And yet, strange as it seemed, these little houses on the grey sand could still afford safe shelter! But how could she hope that he would meet her on the threshold of one of them? That his boat would be one of the twenty or thirty vessels of all sizes which were rocking at anchor immediately below them, in the bay between the little peninsula and the mainland? He would be out beyond, beyond where, as far as the eye could reach, foaming waves towered above each other; beyond where sea and sky mingled in one terrible darkness, as if they had met together for the destruction of the world.
“There! There!”
But the words died on Elsa’s trembling lips; the hand with which she had pointed seawards fell heavily beside her.
Valerie took the cold, rigid fingers:
“He will return, Elsa!”
But Elsa shook her head.
VII
It was about . Frau von Wallbach sat in the drawing-room, in her usual place by the fire, and stared at the flames, which, after many vain efforts, had at last been successfully kindled; and, notwithstanding the terrible uproar that raged round the castle, was on the point of forgetting her annoyance in a refreshing afternoon nap, when Signor Giraldi was announced, having only just arrived.
“He might as well have stayed away another hour,” said Frau von Wallbach. “Well, it is all the same to me; let dinner be got ready for him, François, and then ask him to come here.”
“Signor Giraldi particularly wishes to see you at once, ma’am.”
“Very well; it is all the same to me today.”
Frau von Wallbach had just time to turn her head towards the door as she leant back in her chair, when Giraldi entered. He was still in his travelling dress, having only thrown down his wet cloak in the hall; his black beard, which was usually so carefully arranged, was wild and dishevelled; his calm, dark eyes glowed with a lurid fire; his usually impassive face, that had seemed chiselled in yellow marble, was furrowed and agitated.
“Dear me, how strange you look!” said Frau von Wallbach.
“I must apologise,” answered Giraldi; “but I have been travelling since last night, perpetually detained by the most provoking hindrances, and I arrive here at last to learn that the Baroness, with whom I have to talk upon the most important and urgent affairs, is not at home. You can imagine—”
“Do sit down,” said Frau von Wallbach. “You make me quite nervous by standing about like that, and talking so quickly.”
“I must apologise again,” said Giraldi.
“Not at all. I only remained here to receive you, although I tell you fairly that I had rather not have done so.”
“Then I will not take up another moment of your valuable time—”
“Do sit still, and don’t make any speeches. I never make any, as you know, and am not at all inclined for them today. Oh yes, you may look at me as scornfully as you please. I dare say you think me, as other people do, half a child or a fool; but children and fools speak the truth, and the truth, my dear Signor Giraldi, is, that if you had not intermeddled and set everything at sixes and sevens, Carla would be Ottomar’s wife by this time, and everything would be properly arranged, while now she is out in this dreadful weather—you must have met them I should think—riding with the Count, although I told her to the Count’s face that it was scandalous, to say nothing of her catching her death of cold.”
“You cannot possibly hold me responsible for the irresistible impulse which makes heart meet heart,” answered Giraldi, with an attempt at his usual supremely ironical smile, which only resulted, however, in an evil grimace.
“Hearts!” said Frau von Wallbach; “stuff! The little heart that Carla ever had was Ottomar’s, and no one else’s; and there would have been quite enough for matrimony, at least I know some that have done very well with less. And as for the Count, good heavens! at first she was always telling me that he talked such nonsense, and my husband said so too, and old Countess Kniebreche and everyone; and then you came and cried him up to the skies, and of course what you said must be true, and so you have got your own way so far. And why? because it suited you that Ottomar should not marry, but should continue his careless way of living, and get into all sorts of troubles and scrapes, and that you should have him in your power. And you have succeeded very nicely, as Carla would say. But I don’t think it nice at all, but perfectly horrid of you; for Ottomar has always been pleasant and good-natured to me, and I like him a thousand times better than the Count; and if I had never respected Elsa before, I should now that I see she does not care one bit for the Count, but has declared honestly, as the Baroness told me and Carla this morning in Elsa’s name, that she is going to marry her sailor, although it is rather a strange proceeding for a Fräulein von Werben; but that is her affair; and she has gone with the Baroness to see him at Wissow, or whatever the name of the place is, which is quite right, I think, under
