Count Bernhard Eichhof and Fran von Wronksy! How came it to pa.s.s that her hand rested on his arm? How came it to pa.s.s that she was clever, witty, amusing for all the rest of the world, and gentle, often humble, always femininely delicate and reserved towards him alone? The one manner perhaps explained the other.

Certainly since the election it was Bernhard's duty to be civil to Marzell Wronsky, and just as certainly it was the fact that Marzell's wife attracted a throng of ardent admirers around her in the metropolis, although she pa.s.sed for a very cold beauty. None of the men who worshipped at her shrine could boast of the least distinction accorded them by her. It was said of her that she had witty, clever words for all, but a heart for none, unless, indeed, her husband was its fortunate possessor, as to which there was a great diversity of opinion. This cold, haughty woman was meekness itself towards Bernhard.

He could not himself tell why it was, but he was never with her without a conviction that she hid a warm, nay, a glowing heart beneath a coldly composed exterior.

Bernhard had believed himself justified in despising her. She had endured his scorn without remonstrance, only showing him that she suffered fearfully beneath it. He began to pity her, and the thought that he had perhaps been too harsh towards her gradually gave way to the conviction that there might be many reasons for a milder judgment of her. He saw all the homage that was paid her here, and often heard women in whose opinion he placed great confidence declare that her conduct was always exemplary. At last he came to regard himself as an insufferable prig, and decided that his manner towards the lady must undergo a change. She was so grateful for every little attention from him, while any such from others was received so coldly, that Bernhard felt himself exalted to the position of her magnanimous protector. He really desired to hear from herself the explanation of a dark point in her past, about which, as he knew, all the world was in error. And thus it came to pa.s.s that Count Bernhard Eichhof offered his arm to Frau von Wronsky to conduct her about the opera-house, and to be conscious that she was admired by everybody, and that he was envied of many. The couple paused for a few minutes at the head of the steps, observing those going and coming.

"What exquisite toilettes!" said Julutta Wronsky, indicating with a scarcely perceptible motion of her fan two ladies who were pa.s.sing.

"This is an excellent post of observation."

"Unfortunately, you cannot see the most exquisite toilette here, madame," said a young officer who stood on the other side of her.

She looked at him inquiringly.

"You could only see that by standing opposite a mirror," the officer said, with a meaning smile, stroking his moustache and scanning her figure with a bold glance of admiration.

Bernhard felt her hand rest somewhat more heavily on his arm, as she replied, with a certain far-away look in her eyes which did not seem even to see the young fellow, "It is a pity you cannot exercise your talents in a milliner's shop, Herr von Dollen; that is the place for mirrors and a certain kind of complimentary speeches."

Herr von Dollen laughed rather constrainedly, and soon took his departure, while Bernhard and Julutta descended the steps.

"Dollen has had a lesson," said Bernhard, smiling.

"I cannot endure that sort of compliment," Julutta replied, impatiently,--instantly, however, bending her head slightly, while a faint flush rose to her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she whispered; "I forgot that you, very naturally, cannot believe this of _me_." The words were uttered with no appearance either of offence or of irony; there was only a slight vibration, as from suppressed, painful emotion, audible in her voice.

Bernhard looked at her. Her face wore the sweet, timid expression that it was wont to a.s.sume for him alone.

"Nay, madame," he said; "I can easily believe that the expression of such coa.r.s.e and impertinent admiration may well wound your pride."

"I thank you," she rejoined, with a glance of fervid grat.i.tude raised for an instant to his face; "it would, however, have been but natural for you to disbelieve in any genuine pride on my part."

"If I had done so before, this winter would have convinced me of my error," he replied, in a low voice, bending towards her.

He saw her sudden blush; her breath came quicker and her lips quivered.

She said nothing, but she looked at him again, and in her eyes there was so much grat.i.tude and happiness that Bernhard was involuntarily touched. Suddenly her hand trembled, and the blush on her cheek faded, to be succeeded by a mortal pallor.

"Let us go," she murmured, pausing abruptly and turning from the direction in which they were walking; "for G.o.d's sake take me away from here!"

"What is the matter?"

"Good heavens, do you not see?" She took her hand from his arm and tried to penetrate alone the crowd which had gathered closely about the dancers. Bernhard looked around him,--a few steps off stood a tall, rather good-looking man, in the dress of a civilian, watching the dancers. Bernhard recognized the dark, sharply-defined features, the lofty brow, and the thin hair brushed away from the temples. He knew now why Julutta Wronsky had turned and fled. For an instant he hesitated; then he followed her. Just as he reached her she covered her eyes with her hand. "I am so dizzy," she moaned; "the whole room is turning round. Oh, my G.o.d!"

She tottered and seemed about to fall. Bernhard supported her to the foyer, where he found an armchair for her. Her hand trembled perceptibly upon his arm; she shivered. He addressed no word to her; she sank into the chair without speaking again, and, leaning back, half closed her eyes. "Find my husband for me; we must go," she said, at last.

"You are ill. Let me bring you a gla.s.s of wine," he said, looking at her marble-white face. She shook her head.

"I cannot breathe here, now that I know----" Her lips quivered, and she did not finish her sentence. Bernhard stood hesitating for a moment beside her.

"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 _divorcee_. 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 pa.s.sing 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, _enchante_, charmed to see you, _mon cher ami_; an unexpected meeting."

"Most unexpected, Herr von Mohazy," 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. _a 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 pa.s.sed across Bernhardt face: "Ah? Allow me to wish you a pleasant winter." And he turned to go.

"_O ca, Herr von Eikhoff!_" Herr von Mohazy 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 Mohazy 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 Mohazy,--"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 pet.i.t amus.e.m.e.nt 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, _surement_. Ah, I must take you into confidence; the story is very piquant."