Part 67 (1/2)
That day had never come, but the poor lady had suffered more and more.
Monsieur had nearly lost his senses when he heard of Marie's escape, and had sworn a fearful oath that he would not rest an hour till he had rescued Marie from her miserable seducer and personally avenged himself on the man. Monsieur was the man to keep his word. The little weakly body harbored an energetic soul. This became evident now, when a ruthless hand had cruelly destroyed the happiness of his life. For Mrs.
Black could now no longer doubt that the strange man had loved the lost one with all that intense pa.s.sionateness which is so often found in such reserved, eccentric characters. He carried on his search with restless activity. Success crowned his efforts. He found traces. Where they led him? He said nothing about it, but observed the strictest silence upon the whole affair, even to his friend, Mrs. Black. He packed his trunks as if for a long journey, tore himself from her, promising to send her news in a week--and now twenty-five years had pa.s.sed, and Mrs. Black was still waiting for a fulfilment of that promise....
The old lady had so completely abandoned herself to her own recollections that she had forgotten her first intention to inquire after Oswald's troubles. She was only reminded of this when she noticed how pale the young stranger's face had become during her recital.
”But you are really worse than I thought, dear sir,” she said. ”Your hand is burning hot, and--pardon an old lady--your forehead also is hot. Let me send for my physician!”
”I beg you will not do it,” said Oswald, making a violent effort. ”I must tell you: I have not slept a moment all last night, probably from over-fatigue during my long journey.”
”Then you ought at least to lie down for a few hours,” begged the old lady. ”I know very well young people cannot do without sleep like us old people.”
”I mean to do it,” replied Oswald, as Mrs. Black rose. ”You'll see a few hours' sleep will set it all right again.”
”G.o.d grant it!” said the old lady, cordially pressing Oswald's hand once more. ”Pray, pray, no ceremony! I will inquire again a few hours hence.”
What had he been told just now? At the very first words of the old lady he had no longer doubted that this was the continuation of the story which mother Claus had told him in Grenwitz that evening when he and Timm had sought shelter in her hut. All the details agreed. Just as the old lady had described the strange gentleman, the portrait of Baron Harald looked now, put of its broad gold frame; and had not the beautiful poor girl, whom he had so sadly ill-treated, borne the name of Marie d'Estein, like the adopted daughter of Monsieur d'Estein?
But that was not the reason why his blood froze in his veins and his limbs shook as in violent fever. It was another terrible fear, which rose with demoniac power from the lowest depths of his soul. Was it the work of fever spirits--was it incipient insanity--which changed in his inflamed imagination Monsieur d'Estein, the eccentric teacher of languages, into his father, the strange old man? and the beautiful daughter of the French colonel into the lovely young woman with the sweet eyes, around whose knees he once used to play during bright summer mornings in the cosy garden behind the town wall, while the white b.u.t.terflies were fluttering about the blue larkspur?
And mad thoughts chased each other once more in wild haste. Old, long forgotten thoughts awoke and answered clearly from long ago; strange doubts, that had troubled him as a boy and as a youth, came again, and said: There is the solution! So much that he had never been able to explain in his life became of a sudden quite clear to him. It had not been pure fancy, then, which made Mother Claus see in his face continually the features of Baron Oscar, ”who fell with Wodan;” nor mere humor, when Timm declared, ”You have the very face of the Grenwitz barons!”
Oswald darted up and went to the mirror. A deadly pale face with strange, wild eyes stared at him there. ”See there! The evil spirit not laid yet! It has not had victims enough yet! Must there be many more sacrifices? Can a vampire die of his own venomous glance? A bullet? Eh!
a bullet, nicely driven in at the temples--that might make an end to the gruesome story! But what will bring death really--a death from which the soul can never awake again?”
Oswald uttered a fierce cry. A hand seized his arm, and over the shoulder of his image in the mirror he saw a distorted face grinning at him.
”Oho!” said Albert Timm. ”Are you going on the stage, dottore, that you stand before the looking-gla.s.s and rehea.r.s.e monologues which might frighten an honest man out of his wits? Let me look at you in the light? Upon my word, you have a strange look about you. Little Emily, eh? You ought to be glad she is gone, before she made you a mere shadow of your shadow! You see, I know everything; and I know a good deal more; and I am going to tell you something that will make you wish to live again, you melancholy Prince of Denmark! But before I tell you, send for a bottle of port wine or something; I am as dry as a salted cod this morning.”
Mr. Timm, as usual, did not wait for Oswald's answer, but rang the bell and ordered port wine and caviare. ”None in the house? Go to the Dismal Hole, just around the corner, my man, quite near by. Give Mr.
Albert Timm's respects to Mrs. Rose Pape, and come back in a trice, curly-headed youth!”
Mr. Timm's statement, that he had taken nothing that morning, was evidently untrue. He diffused a remarkable smell of liquor around him; his face was very red, and his eyes less bright than usual. Possibly he might have sat up all night; his whole appearance made it probable. His linen was less tidy than ordinarily, and the brown overcoat had evidently made the acquaintance of numerous whitewashed walls and stained tables. Mr. Timm's circ.u.mstances had not improved since Oswald had seen him last.
He did not deny it; on the contrary he raised, unasked, the veil from the unattractive picture of the last months.
”Ill-luck has pursued me step by step,” he said, throwing himself on the sofa and stretching his legs. ”At the very time when I made the discovery which I am going to tell you as soon as the wine comes, you disappeared from Grunwald, leaving not a trace. The next day the police caught us at faro, and--I was banker--confiscated all I had--several hundred dollars--which I needed sorely, since on the following day a bill of mine became due. I could not pay it, of course. The horrid manichean, to whom I owed the money, had me put in prison, and there I have been till about a week ago. How I got out? My landlord, the old scamp, at last bethought himself of going to Moses and threatening him with certain stories--well, never mind that! Here I am, a free man once more, and here comes the wine and the oysters. Come, Oswald, fill your gla.s.s! Hurrah for the brave! Man! I tell you I am beside myself at having found you out so soon. I was prepared for a long hunt. And now I am going to tell you a story that will make you jump out of your skin.
Yes, out of you skin! For you will have to lay aside the whole miserable creature you are now and put on an entirely new man, whom I have made ready for you, without any merit or claim of your own, but from pure friends.h.i.+p on my part. And now another gla.s.s and I'll begin!”
Mr. Timm pushed the plate with the oyster-sh.e.l.ls, which he had quickly piled up, from him, and swallowed a full gla.s.s; filled it again, drew a bundle of papers from his pocket, laid them on the table before him, leaned his head on both arms, and with a loud hearty laugh at Oswald, he said:
”What will you give me, _mon cher_, if I change you from a poor fellow into the son and heir of a great baron, with a rental of ten or twelve thousand a year? But I see you are already nearly overcome. I do not mean to hara.s.s you any longer. Listen!”
There are moments in our soul's life when the overwrought brain looks upon the most extraordinary, the most fantastic events, as ordinary and quite natural occurrences. Thus it was now with Oswald. That Timm brought him the confirmation of his suspicions, that he proved to him in black and white that he had not dreamt, that he transformed a wild fancy into a legal, well-authenticated doc.u.ment--all this appeared quite natural to Oswald. There were Marie Montbert's family papers.
Her real name was that of her mother, Marie Herzog, who had found her way to Paris, there to meet Colonel Montbert. And Oswald knew that his mother's family name was Herzog. There was a copy of the church-register, obtained by Timm's indefatigable activity and mysterious connections, which proved the marriage performed at St.
Mary's between M. d'Estein _alias_ Stein, and Marie Elizabeth Herzog.