"One thing more," said Napoleon, "let Hansen come to me early to-morrow morning, we will make _one_ more effort."

"At your majesty's command."

"What do you think of Madame Moreau?" asked the emperor, who had already turned towards the door leading to his private apartments, as he paused for a moment. "How could she know that episode of my youth?"

he whispered in a low voice.

"Sire," replied Pietri, "it is difficult to say."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy,'" said Napoleon in perfect English; and with a friendly nod he dismissed his secretary.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE SICK AND WOUNDED.

In a somewhat large salon adjoining the bedroom of his comfortable bachelor apartments, in one of the old-fashioned houses of a quiet part of the town, Lieutenant von Stielow, the morning after his return, lay upon a large sofa covered with dark red silk.

Half-closed curtains of the same colour hung before the window, admitting a subdued light into the room, where complete quiet prevailed, only broken from time to time by a carriage belonging to one of the aristocracy rolling swiftly past.

The young man wore a wide morning wrapping coat of black silk, with scarlet collar and facings; beside him stood a small table with a beautiful silver tea service; he slowly smoked a short chibouk, from which the fragrant clouds of Turkish tobacco floated about the room, and his features expressed perfect happiness and calm content. After the long privations and fatigues of camp life, the young officer for the first time enjoyed the quiet and rich comfort around him, and with happy looks he greeted everything; the numerous objects which his room contained, the paintings, the engravings, the curious arms, the bits of old Dresden china, in short all the thousand things which the good taste or pa.s.sing fancy of a wealthy and cultivated young man collects in his rooms.

All this, which he had formerly been so accustomed to that he scarcely deemed it worthy of a glance, now smiled upon him with the charm of novelty; for so long his eyes had only seen pictures of privation, of horror, and of death, that the surroundings of his previous life met him with a greeting full of charm; then he thought of his love, of the dangers which had surrounded him upon the battle-fields, of the frightful peril which had threatened his young pure love from wicked machinations, of his happy preservation amidst the bullets and swords of the enemy, of the good fortune that had brought him back at the right moment to destroy those machinations, finally, of the hopes which were now his own without an obstacle. No wonder that his eyes beamed, that his lips smiled, and that the world looked as fair, as bright, and as charming as it only can appear to a young heart who sees itself possessed of everything that can make life one sweet enjoyment.

He had promised the Countess Frankenstein to take no step against the person who had made the low attempt on her daughter and himself. "Let us never again speak of those creatures, or remember anything of the affair, except to thank G.o.d who brought their wickedness to shame,"

said Clara, with a gentle smile; and so great is the elasticity of a heart of one-and-twenty, so great the conciliatory power of happiness, that he scarcely remembered the circ.u.mstance which had threatened the holiest feelings of his heart, except from the sweet feeling of higher enjoyment which lies in the full possession of that which you feared to lose.

The door opened quickly and a servant entered with a disturbed and frightened face.

"My lord baron," he said with some hesitation, "I must--"

The young officer turned his head and looked at him inquiringly; but he could not finish his sentence, for a slender female form in a light morning dress hastily advanced through the half-open door, and with a quick and decided movement pushed the servant aside. Her face was concealed by a thick veil hanging from her small round hat.

Herr von Stielow rose and walked towards his visitor with an expression of great surprise, whilst he dismissed the servant by a sign, and he, by shrugging his shoulders endeavoured to signify that he had not been able to announce this visitor to his master in the usual way.

Scarcely had the door closed than the lady threw back her veil. Herr von Stielow beheld the beautiful features of Madame Balzer. She was pale, but her cheeks were tinged with a light rosy hue, her large eyes glowed with deep pa.s.sionate fire, upon her slightly parted lips lay an expression of bashful shame, mingled with a look of firm and energetic decision. She was wonderfully beautiful, more charming in this plain, almost grisette-like toilette, than in the rich and recherche elegance which usually surrounded her.

The young man looked at the well-known face before him with blank amazement, almost with fear; for it was the last thing he expected to see.

"Antonia!" he exclaimed in a low voice.

"Your lips, then, have not forgotten that name," she said, fixing her sorrowful eyes upon him; "I feared that all, all remembrance, had vanished from your heart, even the name of her whom once you loved, and whom you now despise,--condemn unheard."

Stielow was so amazed, so discomposed by this visit, that he still stood opposite to her without uttering a word: a flash of anger, of defiance had shone in his eyes, but it had disappeared--how could anger be maintained against this gentle humility, this look so full of entreaty and of sorrow? He gazed at her vacantly, contradictory feelings struggling in his breast.

"You have condemned me," she continued in that soft melting voice, only bestowed upon a few women, and which touches the heart of the listener like a caress, "you have turned from me without asking a word of explanation, and yet you loved me once, and yet," she whispered hesitatingly, as she cast down her eyes, and a rosy blush pa.s.sed over her face, "yet, you must have known that I loved you!"

Herr von Stielow still found not a word to oppose to these looks, this language; he almost felt he was really hard and cruel, and it needed the full recollection of the evening before, to enable him to maintain calm composure before this woman.

Antonia came one step nearer, and fixed her eyes upon him, with a melancholy expression of unutterable tenderness. "My love," she said in her soft voice, "was as pure, as confiding as a young maiden's, yet fiery and glowing as the wine of the south, and it filled my whole soul, it had enchained my pride. I lay at your feet, as a slave at the feet of her lord!"

Tears glittered in her lovely eyes.

"I beg you--" said von Stielow, feeling quite distracted. "Why these declarations about the past, now? Why this painful scene?"

"You are right," she replied, and a proud flash shone in her eyes without dispersing the melancholy that veiled them, "you are right. I ought not to touch upon that past, but there is a nearer past of which I must speak, which leads me hither."

"But--" said von Stielow.

Without heeding him she continued:

"Before you, I had no longer pride, no longer a will, it is true; but you coldly and cruelly forsook me"--she placed her hand upon her heart, and pressed her lips together. "You humiliated me, and my pride again arose. I wished to hate you, to forget you," she added in a hoa.r.s.e voice: "but all the n.o.bler feelings of my heart rebelled against it. I could not do it," she said in trembling tones; "and my pride said, 'Though he no longer loves, he shall not despise!'"

Herr von Stielow's face had grown calm. He looked at her coldly, a scarcely perceptible smile upon his lips.

"You had a right," she added, "it is true, to think me false, and to believe yourself the toy of a coquettish whim, perhaps even worse; you shall believe it no more, the memory of me shall not be mingled with contempt."

"Let us leave the past," said he; "I a.s.sure you--"

"No," she cried vehemently, "you shall hear me,--if the past gives me no other right, it gives me this, to demand a hearing!"

He was silent.

"You know," she proceeded, "what my life was; with a heart full of love, with a spirit that craved and strove for higher things, I was in early life fettered to the husband with whom you are acquainted. He himself encouraged a crowd of young men around me. Count Rivero came near me, I found in him the richest genius,--the satisfying of all my wishes, I believed I loved him," she added, casting down her eyes, "at least he brought light and interest to my life. Is that a crime?"

Without waiting for an answer she went on pa.s.sionately:--

"Then I learned to know you, I discovered my mistake, my heart told me that before only my mind had been satisfied. I now felt how this new feeling had taken deep root in my inmost life. Let me be silent about that time," she said with quivering lips, "recollections that I cannot stifle would unnerve me. I struggled long and severely," she continued in a calm voice, as if subduing her emotion by a mighty effort; "ought I to have spoken to you of the past? I did not dare, my love made me cowardly; I feared to lose you. I feared to see a cloud upon the brow I loved. I was silent; I was silent because I feared. Rivero was away. I ought to have broken with him. Oh!" she cried in a voice of pain, whilst her whole form trembled, "you know the humiliating position in which I was placed; the man whose name I bear, my husband, was under heavy obligations to him; under the circ.u.mstances I could not venture suddenly and quickly to cease our correspondence. I awaited his return.

I knew him to be n.o.ble and generous. I wished to tell him all, to explain,--then there was that unhappy meeting, the intercourse which I wished quietly and prudently to drop, was torn asunder--oh! what I have suffered!"

Herr von Stielow was moved, and looked at her with compa.s.sion.

"If I have erred," she proceeded, "I am still not so guilty as I seem, my heart has never sinned against the truth of my love. I swear to you, since the day I said, 'I love you'"--she p.r.o.nounced the words with a strange melting charm--"every throb of my heart, every feeling of my soul has been yours; my first conversation with the count was an explanation with regard to you."

She stepped nearer to him, she lifted her folded hands and gazed up at him with a look of inexpressible love, and said:

"I have not betrayed my love. I have not forgotten it. I cannot forget it. I have come because I must make this explanation, because I cannot bear"--and here her voice seemed choked with tears--"that you should despise me, that you should quite forget me," she added lower still, "I cannot believe, that all, all has vanished from your heart. I cannot part from you without telling you that if over your heart should feel lonely you have a friend who never, never can deny her first love."

She looked unspeakably lovely as she stood there before him, so humble, so gentle, her lips slightly parted, her eyes, though suffused with tears, still glowing with a tender fire, her figure languidly bent forward.

The young man looked at her with great compa.s.sion, the sound of her voice, the magnetic brightness of her eyes, had aroused within him memories of the past. But the mild gentle expression vanished from his face, his eyes flashed and a scornful smile appeared on his lips.

"Let us leave the past," he said coldly and politely. "I have not reproached you, and I will not reproach you, I wish you----"

She looked at him sorrowfully.