On arriving at home with the sheriff I found a letter from Siegfried, and on the envelope the inscription, "Ibi, ubi, cito, citissime. N.B. Dr. Cornelius Dumany, Esquire."

The contents of the letter were as follows:—

"DEAR FRIEND,—Aunt Diodora has her nervous attack, and is dangerously ill. Pray make haste! Periculum, in mora. Bring your electro-magnetic apparatus with you, and come at once.—SIEGFRIED."

The gamekeeper had brought the letter, and said that he had strict orders to wait for me, if it was until midnight. So I despatched my business with the sheriff, gave orders for refreshments for him, and, going into my museum, I took out a watch of the Apafy period, with which I presented him, and made him perfectly happy. Then I picked out an antique opal bracelet, which Cenni had found exceptionally beautiful, and put it into my pocket as a present for the bride. I would take the ceremony bona fide, and play my part as naturally as possible.

We drove through Siegfried's game-park, and at the cascades I was expected by Baron Muckicza, the other witness. "You are expected like the Messiah by the Jews," he cried, and leaped up to me without stopping the vehicle. "Cenni and Siegfried are in the chapel already."

On arriving in front of the chapel, an old Gothic edifice, situated in a large clearing in the park, we alighted, and I ordered my coachman not to unhitch the horses, but to drive about, and wait for me at the gate in about an hour or more.

We opened the little gate that led to a large stone crucifix in front of the chapel, and found the vestry-clerk and a boy ministrant waiting for us in the entry. Now they tolled the bell hurriedly and briefly, and gave way to us.

Siegfried and Cenni met us in the chapel. He pressed my hand in evident excitement, assuring me of eternal friendship and gratitude for standing by his side at this turning-point of his life, whereupon I returned his protestations with equal feeling. The bride, in a dove-coloured travelling-dress, with a wreath of orange flowers in her blonde locks, and a costly lace shawl as a bridal veil, was an exquisite image of love and modesty. On seeing me she bashfully hid her face in her hands, exclaiming, "Oh! what will you think of me?" and to Siegfried, imploringly, "Pray let me go back to the house! My God, what a step you have persuaded me to! Pray let me go back; oh, pray do!" But Siegfried tenderly held her hands, and persuaded her to go to the good Father Paphuntius, who was awaiting her in the shriving-pew to receive the confession of her sins; for, as a good Catholic, she could not marry unshriven. So she simpered and blushed a good deal, and went away to where the Father, with clean-shaven face—evidently a Ligorian, not a Capuchin—received her with a benediction.

It was a splendid farce, and admirably acted by almost all the parties. There were two bridesmaids with somewhat rural complexions, and hands which seemed to swell out of their number seven white gloves, as did their robust waists from the tightly-laced silk bodices. Of course, we called them "Milady," and spoke French to them, although it was easy to guess that they were dairy and garden wenches, and the only language they understood or spoke was the Slavonic. They blushed and giggled a good deal, and did not feel very much at ease on our arms.

The ceremony took place in the most solemn and decorous way. Father Paphuntius delivered a very impressive sermon on domestic virtues and the fear of God leading to earthly happiness and eternal bliss. Bride and groom kneeled down before the altar and exchanged their vows, whereupon the priest bound their hands together and gave them his benediction.

My hand itched, and I could hardly keep from loudly applauding the acting priest or the preaching actor; but I did not forget that at least the place of comedy was really sacred, although profaned by a parcel of blasphemous roysterers, and so I held my peace and looked on.

After the ceremony, of course, everybody congratulated the new couple, and I added the opal bracelet to my compliments, and received in return a sweet smile from the fair bride. "You have robbed your collection of its most precious treasure," she said, and "It will be made more precious by your ladyship's acceptance" was my answer.

We wrote our names in an old register which was in the vestry. I presented the excellent Father Paphuntius with six gold eagles, and the vestry clerk was made happy with as many brand-new and shining silver florins, while the boy received six glittering quarters—all in the fashion of a real wedding. After that, the new Benedict gave his arm to his bride. Baron Muckicza and I bowed to the red-faced damsels, with the German phrase, "Darf ich Ihnen meinen Arm bieten, mein Fraeulein," to which they answered in classic Slavonian, "Gyekujem peknye mladi-pan," which means, "Thank you very much, young master." Then we went, per pedes apostolorum, to the shooting-box, Father Paphuntius, of course, accompanying us, to feast at the wedding banquet.

The table fairly groaned under the sumptuous meal. The newly-wedded couple took the seat of honour. I was placed to the right of the bride, and Musinka, the dairy-wench, sat next to me, as became her position as bridesmaid. Next to the groom sat the priest, then Anyicska, the garden-wench and second bridesmaid, and at her side, between the two damsels (the table was round), sat Baron Muckicza.

We were in excellent humour and rather hilarious, and the affair was a very lively one. At all such revels I have the peculiarity of never drinking anything but champagne. All other wine I despise and scorn to drink. Siegfried knew this well, and had given orders that, after the trout, champagne should be served. The cork was drawn with a loud noise, the wine foamed and sparkled in the glasses, but, when the servant came to help me, I took the bottle from his hands to look at the label; for there is a difference in the fluid, and Roederer and Roederer is not always alike. There are certain symbolical marks on the bottles, well known to connoisseurs. On some is a bee, on others an ostrich or an elephant. On this particular bottle was a fly, and I threw the bottle to the wall with such force that it broke into shivers, and the foaming contents went splashing into the faces of the company. The reverend Father had just risen, glass in hand, to drink a toast to the happy couple, and Siegfried said, reproachfully—

"My dear fellow, you begin it too early; the bottle-breaking business comes after the drinking, not before it."

"All right," said I, grumbling, "but if you have a physician as your marriage witness, don't treat your wedding company with wine marked with a fly. I know the effect of that poison."

He smiled mischievously, and, turning, he said in Hungarian, which the Father did not understand, "Don't spoil the game. You'll have another mark; this is for the Capuchin. I want to 'jump' him."

"Indeed!" I thought. "Well, I'll 'jump' you both." The mock priest was standing with his glass in hand to begin his toast, when I turned to him and asked—

"Is it not you, my dear Seestern, that plays the Capuchin in Schiller's Wallenteins's Camp?"

The man stared at me, and fell back into his chair, with the classical quotation "Ha, ich bin erkannt!" The bride shrieked, and, bounding from my side, ran out of the room. The rustic bridesmaids stared at each other, and asked, "Csoeto?" ("What does that mean?") and Siegfried's fist came down hard on the table. "Sacre de Dieu! This is treachery!" and taking hold of my arm, he asked, "Who was it? Who has betrayed this little joke?"

I looked him innocently in the face. "Why, my dear Siegfried, it would be unnatural if an old Vienna theatre-goer like me did not know Seestern, the famous comic actor. I am no country cousin to be cozened in that way."

"Well, evidently we have made the reckoning without our host," said he, grumblingly. "But it is a pity. Such a capital joke it would have been, and you would have laughed most. Still, it can't be helped, so we'll make the best of the spoiled game. I see the prima donna has thrown off her role, so you had better go after her, Seestern, and see her safe to the chateau. Your monk's cowl is a protection in itself. Don't look disconcerted; you can come back. Our revel does not end yet; it has hardly begun. You, Muckicza, my dear boy, go out and get in the boys. Tell them the hunt is over; the game has broken fence."

By this time one of the Slav girls had stuffed her pockets with French candies and confectionery from the table, and the other drank off the champagne from all the glasses near. Now Siegfried looked at them, and imperatively motioned to the door. They hurried out, and "my dear friend" Siegfried and I were face to face, alone. His face wore a gloomy expression, and he said, in a courtly manner—

"Sir, I am at your service. Do you feel offended by this joke?"

I laughed outright. "I offended? Why should I? Nothing has happened to me."

"But it would have happened. We intended to give you a little 'jump.'"

"And why?"

"Oh, for nothing! Only you look so funny with that gorilla beard you wear on your face."

"Indeed? And pray how should I 'jump' as your marriage witness?"

"Has not the person who warned you betrayed the whole scheme?"

"Never you mind. I am not offended; quite the contrary. I like such practical jokes, and have taken my revenge beforehand. I have played you an equal trick: I have given my resignation as a candidate this morning."

"You cannot mean it! Tell me, are you in earnest?"

"Dear me, no! I am joking; I told you so! But the thing is irrevocably done, all the same."

"But how could you do it without consulting the party!—without telling me! Thunder and lightning! this is no child's play, but a high game; and there are thousands staked on it! How dare you play fast and loose with us, after all the expenses you have caused us?"

"Oh, if I have a hand in such a game, I generally play it in the proper way!" I said, taking out the wallet with Siegfried's bills, and putting them all in a row on the table. "You see, this is the way I ventured to do as I did."

He tried to play the offended man. "Sir, it seems you do not know—"

"Oh, everything, my dear count!" I said, laughingly; "only don't let us make much ado about nothing. We have both had our joke, and now allow me to beg you for my piece of pasteboard, on which you had the kindness to lend me twenty thousand florins. Here, pray, let me hand you your money. I have it ready for you."

He gave me my card, but refused the money. "It is paid already," he said. "The amount is included in these bills."

At that moment Countess Diodora's footman came in, and Siegfried asked if he had come to look for Countess Cenni. "No," said the man, "Countess Cenni is in the chateau"—("What a good runner she is!" I thought)—"but her ladyship, the Countess Vernoeczy—Diodora—is very ill, and begs his honour, the Dr. Dumany, to be kind enough to come and see her. The ranger has saddled his horse, and is waiting for the prescription to take it to town at once."

That was an honour indeed, and I lost no time in following the man, and left Siegfried utterly amazed. "Why, Nell," he said, "you can work miracles! You are a Cagliostro, and exercise some powerful, mysterious influence! You must be congratulated on this victory. Fancy Aunt Diodora consulting a physician! having a man enter her maiden sanctuary! It would not be believed if I told it!"

At the portal of the chateau I hesitated for a moment. I had grown suspicious, and suddenly it occurred to me that this might be some other little practical joke, and part of the programme; but I dismissed the thought as base. The countess was a woman—a sick woman; deception in that line was impossible, at least in my profession. I could not be "jumped."

In the chateau everybody went on tiptoe, as usual when Diodora had her nervous attacks, but I did not heed that. My step was as firm as ever; the reverberation of the physician's step is soothing to the patient, and fills him with hope and assurance.

The servant conducted me to the room in which Countess Flamma sat; the adjacent room was that of the sufferer. Flamma sat reading before the lamp when I entered. She laid down the book, got up, and extended her hand. "Diodora expects you impatiently. She is more excited than ever, and has just driven out Cenni because she smelt of wine."

"So Cenni was here already, possibly for the sake of an alibi."

"Don't speak of that! She told me all that has occurred. Have you drunk wine also, or is your breath pure? Bend down a little, so. You are all right, and I'll take you to Diodora; only wait here a little."

She went in, but returned instantly, and beckoned me to follow her into a boudoir lighted by a lamp with a shade of green glass. Rich tapestry hangings divided the apartment. Flamma drew the hangings partly aside, motioned me to go near, and left the room, softly closing the entrance.

So I was here on that sacred spot, the first and only male being alive who had ever been granted the privilege of seeing the sublime Diodora on her couch. Only her head and arms were visible—such arms as might have been lost by the Venus of Milo and found by this, her divine sister. The thick tresses of raven hair were uncoiled and scattered in rich skeins on the pillows and the coverlet. One of the silken coils fell down heavily to the carpet, and another was thrown high over the sculptured ornaments of the mahogany bedstead. It was an embarras de richesses rarely met with; and in the rich and precious braids the ivory fingers were clutched, dishevelling them, tearing at them, in the excess of pain. The beautiful face was pale and lustrous, the eyes bright and glittering, surrounded by broad, dark blue circles; the lips were parted, and the breath came short. Her hands were hot and dry, and the pulse beat intermittently. When I laid my hand on her head and my thumb pressed against the crown, she groaned—"Yes, there it is. Hell itself, with all its tortures!"

My hands went down on her neck, between the musculus cucullaris and the sternocleido mastoideus. "Ah, that is the way the pain goes down," she sighed; and when I asked, "Will your ladyship give me leave to make use of my skill?" she answered, "Don't call me 'ladyship'! I am no countess now; I am nothing but a suffering animal, and you may call me what you please. Give me the title of dog, so you can help me."

"Then pray sit up first, and let me gather and secure your hair; it hinders my movements."

She obeyed; and, while I gathered the loose tresses and coiled them around the head, the coverlet slipped down unnoticed, and the lace nightgown, torn open by the restless fingers, revealed the marble bust and shoulders; but for the physician, in the execution of his professional duty, female charms do not exist. The warm, soft, creamy skin is nothing to him but epidermis, stratum mucosum Malpighii; the white, sculptured neck only the regio nuchae, and then comes the regio scapularis, the deltoidea, and then the sacrospinalis.

What a fuss they make about that ascetic who resisted the temptations of the flesh when tried by the evil spirit in the shape of Lilith! What would that famous saint have done, how would he have behaved, if he had been called to rub this soft, velvety, odorous flesh, the fascinating, peerless body, with his hands? Who knows if then the Catholic Church had not boasted of one saint less? Indeed, indeed, we modern physicians have more of the saint in our disposition—in general, of course.

The effect of the treatment appeared at once in soft, voluptuous sighs of relief, deep and long-drawn; in the magnetic showers of the body I recognised a sure token which that mysterious disorder in the veins, lymphs, and nerves reveals in the ganglia. A firm pressure of the biceps with full fist, a pressure of the thumb against the rhomboideus, made her exclaim, "Oh, that has done me good!" Then she began to shiver, the body ceased to be hot and dry, and perspiration set in. She laughed involuntarily, her teeth chattering with cold, and then she sighed again, and said, gratefully, "I feel as if you had saved me from drowning in an ocean of hot oil." I was at the regio palmarum, rubbing her hands and fingers, cracking each of them. "Thank you," said she; "that will do. I feel much better."

But I told her that my work was only half done as yet and had to be finished, or else the attack would return. The object was to gain regular circulation of the blood throughout the whole body. This is no witchcraft, but plain mechanical aid to the action of the live organism.

But now that her sense had returned, her bashfulness returned also. "Could not the remaining part of the treatment be executed by a woman?" she asked.

"Yes, if she has studied anatomy, visited the dissecting-room regularly, and knows every particle in the structure of the human body; otherwise, a quack may do just as much mischief with the pressure of her unskilled hands on the outside of your body as with a bottle of quack medicine to your inner system. It is hard to make you open your eyes to the fact that the organic structure of the human body is a more wonderful, much more admirable work of creation than the starry heaven. When, at a word, the muscles of your face move to a smile of pleasure, or your eyes are filled with tears of joy, sorrow, or compassion such a complicated machinery is set in motion that no mechanical iron structure on earth can be found half as involved or half as complete; and a person not thoroughly acquainted with the qualities and parts of this wonderful apparatus will prove a tormenting executioner, not a healing physician, to the sufferer. Be patient, milady, the physician at the bed of his patient is of the neuter gender—just as the angels are."

"Then—be an angel!"

I did my duty. The musculus risorius was moving already. A happy smile played on her face, the pale face regained its colour, and then the involuntary smile gave way to involuntary tears. After this she fell asleep; so deep, so peaceful was her sleep that the aponeurosis plantaris did not disturb her, although there are few or none who are able to undergo the process of having the soles of their feet rubbed.

She slept, and there she lay in all her sublime beauty, like some wonderful marble statue, the image of a goddess. I took the coverlet, on which the Vernoeczy crest—a nymph rising out of a shell, holding apart her long, golden hair—was embroidered, and covered up the fair sleeper, folding the blanket well on the feet to prevent evil dreams. Then I let down the curtains to shut out the lamplight, and left the room.

On the thick, soft carpet, my step was noiseless, and Countess Flamma was not aware of my presence. I entered the room in which she sat before a little table, her palms clutched together, her pale, beautiful face bent over a book. It seemed to be a very interesting book, for she was entirely lost in the contents. I waited until she finished the page, but she did not turn the leaf, but re-read the same page again and again. "Countess!" I said, deferentially. She looked up and hastily closed the book. The silver filigree cross on the purple velvet cover betrayed the prayer-book. What prayer was that of which she did not tire, but read it over and over repeatedly?

She gazed at me in evident wonder, and her eyes sparkled like two shining orbs. "You have returned?" she exclaimed, as if in doubt of my bodily reality.

"Countess Diodora is asleep," I said, "and will not wake until the morning. Pray, take care not to disturb her."

"And—you—you—did not remain—there?" pointing to the room I left.

"I have done all I could, and my staying would be of no use to her. To watch her sleep would do no good to her and be tiresome to me."

From the shooting-box shouts of revelry reverberated up to us. "You are going back to them?" she asked.

"No. I have finished my business with Siegfried, and told him that I had revoked my nomination."

"You have really done it?"

"Certainly. I have also paid the election expenses up to date, and thanked Siegfried for his good intentions. Henceforth we shall be friendly neighbours, but not friends. Now give me leave to say good-night to you. To-morrow morning I'll drive over to pay a professional visit to Countess Diodora."

"Don't go home now," she said, holding my hand; "the night is dark, and something might happen to you. I have prepared a room for you here in the chateau, with auntie's permission, and you will stay. Henceforth, whenever you come to Vernoecze, you will come straight here, not to the shooting-box."

The blood rushed up to my face, and then back to my heart with a throbbing sensation. A tingling noise like the sound of bells was in my ears, and for a moment the whole universe seemed to have but one real fixed star—the fair, pale face before me. "Will you stay?" she asked, with a sweet smile and a pressure of her hand; and I ask, Is there on earth a Cicero or a Demosthenes so eloquent as the pressure of a woman's hand when it speaks?

I thought I knew all. I had sounded the mystery of her warning to me, and in that moment of overwhelming bliss I do not know what I did. Had I kissed her hand? Had I said anything? given a promise or received one? I do not know; but that my head was dizzy, and my heart filled with a world of joy, that I remember.



VIII.

A BITING KISS.

The valet conducted me to the room assigned to me, and carried my orders to my coachman to unhitch the horses, and send up my necessaries. "Will it please your honour to take some tea?" asked the valet.

"Thanks," said I, "I won't take anything. But you will greatly oblige me if you will send me a bowl with warm water; I want to shave."

"Certainly, sir. The chambermaid will fetch it at once."

I had resolved to shave. Good-bye to Chauvinism and national peculiarity! I wanted a smooth, clean face, as I had had before I had given way to vanity and political ambition. From this day on I ceased to be a clay figure in the hands of juggling quacks. I was Dr. Dumany again, and would remain so for life.

As I sat before the mirror, looking at my own face, I could not repress a smile. That beard of a few weeks' growth lent me an appearance that was nearly akin to that of a gorilla. I took a pair of scissors and clipped off the hair; then I prepared the soap and razor for shaving the bristles. A woman, whom I took to be the chambermaid, set a bowl of water before me, and, as I am not in the habit of looking closely at chambermaids, I said, "Thank you," prepared the lather, and commenced shaving.

The woman was yet standing beside me, and, as I thought she was waiting for orders, I said, without turning—

"Much obliged, my dear; you need not wait. I shall not want anything this evening."

"May I not send you a cup of tea?"

I started, and the razor in my hand gave a great jerk, happily not into my face: the woman I had taken for a chambermaid was Cenni.

"Oh," I said, "it is you!"

She laughed, and said, with a mock obeisance, "Yes, sir." But, looking at me in the mirror, she laughed again, and said—"Only go on. I am waiting for the Byron face to appear again, when these stalks are swept off. We can talk a little meanwhile."

"Indeed? But, you see, there is one more forbidden subject between us. There are four now: the step-ladder, the Sultan of Morocco, the sea-dove, and now Father Paphuntius."

"It's astonishing how sharp you are; almost as keen as your razor. Only take care, you may cut your own skin!"

"Not likely. My hand is skilled in using knives. Am I mistaken in supposing that you have come to ask for secrecy on my part?"

"Not altogether. That was a part of my motive in coming."

"You magnanimously promised me a kiss for keeping the other secrets. What will be my fee for this?"

"A bite, and yet a kiss. It will hurt you, and yet it is meant as a caress—like those biting kisses which some over-fond mothers bestow on their little ones, and make them cry."

"Thank you, I am ready to accept it, and shall do my best not to cry."

"Don't be too sure of that. Take care of the blade in your hand! I half think I ought to postpone my revelations, because as long as this shaving process serves you as a pretext for making grimaces, I cannot clearly detect the real impression my words are making on you. Would you mind laying down that razor for a while, and leave off making faces and holding the tip of your own nose?"

"Impossible. I have heard of Janus having two different faces—one for peace, smooth and smiling sweetly; the other for war, frowning and threatening, and clothed with a grizzly beard. But I myself always show an honest impartiality to friend or foe."

"Oh, I daresay that you condemn and despise me, for, foolish and conceited as you are, you scarcely know how to distinguish between friend and foe. You think the misfortune that little pleasantry would have brought upon you highly important, whereas, if carried out as intended, it would have saved you from real harm and real degradation."

"What? If I had played that game to the end and had caused you, the pretended bride of another man, to elope with me, it would have been to my advantage? Is that the quintessence of cynicism, or sublime naivete?"

"No. It is plain truth, and you will find it out with a vengeance! Only then it will be too late for repentance. You have been told that I lent my aid to play a trick which would have made you the laughing-stock of all your acquaintances. I tell you if you had only gone on, unforewarned, you would have come out a hero and the master of them all. Only then you would have known me as I truly am, and not as I choose to appear. I have been slandered to you, and you think me a she-devil at least, because I like a joke, and look everybody in the face, and not up to heaven like a saint, or down to earth like a sinner. I also look like a bold word, and am no more a hypocrite in words than I am in deeds; and, first of all, I never make use of calumny to gain my own ends. I know who has told you that I was a Satanella. Flamma, the—'angel.' Of course, everybody who is acquainted with us will tell you that she is an angel, and that I am a devil at least, because I have cat's-eyes, a sharp tongue, and a quick temper, whereas she has the face of a Madonna, the disposition of a nun, and—she knows how to keep her own counsel. Her mouth is only opened when necessary to her own purposes; in such a case she does not recoil from the basest slander. Do you think I did not watch you two at that rose-bed? That I did not notice the glitter in your eye, the excited shaking of your hands? And do you know why she did it? Because the day before I had boldly told you to win Diodora. That she could not forgive me, and do you know why? You remember your answer. It was when you told us the tragic story of your friend and the moral, that you were wary of the caprices of aristocratic heiresses. Now—she thought—if this is so? Here is a girl without a penny of her own, with a mock title which does not belong to her; if he disbelieves in heiresses, he may believe in her, and that is a state of things not to be endured. Let us spoil that little private game of Miss Nobody, because we have a reason for wanting the light-headed, easily-deceived fellow for ourselves. But do you know that reason? Can you guess it?"

The knife was at my throat literally; but she laughed a short, harsh laugh, and continued—

"Ha! ha! You come from them. You have been called to the divinity to admire her in her sublime loveliness, and you have treated her as clay, and played the role of the Messiah, Who drove out the demons by the touch of His hands. How she must despise you—nay, hate you—for that proof of your preference for Psyche over Anadyomene! How that sweet-winged creature, Psyche, must have pressed your hand, and looked up to you with a sweet, promissory smile as you kissed her hand and professed yourself her most obedient slave for ever after! Although you ought to remember your friend's story well enough! When you told it, you said, 'I am nothing but a runaway doctor, an expelled Member of Parliament, and a Slav king'; now you shave your face and say, 'I am a marvellously powerful man, and endowed with magical charms. I shall be a king of hearts!'"

My face was smooth and clean. I poured some eau de Cologne in the bowl of water, dipped a sponge into it, and washed my face, drying it with a soft towel. "Oh, you are quite handsome enough!" she said, mockingly; "you can show your Byron face; 'I come, I see, I conquer,' is written on your forehead. But now I am not jesting; and listen to me, or repent it until your dying hour! If you succeed in winning the divinity you may be a slave, but a cherished slave. You will not know the blessing of love, but you will also be free of the pangs of jealousy and of shame. But beware of the angel! I tell you, if that rose-scion which you both inserted the other day germinates and comes to bloom, deadly despair will be your lot, and the angel's rose will kill you with foul poison! Beware, I say! Cut that scion while you have the opportunity, and then go to the end of the world to be safe from the angel's revenge! Remember, I have warned you!"

She had gone to the door, but at the threshold she turned and said—"I have given you the biting kiss I promised. Much good it may do you!"

With that she went out, but her biting kiss had not hurt me. My heart was full of hope and joy. This girl's impotent jealousy had convinced me of the reality of my happiness. I was beloved, and I loved again; and could the venomous tongue of a jealous woman incense me against an angel like Flamma? True love is like pure gold, and the acid of calumny does not destroy it, but gives new proof of its value. I loved Flamma, and Flamma loved me. This was enough of bliss, enough to keep me all night in a waking dream, in a transport of exquisite joy.



IX.

WHO IS THE VISITOR?

I waited impatiently for the daybreak. At the first dawn I was up and dressed, and taking long strides on the garden path. How long would it be until the ladies were up, and willing to receive me? Even the servants were asleep yet. I strolled on aimlessly until I found myself unexpectedly at the dairy, which was quite a grand establishment, where twenty milch cows of the Aargau breed were milked daily, and a delicious cheese manufactured. Siegfried had told me some time before that, as soon as the railway was extended to the neighbouring town—a prospect which was expected to be realised shortly—he would have a branch laid on, at his own expense, to his dairy. Anyicska and Masinka, the two bridesmaids of last evening, met me at the gate, and were very officious in showing me in, and while Anyicska brought me a cup of excellent sweet milk, Masinka brought some spongy rye bread, fresh from the oven, upon a salver. Of course, this was offered as a bribe for my secrecy on the topic of last night, and I promised them not to tell Countess Diodora how they had been employed at the mock wedding. Poor things, why should I betray them for obeying orders? So I graciously accepted my hush-money, which was less subtle and more substantial than that offered by the fair bride herself; and they told me that the revelry had lasted almost until cock-crow. They all had capital fun. The Father had sung highly amusing songs. The girls had been called back after my departure, and then, with the other companions who were called in, the merry-making had reached a very high pitch. Of course, Cenni had not returned to them.

As I gave them my promise of silence they thanked me, and in return they told me that, with my smooth face, I was a much handsomer-looking fellow than last night, with that beard on my cheeks and chin; and I was conceited enough to pocket the compliment and believe in its truth.

Breakfast was served to me in my room. The ladies were up, but Countess Diodora was too weak to preside as usual at the breakfast-table. I requested the honour of paying her a professional visit, and was told that she would be glad to see the "doctor."

The room in which she received me was a magnificent salon, with a balcony in front. When I entered, the doors and windows were wide open; the rays of the sun darted through the filmy lace curtains; it was a "tableau en plein air" that met my eye. Countess Diodora, in a mauve-coloured silk dressing-gown, rested on a settee. Before her was a little Venetian mosaic table, and on it a tea-tray. Diodora seemed to be in excellent spirits, and looked beautiful; the suffering of last night had not told on her complexion the least bit. She wore a black lace scarf to conceal her hair, which was still in the state in which I had coiled and pinned it, except that a great ornamental tortoise-shell comb, of yellow hue, had been thrust into it. Opposite to the countess, on two embroidered stools, sat the two girls, engaged in finishing the Japanese sunbird; and in the balcony door stood Siegfried, smoking a cigarette, and blowing the smoke—in consideration of his aunt—out of the door. I thought it would have been more considerate still if he had not smoked at all. As I entered, the thought seemed to occur to him that the business of smoking would be best despatched on the balcony, so he escaped the difficulty of looking me in the face. Cenni also found a pretext for retiring; she took the tea-tray from the little table and left the room with it. Countess Diodora, Flamma, and myself remained in the room. I asked the countess how she felt, and whether she had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and she answered, with rapture—

"I slept deliciously, as I never have before since my childhood; and I had such delightful dreams! I fancied I was a child again, and rambled in the garden chasing butterflies. You have worked miracles, and henceforth I shall believe in you as in an oracle. I revoke all I have said against your profession and science, and confide myself entirely into your hands. The first touch of your hand had a magic effect on me, and afterward I felt as if you had taken my vile body of clay from me, joint by joint, with the witchcraft of your fingers, and given me a new, better, and more perfect form. I felt as if you had lent me wings, and that now I could rise with you up above the clouds, captivated by your mesmeric influence upon me. Moon and stars seemed to remain far below me, and you were guiding me up to a strange world, full of unknown and eternal bliss. Oh, why cannot this transport of exquisite pleasure last for ever? Indeed, indeed, I do not know how to express the gratitude I owe you!"

Diodora said this to me in the presence of Flamma, and in the hearing of Siegfried, who, on the balcony, could hear every word through the open door; and, as she said it, her great Juno-like eyes rested on mine with an expression of enthusiastic admiration. Yes! such might have been the look which the goddess bestowed on poor, silly Ixion as she lured him on and then—left a cloud in his arms.

But do you know why that look failed to infect me as it had Ixion? Because I had been inoculated against the infection by another look last night—a look from the violet eyes of Flamma.

I rose from my seat, and, throwing myself into an attitude befitting a ceremonious announcement, I said—

"Countess, to be of service to you is a happiness to me. Pray dispose of me. If I can convert your pains into pleasures, I shall consider the happy result as the highest reward. Your ladyship's gracious words at this moment inspire me with boldness; so much so that I feel encouraged to lay the hidden secret of my heart, the cherished wish of my life, in your hands. If you deign to accept my confession and grant my desire, you will bind me to your service for life, in attaching me to your family."

I shall never in life forget that proud, repellent lifting of her head as I spoke. Diana might have looked so at Actaeon, although, poor fellow, he had never come so near to the virgin charms of that Olympian lady as I to those of the queenly virgin before me on the preceding night. Her forehead seemed to gain in height, her eyes retreated behind the lashes, her lips were pressed together, and her nostrils dilated. In looking at me her chin doubled, and she seemed the personification of haughty disdain.

"My dear doctor," she said, with proud emphasis on the "doctor," "it seems you have misinterpreted my words. I have never thought of encouraging you in desires such as you this moment expressed."

I bent my head deeper still. "Dear countess, allow me to say that the misconstruction is on your side. I did not intend the bold request which you seem to impute to me; I simply beg leave to ask for the hand of your niece."

Her whole disposition seemed to change on hearing this, and she broke into a long, ringing, scornful laugh—the laugh of offended vanity, of angered pride; such a laugh as women use to mask their disappointment and jealousy, and the rising of their temper.

"Ha! ha! ha! Ah! ha! ha! The little Cenni! Ha! ha! So it is true, and I have guessed right? Ha! ha! ha! And the little fool has run out; she guessed the object of your visit. Ha! ha! ha! It's wonderful! My niece, the little Cenni—Countess Cenni! Oh, what a perfect match! Ha! ha! ha!"

I did not disturb the explosion of her mirth. As a physician I knew that it impaired the health of a nervous woman if she was interrupted in her vagaries. At the sound of her laughter Siegfried re-entered and asked, "What is it now?"

Diodora explained, laughing hysterically, that their dear, common friend, Dr. Dumany, had just now asked for the hand of little Cenni.

"Very well," said Siegfried, "serves him right. Let him have her, by all means!"

"I beg both your pardons," I said, "but it seems to me as if the misunderstanding between us is becoming chronic. I very much admire, but have no intention of marrying—Miss Klara."

"Ah!" Like Semiramis she stood before me. "Who has told you that there was such a person—a Miss Klara—existing in this house?"

Retreat was impossible. I looked at Flamma, and she answered with an encouraging nod; so I replied to the countess's imperious inquiries—

"Lady Flamma."

"Yes, it was I," said Flamma, rising from her seat, and stepping to my side.

"You shall pay dear to me for this!" cried Siegfried, with a threatening look; but I took her hand, and said—

"Pray compose yourself. This lady stands under my protection. I have done myself the honour to ask for her hand, and I wait for your decision."

"Show the Devil your finger, and he will take your hand; treat a peasant with kindness, and he will think himself your equal," said he, with a sneer.

"Siegfried!" said Diodora, "I beg you not to forget that this is my room, and that my guests are not to be insulted in my presence. This affair does not concern you in the least."

"But if he is impertinent?" growled he.

"Perhaps the count might be more careful in his choice of language," said I, proudly, "if he would consider that a Dumany fought as a knight and a soldier under the national tricolour at Mount Thabor, while the first Vernoeczy was still serving as a humble shepherd on the Verhovina."

I was sorry for this as soon as I said it, for I had offended Flamma also; but the bitter pill had the desired effect, inasmuch as the whole aristocratic family regained their usual lymphatic composure.

"Flamma," said Diodora, coldly, "have you given this gentleman the right to claim your hand?"

"Yes."

"Then—I do not object," and she motioned with her hand. I understood the gesture, and extended my hand to Flamma. She accepted it, and I bowed and kissed her hand. That was our betrothal. Siegfried took out a cigarette, lighted it, and blow the smoke at the chandelier.

"I had other intentions concerning Flamma's future," said Diodora again, "but, since her choice has fallen on you, I am satisfied—at least, I do not object. Only I beg of you not to delay your nuptials. Have them celebrated as soon as possible, for I intend to go to Heligoland—to try the baths."

To Heligoland!—that was the place I should have gone to, if I had listened to good sense—and to Cenni.

"Certainly," I said; "I am only too happy in the prospect. If you will give me leave I shall hasten to Szepes-Varalja, to the bishop, for a dispensation, and, as soon as I am in possession of that document, I shall return, and we can have the ceremony performed the day after my return."

"Then I should also wish," said Diodora again, "that the wedding might be altogether a simple family affair, with no strangers as witnesses."

"Your ladyship expresses my own wishes."

"If so, we might have the ceremony performed here, in our chapel."

I remembered Father Paphuntius. "No, I'll have nothing to do with that chapel."

Siegfried smiled as he guessed the reason of my embarrassed silence, and then Flamma smiled, and Diodora also. At last, as a smile has a soothing effect on everybody, we all laughed. "No," said Diodora, "I was not speaking of the park hermitage. We have a chapel here in the chateau, and if we do not invite too many we shall have room enough."

"I shall invite no one but a single witness as my best man."

"But do not ask me to fill that position," said Siegfried; "for I am invited to go buffalo-hunting in Volhynia, and shall start to-morrow."

"There is something else," said Diodora. "After the wedding ceremony I shall hand you over Flamma's dowry, which she has inherited from her grandfather. It consists of a million of florins in good bonds."

I bowed in silence, looking at Flamma.

"No; this is a matter which concerns you as well as her, and you must know that her grandfather laid down the condition that if she, guided by whatever motive, should release herself from the bonds of the Catholic religion, she should lose everything, and surrender the inheritance to collateral relatives."

"I cannot think that such an event could take place at any time."

"Time will show."

There was a long pause, and I thought best to take my leave. I turned first to Flamma, who laid both her hands in mine, and, looking up to me, asked me softly to return soon. Then Diodora languidly extended her hand to me, and I bowed over it with cool, studied politeness, and as I looked up I saw that Siegfried thought fit to shake my hand in honour of the new relation between us. He even went so far as to embrace me. "God bless you, my dear—cousin," he said, laughingly; but, thank God, he did not think it necessary to kiss me!

A week later Flamma and I were married. Everything went on in the regular way. No objection, no obstacle was raised. The ceremony was held in Vernoecze in the afternoon, and the same evening I was free to take my bride home to Dumanyfalva. From one of the great portals I drove with Flamma; from the other, Diodora and Cenni started on a trip to Heligoland. Siegfried had gone to Volhynia six days before.

If you think that with this marriage my story is at an end, you are mistaken; it has hardly begun. It is a strange story, and not pleasant to dwell on; but you shall judge for yourself.



X.

AFTER THE WEDDING.

So overwhelming was my happiness that I sometimes fancied that it was all a dream, and that I should wake to find myself in my former condition. In one short week I had had my old mansion refurnished in a style worthy of the high-born and gently-reared bride who was to inhabit it; and I thought what joy it would give me if she should walk through the halls and chambers of her new home, and find everything arranged to suit her own delicate and refined taste, and answering all her requirements as to beauty and comfort.

And then I had dreamt of the first supper we should eat at home at our own table; each dish an inviting delicacy, deliciously prepared; and yet we should hardly taste of it, our palates thirsting for different feasts.

And now this dream had become a reality, and I looked at my beloved, and tried to catch a glance of her beautiful, downcast eyes. I had as yet never enjoyed the privilege of a kiss from her lips, and I was longing for one; but when I tried to draw her close to me, she whispered, "Don't, we shall be observed by the servants!"

At last the meal was over, and we rose from the table.

"Pray lead me to your work-room. I have yet to hand you over my dowry."

I laughed. "Time enough for that a week or more hence. No? Well, any day you please; but not now." Still she persisted.

"It has to be done this evening. I can't keep it any longer. You did not accept of it from Diodora, so you must take it from me. It is no longer my own—it is yours."

"Dearest, there is no such distinction existing! Since this blessed morning neither of us can claim possession of anything that is not common to both alike. What is mine is all yours, and what is yours I claim all for myself! For the marriage tie has made us one for ever!"

"But pray come," she said again; "I have the chest with the securities here with me, and I should like to have it all over."

I sighed and obeyed. At the door of my study she left me for a moment, returning instantly with a rosewood chest, richly ornamented with silver. On one of her bracelets a tiny filigree key was dangling; with this key she opened the chest, and then, stepping back, she said—

"Convince yourself. The contents must amount to exactly one million of florins."

"I am quite convinced," I said, "and accept it as correct."

"That you shall not. Let us take out everything, and reckon up the amount." With that she took the papers out herself, and I had to sit down, take slate and pencil, while she dictated to me the value of each bond, its title, and, looking into every one, she satisfied herself that the coupons were attached to it.

In the abstract it may seem rather a pleasant occupation for a married couple to reckon up a million of money as their joint property; but, in this concrete instance, to spend the wedding-night in a study, making pecuniary computation, is the pinnacle of pedantry.

At last it was done; and, as I computed it, I made the total to be one million and twenty-five thousand florins.

"How is that possible?" she asked.

I had to explain to her the fluctations of the market price in relation to the nominal value, which was the basis of our computation.

"Then let us look for the market-price of the bonds as it is at present. I know it is to be found in every newspaper," and with that she took one up from the table, looked for the exchange report, and dictated again, "Hungarian real estate bonds, 85; Lower-Austrian, 88; Transylvanian, 82, etc."

This time we have thirty thousand florins less than the million.

"How is that possible?" she asked again.

"Dearest," said I, "let that be! What does it matter if—"

"But it does matter. My grandfather left me exactly one million; neither more nor less. So I must find out this balance of thirty thousand, also."

"Maybe, at the time when he bequeathed this money to you the price of these securities was higher than at present," I suggested.

"That is possible. But then there ought to be some list, or something else relating to it. Let me look it over again."

Great heavens! she took everything out again, and searched for a last year's exchange list. A crumbled yellow newspaper clipping was found, and then the whole process had to be repeated again; and now thank God, the million came out even! I drew a great sigh of relief; but I had triumphed too soon. She asked for pen and ink, and, as I got up from the seat before the writing-desk, she sat down and wrote on each of the bonds, deeds, obligations, mortgages, etc., her own name—"Flamma Maria Dumany of Dumanyfalva, nee Countess Vernoeczy of Vranicsa," in a clear, almost masculine hand.

"What is the use of this, dearest?" I asked.

"You know," she replied, "all these papers, as yet, bear the name of my grandfather, and we could not realise upon them as they are. I must first write my own name upon each."

"But we do not want to realise on them."

"That you don't know—at present."

"But there would be time for this on some future day."

"No. Pray compose yourself. I have to finish this now."

And she did finish it. On two hundred different securities she wrote, in bold, large letters, her full name, and I stood there and looked on in helpless despair.

At last there was an end of it. She put the papers in the chest again, handed me the key, and begged me to lock everything up in the safe. I obeyed, in the ardent hope that at last I had done with papers and accounts.

"There is something else I have to hand over to you," said Flamma, as I stepped nearer; and, drawing from the pocket of her dress an envelope, she handed me an official-looking document, fastened with tri-coloured tape, with a large official seal upon it. It was a power of attorney from Flamma Maria, Countess Vernoeczy of Vranicsa, to her husband Dr. Cornelius Dumany of Dumanyfalva, giving him full authority over her dowry, consisting of real estate, bonds, etc., to the amount of one million of florins, and authorising him to sell or retain or use the aforesaid securities according to his own need or pleasure, and without previous consultation with any person, his wife included.

"Dearest," I said, "this is very generous of you; but there is no need of any such document to give me proof of your confidence."

"I did not intend it as such a proof."

"Then what was your intention?"

"To give you no cause to accuse me of meanness. You shall not say that I left you on your wedding-day without a shilling in your pocket, as your friend was left on the Isle of Wight."

I gazed at her, at the pale face that was even paler than usual, and cold and inanimate as a block of ice.

"Flamma!" I cried, "what does it mean? How am I to take this?"

"As a confession. That other man has made me—his—wife."

"Flamma!"

She stood there, pale, cold, statue-like, and her voice sounded like that of an automaton. I felt like one stupefied, like one who had meant to enter the gates of paradise and found himself in a sea of fire and brimstone.

"Who is the man?" I stammered.

"Siegfried."

"And why did he not marry you, if—"

"Because he is married already. His wife lives in Egypt, and he cannot get a legal divorce from her."

"And why have you married me? For we are married. The ceremony of this afternoon was real, not a comedy like that other?"

"No; we are married. When that—misfortune—happened to me Siegfried promised to marry me to some distinguished gentleman who might give me a good name and an acceptable position, so that the marriage should need no explanation."

"When was that?"

"Three months ago."

"At the time I arrived from Vienna?"

"Yes."

"Was that the reason for his instantaneous proffer of friendship?"

"Yes."

"And for that reason I was nominated for Parliament?"

"Yes, but that also was the cause of your first failure. It was Siegfried who bribed the witnesses against you. He wanted to crush your pride, draw you closer to him, bring you into close connection with and dependence upon our homes and us."

"So it was all a conspiracy?"

"Yes."

"And Cenni's mock-marriage and your betrayal of the scheme?"

"Were meant to win your confidence."

"So Cenni co-operated with you?"

"She had to. At first she opposed it, and meant to win you for herself. She is a poor girl, and dependent on Diodora's charity; and she had to give way."

"And Diodora?"

"It was she who designed the whole plot. Her sickness that night was simulated in order to bring you near me, and to encourage you to the proposal."

This whole discourse, so closely resembling a cross-examination, had altogether the appearance of such an interrogatory as a magnetiser would address to his subject; and the answers I received were given with the plain, involuntary precision characteristic of hypnotised persons. She stood there before me, with her hands clasped in each other; that seraph-face of hers, that seemed the type of innocence and purity, without a tinge of colour, although her dreadful confession was enough to paint the cheeks of the most degraded woman with the colour of shame. She seemed to have no bashfulness, no sense of shame, and to be wholly incapable of realising her offence. And I had not believed in a Devil! Here he was before me, in the shape of this fair woman, who had tempted me with her angel's mien to sell my soul for her, and now she was dragging me down with her to eternal damnation! And the other one had warned me! She had told me with that "biting kiss" of hers that this seeming angel was no angel, but a Devil to kill me body and soul. She had told me that this fair rose was full of foul poison, and her warning had filled me with vain conceit and enhanced my love for my executioner. I saw it now. Cenni had meant to make that elopement real; and if I had taken her she would have given me her love, as this one had given me her accursed million. Money to pay for my honest name, money for my lost life and happiness, money to bribe me to the endurance of these hellish tortures!

Impossible! I cannot believe that human nature can be so vile, so miserably cunning and treacherous. This is some evil dream, some test, perhaps, of the sincerity of my love and trust in her.

"Flamma!" I said—"dearest! do not continue this ugly jest. I cannot hear foul words come out of your pure mouth;" and I tried to take her hand. But she drew back.

"I have told you the truth," she said, with a repellent gesture.

The truth! The truth! This shameful, horrid confession was the truth? Like an idiot or a lunatic I stared, gazing before me, with scarcely a thought in my stunned, aching head. A Calabrian dagger lay before me on the table. I had taken it from the museum, and used it for paper-cutting. Upon the steel blade was graven, in golden letters, "Buona notte;" and "Buona notte! buona notte," I kept incoherently murmuring.

"Have you no other question to address to me?" she asked, in a tremulus voice.

I shook my head, and pointed to the door, and, like a wooden puppet, she turned and disappeared through it. At the moment when her back was turned something like a flame flashed through my brain and body. For an instant I felt a mad impulse to rush after her, and with one bound bury this two-edged knife in her heart. Yes, in her heart; but from behind, just as they had stabbed me unawares, like assassins. My better self kept me back. My Uncle Diogenes rose before me. "Never quarrel with, never hurt a woman!" and my professional instinct was awakened. I should then have destroyed two lives; with the guilty I should have slain the innocent—a life which was in God's keeping as yet. Now the door closed behind her, and I had let the only opportunity for a deadly revenge upon the woman who had tricked me pass by neglected. Had I killed her at that moment I should have washed off the stain she had brought on my name in her own blood. "Look," I might have said, "she was led astray by another man, and I have killed her; it was my right and my duty!" This I could no longer do. She had escaped, and would live on safe and unharmed, and I should be dead and buried alive. I remembered now how confused they looked, Cenni and she, when I related to them the story of my friend, and how I had prided myself on my own prudence and good sense! And the trap was already laid for me, and I, who had thought myself safe from every such danger, here was I, on my wedding night, left alone, insulted, degraded as he was. No, not quite. He had had no money, and I had received a million. I had been paid for my disgrace, bribed for my infamy with money!

Great Jehovah, Whose vengeance is mighty, lend me Thine ear! No! Thou art too just and upright, I'll have nothing from Thee! Turn from me! I will none of Thy advice, none of Thy heavenly patience and magnanimous mercy! That marble-hearted woman had said to me, "If you deny God, He will forgive you, for He is infinitely good and merciful; but if you deny the Devil, he will be revenged on you!" and I had seen the devilish light in their eyes. I had shuddered and shunned them, and yet I had plunged headlong into the abyss which they had opened at my feet.

But now they had conjured up the Devil before me, I felt that in my own breast they had awakened a demon quite as cunning and wicked as their hoofed and horned idol; and we would see whose teachings would prove more destructive! Only, cool blood! Let me not betray myself; let me consider how to act, and then keep my own counsel. Shall I go to Volhynia after that man? Hold him to account, invite him to face the muzzle of my pistol or the edge of my sword? He is a ruffian and a notorious duellist. I am a bad shot and an indifferent fencer. He is perfect in both; it is his profession. Naturally, he would kill me, and where would be my revenge? Should I kill myself? Die the death of a suicide, and be spoken of as a lunatic who had crazy fancies because his fortune had turned his head? And what would be the result? Flamma would perhaps faint away for a few seconds, have bad dreams for a week, wear mourning for six months, and—would be none the worse for being a widow, whereas I should be laughed at as a silly fool. Shall I sue for a legal divorce? "Si fuerit dolus?" Had I not had enough of notoriety? Enough of laughter, calumny, and ridicule? Must I drag my honest and hitherto respected name through the mire, and become the laughing-stock of every fop throughout the country? No, anything but that! Help me, thou worser self, thou Devil in my own breast, help me to find some revenge worthy of a Devil's teaching! Give me death, for it is death I crave; but such a death as will give me peace and rest and honour in my grave, and to those others remaining here on earth, shame, sorrow, and remorse! I am a dead man from this accursed night forward, but I can, at least, choose the manner of my corporal death, and woe to her who has driven me to the choice!

When the morning dawned my scheme was complete, and it was a scheme that did honour to my special demon. I would die, but fame and glory should write my epitaph; and dead, I should be remembered by this woman with lifelong sorrow. She shall never be happy; and in remembering me, her soul shall be filled with bitter repentance for the misfortune she brought on me. She shall yearn for me, shed bitter tears for me, and fret away her life in despair. This should be my revenge.



XI.

MY SCHEME.

Next morning I said to my wife—"We cannot stay here. Our next year must be spent in travelling in foreign parts, and we shall start for Paris in three days. You had better make arrangements accordingly."

"My arrangements are made, for I have not unpacked my things yet. So everything is at your command," was her answer.

I left her, and drove over to the county town to my solicitor, and told him to borrow as much money on my property as he could possibly get from the financial institutions. As a pretext I told him that I had the intention of buying lands. He advised me to wait, for he had learned for certain that in a year's time Siegfried would have to sell out. His estates were mortgaged over and over, and matters were going very ill with him. If, then, I should add to the million my wife had brought me, the money I had and the money I could at any moment raise on my property, I should be able to purchase the Vernoeczy estates.

This was a revelation that for a moment made me hold my breath. It would be something to tear that water-nymph on the Vernoeczy crest from over the portals of the chateau into the mire, and erect the Dumany crest on the front of the proud old castle. But that feeling passed, and with it the temptation. It would be no revenge on her to let her live as mistress on the estates of her forefathers, and, first of all, I craved revenge on her. More than that scoundrel who had betrayed her and then flung her to me, I hated her, Lilith, the tempting devil in the guise of a seraph! But I said to the lawyer, "Very well"—that I would consider about it, and not buy anything at present; but that he should raise the money, all the same, and send it for me to Paris, as well as the funds I had inherited. Perhaps I might have use for the money there—at any rate, he must send it. Then I took the rosewood chest with my wife's dowry, and sent it by mail, and under the usual guarantee, to a well-known banking firm in Brussels as a deposit.

Three days after, we were on our journey to Paris. I had taken the Swiss route, for in those days it was the safest way to escape the obstacles and annoyances which on the road through Germany were thrown in the way of travellers to France. War was, so to speak, floating in the air, and was each moment expected to break upon the two leading nations of the Continent. At such a time the railroad termini are naturally the centres of exciting scenes and noisy demonstrations; but the Swiss republic was neutral, and the southern part of France was quiet. So we arrived in Paris unmolested; and the great crowds in the boulevards, and the multitude of detectives among the people, gave us the first notion that something extraordinary was occurring.

At first the demonstrations were all in favour of peace. Labourers in blue blouses were marching up in compact masses on the Place de la Concorde, carrying white flags and signs with the inscriptions "A bas la guerre" and "Vive la paix!" Public speakers delivered long orations on the horrors of war, and protested against the ambitious, fame-hunting tyrants who drove their innocent, peace-loving subjects into bloody combats to feed their own greed for glory and power. But their speeches were all blown to the winds. Bellona is a fair woman, and the more she is slandered to her admirers the more ardent and impassioned is their love for her. In vain did the orators protest that France was all for peace, and would not be dragged into the perils of war. The soil was thirsting for blood, and the day after our arrival in Paris the declaration of war which Napoleon had issued against Prussia was publicly announced.

I had been informed of these events long before they happened, and on them my whole scheme was built. When the public enthusiasm was highest, and the shouts "A Berlin!" loudest, when throngs of people crowded through the streets, singing the "Marseillaise" and "Le Depart," I mingled with them, bent on business.

During our journey I had shown my wife all those polite little attentions which are due to a bride on her wedding tour from her husband. Now I was looking for a residence for her. I found a handsome, palatial-looking house, exquisitely furnished, which had been hastily abandoned by a German diplomat at the first rumour of the war, and was now in the market, with its carriages and horses, servants, and everything. The bargain was made, and, as I took my wife to her temporary home, she seemed to be struck with the delicate consideration which I showed her. I saw by her face that she wished to protest against this excess of luxury, which was not in keeping with our means. But perhaps something in the expression of my face warned her to be silent; perhaps it occurred to her that as she had given me full power to do what I pleased with her dowry, I had acquired the right to squander it—if it suited my whims—on herself.

When she was comfortably established I said to her—"I have offered my services as an army physician to the French Government, and they have been accepted. I have received my commission from the Duke of Palikao, and shall start this evening for my destination."

"If it is your wish, I cannot oppose it," was her answer. What a meek, obedient wife she was! Whatever I said or did, it was, "Pray please yourself. Whatever you think best will satisfy me." She never showed the slightest increase of temper, never offered the least resistance to my arrangements. She was the same quiet, pale, silent, sylph-like being as she had been when I first knew her, and I wondered that she had not changed. We had been married only two weeks, but to me it seemed as if seven hard winters and seven fierce tropical summers had passed since that time, and had taken the marrow from my bones and every spark of hope and brightness from my soul.

"I have left you forty thousand francs in the safe; they will last you until the time of my return. You need not deny yourself anything you wish," I said.

"Thank you. I shall manage the money carefully, and shall not spend more than is strictly necessary. I am of a saving disposition."

These were our parting words, and we exchanged no others. I went to H——'s banking-house to draw the money my solicitor had sent me, and when they inquired whether I wanted checks or bills of exchange, I asked for the latter, because, as I said, in time of war the Government might bring in a moratorium.[4] "What," they laughed, "the Napoleonic Government bring in moratorium? Tete carree!" The latter was meant as a compliment for me.

[Footnote 4: A governmental act of mercy in regard to the payment of debts.]

By the next express train I went to Brussels, and then straight to the banker to whom I had sent Flamma's million. I opened the chest in his presence, and convinced him that it actually contained good security—bonds and deeds for the sum of one million and twenty-five thousand florins par—and asked him for an advance. The banker put seventy-five per cent of the nominal value at my disposal, and I handed him the power of attorney from my wife, and a written authorisation permitting him to sell the securities without notice in the event of my failure to repay the loan at a certain date.

This money, with a part of the funds which my solicitor had sent me, amounted to two millions of francs. With this sum I went to a well-known and trustworthy stockbroker, and instructed him to speculate with the whole amount in French Government bonds for a fall.

"Do you intend to throw this money in the gutter?" said the man, eyeing me critically.

"That is my own business, I presume," said I, calmly.

"Have you ever speculated on the Exchange before? Are you versed in these manipulations?"

"No! Never!"

"Do you know the situation of the Money Market at present?"

"No."

"Then grant me leave to inform you by giving you a few data. All French securities are rising in value. Paris is enthusiastic for the war. The money-chests of the financial ring are open to the Government. The French military force is fully equipped, ready to begin hostilities, and stationed at the Rhone, whereas the Prussians are caught unprepared. Bavaria will remain neutral, and the Danes are preparing to break into Schleswig-Holstein. The sequel of the war can be foretold with such certainty that a Paris financier offers, to any one who will accept it, a wager of two hundred thousand francs against one hundred thousand that on August 15 the French will march into Berlin."

"Well, you may take up that wager, also, for me."

The agent shrugged his shoulders, and accepted my offer for a bear speculation. We agreed that from time to time we should communicate with each other in cipher. Telegrams were to be forwarded through H——'s Bank.

From Brussels I returned to Paris, and procured all the necessary surgical instruments at my own expense. Next I bought three waggons with strong Trakene horses for my own transport and that of the invalids, furnished myself with all utensils requisite for camp hospitals, and then, under the protecting ensign of the Geneva Cross, I joined the regiment of the French army in which I had enlisted as volunteer camp-surgeon. My scheme was clear now. I was a dead man. I was seeking Death in his own realm, where he reigned supreme, and it was impossible not to find him there, if one really sought him. So I should die, but not the death of a suicide, despised, misjudged, forgotten, but a death on the field of honour and glory, as a hero and a martyr of science and philanthropy. And that accursed money which was given me as a fee for my disgrace would be blown to naught, as my body would be by a merciful Krupp shell. When the news of my death reaches that woman in Paris, she will try hard to discover what I have done with her fortune—and mine! But let her search ever so thoroughly, she would find—nothing! I had left no trace of my operations, nothing from which she could regain one penny. Then she would be compelled to come down from her height, return to Hungary, and live a lonely, miserable, poverty-stricken existence on my Slav kingdom, which I had mortgaged and ruined. She would have to struggle against poverty and want, and, by daily care and close economy, would have to pay from her scanty crops the heavy debts I had incurred. All day she would pine and toil, all night she would sigh and grieve. And in her dreams she would call me back, and ask me where I had buried the treasures. Her priests would fail to console her, and she would become superstitious, and resort to clairvoyants and mediums for the solution of the torturing mystery. But no prayer or curse will reach me, no incantation of conjurers or spirit-rappers will call me back. The dead do not return, either for promised kisses or for promised bites.



XII.

SEEKING FOR DEATH.

To tell the truth, on my arrival at the camp I felt like an apprentice in the presence of his masters. French surgery in general occupies a foremost place. French camp-surgeons have acquired skill and experience in their great military expeditions; there their studies receive the finishing-touch, whereas the little skill and practice which I had came entirely from the clinic and the dissecting-table.

But, nevertheless, I was very cordially received by the old, experienced masters of the profession, to whom I stated that I had come, as a voluntary apprentice, to aid in the work of philanthropy as best I could. My immediate superior was old Duval, who had served as camp-surgeon at Sebastopol, and I succeeded in acquiring his good graces. He asked me if I had ever been on a battle-field before, and I answered, a little ashamed, that I had never had that opportunity. In spite of my descent from the chivalrous Hungarian nation, I know the sound of the cannon only from hearing the salutes fired on our King's birthday, or other occasions equally peaceful.

"It does not matter," said the old man, encouragingly. "You will get over your first irritation at the noise, and then you will feel as much at home and as safe as in your own study. There is not the least danger for us. We hoist the Geneva flag with its red cross, and every civilised foe respects that ensign. After the battle is over, and the enemy has fled, beaten, shattered, and in disorder, we carry our ambulances to the gory field, and take up the wounded, friend and foe alike. The severely injured we attend to at once, dressing their wounds on the spot, and then we place them all on our beds, and take them to our hospital-tents for treatment."

This had been the old man's practice in many wars. The French had invariably been victors and masters of the field; the enemy had retreated, and then the French had taken up the wounded and nursed them faithfully, whether friend or foe. That a time could come when the French would be driven from the field, and the enemy would take up the wounded, was deemed preposterous and out of the question.

We were attached to Marshal Douay's corps, but, unfortunately, I did not receive the privilege of participating in the first battle at Saarbruecken, where old Dr. Duval's experience was confirmed; the Prussian advance was repulsed, and the victorious French gathered up the wounded.

The first wounded soldiers whom we treated were foes; one an Englishman, the other a German from Baden. Both were officers in the German army. Three daring officers from the German camp, on horseback and in full uniform, had galloped into the heart of the French camp in broad daylight; there they had cut down the sentinel, ordered food and drink, taken notes as to the camp, the position and order of the forces, the number of the batteries, etc., until at last the French awoke from their illusion, and recognised them as foes. They retreated firing, cutting their way through the French lines, killing two French officers, one of whom, as he expires, finds strength enough to return the fire, and one of the three, the Englishman, falls shot in the abdomen. A second, the Badener, is hewn down from his horse; but the third escapes unhurt, and cuts his way back to the German camp.

This incident I regarded as a bad omen. The French were so confident, so presumptuous, that they neglected the outpost service. Next day the Germans attacked Marshal Douay at Weissenburg with three times his force. This was the fault of the French, who ought to have attacked the Germans with an overwhelming force, instead of waiting to be attacked by them.

The French fought heroically against the crushing superiority of the Germans, vainly hoping that the report of the cannonade would attract assistance from a corps stationed in the neighbourhood of the battle-field; but in this heroic fight their lines were sadly decimated. At first they fought in the village, then they were forced out by the Germans, and had to defend themselves among the vineyards and the thickets. The soil was saturated with blood, and the dead and wounded were lying about in ditches, copses, and everywhere.

"Sir," said I to Dr. Duval, "to-day the enemy will be master of the field, and he will gather up the wounded, unless we prevent this by picking them up while the fight lasts. Now, while the balls are flying about, is our chance! Give me leave to go there with the ambulance."

"With all my heart! Try it if you have a mind to."

"If I had a mind to?" Why, of course, I had come for that; it was the opportunity I had craved, the chance for the immortalising cannon-ball to send me up to heaven and glory! So, taking the twelve men who were given me as aids, I started off with the ambulance to the scene of the battle.

There is not the slightest braggadocio about this. Soldiers, even in the hottest ardour of battle, will carefully avoid firing at the life-saving corps, which is distinguished by the sign of the red cross. But it is impossible to prevent an exploding shell from sending its splinters among them, and on that eventful day I had occasion to watch the course of these splinters.

The firing did not cease for a moment. The roar of the artillery, the cracking of the rifles created a deafening noise; the hoarse, grating sounds from the French mitrailleuses, in particular, made a horrible accompaniment to the dying groans of the wounded. But the French mitrailleuses had found their match in the Krupp cannon. These fire no balls, but some fiendish contrivances, longitudinal, cylindrical projectiles, which explode as they alight, and scatter their deadly fragments far and near.

All the injured men whom we took from the field were wounded by these splinters. As we toiled, the hellish projectiles were flying over our heads; but my experienced aids worked with the coolness of the harvester when he hastens to save his crops from the threatening rain. They knew well that these messages of death were not sent to them, but to the French artillery, which was opposing the advance of the Germans. All this while I felt that indescribable intoxication which is sure to overtake every novice. I stood there in the terrible realm of death, in the presence of the awful Moloch, Hamoves, the angel with the scythe. I felt a chill, a shudder, and I bowed down before the omnipotent Lord of life and death, the Almighty Ruler of the universe.

This short-lived sensation of terror every novice has to overcome. Nor is anyone spared the humiliation of this experience. The eye can hardly perceive anything of the effect of the shots, for the cannon-smoke envelopes the surrounding objects in a thick cloud of fog. The Prussian infantry were crouching down, and, while creeping and cringing thus, they were pressing forward. Nothing but the smoke of their rifles betrayed the level of their faces, and the French infantry were hidden in ditches, behind bushes and trees, and firing from these vantage-grounds. Only the Zouaves and the Turcos might now and then be recognised by their red caps.

While the artillery was pealing, the bugle was sounding the commands. All at once a strange drumbeat was heard from beside us, and the veteran sergeant at my elbow said—

"Sir, we must get out of this with our beds at once. Cavalry is advancing."

"Cavalry of the enemy?" I asked.

"Brother and enemy is all one in such a case. If we are in their way they will crush us under their horses' hoofs, without observing what body we belong to."

So we hastily picked up our beds with the wounded, and retreated with all speed behind the line of battle. We had hardly reached security when, from both sides, the cavalry advanced, both friends and enemies. The earth shook with the stamping of the hoofs, "Quadrupedante putrem crepitu quatit ungula campum."

Avoiding our right wing, a regiment of Prussian hussars was galloping towards us; a regiment of French chasseurs on horseback, under command of the commander-in-chief, Marshal Douay, in person, was dashing from the hills to meet them. The strong west wind was blowing clouds of dust in the faces of the French, the backs of the Germans. All at once the Prussian regiment divided itself, wheeling to right and left; behind them a whole battery of artillery appeared, and a powerful discharge saluted the chasseurs.

The shells made a fearful gap in the French horsemen, but still they dashed bravely on, shouting wildly, and giving the enemy's artillery no time for a second shot. The Prussians wheeled swiftly, and hussars, battery and all, fled before the lines of the French chasseurs. We thought this wild retreat meant victory for the French, but we discovered that it was only a ruse.

When the clouds of dust had dispersed, we saw that on the battle-field horses, struggling in deadly convulsions, and men in the throes of death, were strewn thickly around. We hastened thither to save whom we could, but, oh! what an awful sight it was! Man and beast piled in confusion and crushing each other. The neighing of the wounded horse mingled with the last prayer, or the death-groan, of its rider. Maddened horses, with their dead or wounded riders hanging in the saddle, were galloping on, while the less-injured soldiers, who had been thrown from their slain horses, or were struggling to extricate themselves from beneath them, were cursing and swearing, and invoking God and Devil for vengeance on the Prussians.

Among those who were fatally injured was Marshal Douay himself. As the old sergeant drew him out from under his horse, the blood rushed from an awful gash on his neck. "O, mon general!" sobbed the old soldier, trying to close the gash with his pocket-handkerchief.

"Don't cry!" said the dying chief, hoarsely. "Go shout to them 'En avant!' in my place."

It was a fatal command, this "En avant!" The French chasseurs had pursued the German hussars to a hop plantation, which proved to be full of concealed Prussian sharp-shooters. At this point the hussars attacked the chasseurs in the rear, while the sharp-shooters received them with a volley from their quick-firing rifles, and a general onslaught was begun upon the brave corps. The chasseurs endeavoured to break into the hop field, but such a plantation is a terrible fortification, with its walls of vines fastened to other walls of stout poles, and behind each a hidden foe with a quick-slaying weapon. The whole fine corps of cavalry was destroyed then and there.

The fall of the commander-in-chief, Marshal Douay, had decided the fate of the battle. When finally, all too late, MacMahon arrived with his troops, Douay's unfortunate command was shattered, and the battle of Weissenburg lost.



XIII.

MY DISCHARGE.

In spite of this terrible disaster, the retreat of the French troops was accomplished in good order, and but few prisoners fell into the hands of the Prussians; even those few were mostly Zouaves and Turcos, not real French soldiers.

That we had really been beaten was not believed by anybody. Everybody was inspired by the conviction that the Weissenburg disaster was nothing but an incident. A comparatively small defensive force had been attacked by an overwhelmingly large force of Prussians, and was compelled to retreat for the moment; but the fight had been only a trifling prologue to the great battle to come, or else was part of a deep-laid plan which would secure to us the final victory. So it had been at Solferino, when Benedek had been allowed to attack and disperse the French-Italian troops on their left wing, while at Solferino itself the Austrian army was destroyed. So it would be here. It was supposed that this slight victory was allowed to the Prussians, so as to divert their attention from the movements of MacMahon and Bazaine, who were certain to crush them all at their first encounter.

Next day the Emperor himself and his young heir-apparent appeared among us, presenting to each of those who had distinguished themselves at the battle of the preceding day some badge of honour. At the recommendation of old Dr. Duval, the Chevalier Cross of the Legion of Honour was pinned to my breast, and the reporter of a Paris newspaper wrote a flourishing item about the heroic and self-sacrificing Hungarian surgeon. When I read it, I thought of that woman in Paris, and what she would think of these reports. Perhaps she would say to herself, "So he is not everywhere the same coward as he was here! He has some pluck, some physical courage at least."

But in vain did we wait for our revenge upon the Prussians. After Weissenburg came Spicheren, then Woerth. Everywhere the German force was stronger than the French, and it turned out that their artillery was better than ours. MacMahon was cut off from Bazaine, and in the gigantic battles at Bezonville and Gravelotte, Bazaine, with his force of one hundred and fifty thousand men, was driven back into Metz. Strasburg was besieged, and MacMahon cut off from the road to Paris.

In every battle that was fought the Prussians remained masters of the field, and it was always they who took charge of the wounded. Of course, each corps was in ignorance as to the fate of the others, and if one was beaten or repulsed, it was fully convinced that the other had meanwhile been victorious elsewhere. The Paris newspapers and the Bourse supported and increased that belief. One evening, after a forced march that very much resembled a regular flight, we arrived at a certain town. I entered a cafe, and being very curious to learn something of the present state of the Money Market, I looked for a newspaper, and here it was:—"Paris. Extraordinary Upward Movement! Rate of interest raised to 68-15, and rising rapidly. News of great victories!"

"Well," I thought, "my two millions are nicely exploded by this time." Underneath I read in large letters, "The Prussians severely beaten by MacMahon! The German Crown Prince captured and made prisoner by MacMahon!"

That very day we had been compelled to leave our entire baggage in the enemy's hands and run for our lives, so to speak, and here they are talking of the German Prince having been captured. That is how they create upward movements on 'Change. But could this last? Surely such lies would soon be exposed! How long was it possible to keep on in this way?

How long? For ever.

After the massacre at Mars-la-Tour, MacMahon's forces were practically scattered to the winds, running aimlessly about, and, when coming into contact with the enemy, hardly thinking any longer of resistance. If a Prussian Uhlan was seen far off on the road every man took to his heels. The infantry threw down their rifles, the cuirassiers their helmets and breastplates; the gunners cut the traces of the horses, jumped upon their backs, and dashed on, without thinking of the fate of the rest. On horseback, with a loaded revolver in hand, I had to keep guard at the side of the ambulance carts, to keep the marauders away from the wounded. Once I had a narrow escape from being captured by the Bavarians. It was at a skirmish of artillery. A couple of French and a couple of German pieces were in position. The French were quickly disabled by the Germans, and even the head gunner was severely wounded. I took him on my shoulders, and got him out of the line of fire. The Bavarians sent another shrapnell shell after us, and, as the projectile burst over our heads, I felt a blow on the leather rim of my kepi. "A shrapnel splinter!" I thought, scornfully: "could it not have hit me a little more to the right, and have done with me?"