Part 17 (1/2)

She came from Prague, and was the daughter of a shoe-maker--or, rather, of a boot and shoe manufacturer--and, moreover, not of an ordinary boot and shoe manufacturer, but of a Court boot and shoe manufacturer by Royal and Imperial appointment, who did not work for just any one, but only for the Archdukes and for the high Bohemian n.o.bility. And she, Albina, had always to write down the figures when her father was taking measures, and so it had come about that a Count Colloredo had fallen in love with her. He had wished to educate and marry her; but she had at last refused because the n.o.ble relations of her beloved had threatened to disinherit him if he married the ”shoemaker's daughter.” She could never have endured causing him to discard his beautiful Thurn and Taxis dragoon's uniform.

Now came a pause in Albina's narrative, which however did not last long. Next, she had fled from her father's house. Why? She kept that a secret. And finally, after many vicissitudes she had found a refuge here, where she was safe from her father. For he had wished later to marry her to a master chimney-sweep, and although the latter was a millionaire she would have none of him.

In reality she was the child of a miserably poor cobbler; and after a stormy youth she had brought her somewhat damaged little s.h.i.+p of life to anchor in the small garrison town at the bar of Grundmann's alehouse.

Heimert waited impatiently for the conclusion of her romance, which he had heard many times before. But if Albina had a chance of telling the story of her life, she became like a freshly wound-up clock, which ticks on inexorably until it runs down.

She simply left unanswered the questions her lover interposed now and then; and when he interrupted her to say that Count Colloredo had been in the Palatine hussars, and not in the Thurn and Taxis dragoons, she said crossly that he had better pay more attention the next time she told him anything. Heppner, on the contrary, who appeared to listen with interest, rose in her favour, and in answer to his questions she launched still further into detail.

And now she looked at him more closely, and took his measure with those bright eyes of hers. But having brought her story up to the present date, she turned once more to Heimert, regarded him tenderly, and said, ”Shall I not be happy with him, after having had such hard times in the past?”

A few newly-arrived guests now called her to her duties at the bar, and the two non-commissioned officers remained behind alone at the table.

Heimert felt the sergeant-major looking at him, as he thought, with a sneering, incredulous sort of expression. He was embarra.s.sed, and began describing figures on the table with a little beer that had been spilt.

”Well, well,” he began at last, ”women are always like that. She draws the long bow, of course--as to her origin and so forth.”

”Yes,” answered Heppner; ”girls love doing that.”

”But,” Heimert continued, ”there is some truth in it. Her father is a shoemaker--was, at least, for he is dead now--even if he wasn't a Court shoemaker. And he must have been wealthy. He only left her what he was obliged to, and yet she receives fifty crowns interest monthly. I know that for certain.”

”By Jove! that is over forty marks. You certainly are a lucky dog! Why, she's almost rich.”

”Well, not quite that. But it is very pleasant, naturally. However, I didn't choose her for that reason. I first heard of it quite indirectly, long after I had proposed.”

Heppner was almost overcome with envy as he saw sitting opposite to him this picture of hideousness, this perfect monster, who had succeeded--how, Heaven alone knew!--in winning a beautiful and also a rich woman. For he was obliged to believe that about her income. It was plain that Heimert was not lying.

As a matter of fact the barmaid did receive fifty crowns every month.

The money, however, did not come as interest on capital inherited from her father, but was an annuity which a former lover had settled on her: a good-natured, fat tallow-chandler, who had been with great regret obliged to give the youthful Albina Worzuba the go-by, as his wife had caught him tripping. He had sweetened the farewell for Albina with this annuity.

Albina was careful not to reveal this to her future husband. Why should she? She argued that ignorance was bliss, and beyond everything she was weary of the unsettled life she had been leading, now as waitress, now as barmaid, or as something quite different, and she wanted to find rest in an honest marriage. She could attract most men as lovers, but as a husband she could only hope for one who was as simple and as much in love as Heimert. So she had fastened upon him, and she had no intention of endangering her plans by any unpleasant communications.

Prague was a long way off; and, moreover, many years had pa.s.sed since those days, and the money itself could tell no tales as to its source.

Apparently the barmaid would have no more free moments. So at last the two non-commissioned officers rose, paid their bill, and then went up to the bar to say good-night to her.

Now it was that Albina first noticed the full difference between her future husband and the sergeant-major. As the men stood side by side, Heppner was more than a head taller than Heimert. He was strongly built, and, despite a certain fulness, he was well-proportioned; strength, however, untrammelled, powerful, raw strength was his salient characteristic. Heimert's frame, too broad and too short, and crowned by its mask of a comic clown, looked almost deformed by the side of the other.

The girl's eyes rested with unfeigned admiration on Heppner's appearance; and when she finally turned towards her lover, a scornful smile played about her coa.r.s.e mouth. But in an instant she changed it to a tender expression.

To Heppner she said: ”I am glad to have made the acquaintance of one of my future husband's comrades.”

”When you are married, Fraulein, we shall be living in the same building,” replied Heppner eagerly. ”We shall be great friends, shall we not?”

And the beauty raised her eyes to his with a peculiar glance as she answered softly: ”Oh yes, I think so.”

CHAPTER VI

”For now the time to pack has come, And love is put away; Farewell! I hear the roll of drum, And may no longer stay.”