearest railway station that night. To think of his sweet love in such bitter need and sorrow--watching and weeping by the sickbed, perhaps already by the coffin of her father--and he, her comfort and her hope, some four hundred miles away--all this was enough to disturb even so firm a heart as that of Doctor Braun was under ordinary circ.u.mstances. He felt as if the ground was burning under his feet. The few minutes before the carriage could be made ready, seemed to him an eternity.
At last he heard the horses coming, and Oswald also returned. Franz told him the sad news he had just received, and what he had determined to do. He begged his friend, in a few parting words, not to prolong his stay at Fichtenau beyond what was absolutely necessary, and above all to be punctually at the appointed time at his post in Grunwald. Oswald had been so thoroughly excited by the many extraordinary occurrences of the last hours that he apparently expected nothing but surprises, and thus he received his friend's communications with an air of indifference. He promised, however, what Franz asked of him, as he accompanied him to the carriage.
”What do you say, Oswald,” said Franz, who had already settled himself down in the carriage; ”Come along with me! You may find my proposal somewhat extraordinary, but the strangest way is often the best way.”
”I cannot do it, Franz,” said Oswald. ”I cannot leave here without having seen Berger, and besides----”
”I know all you can possibly say on that subject,” replied Franz, ”and I must tell you frankly that I have no good reason whatever for making the proposition. But I feel as if I ought not to leave you here alone--as if there was something in the air here that boded you no good. Come with me, Oswald!”