Part 29 (1/2)

He found some difficulty in answering her. At last he came out with:

”I am very fond of you, Frau Lisbeth; and if you could make up your mind to it I should like to ask you if you would have me.”

Lisbeth smiled a little, and then said, ”You may ask me that now!”

Her voice sounded honest and friendly.

Trautvetter took her hand in his and said: ”Then that's all right!”

But she continued gaily and cheerfully: ”Besides, in any case, I should have ended by being your mistress.”

”Oh, no!” said Trautvetter. ”Under certain circ.u.mstances I prefer a wife.”

Despite the warmth of the August sun, Julie Heppner grew worse day by day; but this was nothing to her in comparison with the burden of mental suffering which almost overwhelmed her.

She watched her husband and sister with a gaze that never faltered. She saw with horror how Ida became less shy of her and abandoned herself more and more to her pa.s.sion. Nor was this hidden from her husband. He noticed with cynical satisfaction how the young girl's power of resistance diminished. The desired fruit must soon fall into his hands almost of itself.

Soon, under cover of the playful teasing which went on between the sergeant-major and his sister-in-law, even in the presence of the invalid wife, he began to indulge in pa.s.sionate, l.u.s.tful touches and covert embraces which brought the blood to the girl's face and made her s.h.i.+ver.

She resented Julie's reproaches with the hard, insensitive egoism of one in love. What! Did this wretched moribund creature still think to claim the man whom she, the fresh, young girl, loved, and who loved her in return?

Julie laughed bitterly to herself. Would it not be best to resign herself to it, to close her eyes, and to await the deliverance of Death?

Oh, no! She could not endure this shameless insult which they both, as it were, hurled in her face. She racked her brain as to how she could revenge herself on them; but in vain. Most terrible of all was it to feel that though still alive she was virtually dead already, as powerless and helpless as a corpse!

Then the worst happened.

The sergeant-major and his sister-in-law were invited to a _fete_ which the military society, ”The Fellow-Soldiers of 1870-1,” were arranging in memory of the battle of St. Privat.

The programme included music, theatricals, and dancing. Towards evening a fanfare of trumpets summoned the guests to the festival-play.

Even in the garden under the lime-trees the heat of the summer sun had been great, and in the confined s.p.a.ce of the overcrowded hall it became unbearably intense. The rows of chairs were placed much too close together, in order to accommodate the large audience. Once seated, it was impossible to move; one remained wedged in between one's neighbours.

Shortly before the curtain was raised, Heppner and Ida discovered two empty chairs. The sergeant-major sat down first. The narrow s.p.a.ce then left on the neighbouring chair was far too small for the girl's fully-developed hips.

Consequently his sister-in-law was almost sitting on his knee. He felt the warmth of her blood and her firm limbs through her thin cotton skirt. They were pressed close to one another in the darkened room.

Drops of sweat gathered on their brows, and their breath came gaspingly and with difficulty. But, as if by mutual consent, they did not move a limb. They were hearing nothing but the voice of their blood, and in the close contact they could distinctly feel the pulse-beats.

Neither of them took in a word of the play which was being performed on the stage.

At last the singing of the National Anthem announced the end of the piece. The spectators breathed sighs of relief and pushed patiently and slowly through the narrow doors out into the evening air of the garden, wiping and fanning their hot faces with their handkerchiefs.

Ida looked pale, and sank down exhausted on a chair. ”I would rather go home,” she said.

”Why not?” he agreed, and held out her jacket for her to put on. But the girl took it from his hand and hung it over her arm. A rush as of fire streamed through her body, making her skin p.r.i.c.k and tingle.

Walking silently side by side they left the restaurant garden.

A house stood half-way up the hill, whence two roads led to the barracks: the high-road down through the valley, and a footpath which led to the little wood at the back of the barracks, and then went on further. Heppner chose the footpath.