Désirée heard the news without comment.
“You do not believe it?” asked Mathilde, who had come in with shining eyes and a pale face.
“Oh yes, I believe it.”
“Then you forget,” persisted Mathilde, “that Charles is on the staff. They may arrive tonight.”
While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly from one to the other.
“You have heard the news?” he asked.
“That the General is coming back?” said Mathilde.
“No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is in full retreat on Danzig. The Prussians have abandoned him—at last.”
He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with restless eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were endeavouring to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he remembered Désirée and turned towards her.
“Rapp returns tomorrow,” he said. “We may presume that Charles is with him.”
“Yes,” said Désirée, in a lifeless voice.
Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh.
“We cannot offer him a fitting welcome,” he said, with a gesture of frustrated hospitality. “We must do what we can. You and he may, of course, consider this your home as long as it pleases you to remain with us. Mathilde, you will see that we have such delicacies in the house as Danzig can now afford—and you, Désirée, will of course make such preparations as are necessary. It is well to remember, he may return … tonight.”
Désirée went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside the delicate needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her fingers from morning till night. She made a movement as if to accompany her sister, but Désirée shook her head sharply and Mathilde remained where she was, leaving Désirée to go upstairs alone.
The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four o’clock the night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had caught cold. But Mathilde stayed at home. Désirée sent Lisa to the shops in the Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business and gossip in Danzig. Lisa always brought home the latest news. Mathilde came to the kitchen to seek something when the messenger returned. She heard Lisa tell Désirée that a few more stragglers had come in, but they brought no news of the General. The house seemed lonely now that Barlasch was gone.
Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly heard through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through the Frauengasse. A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, and always Désirée was ready behind the curtains to see the light flash past into the Pfaffengasse. With a shiver of suspense she crept back to bed to await the next alarm. In the early morning, long before it was light, the dull thud of steps on the trodden snow called her to the window again. She caught her breath as she drew back the curtain; for through the long watches of the night she had imagined every possible form of return.
This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met Rapp on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent Barlasch back in advance to announce the safety of Désirée’s husband. Louis would, of course, not come to Danzig. He would go north to Russia, to Reval, and perhaps home to England—never to return.
But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of Schottland, and did not dare to carry through the streets by day.
At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa’s heavy footstep made the stairs creak and crack.
Désirée went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde astir in her room, and the light of candles was visible under her door. Désirée busied herself with household affairs.
“I have not slept,” said Lisa bluntly, “for thinking that your husband might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in the street. But without doubt you would have heard him.”
“Yes, I should have heard him.”
“If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all night,” said Lisa, with a gay laugh—and Désirée laughed too.
Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she appeared Désirée could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. Mathilde was dressed, all in her best, as for a fête.
At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the Governor would reenter the city in state with his staff at midday. The citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather there to welcome the returning garrison.
“And the citizens will accept the invitation,” commented Sebastian, with a curt laugh. “All the world has sneered at Russia since the Empire existed—and yet it has to learn from Moscow what part a citizen may play in war. These good Danzigers will accept the invitation.”
And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour to Rapp. Even the Poles must have known by now that France had made tools of them. But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon had fallen. There were doubtless many spies in the streets that cold December day—one who listened for Napoleon; and another, peeping to this side and that, for the King of Prussia. Sweden also would need to know what Danzig thought, and Russia must not be ignorant of the gossip in a great Baltic port.
Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars which reached to the brim of their hats—showing nothing but eyes where the rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult for any to judge of his neighbour—whether he were Pole or Prussian, Danziger or Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or scarves concealing their faces, stood silently beside their husbands. It was only the children who asked a
