The next Sabbath she dressed herself in her best, and, leaning on the arm of her servant, dragged herself to the synagogue. Many times she thought she would have fallen by the way, but she managed to reach the house of G.o.d.

The people gazed at her in surprise. For years she had crept in shyly and humbly, and taken her seat in the most retired corner in the women's gallery. Now she cried, imperiously, "Make room! Make room for the mother of Lea!" when some one stood in her way; and although people thought it wrong, they did it, moved by the shining eyes and pale, haggard face.

"She is mad," whispered some. "She is dying," said others; and they let her alone. Like a victor she moved in the midst of the worshippers; like a victor she returned to her home.

"This has been my last walk," she said. "I shall wear this dress but once more."

The day had come, and although it was early, she hurried the servant till everything was as she wished. She had her windows opened wide, so she could hear the volley which was to announce the count's arrival; then she opened her psalm-book, and sent the servant away. "Shall I not stay outside, Aunt Miriam? If you should want anything--"

"Silly girl," said the old woman, with a smile. "What can I want to-day?"

One other person waited the hour of their approach with impatience. He, too, thanked the Lord he had lived to see this day; but it was another G.o.d than Miriam's to whom his thoughts ascended. It was the G.o.d of vengeance--the G.o.d who punishes the sinner for his sins, and dashes the proud in the mire.

As Raphael paced nervously up and down his room, his pale face was lifted proudly, and one thought predominated all others. The shame with which the haughty Christian, in the consciousness of his power, had stained the Jewish house was expiated, and was to-day to be completely wiped out.

The count had made the Jewess his wife without her having abjured her faith. What he felt about it was his own concern; if he suffered, he deserved it. Praise and thanks to the Lord, who had ordained it should be so! And if Agenor was willing to give a satisfaction which even Raphael had not dared to demand, as Judith had written--that is, to stop at the house and ask formally for her brother's sanction to the union--it would be the most trying hour of the count's life. Yet it was just, and Judith had asked only because she knew what befitted her and hers.

Yes, G.o.d had greatly prospered them; and the more piercing the voices of the mob, the more proudly and defiantly Raphael held his head. He stamped his foot pa.s.sionately. "Though they kill me the next moment, with my last breath will I give thanks for having seen this expiation."

His ideas became confused and struggling when he thought of Judith, of what she must feel when she bent her husband's neck so low--he, whose honor was now her honor--of how her life was to be fashioned after all that had transpired, and in an atmosphere saturated with hatred against her and her cla.s.s.

He scarcely realized this; and when he remembered how he had prophesied her present misery in former times, the feelings which had been his support for the two fearful years which were pa.s.sed now helped him. She had prepared her own couch. G.o.d above kept strict accounts.

But she was his sister, the being he had loved more than himself. There were moments when his anger and bitterness melted into warm, trembling tenderness. What had not this beautiful girl suffered, she who was worthy of any fortune! If she had erred, was it not from a n.o.ble impulse? And how she had paid for it!

The hour when she sank at his feet a penitent came into his mind. O G.o.d! how emaciated she was! how burdened by a sorrow which no human voice could dispel!

The cheering for Wroblewski aroused him from his musings; then from a great distance the first faint roar of a cannon, answered by volleys in the marketplace. The count had reached the boundary-line of the town, where the _banderium_ was waiting for him. Another half-hour and the procession would be before the door.

But it was not so long. When the count, in an open landau with his wife, and a closed vehicle which contained Hamia, Jan, and the boy, who had been christened Ludwig, reached "The Three lindens," at the limits of the town, he scarcely gave the leader of the _banderium_ time to hand him the bread and salt before he ordered the closed carriage to drive to the castle by a circuitous way, and told Fedko to "hurry up."

The landau was driven at a furious pace, and was enveloped in a cloud of dust as it reached the town.

Every moment the count's cheeks grew more colorless, and the quivering of his lips more p.r.o.nounced. He never looked up, and several times he covered his face with his hands. For weeks, for months, he had antic.i.p.ated this hour; it seemed life could have nothing more painful in store, and must it be?

Day by day he had asked himself this question; and now he was carried away with indignation at his wife's severity, and with shame at his weakness in yielding to her. What he had undergone the past four months he considered as undeserved; for though his sin had been great, his had been an unheard-of penance.

He had married her in Weimar; what more could she ask? Yet she did. She allowed him to do as he wished with the boy--indeed, it was as if it were her own desire; but when he said they must keep from home until the excitement was over, she urged him to go to Vienna, that they might bring about the recognition of their marriage. He resisted, but she said: "My whole soul hangs on this one thing. Grant this request, and I will reward you well."

"With what?" he thought. "With love and fidelity!" He had earned that before G.o.d and men by a greater sacrifice than any man of his position had ever made. Ought she not to be faithful to him, she for whose sake his best friends had been faithless, she for whom he had incurred so many slights? But his resistance grew weaker. His character was not adapted to resist a feeble will, much less this one of iron.

Finally he yielded, because he thought she would see for herself, when in Vienna, the impracticability of her desire. "If you do not succeed, we will go to Italy for two years," he said, and to this she agreed.

Convinced of the futility of her attempt, and annoyed at the gossip she was inciting, he watched her curiously. It was during the _regime_ of Metternich--a _regime_ which bowed only to the church, and therefore the more impossible. Whenever she spoke of it, he a.s.sured her that her object was unattainable.

But she never tired of devising new ways and means, and when these proved useless, she set herself to work to gain the aid of the church itself. A young prelate of an impoverished n.o.ble family was the first won over.

Soon her apartments in the "Wilder Mann" swarmed with soutanes and hoods, and one morning she exclaimed: "Congratulate me, Agenor; I am going to Metternich." They had been in Vienna six weeks, and only the banker who had charge of her funds knew how costly all this had been.

Agenor looked at her in astonishment. As she stood before him in her dark, flowing robe, her grayish hair wrapped in a black mantilla, her clearly cut features pale and fixed, only her lips showing her excitement, she inspired him with an emotion curiously compounded of respect and fear. The love he had now and then faintly felt of late was wanting. Never had he realized it as now.

"Are you certain he will receive you?" he asked, hesitatingly. She showed him a card admitting to an audience.

"Have you considered it well?" he continued, dubiously. She gave him no answer, but shook his hand by way of farewell. When she returned two hours later, he saw by her face she had gained her point. He sprang from his seat and gazed at her; but no word of triumph issued from her lips.

"We shall receive the papers this week," she said, abruptly; and when he besieged her with questions as to the methods by which she had accomplished her purpose, she said: "By telling the truth! One succeeds better that way with clever people, and he is clever. He saw at once I had no wish to overthrow either Austria or the church, or even the walls of the Ghetto. He did not make the concession to the Jews, but to the woman. I have concealed but one thing from him."

"What is that?"

She shook her head. "You shall know, and soon, but not to-day. I would have told him that, too, had it been necessary, but it was not," she continued, as if soliloquizing. "He is better than they allow; he is too clever to be entirely base."

He listened without thinking much of what she was saying, until she said: "As soon as we have the papers we will go home, of course."

To that he gave a vehement negative; and when she promised to reward him well, he asked her, indignantly, what she thought of him.

"You do not know what I mean," she said, quietly, with a peculiar smile; "but I do--I will do it in the best way possible." However, that had not so much effect as her promise to remain in town but one week.

"After that, you shall decide as to the future."

But it was the word of a high official, a confidant of the premier, which made him quite subservient to her will. "The prince is greatly impressed by your wife, and thinks it a thousand pities such a splendid creature should have been rendered such a miserable woman. If he were the count, he would never forget who it was had done this."

So Judith had her way--even the public procession, with all the humiliation it entailed upon Baranowski, and all the train of evils which would probably follow.

The count straightened himself: "Drive faster, faster! and drive through the town as rapidly as possible!"

Judith had been reclining in a corner of the carriage. A dress of heavy black silk draped her slender form, a splendid lace shawl enveloped her head, and upon her forehead was the diamond diadem, the heirloom of the Baranowskis. But her face was set, and only an occasional sigh indicated the near approach of the hour she had been working for with almost superhuman energy. She laid her hand on her husband's arm: "Agenor, an honest man keeps his word at any cost."

"But it is for your good. You know what Stiegle--"

"No more words. Let us drive slowly now." Unwillingly he gave the order. The _banderium_, who had been left behind, collected again, and surrounded the carriage. The custom-house was in sight. "Hurrah!"

shouted the peasants on guard. "Hurrah!" responded the _banderium_.

Volleys crashed, the band played, but the confused shouting of the crowd overpowered all. Little could be understood, but that little was unpleasant. Some of the guard raised their axes and clubs threateningly. The _banderium_ gathered closer about the carriage. The count sank back in his seat, deathly pale, but Judith sat erect, looking quietly from right to left. And thus they pa.s.sed the custom-house.

From thence the street widened, and the crowd became greater. But, strange to say, when the music ceased the noise of the onlookers also ended. Had the shouts been provoked by this ovation, or were the people awed by the imperious glance of this pale woman?

There are some still living in the town who remember the _entree_ of the Countess Judith Baranowski, and if you ask regarding it they answer: "It is impossible to describe her appearance, or our emotions when we met her eyes. It was as if she were dying, and yet she had the air of a queen. Those who met her glance were hushed into silence; and when the peasants removed their caps, we did the same."

There was no particular ovation at the triumphal arch. Even the burgomaster felt it would be imprudent to risk breaking the spell which held the mult.i.tude in check; so his address was very brief, and the countess's thanks equally so.

Agenor turned to Judith: "I entreat you not to stop at your brother's door. It means certain destruction."

"It must be," she replied; and when he hesitated she herself gave Fedko the command.

And, indeed, it looked as if the count were right. A burst of rage and indignation filled the air when their destination became apparent.

"What an insult! what a disgrace!" yelled a thousand throats. "Down with her! down with her!" The guards were pushed aside, axes were lifted, and the fight began. The carriage stopped, its only protection being a few of the mounted men who kept close to it.

The instinct of the cavalier was roused in the count. Drawing a pistol from the girdle of his fur cloak, he leaped out, when suddenly Judith, who as yet had sat still, staring rigidly at the mob, rose to her full height, so that the diamonds on her brow flashed like sunlight. "Away!"

she cried to the mounted guards, so authoritatively that they instantly obeyed. "Away!" she said to Agenor, who stood in front of her.