Part 44 (1/2)

Heimert watched them closely; every word, every movement, almost every look. But his suspicions were not justified. Heppner was polite, easy, and perfectly unconstrained; while Albina chatted easily and naturally, and accepted the homage of their guest with a kind of haughty tranquillity. Towards her husband she displayed quite unusual tenderness, so long as the sergeant-major was present.

Heimert was somewhat rea.s.sured by this. When Heppner rose to take leave Heimert would fling his arm confidently about Albina's waist, with a gesture which seemed to say: ”You see, my wife is my own. I have her and hold her, and you won't get her, however much you may covet her.

That's the right of possession. And so it will be, no matter how much you may hate and envy me. And when you have gone I shall claim my rights, and this woman must obey my will.”

The sergeant-major read this defiance plainly in Heimert's face, and it had the effect of causing him to swear inwardly that he would seduce his comrade's wife.

In the middle of May Ida bore a child,--a fat, strong, healthy boy, weighing nine pounds. A splendid weight for a new-born baby!

At first the sergeant-major rather fancied himself as a father. Every one said that the fine boy was his living image. Certainly there was no need to be ashamed of being seen with such a child. Of course this son of his should be a soldier, an artilleryman. He should learn to ride as soon as he could sit on the saddle, and woe to him if he showed any fear!

Ida was happy beyond measure, and there could not have been a tenderer or more careful mother. Motherhood awoke in her much that had hitherto been unapparent in her somewhat stolid nature.

Heppner thought her little occupations silly and tiresome. The first sight of his boy at the healthy young mother's breast seemed to him charming enough. But before long he was continually scolding Ida for her over-indulgence of the child, telling her he would grow up a milksop, always hanging on to his mother's skirts.

And it soon bored him to be much with the child. If one wanted to rest the youngster was sure to start whining and squalling or if one felt inclined to play with him, to tickle his fat sides and toss him in the air, he was certain to have just dropped off to sleep, and Ida would stand sentinel over him, not suffering him to be disturbed at any price. She, indeed, seemed now to be nothing but mother, and to have forgotten altogether that she was also a wife.

Heppner consequently redoubled his attentions to Frau Heimert.

Albina could not endure little children, and took no interest whatever in his remarkable baby. This he thought rather stupid of her; nevertheless the Bohemian girl completely turned his head.

Uninvited, he constantly dropped in now on the Heimerts ”to smoke a cigar with the deputy sergeant-major,” as he said. Almost shamelessly he pursued his object, grossly flattering Albina, and making risky jokes with her.

Heimert sat by nearly choking with rage. He hardly knew why he did not seize the seducer by the throat. But the culprits would have a complete defence ready. Was it not all mere harmless jesting? Whatever anguish of jealousy he might feel, he must wait for fuller evidence.

And into the midst of the laughter would come through the thin walls now the cry of the infant, and then the low singing of Ida as she lulled her little one to sleep.

Albina wished to enjoy her revenge to the full. During the winter the sergeant-major had treated her as a cast-off love; he should suffer awhile for that. She exercised all her arts to augment his pain; it gave her a half fearful, half delicious pleasure to note his impatience.

One evening Heppner seized an opportunity when he imagined himself alone with her. He caught her head in his hands almost savagely and pressed a wild, pa.s.sionate kiss on her lips. Albina's defiant resolution broke down; she returned his kiss with equal pa.s.sion.

Heimert, standing in the dark kitchen, screened by the door, saw it all.

He had been to fetch a bottle of beer, now he suddenly re-entered the room.

”There's no beer, Albina,” he said; ”you must have been mistaken.”

He sat down slowly at the table, and drummed gently with his fingers on a plate. The guilty pair were as if stunned by the fervour of their embrace; though little suspecting that the betrayed husband had witnessed it. They did not respond to his remark, and seemed lost to time and s.p.a.ce. Neither did they notice that a long, oppressive silence had fallen on them, that the lamp was burning low, and the room darkening.

At last Heimert drew out his watch. ”It's time to go to bed,” he said; ”we've got to get up to-morrow morning.”

Heppner and Albina awoke suddenly from their entranced condition, and the sergeant-major hastened to say good night.

Quickly Albina prepared for bed. Usually she went through many ceremonies with a view to preserving her beauty: she rubbed her skin with lanoline, or sprinkled it with powder, to keep it soft and smooth; she spread a perfumed emollient on her hands, afterwards drawing on gloves to prevent them from losing their whiteness with rough work. But to-night she merely loosened her hair, and was between the sheets in a trice.

Heimert lay sleepless. Hour after hour he heard strike; the short May night seemed to him an eternity.

The woman beside him had sunk into a deep slumber. Now and then her breathing quickened, and she gave almost a gasp, flinging herself about as though in a troubled dream.

With the dawn of morning Heimert came to a decision. He would not allow himself to believe in Albina's guilt. He had noticed that when Heppner threw his arm around her she had shrunk from him. (This was true enough; Albina had winced; but it was on account of her artistically dressed hair.) She had submitted, he forced himself to think, in the paralysis of surprise. In such a case Heppner, no doubt, would have scolded his wife for not confessing. By right she ought certainly to have told her husband. But Heimert found a thousand excuses for her.

Albina knew his jealousy, and desired, possibly, to avoid scandal, which would have been inevitable had she told him. Or perhaps she would speak to him about it after she had thought it over quietly by herself.