Part 37 (1/2)
”It is my mother's bridal dress, sir,” said Leonora, as if apologetically. ”It was our greatest treasure, and I gave it only a farewell kiss.”
The Jew looked down musingly. ”Listen, my child,” he said; ”I must not sell this dress. I shall keep it until the war is over. If your brother gets safely back, you may bring him here, and, as a greeting of welcome, I will present your mother's bridal dress to him. But in return, he must do me a favor.”
”What favor?”
”Whenever he cuts down a Frenchman, he is to shout, 'Moses Hirsch is avenged!' Moses was the name of my dear, unfortunate son, and I think he will sleep more calmly in his grave when he hears that his father has sent out an avenger of his death. Will you promise me, in your brother's name, that he will not forget to shout what I tell you?”
”I promise it! Whenever my brother cuts down a Frenchman, he will shout, 'Moses Hirsch is avenged!'”
”Thank you!” said Hirsch, greatly moved. ”My son will hear it, and he will smile down from heaven on his old, lonely father. And now, my dear, beautiful child, good-by! Give me the package; I will take it for you to the carriage!”
”No, no, give it back to me,” exclaimed Leonora, anxiously. But the old man did not listen to her. He took the package, and hastened with it out of his store to the hackney-coach.
Charles Petersen, at this moment, looked impatiently out of the window, and shouted to her friend to make haste.
Old Hirsch uttered a cry and stared at Caroline. ”Great Heaven!” he exclaimed, ”you in uniform--you a volunteer?”
”Ah,” said Caroline, concealing her confusion by loud laughter, ”I see what astonishes you. You confound me with my sister. I know she sold her dresses to you to buy a uniform and arms for me. Yes, it is difficult to distinguish us, for we greatly resemble each other. The reason is, we are twins.”
”He has a twin-sister as you have a twin-brother,” said Hirsch, turning to Leonora with a strange smile. ”Hus.h.!.+ I understand all now. G.o.d protect the courageous twins! Coachman, start!”
”Whither?” asked the coachman.
”To M. Werkmeister's house, 23 Jager Street,” replied Leonora, nodding a last greeting to the old Jew. The carriage wheeled away.
”What do you want at M. Werkmeister's?” asked Caroline.
”To pay him my last visit as a girl,” said Leonora.
”Returning from his house, I shall divest myself of my female costume and become your comrade. Let us then go out together and buy my arms.”
”But would it not be better for me to drive back to our hotel while you are Werkmeister's?” asked Caroline. ”You have had the hackney- coach already above an hour, and we volunteers must be as economical as possible, in order to support ourselves as long as we can, and not become a burden to the state.”
”That is true,” said Leonora. ”I will alight here, and you will be so kind as to take my trunk and the package to your quarters.” The hackney-coach halted, and Leonora, wrapping herself in her shawl, leaped out of the carriage. ”Drive back to Tauben Street, now,” she said, ”and a.s.sist the gentleman in carrying this trunk up to his room. But previously I will pay you the whole fare. How much do I owe you?”
”From the post-office to Tauben Street, four groschen,” said the coachman, composedly.
”And besides?”
”Nothing else.”
”How so--nothing else? You waited a good while in Tauben Street; we then drove hither, where you waited a long while again, and now you are about to return to Tauben Street.”
”Yes; but in Tauben Street we took in a volunteer,” said the coachman, whipping his horses in a gentle, caressing manner. ”We hackmen never take any money for driving a volunteer. Every one must do as much for the fatherland as he can. You owe me, therefore, only four groschen.”
”Here they are,” said Leonora, handing the money to the hackman, ”and we are much obliged to you.”
”Oh, you are not obliged to me at all,” said the hackman, ”for you see I do not drive girls for nothing--only volunteers.”
”To-morrow he will drive me, too, for nothing,” said Leonora, gazing after the hackney-coach. ”To-morrow I will no longer be a girl! For I am going now to bid a last adieu to my outward maidenhood and my past!” And she walked with resolute steps across the Gendarmes Market toward Jager Street.
”I must tell my dear G.o.dfather that I cannot accept his offer,” she said to herself; ”for, if I should not, he might perhaps write another letter to me to Potsdam, and mother: would then learn prematurely that I told her a falsehood, and am not now at my G.o.dfather's house; but when he knows that I cannot come, he will not write again, and no one will discover my plans.”
There was an unusual throng to-day in front of the house No. 23 on Jager Street, where Werkmeister the merchant lived. It was not without difficulty that Leonora penetrated through the crowd to the door, where was to be seen a large placard, containing the following words: ”Gold wedding-rings exchanged for iron ones here.” Somewhat astonished at this strange inscription, Leonora entered the house, and stepped across the hall to the open door of her G.o.dfather's litting-room.