He hurried away without waiting for the lady’s answer.
As he passed hastily through the anteroom, from which doors opened on all sides, Carla came towards him, holding her whip in one hand and in the other her hat and gloves.
“Your sister-in-law is still in the drawing-room,” he said out loud.
“Thank you,” replied Carla equally distinctly.
He made her a sign with hand and eye.
“Have you examined this charming old painting yet?”
“Which one!”
“This one, here! look!”
They had moved so far on one side that they could not well be seen from the drawing-room, of which the portières were open.
“One only,” whispered the Count.
“You are mad!”
“The first—and last today.”
She put up her lips to him.
“Angel!”
“Really charming!” said Carla out loud; and then in a whisper, “For heaven’s sake, go away!”
She vanished into the drawing-room, and the Count rushed into the corridor. Neither had remarked, their whole attention being directed to the drawing-room, that at the moment when their lips met the portière of a second door, which led to the inner apartments, was lifted, and as quickly dropped again.
“Is Elsa gone?” asked Carla. “I wanted to say goodbye to her.”
Frau von Wallbach turned her head so far as to be able to see Carla if necessary. “I have spoken to him.”
“What did you say?” asked Carla eagerly.
“That it is too boring here, and I cannot stand it any longer.”
“That was all?”
“It was enough for me. You must manage for yourself.”
“But Edward himself thinks your presence necessary here.”
“Your brother cannot expect that I should bore myself to death for you.”
Carla shrugged her shoulders. “You will be in a better temper tomorrow. Goodbye!”
“I go tomorrow, you may depend upon that.”
To hear a decided resolution from her sister-in-law was something so extraordinary, that Carla, who was already at the door, turned round again. “But, Louisa—”
“Well, I do not see it at all,” said Frau von Wallbach. “Elsa is always amiable to me, much more so than you are. I was really sorry for the Baroness today, to see the trouble she took without receiving the slightest thanks from you, and I am sorry for poor Ottomar. Whatever he may be, he does not show me that he thinks me a fool, as you do, and I do not think it seemly that behind his aunt’s back in her own house—”
“Warnow has long belonged to the Count,” said Carla.
“It is all the same. We are staying here with the Baroness, and not with the Count. If you wish to stay with the Count, marry him—for all I care. But I think you would be sorry if you gave up Ottomar, and I do not see how it would be possible now. However, do as you please—I go!”
The unheard-of obstinacy of her sister-in-law began to make Carla really uneasy. She laid her things down on a chair, knelt by Louisa’s side, and as she held and stroked her hand, said in a soft coaxing voice, “My sweet pet will never hurt me so. She will not leave poor Carla in her need. Ottomar is too bad. I know now, from Giraldi, why he proposed to me, because he was refused by Ferdinanda Schmidt, and he is still madly in love with her, and is making use of his former mistress to win her back. And Giraldi says that he has so many debts that his whole inheritance would not pay them, even if Elsa—and Giraldi knows everything, everything, I tell you—married that man; and you yourself would hardly wish to have the wife of a Superintendent of Pilots for a sister-in-law—would you, my sweet pet!”
“That is all nonsense,” said Frau von Wallbach, with a feeble and fruitless attempt to draw her hand away from Carla’s. “You never had scruples about Ottomar’s mistresses formerly. I am certain that the Count also has his mistresses—all men have; and the same with regard to his debts. The Count has certainly as many—and perhaps more.”
“But not such bad ones,” said Carla hastily. “He has terrible debts, Giraldi says.”
“The fact is,” said Frau von Wallbach, “you are over head and ears in love with the Count.”
“And if I say yes, will my sweetest Louisa remain here?” whispered Carla, suddenly throwing her arms round her sister-in-law and laying her head on her shoulder.
“You will see, no good will come of it.”
François looked into the room. “I beg pardon, but the Count has sent to ask if mademoiselle—”
“I am coming,” cried Carla, stretching out her hand for her hat. “You will, will you not, sweet pet?—please fasten the elastic of my hat behind—you will remain! Thanks! Adieu, sweet pet!”
She once more embraced her sister-in-law, took her gloves from the chair, and hastened away, her skirt trailing far behind her.
“If it were only not such a bore!” said Frau von Wallbach, sinking back in her chair.
When the Count came down, the horses had just been brought round. Herr von Strummin was sitting on a bench which encircled the trunk of a wide-spreading lime-tree, and playing with the point of his riding-whip in the fine gravel.
“You have come at last?” he said, looking up angrily.
“Fräulein von Wallbach wishes to say goodbye again to the ladies,” said the Count, seating himself by the side of his friend, “and it is rather a long business. We shall still have some little time to wait.”
“So much the better,” said Herr von Strummin; “I have not for a long time had the pleasure of speaking to you for a minute alone. So, without any beating about the bush—I am very sorry, but I must have back my five thousand thalers.”
“I am very sorry too, my dear Strummin,” replied the Count, laughing, “because I cannot repay them.”
“Cannot repay me!” exclaimed Herr von Strummin, as the colour grew still deeper in his red face. “But you told
