Herbert's malice contained a seed that swiftly ripened and bore fruit in the fertile brain of the countess, for she knew only too well how much truth there was in the charge that her friendship was a dishonour to a young girl. It was a terrible thought for her that there was no means left for her whereby she could crush a rival except by so poisoning her with her own infection that she might become an object of disgust to her lover. But, if she could gain nothing by such a course, she could at least revenge herself. She turned over the leaves of Ernestine's publications. They were too learned for her. She understood nothing from their pages, except that they contended for the emanc.i.p.ation of women,--that was enough for her. She too was "emanc.i.p.ated." It was enough to establish an understanding between them. Perhaps a meeting with Mollner might grow out of a visit to Ernestine. She was determined to make use of Herbert's malicious hint, his last bequest to her; for she had mortally offended him, and he no longer came near her. She hastily studied a few papers upon the emanc.i.p.ation of women, that she might comprehend what Herbert had said of "principle" in connection with the subject, and this was the day upon which she was resolved to see her victim. She selected Wednesday for her expedition, because Herbert had told her that Mollner had been with Ernestine on the previous Wednesday. Perhaps his visit might be repeated on the same day of the week.

As soon as she rose, she blew a shrill whistle upon a little silver call. There instantly appeared--not a dog--a maid with a large bucket of spring-water, which was dashed over her beautiful mistress in a little bathing-tent.

The maid then silently withdrew, and brought coffee and the newspapers.

The countess, wrapped in a rich brocade dressing-gown, lighted a cigar, and, while drinking her coffee, looked carelessly through the papers.

Afterwards she went to her dressing-room, and called to the dressing-maid in attendance there, "Riding-habit!" and, after a short delay, the maid brought her all she required. "Ali!" said the countess, which meant, "Go tell the groom to saddle Ali for me."

The brief order was understood and obeyed with rapidity. Like a shadow the attendant glided from the room, appearing again like a shadow in the presence of her dreaded mistress. The servants of this woman must have neither mind, soul, nor heart,--only ears to hear, and hands and feet to obey. The poor dressing-maid did her best to fulfil all that was required of her,--she was all ear, hands, and feet. She scarcely breathed. It really seemed as if the powerful lungs of her mistress inhaled all the air of the apartment, leaving none for any other inmate.

She took her place behind the countess, who sat before the mirror, smoking, and began, as carefully as possible, to comb out her long hair. The lovely woman examined her own features critically to-day. One peculiarity of her face, otherwise faultless,--a peculiarity that reminded her of the Russian type,--irritated her excessively; she thought her cheek-bones somewhat too high.

Just as she was contemplating this imaginary defect, the maid slightly pulled her hair. It was too much for her patience.

"Masc.h.i.n.ka!" she cried, starting up and s.n.a.t.c.hing the comb from the poor girl's hand. A flash--a blow--and Masc.h.i.n.ka stooped silently to pick up the pieces of the broken comb. The print of its teeth was left upon her pale cheek, but no word, no cry of pain, escaped her lips,--her eyes alone looked tearful.

"Get another!" ordered her mistress, as if nothing had happened, and she sat down again.

Masc.h.i.n.ka obeyed, and finished the coiffure, and the rest of the toilette, without further disaster. Then she brought riding-whip, hat, and gloves, and the countess descended the richly-carpeted stairs.

Suddenly she stood still, and called, "Masc.h.i.n.ka!"

"Madame!"

"Does your cheek hurt you?"

"Oh, no!" whispered the girl.

"What? Don't lie! Well, then, rub it with cold cream, from the silver box on my dressing-table; and keep the box,--I give it to you."

Without listening to the girl's thanks, she pa.s.sed on. Her magnificent Arabian was led, snorting and foaming, around the court-yard. She beckoned to the stout, bearded Russian, who could scarcely restrain it, and he led it towards her. Another servant, in a rich livery, brought sugar upon a silver plate. She fed the n.o.ble animal, who was instantly soothed, kissed its smooth forehead, patted its neck, and mounted lightly to her place upon its back.

"What o'clock?" she asked, as the servant handed her the whip, and she rose in the stirrup to arrange the folds of her dress.

"Past five o'clock, madame," was the answer.

"I shall return at eight. The carriage must be ready by twelve. Tell Masc.h.i.n.ka to have my dress prepared."

"As madame pleases," replied the servant.

"Open!" cried the countess, and a third groom, who had been waiting for this order, threw open the double gates of the court-yard, letting in a flood of morning sun-light. All reared beneath his lovely burden, as if he would soar with her into the clouds, but a quick cut from her whip somewhat cooled his Pegasus ardour, and he sprang forward, almost running over a servant, who had not moved aside quite quickly enough, and gained the street. Here, however, his mistress reined him in.

"The dogs!" she called.

The servants all hurried into the court-yard, and a frightful noise was heard. The barking, howling pack came rushing from their kennels, and leaped around their mistress with all the signs of delight that their mad gambols can evince. And now a wild race began. Away tore the Arabian, tossing the foam from his mouth. As he flew rather than galloped along, he tossed back his head, pointed his ears, and distended his nostrils, striving to outstrip the yelling pack at his heels. The beautiful hounds followed hard behind, in long leaps. The servants stood grouped about the gateway, looking after their mistress.

"Aha," muttered the chief among them to himself, "she is turning into the Bergstra.s.se. The dogs must waken Professor Mollner again, and bring him to the window."

But the bearded old Russian observed sadly, "She'll break her neck some day."

Peaceful, and buried in slumber, lay the quiet little town. The windows,--eyes of the houses,--were closed, as were those of their inmates; but, as the countess dashed by in her mad career, one after another was opened, a curtain drawn aside here and there, and a sleepy, curious face appeared.

The countess laughed at the crop of night-capped heads which her ride past their windows suddenly caused to appear. The warm-blooded Arabian shivered beneath her in the fresh, dewy morning air, and she felt its bracing breath colour her cheek. "What a miserable race is this, that spends such hours in bed! They rise only when the smoke from the chimneys and the weary sighs of labourers have thickened the air. That is the atmosphere for their delicate lungs! They are afraid of the cold breeze of dawn!"

She pa.s.sed by Herbert's dwelling, and, with a vigorous stroke of her whip, excited her dogs to a more furious barking. How should she know that his invalid wife, in that upper chamber, had just fallen into a refreshing slumber after a wakeful night of pain, a slumber from which the noise aroused her to a day of suffering?

Here, too, a curtain was drawn aside, and Elsa's dream-encircled head peeped out.

"That is his monkey-faced sister," thought the countess, and nodded in very wantonness. The face vanished in alarm. Herbert did not appear.

And she galloped on through the silent streets. It was wearisome riding thus upon stony pavements, with a sleeping public all around, her only spectators the servants and peasants carrying milk and bread, and staring open-mouthed at the haughty horsewoman. Now and then a student in his shirt-sleeves, brush or sponge in hand, would appear at a window, and one poured out the contents of his washbasin upon her dogs, who had fallen fiercely upon an innocent little cur that was just taking his morning stroll. It was the only incident that varied the monotony of her ride, and she pa.s.sed swiftly on towards the Bergstra.s.se, as the servant had prophesied.

At last she reached it, and the glorious view of the distant mountains lay before her. The rough pavement came to an end, for here the pleasure-grounds of the town were laid out, and the roads were strewn with fine gravel. She now gave her steed the rein, and the fiery beast flew along, _ventre a terre_, with the pack after him in full cry. The houses were all surrounded by charming gardens. There was one which for a long time riveted the attention of the countess. Look! there was an open window, and at it stood Mollner, gazing out upon the far-off mountains.

Just as the countess pa.s.sed, he observed her, and answered her gesture of recognition by a respectful bow.

He looked after her, well pleased as he marked the finely-knit figure, with a seat in the saddle so light and graceful that she seemed part of her horse. She turned her head and saw him looking after her, and in her pleasure at the sight she reined in Ali until he reared erect in the air and curveted proudly. Then on she galloped, and was soon lost to sight. She had reached the foot of the mountains, and, allowing her panting steed to ascend a little hill more slowly, she paused to rest him on the summit.

Before her lay a golden, sunny world. It was an enchanting morning.

Thin, vapoury smoke was beginning to rise from the chimneys, and the heavens were so cloudless that it ascended straight into the blue arch without being pressed down to the earth again.

Over the tops of the pine-trees that crowned the brows of the mountains, little white feathery clouds were still hovering. It seemed as if those mighty heads would fain shake them off, for they soared aloft and then settled again, then shifted from place to place, hiding sometimes in the forest, until at last they vanished before the increasing power of the sun's rays, and the dark, jagged outline of the mountains stood out clear and free against the blue sky. Who, with a heart in his breast, beholding and enjoying all this beauty and glory, does not involuntarily look above in grat.i.tude to the unseen Giver and mourn over his own unworthiness of such bounty? And how many eyes look on it all without understanding it or rejoicing in it! Does it not seem that on such a morning the most degraded soul would gladly purify itself, as the bird dresses his feathers at sunrise before he lifts his wings to soar aloft into the glorious ether?

And yet the gloomy fire of the previous night still smouldered on in the countess's breast, and no cool breeze, no pearly dew, availed to quench its unhallowed glow. Her heart was desecrated,--the abode of the demons of low desire and hate. It could no longer soar to higher spheres. The beautiful woman gazed upon the landscape without one feeling of its beauty. She was far more interested in compelling the obedience of her impatient steed than in the grand prospect before her.

In the gilded saloons of St. Petersburg she had lost all comprehension and love of nature, and she was so accustomed to consider herself a divinity that she was no longer conscious of the humility of the creature before its Creator. Although she might not deny Him, she was indifferent to Him, and if she sometimes visited His temple, she did it only as one pays a formal visit to an equal.

Thus she stood there upon the hill, inhaling the fresh, fragrant air with a certain satisfaction, but with no more interest in the lovely scene than was felt by her dogs, who judged of the beauty of the landscape chiefly by their sense of smell, as, lying on the ground around their mistress, they too snuffed the morning breeze. Now and then one was led astray by the scent of game in the thicket; but a call from the silver whistle of his mistress reminded him of his duty, and he returned to his companions,--only casting longing looks in the direction in which his prey had escaped him. Had his haughty mistress ever in her life practised such self-denial? Could she have seriously answered this question, she might have blushed before the unreasoning brute.

It was ten o'clock when Ernestine stepped out upon her balcony.

Gaily-dressed peasants were pa.s.sing, pipe in mouth, along the road outside her garden-wall, for to-day was the Ascension of the Blessed Virgin,--a glorious opportunity for drinking to her honour and glory.

The people were in their gayest humour, their morning libations had already had some effect. The peasant seems to know no better way of giving G.o.d glory than by enjoying His gifts; he believes that he thus affords Him the same pleasure that a good host feels in seeing the guests at his table enjoy what is placed before them.

Ernestine smiled at the thought of this profane belief, which nevertheless springs from honest, childlike traits of human nature.

Leuthold had not yet returned from his journey, and these days of solitude had been,--she never asked herself why,--the pleasantest that she had known for a long time. She did in his absence only what she was used to do when he was with her; but her thoughts were very different.

The man had so thoroughly imbued with his teaching her every thought and action, that when he was by she could not even think what he might disapprove. Since his departure she had, if we may use the expression, let herself alone. She allowed her thoughts to stray as they pleased.

She was not ashamed to spring up from her work and feed the birds, or to spend an hour in the garden, or at the window in dreamy reverie. And she made various scientific experiments, that she might surprise her uncle upon his return with their successful results.

And this was not the only advantage of his absence. She could go to the school-house to see the good old people there; she could--receive a visit!--a visit of which her uncle knew nothing. Was that right? Oh, yes, it was right,--it was too sacred a thing to be exposed to his cool contempt. Why was he so dry and cold and stern, that she must conceal every emotion from him? To have told him of this visit would have been like voluntarily exposing her roses to be frozen by ice and snow. She still remembered and felt the pain that he had made her suffer when she spoke to him of G.o.d. Then he had taken her G.o.d from her, and now he would take from her her friend,--the first, the only one she had ever known. It was the pure, sacred secret of her heart,--as pure and sacred as the communion she held with the starry heavens at night upon her observatory.

Meanwhile the door had opened without her notice, and the aeolian harp sounded in the draught that swept across its strings. The birds, that had hopped close around her for their accustomed food, flew twittering away as a stranger appeared, and a deep, mellow voice asked, "Well, and how are you?"

Ernestine started as at a lightning-flash. She turned and looked at the intruder with a deep blush, but with undisguised delight.

"Why should you be startled?" he asked.

"I do not know,--you appeared so suddenly. I did not see you coming down the road."

"No, I took a cross-cut that was shadier; I came on foot."