The Eichhofs: A Romance

"Go!" she entreated again.

And he went to let Wronsky know that his wife had suddenly been taken ill and wished to leave the hall.

A quarter of an hour afterwards Bernhard was standing alone at the head of the broad steps, looking listlessly down upon the surging crowd. The stranger whom he had observed was no longer there; the Wronskys had gone home. Bernhard thought the opera-ball rather stupid.

"Aha! where is your beautiful companion?" asked Herr von Dollen, suddenly appearing.

"Gone home," Bernhard answered, rather brusquely.

"Remarkable woman; cold and hard as an icicle, but piquante. You are very intimate there, eh?"

"Scarcely that. But the Wronskys are neighbours of ours."

"Ah! then you really know something of them, and can tell me about the lady's former marriage. They say it was short and unhappy, but no one seems to know whether she is a widow or a divorcée. She never alludes to her past-"

"I do not know why you should suppose her to have made an exception in my case, Herr von Dollen," Bernhard interrupted him, with some irritation.

"Ah! pardon, I only thought that perhaps you knew-"

"I know nothing," Bernhard briefly rejoined. He was not in a pleasant mood, and soon after left the ball.

As he was passing through the gateway, he suddenly heard himself called by name.

"Vraiment, c'est Monsieur de Eikhoff," said a harsh, grating voice that Bernhard seemed to have heard before. He turned and confronted the stranger.

"Ah, enchanté, charmed to see you, mon cher ami; an unexpected meeting."

"Most unexpected, Herr von Möhâzy," Bernhard said, coldly, touching his hat, and apparently overlooking the stranger's outstretched hand. The latter took no notice of this oversight, however, but continued, in his grating voice and in German, spoken with a strong foreign accent, -

"Are you, too, tired of the ball? They say we are going too soon, the height of gayety has not yet been reached. À propos, do you make a long stay in Berlin?"

"So long as the Reichstag is in session. And you?" Bernhard asked, with sudden interest. "Shall you stay for the Carnival?"

"Heaven, or whatever other powers there be, forbid! Berlin is too provincial, although it has made some progress of late years. I come from Paris, and am on my way to St. Petersburg."

An expression of relief passed across Bernhardt face: "Ah? Allow me to wish you a pleasant winter." And he turned to go.

"O çà, Herr von Eikhoff!" Herr von Möhâzy called after him; "I will not detain you if you are expected at a rendezvous!" He laughed, and Bernhard made a gesture of impatience. "Pardon, but I should like to learn something of a lady whom perhaps you know."

"I can hardly have anything to tell of a lady whom you inquire for," Bernhard said, sharply, while a flush rose to his forehead.

But Herr von Möhâzy was not easily disconcerted. "Ah! pardon, I know you are un jeune homme vertueux; but my question refers to a lady of position, a Frau von- Ah, what is her name at present?" He took out a note-book and turned over the leaves, while Bernhard, agitated by conflicting emotions, stood rooted as by a spell to the spot, instead of turning his back upon the man at once.

"Ah, here it is," said Herr von Möhâzy, – "Frau Julutta Wronsky." And he looked at Bernhard again. "Do you know her? and could you tell me where to find her? It is merely for un petit amusement sans consequence."

"You can look for the name in the directory," replied Bernhard, well knowing that 'Wronsky' could not be found in it.

"You do not know her, then? But, parbleu! you did know her, sûrement. Ah, I must take you into confidence; the story is very piquant."

"I regret, Herr Möhâzy, that I have not a moment to spare at present. Let me advise you to search the directory, and if you do not find the name there you may conclude that the lady is not in Berlin."

He jumped into his carriage and drove to his hotel.

"What will he do?" was the question that filled his mind, "and what can he do? He can certainly destroy the social position, and perhaps the very existence, of this woman, wretch that he is! But he must be prevented; he must!" He suddenly bethought himself and took himself to task.

"What business is it all of mine? I am very sorry for the woman, but it is none the less true that she went wrong, and must now bear the consequences, which may perhaps ruin her, who knows? I cannot prevent it; and, indeed, when I remember everything, I cannot even excuse her. And yet-"

The carriage stopped at his hotel.

In his room he found a letter from Thea, describing the dance at Eichhof. He read it with thoughts elsewhere. It all seemed like child's play, whilst here in Berlin there might shortly be enacted one of those tragedies which now and then disturb the smooth surface of society. He saw before him the unsuspicious husband, from whose eyes the veil was suddenly torn; the guilty woman, who had vainly tried to atone for the sin of her youth; the vile betrayer-oh, here were the same parts played in so many dramas, but each of these performers wore a face familiar to Bernhard. This husband, the happiness of whose life was perhaps to be annihilated at a blow, had been his schoolmate; he had exchanged friendly words with this woman-no, he would not think of the wife, but of the deceived husband, – only of him; and for the sake of this companion of his boyhood-for the husband's sake-the thought of this drama filled him with horror. Must he not try to avert its fulfilment? He believed that he must do so, and for the husband's sake alone; and whenever through the night the image of the pale, golden-haired woman intruded upon his thoughts, he thrust it from him. She must be sacrificed to his sense of justice in his thoughts, if not in reality. "Not for her, – she does not deserve it, – but for her husband, I must try to see this Möhâzy once more, and in some way render him harmless. First, however, I must speak with her; I must clearly understand the matter, and consult with her as to the best measures for her protection."

With her! Yes; the indirect ways of the heart and of the devil are marvellous indeed. They led Count Bernhard Eichhof the next morning to Frau von Wronsky's boudoir!

CHAPTER XVI.

REVELATIONS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES

"I did not love him, but I consented to be his wife. I loved no one except my father, and even he was more of an abstraction than a reality to me, for I saw him but seldom, and scarcely ever talked with him. He was always away from home, and I was left alone with my French governess at the lonely country-house in Russian Poland. Nevertheless I loved the being that my fancy had created, to which I had lent my father's form and name, little as it really resembled him. It was, therefore, not at all difficult for me, in order to save him from ruin, to promise to be the wife of a handsome man who had presented me with a parure of diamonds. I was, besides, weary of my quiet life, and longed to see something of the world of which I read in books. They told me that for political reasons my future husband was obliged to preserve a certain incognito in Russia, and that therefore our marriage must take place shortly and privately.

"I thought this very romantic, and packed my trunk-which was but scantily furnished-and got into the travelling-carriage, full of happy dreams of the future. The marriage ceremony was performed in the chapel of a castle which was entirely unknown to me.

"Thus I became the wife of Josef von Möhâzy, and my father retrieved his fortune with the money paid him by my husband. I had been sold like a chattel, but I was such a perfect child that I saw nothing degrading in the transaction, but was glad to have been of use to my father.

"We went to Paris; Herr von Möhâzy purchased exquisite toilettes for me, since I did not know how to select them myself, and engaged a French maid for me.

"Standing before a huge mirror in the Hotel Royal, I first discovered that I looked well, and the same evening I was told, also for the first time, that I was beautiful. From this day I continually contemplated myself in the looking-glass, and Herr von Möhâzy rubbed his hands and told me I 'exceeded his expectations.'

"My expectations were also exceeded. I had not imagined the world so bright and merry, and if I had dreamed of love it had seemed to me that its home would be found in some quiet garden among blossoming roses, rather than in a ball-room with gas-lights and artificial flowers and finely-dressed people; but I soon perceived that the garden of roses existed for me only in my dreams, and that I must accommodate myself to the ball-room.

"Herr von Möhâzy loved travel and variety. From Paris we went to Cairo, then to Naples, and thence still farther. I saw new countries and new people, and learned that there are two forces that influence the world and mankind, – money, and the attraction between man and woman which they call love.

"There were days when life did not seem to me worth the living, only to repeat the same experience, – days when all that I saw others engaged in wearied and disgusted me. But these were only passing shadows, sentimental emotions, deserving only, Herr von Möhâzy thought, of a compassionate shrug. On the whole, I liked the splendour and the pleasure reigning everywhere in my world, and would not willingly have foregone them. We returned to Paris when the chaotic bustle of the great Exposition was at its height, and went thence to Trouville. We had charming apartments, comprising the larger half of a pretty villa. In the other half a couple of rooms were rented to a young German, whom I sometimes saw sitting on a little side-balcony near our veranda. Sometimes, too, I met him on the shore, and, as we lived beneath the same roof, we bowed to each other. At last, when driving one day on the Corso, it so befell that he was introduced to me. There was a certain distinguished air of cool reserve about him that struck me, because it was to me quite a novel characteristic in a man. I soon found that he differed entirely from the men whom I was accustomed to see in Herr von Möhâzy's society, and although, in spite of his youth, he inspired me with a kind of diffidence, I nevertheless felt great confidence in him. I often thought that if some terrible accident were to happen where we were, all the other men of our society would take care of their own safety, but that Herr von Eichhof would think of me because I was the weakest. I believed he would do this, although he never paid me the smallest attention, much less made love to me, as did so many of the others. I regretted extremely that he evidently rather avoided us, and I told him so one day. I cannot remember his reply exactly, but I know that it made a deep impression upon me. Perhaps it was less his words than his manner that told me that he disapproved of our mode of life and did not enjoy our society.

"I ought, I suppose, to have felt insulted, but instead I only felt sad. I certainly began at this time to be less gay and more and more thoughtful.

"One day I thought that Herr von Möhâzy paid very marked attentions to a lady of our acquaintance. I was by no means strait-laced on this point, and it did not pain me at all to be neglected by Herr von Möhâzy, but my pride revolted at the thought that his neglect might be observed by others, and that I might be thought an object of compassion. An unpleasant scene between this lady and myself ensued, and I imperatively demanded of Herr von Möhâzy that he should take me away from Trouville.

"At first he laughed, then he ridiculed me, and finally he angrily refused to listen to my request. I insisted upon my demand; he persisted in his refusal. The words we exchanged grew more and more sharp and bitter, until at last he uttered the dreadful revelation that influenced my whole future life, and separated me in my own eyes from everything which my instinct told me was good and noble.

"'You have no right to demand this of me, for you are not my wife!'

"I staggered back, and stared at him as though I could not understand the words he spoke.

"'You are not legally my wife,' he repeated once more.

"Then the calm of despair seemed to take possession of me. I did not faint, I did not even burst into tears. I approached Herr von Möhâzy and ordered him to give me a thorough explanation. Perhaps I still entertained a slight hope that he had only meant to terrify me.

"If this were so, that hope was annihilated in a moment. The priest by whom I had supposed myself married was a friend of Herr von Möhâzy's, and had but worn the priestly garb over his uniform. I had been fearfully betrayed, and-my father had known the truth. When Herr von Möhâzy told me this I lost consciousness.