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Title: Old Wine
Author: Bottome, Phyllis (1882-1963)
Date of first publication: 1925
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Faber and Faber, June 1948
   [fourth printing of 1944 edition]
Date first posted: 11 March 2018
Date last updated: 11 March 2018
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1513

This ebook was produced by
Mardi Desjardins, Jen Haines, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
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OLD WINE

by Phyllis Bottome






CHAPTER I


The vast old room was like a field at dusk. Firelight flickered faintly
at a great distance, making a pool of light on the intricate parquet
floor. In this pool of light sat Otto Wolkenheimb, silent and
motionless. At one of the five windows another silent and motionless
figure stood gazing down on the grass-grown square.

It was the Autumn of 1918, and to these two men of a crumbling Empire it
was the end of the world. Their feelings were not those of men who are
to be executed to-morrow; they were those of men who have been executed
yesterday. Their world was gone.

Otto Wolkenheimb leaned forward and turned on a small reading lamp. The
light shone on his high domed forehead, slanting eyebrows, and round
brown eyes, set high above his salient cheek-bones. There was no
expression in his eyes. They were like a toy of beautifully polished
Chinese boxes: each box contains a smaller one, until the last is
reached--and that is empty. His lips were thin; it was not possible to
say yet, for he was two years short of forty, whether the lines beside
them might not, if fortune went against him, become lines of
ruthlessness and self-pity. Otto's weakest feature was his mouth; women
liked it, but the characteristics which formed it were unfavourable to
women. Both men were in suspense; but in Otto suspense was merely the
prolongation of an inevitable incident; in the younger man it was an
anguish of stubborn hope.

Franz Salvator turned away from the window and walked the long length of
the room towards his cousin. His handsome features were worn with
exposure; his crisp, fair brown hair was touched, young as he was, with
silver. His eyes were large, wide apart and very blue. His finely
curved, close shut lips had the strength of long patience; and the short
cleft chin under them expressed a steady will. It was a beautiful young
face, hammered by hard experience; too resolute for laughter, but
breaking into charming tenderness when Franz Salvator smiled. He was
slim and tall; he moved with the easy motion of one who has mastered
every form of activity. His strength was too unconscious to look
formidable; it had been tried to the uttermost, but it had not reached
its limit. 'You are sure,' he said, when he stood on the verge of the
little pool of firelight, 'that there will be no fighting?' 'I have
given you my word of honour,' said Otto, without lifting his head. 'You
might be mistaken?' Franz Salvator insisted. 'My wits,' said Otto with a
dry smile, 'are at least as trustworthy as my word.' 'Everything has
gone mad!' Franz Salvator exclaimed. 'We are blown about like leaves, or
trampled into mud!' 'You have become poetical,' said Otto more dryly
still. 'But you are right as to the mud--nothing else is left now.'
'Otto!' Franz Salvator said in a low voice, looking about him uneasily
at the shadowy furniture as if he feared to be overheard even by such
friendly and inanimate witnesses, 'something horrible happened to me in
the streets on my way here--I can hardly speak of it. The crowd would
have torn off my medals! A woman spat on my uniform! Are the people of
our Country turned into wild beasts?' 'All people are beasts,' said Otto
indifferently, 'only as a rule they are tame. The whip tames them; and
now you see we have mislaid the whip!' 'I told them,' Franz said
earnestly, '"Men! I have only done my duty; is it for this you attack
me? Go and do yours!"--and I knocked two of them down. But though they
were afraid of me and I have my medals safe, the feeling of madness
remains! I cannot understand it--are there no duties left?' 'Ah!' said
Otto looking up quickly into the young man's eyes, 'even you question
that? It is the point that we have got to face. I hear Eugen.' The door
was flung open, and a man burst into the room with bent head as if he
were reeling from a blow. 'My dear fellow!' Otto said, rising quickly to
meet him, 'so this is the end?' Franz Salvator stood speechless, his
hand fingering his sword; his dark blue eyes shone hard upon the
newcomer; both his hopes and his fears were gone now; only a fatal
certainty and his own strength remained. 'I have come from the Palace,'
gasped Eugen Erddy, 'it is finished. They go!' He sank down in a heap
in one of Otto's deep arm-chairs, his eyeglass swaying helplessly before
him, and his round cropped head bent over like an old man's. Eugen
Erddy had as a rule the faultless rigidity of a mechanical doll; to see
him crumpled up shapelessly, without order or dignity, was as shocking
as to see the doll with a broken spring cast helpless on the ground.
Otto looked at him with a slightly irritated sympathy. There was
everything to feel of course, but it was a pity to feel, even
everything, so much. There was a lack of spiritual economy, Otto felt,
in abandoning yourself to emotion. Eugen did not see as Otto saw, that
there is no more use making a stir about the end of a dynasty, than
about the end of a rat hunt--the important point in all abrupt closes is
not to be the rat.

The loss of the Hapsburgs was an overwhelming public catastrophe, but it
was a public catastrophe; and Otto kept his strongest emotions for
purely personal disasters. 'It was bound to come,' he said
considerately, after a pause. 'Take some cognac, my dear fellow! The
Kaiser had the wrong temperament for a king. I said to him a week ago
that it might be necessary to break a few heads, and what do you suppose
he replied? "Bloodshed for my Country I have had to bear, but I will
never bear it for myself." Emperors who cannot bear bloodshed have to
abdicate.' Eugen poured the cognac with a shaking hand, and drank it
hurriedly without appreciation. He did not even glance at the exquisite
Venetian glass out of which he drank, though his heart was fixed upon
such treasures. 'It was better to go as you did,' he muttered, 'than to
see the end come. I was with my Archduke. I had wound up all his
affairs. He will return to the country and live on his estate. I did not
wish to be a burden to him, so I refused his offers, and said farewell.
Then the Socialists were announced. He said, "Stay a little, Eugen."
Half a dozen canaille entered. I could have accounted for at least three
of them. Socialists are always flabby. But it was against orders. I
said, "Gentlemen, what do you want?" They said, "We wish to see the
Kaiser." The Archduke made a face, and turned his back on them--I am
personally attached to my Archduke, but I must admit he is without
dignity. The door opened and out came the Kaiser into the Hall of
Audience, as if those creatures were his masters. I saw in a flash that
they would have been satisfied with a few concessions; they did not
expect abdication. He gave them everything. No one could stop him. I
seemed to hear the centuries crash behind him. At the end he held out
his hand to the dogs and said, "None of my people are my enemies."' 'I
dislike ends,' said Otto, shrugging his shoulders, 'particularly
sentimental ones. Last week I gave the Kaiser my final advice. He
refused it; and I begged leave to resign. I was not trained to be a
philanthropist, nor do I find that I have the natural aptitude. Like all
idealists, the Kaiser acted for the good of his enemies and left his
friends to suffer for it. The class who have supported him is to be
destroyed because he feared to kill half a dozen worthless persons. It
would be laughable if what deeply affects one personally were ever
laughable!' 'Yes, our life is gone,' agreed Eugen gloomily. 'There is
the Danube on one side and a little old cognac left on the other. To
which do you propose to devote yourself, Otto?' 'Do not let us speak of
ourselves!' interrupted Franz Salvator. 'The Kaiser has gone. I do not
judge him, he sees perhaps further than we, but he is not the last
Hapsburg, the line is not dead! If he cannot return to us--and I, for
one, will never despair of his return!--there is his son. We can prepare
for him--fight for him, when he is ready for us! Eugen, you spoke to the
Kaiser, you know his mind? Will he not return?' 'Ah!' said Eugen,
staring heavily at the shining floor, 'men who go--make a mistake! To
return is not so easy when to stay has not seemed possible. You ask what
is in his mind? But what is in men's minds does not count; only a man's
acts make history.' Eugen sank back into silence. His sympathy with
Franz Salvator was deeper than words, deeper than tears. He wanted to
get drunk and forget it. Blindness! that was what Eugen hungered for.
Everywhere there were new evils to see, fresh hearts broken by them,
more intensive ruin. Only in the cognac beside him was safety, because
only there would unconsciousness blot out the evils he could not help.
Otto could speak! He would explain to Franz Salvator all that could be
explained. Otto cared for Franz less than Eugen cared for him. He could
bear to see hope turn cold in his young cousin's eyes.

Otto put his hand on Franz Salvator's shoulder. 'My dear boy,' he said
slowly and impressively, 'the Kaiser will not come back. We are in the
hands of the rabble who attacked you in the street just now. Be careful
not to displease them, for they are our masters!' 'Never! never! I will
shoot myself first,' cried Franz Salvator. 'Why are we sitting here
doing nothing? Can we not gather some of the Army together and try to
make order?' Otto shook his head. 'An army once disbanded,' he said
dispassionately, 'is a mob. Ask yourself what our soldiers have got by
fighting their enemies these four harsh years? Wounds, starvation,
death, defeat! And you would ask them to fight again--not against their
enemies this time, but against their friends? Be reasonable! We do
nothing, my dear child, because there is precisely nothing to be done.
There is no Treasury, no Army, no Court, no law! There are a great many
good people in the streets who think they have--instead of these
things--freedom! To-morrow they will find that they have freedom--to
starve. We shall share it with them.' Eugen moved a shaking hand toward
the liqueur bottle. 'We are _kaput_!' he whispered, and the shadows of
the vast room echoed the hopeless word, '_kaput!_' Franz Salvator was
silent. The sense of defeat had been for months like something acid in
his blood; but he was young and very brave. He could not envisage what
defeat meant. He had told himself, and he had told his men, that there
was no disgrace in being conquered. One of two fighters must always
lose; and no loss that is without shame is final. But he was no longer
on the field of battle where suffering is simple, and the heart meets it
simply. He was caught in the treacherous obscure trap of the civilized
world. Slowly he coloured to the roots of his hair, and looked with
puzzled eyes from one of his two friends to the other. Eugen was broken;
his eyelids were red and swollen, his hands shook. Something
disintegrating and final had taken place in him. His spirit had
retreated. Otto was not visibly changed. There was a scarcely
perceptible line in his forehead between his oblique eyebrows, but his
good-humoured calm was the same as if they were all safely back in one
of their serene and brilliant yesterdays. He met Franz Salvator's
puzzled eyes, and leaned slightly forward, placing the tips of his
beautifully manicured fingers together. 'I want you to understand,' he
said in a low resonant voice, 'that there is no such thing as Austria!
No such race as our old race! Our class is finished--as finished as a
last year's drink! As nobles we exist no longer; but we are still men!'
'You are right! You are always right, Otto!' cried Franz, with grave
enthusiasm. 'We are men, and we can still die like men!' Otto's curious
eyebrows flickered above his bright expressionless eyes. 'We can still
live,' he said quietly, 'and it is life, not death, that demands of us
wit and courage. I do not know whether life is worth living or not. It
is a formidable question; but the answer is easy. For so long as life is
worth living--live it!' 'But where? But how?' exclaimed Eugen. 'I
foresaw the downfall. I placed my little fortune in security; but all I
have will only keep us in bread--you--Otto--Eugnie--Franz and myself;
and when have any of us evinced the slightest interest in bread?' 'You
are perfectly right,' agreed Otto; 'if I had nothing better to suggest
than an undignified scramble for crusts, I would embrace your
alternative. But before I tell you what I have to suggest, I will ask
you to repeat seriously what you see before you. Eugen, you are the
eldest; is it your considered opinion and intention to drink yourself to
death?' 'It is,' said Eugen, without a moment's hesitation, 'unless I
find the process too long. If I tire, I shall seek the Danube. I have
always disliked water; but a great deal of it at a time is at least
conclusive.' 'And you, Franz?' Otto asked. 'You will end matters by a
bullet?' 'If I cannot earn enough to keep Eugnie and myself in
decency,' said Franz Salvator. 'But I am willing, if Eugnie is, to try
working first. Personally I prefer death to the present conditions, but
I shall not of course desert Eugnie.' 'Ah,' said Otto with a faint
smile, 'Eugnie will, I have no doubt, encourage the idea of work, and
by work you mean what is usually alluded to--I have never quite
understood why--as "honest toil"?' Franz Salvator flung back his head
impatiently. 'What else is there for me to do?' he asked. 'I have strong
arms.' 'A life of honest toil,' said Otto, 'is not, I fear, particularly
remunerative, and I doubt if it will keep you and Eugnie very much
above the level of mere bread-winning. Now I will propose my
alternative. I may as well say before I go any further that I have no
scruples left. Scruples were for the old rgime. I shall give up
immediately all the virtues that we cultivated in the days which were
fit for them. It will be a bore of course, and no doubt we shall have
lapses. But the privileges which invented our old virtues will be
absent; and we shall learn to match ourselves to our opportunities. We
have been fast friends, Eugen and I, for twenty years, and you, my dear
Franz, entered our fellowship ten years ago and became in every way one
of us. I am the Head of your House, and you accepted me as your leader.
It has been an honour, and I hope you both feel that I have not abused
it?' 'Never!' cried Eugen and Franz Salvator simultaneously. For the
first time during the afternoon Otto was moved, the readiness of his
words deserted him; he hesitated and started again at a tangent.
'Looking back on my life,' he said, moistening his lips, 'I can say that
our friendship has been the best thing in it. I do not undervalue women;
but one does not think of them singly. I have had two friends; you,
Eugen! and you, Franz Salvator! I shall have no others. If I have been
your leader in the old world, I suggest that you give me your confidence
in the new. To you, Franz Salvator, I shall entrust Trauenstein. You
love the country, you have always shown a great aptitude for land. I
shall ask you to oversee and work the estate to the best of your
ability, and I will send you sufficient money for the purpose. I shall
be delighted if your sister will occupy with you part of the
Schloss--there are I believe three hundred rooms, so you and my mother
should be able to accommodate yourselves together without inconvenience.
As for you, Eugen, I shall require your legal knowledge and sound head
as much as any Archduke, and I ask of you nothing but to carry out and
safeguard my schemes--as I retail them to you. Naturally we shall remain
in Wien. All three of us had better marry foreign money. In a very short
time now the foreigners will swamp us; but they will be, if we use them
aright, a fructifying swamp. I propose to let the flat above us to the
English at an extremely favourable rent.' 'That will be a good step,'
Eugen asserted, 'but it is not in itself a career. How do you propose to
earn money enough to supply Trauenstein, and keep yourself comfortably
here in Wien?' Otto glanced rapidly from one to the other. He had a
momentary reluctance. He knew what he was going to do, he had known it
for a long time and without hesitation; his reluctance was for the form
his action must take. He disliked explanations; but of the two men
before him only one would follow him blindly. Otto was anxious, if it
were possible, to convince both. It would therefore be necessary for him
to explain part at least of his intentions. 'I have made rather a study
of history,' he observed at last, 'and in history there are many
parallel occasions. Moments of chaos like this, for instance. We have
spoken of the world as dead; but worlds don't die, they change their
fashions of life. One sign of vitality still exists, even in this
dismembered city. There are a few hundred Jews in Wien who will regulate
our new-found freedom and starvation to fill their own pockets. They
will survive.' 'What has that to do with us?' asked Franz Salvator
impatiently. 'We are Austrians, not Jews!' 'Remember,' said Otto, 'what
we have already told you, Franz--both Eugen and I. You were under the
impression that you fought for your Kaiser and your Fatherland. But
there is no such person now, no such place. There is instead, "The New
Jerusalem," a place and a people that have their own laws--their own
privileges. Come, my dear Franz! my dear Eugen! don't let us be tragic!
We have lost all we possessed--granted! But hadn't we each of us
something extra? Hardly a possession at all, but a quality or two that
we can draw on at a pinch? I at least feel that I am a match for Jews!
And I have asked one of them here this afternoon to play the first round
with me. This gentleman is old Mandelbaum--the grocer. He is to be made
minister in my place. I rather fancy that he does not go in for the
honour solely for the salary! Mandelbaum is nearly the master of Wien;
but not quite. Since we cannot prevent his power--let us at least share
it!' 'Why should I dirty my hands because my heart is broken?' demanded
Eugen sharply. 'I am a little man; independent, and without ambition.
No! no! Otto, we cannot sink as low as that!' It was evident that Eugen
understood what Otto meant to do better than Franz Salvator; but it was
less certain that he would refuse it. Franz Salvator spoke hesitatingly.
'But of course,' he said, 'I would look after Trauenstein for you!
Gladly! gladly! it would be a life work. If I had money enough I think I
could make it produce more, but I do not see how you can raise the
money? This Jew--Mandelbaum--is it from him you expect to raise a loan?
You and Eugen know better than I of course--but I had always understood
it was dangerous to borrow money from Jews?' Otto's eyebrows came
together, and for a moment he looked extraordinarily like one of his
Tartar ancestors when that ancestor felt a check to his usually
omnipotent will. 'I do not intend to borrow exactly,' Otto explained
with dry patience; 'my methods are not quite so crude, nor do I wish
that you should even meet this Jewish gentleman. He will be my affair
and Eugen's. For, Eugen, I am certain on reflection you will not leave
me to deal single-handed with a power you so much dislike? I ask your
assistance and I feel sure that you will not leave me in the lurch.'
'No! no!' agreed Eugen thickly. 'I am here--count on me, do what you
will! But remember that I am not conciliatory in my manner to Jews. If
you wish to make a good impression upon this one--withdraw me for the
present!' 'But,' interrupted Franz Salvator nervously, 'why should Otto
wish to make any impression upon Herr Mandelbaum?' There was a moment's
pause before Otto said, 'My dear boy, because I propose to use
Mandelbaum, and in order to use him it is necessary for me to please
him. But my conduct is my own affair; all that I find necessary for you
is to understand--before you hear it from outside sources--that I _do_
intend to use Mandelbaum. I shall negotiate through him with the present
Government, offer them my experience, my foreign languages, my
facilities of approach to foreign powers; relieve them in fact of their
ignorance--and naturally I shall expect to profit a little by the
exchange!' Franz Salvator looked his cousin Otto straight between the
eyes. 'But you cannot,' he said resolutely, 'you cannot mean to do such
a thing, Otto? I am stupid! I do not understand you. You would associate
with Socialists? The very men who have pulled down our Kaiser! Make
bargains with Jews? Earn money out of our ruin? I am mad! Because what
you say is impossible! But I know that it is impossible! You are not in
earnest? I am too thick-witted to see the joke?' 'You see how it seems
to him, Otto?' Eugen murmured, sinking lower and lower in his chair. 'It
seems to him you have made a joke--as bad a joke as God made when He
invented man!' 'I am making no jokes,' said Otto severely. 'Try to be
reasonable, Franz. What can you do to make money? You would make an
admirable circus rider; but unfortunately there are no circuses at
present. Eugen is by training and by inclination a Court official; and
there are no more courts. As for me I have what I have always had--my
own intellectual resources, and I propose to use them as I think right.
I do not ask you to accept any responsibility for my actions; you will
merely profit by them.' 'But that I find impossible!' said Franz
Salvator slowly and with evident pain. 'Then you and Eugnie will
starve,' replied Otto angrily. 'I cannot understand a conscience that
exposes a woman to starvation!' 'Eugnie would prefer starvation, Otto,'
said Franz steadily. 'It may be necessary both for men and women to
accept death; it can never be necessary for them to accept dishonour.
Eugen! why do you not speak? You do not approve of Otto's intentions?'
'I? I approve of nothing except cognac,' said Eugen heavily. 'People say
more comfortable keep sober! Damn lie! More comfortable keep drunk!
Moderate drunkenness, that's what a man wants! Sober men think; thinking
devilish unremunerative at present! Kaiser gone! Country gone!
Mandelbaum dirty Jew--but rich! Must have money! Money and blood--only
things men are never ashamed of!' 'Eugen speaks sense even when he's
drunk,' said Otto approvingly, 'and you, my dear Franz, talk nonsense
even when you're sober!' 'Eugen!' Franz leaned over the huddled figure,
'you won't let Otto make money out of politics? At any rate you won't
share his infamy?' Eugen raised his head and fumblingly replaced his
eyeglass; it took him a long time to get it fixed; at last he was
satisfied and looked from one to the other of his cousins as if he were
trying to sum up their differences. 'Sympathy,' he said at last,
'entirely with you, Franz, but reason with Otto. Decent ideas no damned
good, like country--_kaput_!' 'Oh, but this is horrible!' Franz
exclaimed. 'It's worse than anything that's happened in all these
beastly years! I wish the war had never ended!' 'But it has not ended,
Franz,' Otto said quietly. 'That is where you make your mistake. We have
entered into another phase of it, that is all. A phase you don't
understand. We have no country left, therefore we have no duties towards
it. We have only a world full of enemies, and we are at liberty to use
the weapons of our enemies.' Franz Salvator looked at him sternly across
Eugen's bowed head. 'A man never gets rid of his duties towards
himself,' he answered. 'If you associate for profit with Jews and
swindlers, that is what you will become--a Jew and a swindler! and we
can have no further dealings with you.' 'No! no!' cried Eugen hoarsely.
'We've been friends all our lives. Can't let that go! Can't let that go,
Otto!' He lurched forward with his head on the table and burst into
sobs. Franz Salvator hesitated and looked once more at Otto; but the
Head of His House merely leaned forward and removed the priceless
liqueur glasses into a place of safety.




CHAPTER II


The Countess Rosalie Zalfy sat in the corner of Otto Wolkenheimb's sofa
and wondered what was the matter with him. She had often sat in that
particular corner before; for three years in fact she had sat there more
often and with more pleasure than anywhere else; but she had never
before had to wonder what was the matter with Otto.

Life was very simple for Rosalie; she loved horses, smart men and
chocolates, and she had always had them. She was a beautiful horsewoman
and as pretty as if she were paid for it. She came from an excellent
family, and looked barely respectable. Her husband had an easy nature,
and tastes that he was very glad she had no wish to share. They gave
each other a great dead of margin and used all of it up.

Rosalie was as fond of Otto Wolkenheimb as she had ever been of any one.
He gave her good horses to ride, Russian furs, occasionally jewels, and
constantly large boxes of Gerbaud chocolates--the best in the world. He
never asked anything of Rosalie except that she should be good-humoured
and well-dressed. Otto disliked large-hearted sympathetic women, and if
it were a question of wit, he had enough for two. To have had an
intimacy with an intelligent woman would have bored him very much. What
he liked was to find out other people's foibles while he himself
remained hidden behind an attractive mask; he had no wish to correct any
of the weaknesses he discovered, but he had every intention of profiting
by them. It cannot be said that Otto was deeply in love with Rosalie;
but until now she had been exactly what he wanted. Now she was too
expensive. Eugen had gone into all his affairs most carefully and had
told him briefly but firmly that Rosalie must go. She must go unless she
would stay without horses; and it was going to be a little difficult to
put this condition to Rosalie, who had never in her life done without
anything that she wanted.

Rosalie felt already the chill of sacrifice in the air. She nestled
deeper into the cushions, smoked a little nervously and wondered if her
new hat, which was composed of two humming birds and a piece of cerise
velvet, was all that she had supposed when she bought it. 'You are very
silent, dear Otto,' she said at last, 'and you go up and down, up and
down in front of me as if you were waiting for a train. Since I have
been here for at least five minutes, it would be prettier of you to
behave as if the train had arrived!' Otto laughed a little impatiently.
'Everything, my treasure,' he observed, 'comes when you come. If I am a
little restless it is natural enough; because, with equal certainty,
everything goes when you go!' 'But I am not going to go until to-morrow
morning,' Rosalie reminded him. 'Heinrich is in the country, and I am
supposed to be consulting a doctor at Baden. I would take off my hat,
but it is so pretty on, or at least I had supposed so before I came
here! Outdoors it is snowing and dark, and, oh, how one envies all those
wicked Allies who have their own limousines--the brutes--and need not
take dirty street trams and spoil their shoes in puddles! Look at my
feet.' Rosalie had beautiful little feet, and Conrad, on her arrival,
had made her shoes cleaner than her own servant had made them before she
started out. They were hardly feet to look at dispassionately, quite
apart from the melon-coloured silk stockings which rose for some
distance above them; and yet Otto insulted her by looking at them
dispassionately. 'When will you be able to buy a car?' Rosalie went on
after this unsuccessful pause. 'Talk to me about it first, dear Otto. I
have so many ideas! Are you going to get some horses over from England
next Spring? I suppose that now everything will be a little easier, a
little more amusing, unless these wretched Socialists spoil all our fun?
It was a pity, wasn't it, about the Kaiser abdicating? I shouldn't have
thought you would have let him, Otto darling. It gave me quite a shock!
But it won't stop the racing, will it?' As a rule Otto thoroughly
enjoyed Rosalie's heartlessness. It seemed to him ideal to possess a
woman who, in addition to looking like a doll, had exactly as little
feeling. Perhaps he would have enjoyed it to-day if he had not had to
appear before her in a less attractive light than usual. When he
answered her it was with a very slight edge to his voice, natural in a
husband but regrettable in a lover. 'I suppose,' he said, 'that since we
last met there have been one or two slight changes, and I am afraid you
will find their results tiresome. Money, for instance--that very coarse
object about which we never speak--any more, I suppose, than roses talk
about manure?--is going to be what business men call "tight." I don't
see any prospects of discussing cars with you, or even fresh horses. In
fact I fear what we shall have to discuss is getting rid of the horses I
already possess!' Rosalie laid down her cigarette. 'My dear Otto,' she
exclaimed, 'not the horses!' She sat up straight, uncrossed her
melon-coloured legs and looked perfectly serious. 'Socialists,' Otto
continued, 'a body of people you so inappropriately describe as
wretched--don't like horses except for purposes of traction; and as we
are to live under a Socialist rgime it will be unpopular not to appear
at least to sympathize with their absence of taste.' 'But, Otto
darling,' cried Rosalie, in horror, 'why should we sympathize at all
with anything we don't like? Sympathy is such a bore! Besides I really
don't think it would be quite right to please Socialists. Heinrich says
the only way to stand Democracy is to go into the country and keep quiet
with what you've got. But I thought we would manage to keep half our
flat going in town too, and do a little racing while Heinrich stays in
the country and sends us up butter and birds. Don't you think that would
be an excellent plan? Perhaps you have heard there is to be a
Reparations Commission sent over here by the Allies--quite nice people
some of them--and what I thought was, they can give dances and dinners
and all that sort of thing, and we can--well--we can go to them, can't
we? We really ought to forgive our enemies, oughtn't we--when there's no
point in not doing so? You know English people so well too, you could
easily get me some for the other half of our flat--fortunately we have
two kitchens--and probably I could dress on what we made out of them.
That would be an immense economy! It's disgusting having foreigners here
of course, but since they are bound to come we may as well make use of
them, mayn't we?' 'The prospect of their usefulness has not escaped me,'
replied Otto a little dryly. 'But, Rosalie, hitherto I have had a
career. I haven't troubled you with it since there has been no reason at
all why I should. My career lay in my hand, as it were, and gave me
plenty of leisure to spend in your delightful company. Now I am without
anything, so that I must start a fresh career for myself, and it will
take practically all the time I have to arrive anywhere.' Rosalie took
up her cigarette with a trembling hand. 'To arrive?' she asked. 'To
arrive? I don't understand. What need has a Wolkenheimb to arrive?'
'None, if the world belonged, as it did once, to ourselves,' said Otto a
little wearily, 'and every need if it belongs, as it does, alas! at the
present moment, to the "wretched Socialists" and the intelligent Jews.'
Otto spoke indifferently, and he had never spoken indifferently to
Rosalie before. He usually kissed her often, looked at her continuously,
and told her in a great variety of ways that she was adorable. When they
wanted to be serious, which happened very seldom, they spoke about the
two most serious things in the world--clothes and horses. Otto knew
practically everything about those two subjects, and what he knew about
other less serious subjects he kept to himself.

Rosalie realized that he was a very distinguished and brilliant person;
that was what made him so nice to go about with. People looked at his
dome-like brow, his high cheek-bones and remarkably luminous brown eyes;
and everybody looked again. Otto wasn't handsome, but he was impressive;
so impressive, and so well did he carry what height he had that every
one thought of him before they thought of any one else in the room. It
was not until they said, 'Graf Wolkenheimb was there,' that they went,
on to say who else was; and now he had begun to talk about not having
leisure and making a career. Had he begun to tire of her? Rosalie
glanced across at one of Otto's old Venetian mirrors. She saw with
satisfaction her fluffy hair and the perfect angle of the humming-bird
hat, her large blue eyes, made up, imperceptible she was sure, at the
corners, her cheeks perfectly pink, perfectly smooth, and neither too
full nor too spare. Her mouth was her strongest point--it was exquisite.
Later on it would probably go down at the corners, but it would be safe
for another ten years; and her teeth were the finest in Wien. The mirror
showed her a reassuring sight, and if Otto had tired of her it was
entirely his own fault. 'But what shall we do without horses?' she
gasped. 'Otto, my dear, we simply can't live without horses!' The door
opened and Conrad appeared, very flurried and unhappy, ushering in
another woman. They were both astounded. In all the three years of their
intimacy nothing like it had ever happened before. It was so astounding
that Rosalie leaped to the conclusion that Otto had intended it. What
made it worse, what made it a million times worse, was that she knew the
other woman. The Princess Eugnie Felsr was Otto's cousin. She had a
perfect right to come to Otto's rooms at five o'clock in the afternoon;
and her reputation was so unblemished that if she had any particular
intention in doing so, it was almost certain to be innocent. If there
was one quality that Countess Zalfy disliked in other women more than
another, it was innocence; and innocence allied to good looks she
positively loathed.

Five years ago Eugnie had been the most beautiful woman at Court. She
had lost the bloom and roundness of youth and health, but the lines of
her head and face retained their haunting charm. She looked now like a
work by an old Master in which the colour has faded but the grace
remains. All her life was in her deep velvety eyes. They were dark hazel
in colour and made a golden light between the shadow of her long lashes.
But as she came into the firelit room out of the cold air, she looked as
if there hadn't been any War to fade and blanch her beauty. Her eyes
were brilliant with anxiety, her white wan cheeks flushed with colour.
Otto darted forward and kissed her hands one after the other. He made
her sit down at the other end of the sofa. 'You know,' he said, turning
to Rosalie, 'the Countess Zalfy of course? Her husband has left her here
for an hour to cheer me up while he did a little business.' 'Of course
we know each other,' said Rosalie coldly, 'though one never sees the
Princess now that she has so devoted herself to good works.' Rosalie
nearly sniffed, and snapped her little pearl-like teeth together after
she had spoken. She would have to stay now till Eugnie left, so that
Heinrich's non-existence could be left securely in the clouds; and she
had just made up her mind that unless Otto relented she wouldn't stay.
She didn't want to stay, she hated Eugnie, and while Eugnie was there
she couldn't take any satisfactory means of finding out if Otto would
relent or not. 'It is years since I have seen you, Eugnie, years,' said
Otto, with a feeling in his voice he was unable for a moment to
disguise. It was entirely his own fault that he had not seen Eugnie for
so long, but it was nicer for both of them that it should seem hers.
'And yet,' said Eugnie, smiling, 'I have remained always in the same
place.' She was not going to have any niceness beyond what she couldn't
help; what she couldn't help was the exquisite niceness of her presence.
Otto was the least embarrassed of the three. Eugnie had come in very
appropriately, and though Conrad was going to receive the sharpest
rebuke of his career after the two ladies had gone, no harm had been
done by his inadvertence. It was a delightful situation to watch two
such beautiful women hating each other on the same sofa. One, the woman
Otto had always loved, but in the depths of his heart feared--feared too
much ever to marry--and the other, so successfully married to some one
else and ministering to his lighter tastes with the whole of her very
small, very neatly arranged heart. Rosalie had been on the point of
melting into tears--they had now frozen. Eugnie had been on the point
of making a difficult emotional appeal--she couldn't make it at present.
And Otto was profoundly glad that she couldn't make it. He had not had
to raise a finger to prevent these disagreeable manifestations from
taking place. By their mutual presence, these ladies were preventing
each other from causing Otto anything but intense entertainment. As if
to make everything perfect, Conrad had the sense to bring up Eugen. If
Eugen was surprised at the company before him, he did not show it;
imperturbably he kissed the hands of Eugnie whom he adored, and of
Rosalie whom he disliked; of the two he was slightly more cordial in the
greeting to Rosalie; that was because no-one in the world was ever to
guess what he felt for Eugnie. Nor indeed had any one guessed it, not
even Eugnie herself; though she had an instinct which told her that
whatever she said or did would please Eugen, even things which in any
one else would have displeased him. Tea came in and little cakes, more
magnificent than any Eugnie had seen for years. She dared not eat them,
but she drank, with a strange sensation of delight, the unaccustomed
tea. She was glad that Otto wandered away with Rosalie to the other side
of the room. 'Eugen,' she said quickly, 'you are not surprised to see me
here, after what Franz told me? I asked for leave from the hospital--I
had to come.' 'I am not surprised certainly,' said Eugen, systematically
beginning on _Schinken-Brtchen_, 'nothing at my age surprises me, but I
am perhaps a little sorry since I guess your errand to be useless, and
fear therefore that it will be painful.' 'Oh, I hope it will not be
useless,' said Eugnie nervously; 'only I cannot speak to Otto before
the Countess. I hope her husband will soon be here to pick her up, he
has left her with Otto for an hour while he had business to see to.'
'So,' murmured Eugen, continuing with a _Sardinen Butter-Brot_. He knew
that Rosalie's husband was at that moment in Styria. 'Since you wish it
I will take her to him immediately. I know where he is likely to be
found.' 'Dear Eugen, you know everything,' murmured Eugnie gratefully,
'only of course I am very angry with you; you must realize that I am too
angry to bear it! What Franz told me of you yesterday is both unbearable
and unbelievable--that you should intrigue with a Jew Politician! I
cannot, I will not believe it!' Eugen chose a _marron glac_
dispassionately before he replied, then he said, 'Eugnie, do not
believe what is unbelievable and do not bear what is unbearable. How
very sensible of you to wear that ermine wrap! Sensible, I mean for your
purpose here; and how extremely dangerous to wear it in the streets! Do
you not know that it is likely to be torn off your back by one of our
delightful new citizens who object to fur unless it is displayed upon
their own persons?' Eugnie blushed. 'I had nothing else,' she
explained, 'except my hospital uniform, and I am glad I did not wear
that!' 'So am I, so is Otto, and without doubt if the question were put
to her, so would be the Countess Zalfy,' Eugen gravely assured her. 'But
nevertheless please wait here until I have deposited the Countess with
her husband. You will quarrel with Otto and refuse his escort home, but
you will not quarrel with me, and I shall therefore have that pleasure.'
'But why should I not quarrel with you?' Eugnie asked earnestly,
'seeing that I consider your conduct far, far worse than Otto's? Otto
has the excuse that he is ambitious! You have none!' 'Because you cannot
quarrel with a person whose devotion to you is as complete as his
self-control,' replied Eugen calmly, 'and if you will think for a moment
you will remember that I am now an old man, forty years old, very humble
in spirit, and never lifting my eyes higher than my head. All these
years, however, I have had two marked qualities: I have served my
friends and I have punished, when it was within my means, my enemies.
These two characteristics you will not expect me at my advanced age to
change. Therefore you will not quarrel with me. You will say, "Eugen,
your conduct is outrageous. When will you come to spend the evening with
us?"' 'Franz has quarrelled with you,' Eugnie observed uncertainly.
'Franz has quarrelled with himself,' Eugen corrected her. 'A malady
incidental to the young. Otto and I have already overlooked it. Countess
Zalfy,' he added, slightly raising his voice, 'I am desolated to deprive
Otto of your society, but your husband, whom I ran across just now at
the Club, promised me the privilege of escorting you to him at six
o'clock. I told him I was coming here, and he suggested the pleasure of
your company as a reward.' Rosalie tossed her head. She knew that Eugen
knew as well as she did where her husband was; her little face had
sharpened and her blue eyes had a hard sparkle in them. As she
approached Eugnie this sparkle became menacing. 'I will not then wait
any longer for my husband,' she said. 'The Princess, having no occasion
to wait for hers, will no doubt have a longer and perhaps more
entertaining visit than my own. I must confess I do not find Graf
Wolkenheimb quite as amusing as usual!' Eugnie met the angry eyes
looking down at her, with calm disdain, and looked away again in
silence. She was seated, and Rosalie was standing, and yet it did not
seem to the two men watching them as if Rosalie were looking down. 'The
fault is of course mine,' said Otto coldly. 'I apologize profoundly for
my straying wits, Countess; such a state of things, let us hope, will
not occur again!' Rosalie looked back at him while Eugen held the door
open for her. 'The opportunity for them to stray is not likely to occur
again,' she said in a clear hard voice. This was the end. Otto gave a
sigh of relief, as the door (by some arrangement of Eugen's, which may
have consisted in pulling the Countess through it) closed after her.
Otto had escaped a scene, but he disliked excessively even scraping the
edge of one in the presence of Eugnie. 'I am sorry,' he said gravely,
'that the Countess Zalfy was so impertinent to you. I fancy she was put
out about something, and she has rather less self-control than a spoiled
child.' 'It does not matter,' said Eugnie indifferently. 'I don't care
in the least what people do or say--when they are not dear to me; but,
Otto, when they are dear to me--I care very deeply.' 'We are
extraordinarily unlike then,' said her cousin, approaching the sofa, 'in
that as in other ways; I, for instance, care extremely what the world in
general thinks of me, and I do not yield at all readily to the opinions
of those one or two people to whom I am personally attached.' 'Yet you
used to care for my opinion?' said Eugnie, fixing him with her deep
velvety eyes, eyes in which a man could plunge beyond his depth. Otto
plunged, and found it difficult to come up again afterwards. 'If I had
ever held your good opinion,' he said at length, 'I might be afraid of
losing it.' 'You held more than my good opinion,' said Eugnie in a low
voice, 'you held my heart. No! no! stay where you are, Otto! The time of
which I speak is over; but I have my memories. They are very dear to me.
I am here to-day to fight for my memories!' Otto had sprung towards her,
but at her words he turned away and walked to the window which looked
across at the Votiv Kirche. The Square was wet and full of dim shrouded
lights moving swiftly to and fro. Otto stood with his back to Eugnie.
It was so easy to make light love to a woman you didn't care for, so
utterly impossible to make it to the woman you loved. Her memories! What
about his own? Eugnie had been his, at a word, when she was seventeen.
She was the most beautiful creature in all their circle of beautiful
women and gallant men; so lovely that it was impossible to forget the
delicate glow and texture of her youth; and he had been idiotic enough
to let her go to a man twice her age. He hadn't wanted at twenty-five to
settle down and have a home, to hold himself in, and put down his racing
stable; and he had thought Eugnie would have seen afterwards that,
since he had always loved her, it was perfectly within their power to
make the best of things. Eugnie had, however, been inaccessible; though
Otto had explained to her that her marriage was just the way in which
inaccessibility could most easily be dispensed with. He had made
passionate love to her; and Eugnie had ordered him out of the house.
These were his memories. Since her husband's death they had met again,
but Eugnie wore unbecoming clothes, and was immersed in a children's
hospital. Otto disliked diseases, and people who had anything to do with
them made him nervous. She was free now, free and inflexible. The tones
of her voice made his heart beat as if he were a boy again; and he dared
not look at her lips. 'I don't know what you mean by love,' he said,
without turning round, 'it's charming of you, of course, to say I had
your heart, but I don't think at the time when I asked for it, you made
this fact very obvious to me!' 'Oh, Otto,' said Eugnie, 'but you knew!'
Otto had to turn round, he had to come back to her with a sigh of angry
despair, and sit where the torture of her eyes could play on him. He
thought it distinctly unfair that Eugnie should have had, in addition
to her beauty, a voice that pierced his heart. 'You must excuse me,
Eugnie,' he said as coldly as he could; 'if I had known then, it would
only have annoyed me a little more intensely than it annoys me now to be
told of it. Women's hearts have never been of the slightest consequence
to me, when they withheld the favours that should accompany their
hearts. I don't want to be a brute, but you are trying a man who _is_ a
brute very hard.' 'Dearest Otto', Eugnie murmured with the dangerous
humility of a proud woman, 'no harder than all these cruel years I've
been tried myself: I am not silly. I am not a prude. I gave you all I
could, all I dared! When you tried to make me break my word to Rudolph I
had to send you away; but with you went all the joy of my life: and all
the joy of my life is with you still!' 'Please, Eugnie, please,' Otto
said brokenly; 'how singularly little joy you must have had, and how
singularly base you make me feel!' 'But you aren't base,' she murmured,
laying her thin hand on his; 'oh, Otto, it is because I know you aren't
base that I came here to-day. I--I am rather a proud woman generally,
but I don't care about my pride now. I only care to keep what I have in
my heart. It isn't, dearest, that I want you to love me again. I know
you can't, that's all over now--I am an old woman who has lost a child
and who lives on, I don't know how--until she can rejoin him. It is only
if you do this thing, if you lower your name and betray our honour--why,
then I shall have lost all the romance I ever had--and you know, Otto,
it can hurt more to lose a little, if that is all you have to lose, than
to lose a great deal.' Otto said without looking at her, 'Take your hand
away, Eugnie!' She obeyed him when, if she had disobeyed him, she might
have won him. Otto felt free to speak now; but he kept his eyes away
from her face. 'Of what do you accuse me?' he asked lightly. 'You are an
incarnate reproach, but so far you have failed to mention what you are
reproaching me for.' Eugnie was silent for a moment; she knew Otto too
well not to realize that he would outwit her in any argument; her only
chance was to move him into sincerity. 'I do not know anything about
business,' she said at last, 'but I know what a man's honour is. Can you
keep yours safe if you mix in commercial affairs with a bad Jew?' 'You
refer to my good friend Mandelbaum perhaps?' Otto asked her. 'We are all
obliged to associate with Jews now. If I am not mistaken your Doctor
Jeiteles, of whom you hold so high an opinion and for whom you work in
your hospital, is a Jew?' 'He is a good man,' said Eugnie simply. 'I
work very gladly under him. Can you work gladly and honourably under
this Mandelbaum?' 'I do not work under him,' replied Otto, biting his
lips with annoyance, 'I work with him, or at least I propose to work
with him. There is a distinction, and I think that I am the best judge
of my honour.' 'That is why I came to you,' agreed Eugnie; 'I knew you
to be the best judge of your honour, and you are content? There is
nothing in this association that sticks in your throat?' 'The old world
is finished,' said Otto impatiently; 'our old standards must crumble
with it. I have decided to let mine crumble. If you ask me, am I doing
to-day what I should have done yesterday--no! I am not! If I did I
should lose Trauenstein and become a beggar. Is that what you wish?' 'It
is not very terrible to be poor, Otto,' Eugnie said humbly. 'One works
hard every day. One finds--it is curious!--one finds as much happiness
as there is. I had not thought it possible; one thinks too much of money
when one has it--now that I do not have it any more, I find that one
ceases to trouble about many things. Of course to have nothing at all
would be terrible; but you are so clever, so much cleverer than we are,
that I think you would not find you had nothing even if you had to give
up Trauenstein and work as we do. Perhaps you might work on the
estate--and save it? Franz believes there is money to be found in
working it?' 'Trauenstein is heavily mortgaged,' said Otto dryly; 'I
must pay the interest on it out of what I make, and that is why it is
necessary for me to make what I can. One does not develop an estate
without capital.' Eugnie said nothing. She sat there patiently looking
at him with eyes full of love and trust. She believed that stripped of
all he possessed Otto would be a great man; she did not know that Otto
_was_ what he possessed. His passion, his pride, his life itself, had
passed into his possessions; he was no more able to conceive of life
without them than Franz could have conceived of life without honour, or
Eugnie life without love. 'What you ask is impossible,' he said after a
pause. 'I must live as best I can, Eugnie. I know what I am doing;
Eugen also knows it and has accepted it. I do not say it is fine or
noble, but it is necessary. If you and Franz dislike it too much you can
always refuse to know me. A man can only act by his own eyes. I think
that mine see further than yours. But it is natural for you to take your
brother's view of my actions.' 'I do not take Franz's view,' replied
Eugnie; 'that is why I came here. I wanted to find out your own. That
is what one judges people by, is it not--when one loves them? What hurts
me is that I feel you know that you are doing wrong and that you would
be happier if you did not do it.' 'What makes you suppose that?' asked
Otto with a quick glance at her. 'Do rags strike you as the kind of
thing I should be happy in?' 'We should all be together,' said Eugnie
under her breath--'whatever happened we should be together. Long ago,
Otto, just such a chance came to you--forgive me--you know how you
chose! We broke our hearts over it when it was too late. I was too proud
to plead with you then--now I have forgotten my pride. I would not let
it stand in my way to-day. I said, "I cannot let him be unhappy again".'
Otto covered his eyes with his hand to shut out her face and said, 'Must
we continue this discussion? It is profoundly painful to us both, and
since as you tell me you no longer desire my love, it seems to lead
nowhere. May we not take it for granted that I am infamous, faithless
and of course heartless--and then would you mind going away? Eugnie!
Eugnie, have pity! I can't stand this any longer! If you go on sitting
there--I'm damned if I can stand it! And I'm not going to give in!'
Eugnie rose, half frightened, half triumphant, to her feet. It was
incredible to her that Otto still cared, and yet if he did not care, why
was he so moved? Why did he cover his eyes with his hands so that he
could not see her face? Why did she herself feel the old enchanting
cruel excitement catch at her heart again? It caught at her heart; but
it did not move her inflexible judgement. She loved Otto, loved him as
perhaps in her young and innocent life she had not known how to love,
but her spirit loved him more than her senses. At a touch he would have
been at her feet--and she did not touch him. She murmured instead, 'But,
Otto, then--if you care for me, you cannot possibly stoop to this
baseness?' 'Why do you talk of such things?' he said between his teeth.
'I only know that I am not going to alter my life for you, and that if
you stand there another minute, I shall never let you go.'

Silence settled between them, dangerous with memories. Their wills
fought each other while their senses dragged them towards surrender.
Eugnie knew her only safety was in flight, and yet to leave Otto was
like destroying a part of herself. Otto knew nothing but passion and the
fear of Eugnie's eyes if he let himself go. It was the only fear he had
ever had; yet he knew that it would not hold him for long. Eugnie spoke
at last, 'No--if you will not change, I cannot,' she said in a low
breaking voice. 'Then go! said Otto without looking at her. The door
opened and Eugnie saw Eugen standing in the passage. Without a word, as
if Otto had been ill, she stepped quietly from his side with her finger
on her lips and joined Eugen. Eugen looked past her at the bowed figure
of his friend and, drawing her gently into the passage, closed the door.
'What singularly cruel things', he observed dispassionately, 'good women
do to men!'




CHAPTER III


Eugnie dressed hurriedly and went out shivering into the deserted
streets. Usually she loved her morning walk, it freshened her for the
day's toil, and sometimes she carried a vision of beauty into the wards
that lingered throughout the day. From the bridge, which crossed the
Canal leading to the Prater Strasse, she could see the hills of
Kahlenberg and Leopoldsberg round as apples, caught by rosy clouds and
shining down upon the City. To-day the fog covered them, the cold was
pressing a white clammy sheet over the whole plain. The houses stood up
in the sickly light, like dark shadows of old sins. Eugnie hastened;
she felt a bitter revolt against ugliness, and against the futility of
struggling with it. What had she gained by keeping alive a few hundred
miserable babies, while Rosalie was charming Otto with her humming-bird
hats? She came to a bleak and wind-swept yard, enclosing the abandoned
grey barracks, now used as a children's hospital.

Eugnie stood still for a long moment before she entered the door of her
ward; she waited until her face changed; her lips softened, her eyes
became full of laughter. She went into the ward at last as if she had
been wafted in by music. There were sixty beds in the long narrow room,
and each one held a child. The name of a Saint was written over the
door. This was the ward of St. Agnes, and these were St. Agnes' lambs;
but no kindly-hearted butcher was there to put them out of pain. They
were all under the shadow of tuberculosis: abscesses, defective limbs,
defective organs, or simply the persistent dwindling of vitality. Some
of them were terrible to look at, mere scraps of bone and skin. Some had
the remains of beauty, like menaced flowers blown first this way and
then that by the harsh wind of their disease. Yet when they saw Eugnie
each of them smiled. She went from one bed to the other, with her eyes
full of love. The bitterness in her heart had gone deep; and was hidden
deep; none of it escaped her. The night sister gave Eugnie her notes
and said a few words, lingering--although night nurses seldom linger--to
take her part in the festival of Eugnie's presence. It was a festival
in spite of the long weary night; the sour fetid smell of the ward, so
seldom aired on account of the scarcity of fuel; in spite of the pain in
the little wizened faces. Washing, dressing, bed-making, breakfast; one
by one these regular processes took place, and each child was so loved,
so encouraged by its sense of unique importance, that every process,
however painful to the little injured body, became a pleasure to the
child's responsive mind. The two young nurses who worked under Eugnie,
ignorant rough girls whom she had trained, were full of the same spirit
of tenderness. Everyone who worked in the hospital learned it as an
inviolable rule. No voice was ever to be raised, no child to be
disheartened by a frown. As to punishment, how could anyone punish those
whom life had so condemned?

At breakfast Eugnie received a fresh shock. There was no more cocoa.
With their black bread the children would have to have a dreadful drink
made of acorns and hot water. There was no sugar to sweeten it with. The
nurses looked at her and then looked away again. Nobody said anything.
At ten o'clock came the Doctor. This was the hour for the dressings; it
should have been the most painful hour in the day, but just because it
might have been, it was turned into their highest pinnacle of joy. The
door opened; every face turned towards it as if by clockwork, and Dr.
Carl Jeiteles entered. He stood there for a moment with his eyes
twinkling, his hands in the pockets of his white linen suit, his whole
being concentrated upon the little world of pain in front of him, and
from it came a moan not of pain but of joy. 'The Herr Doktor! The Herr
Doktor!' Each day they greeted him with fresh rapture, as if they were
greeting the sudden presence of God. All who could stand, fell upon him
in a struggling mass; but those who could not move knew that he would
stay with them longest. He disentangled one by one the clustering
figures climbing over him, and Eugnie, standing by his side, laid her
hand on each head in turn, lifting each face tenderly to his, and gave
him the child's history since he had last seen it; and in turn he took
each child in his arms, kissed it, dismissed it with its own joke, its
own encouragement, for the day; and then the next, and the next, without
haste, without intermission, until he stood free again and went to the
beds for the dressings. Piteous little faces scowling with pain opened
like flowers as he bent over them. His touch, infinitely gentle, quick
and sure, gave pain, but something in him promised a sure relief from
pain. He was going to make them better; they lay still in his hands,
moaned a little, cried a little, and when it was over he stayed by each
bed long precious minutes, remaking the shattered confidence, turning
the little frightened mind back to security. No matter what else he had
to do or how long the day's work stretched before him, Dr. Carl Jeiteles
never hurried these morning visits. 'We must', he would say to Eugnie,
'put the heart as well as the little body right for the day.' He and
Eugnie bent together over one baby in silence. She was a year old, and
only the size of a tiny doll. She was dying of pneumonia and starvation,
only she wouldn't die. She lifted blue eyes heavy with fever up to
theirs, questioningly, as if they could tell her why she was so
painfully there, and closed them again as if she saw they could not
answer her. The little body, shaken by its cruel breathing, refused to
let the spirit go. 'See how she means to live,' Dr. Jeiteles said with a
sigh, 'this poor little one! It would be better not--all this fight--for
at the end it will be the same as if she had not fought!' He lifted the
little body in his hands, raising it higher to ease the difficult
breathing. 'We have nothing to give her; even the cocoa has stopped,'
said Eugnie harshly. 'I know--I know, Sister,' Carl Jeiteles said
apologetically; 'it seems that if we had the money there is none to be
got.' Eugnie bowed her head. She had given more than half her fortune
to the hospital; if she gave the whole of it, she could not live. She
had sometimes thought of giving it all, in spite of the fact that she
was a good Catholic and knew that suicide was a sin. However, she had
not been allowed to do so because Carl Jeiteles refused to accept any
more money from her. He lifted his eyes from the baby, and met hers. His
quick searching spirit pierced her outward serenity and felt the trouble
at her heart. 'Sister,' he said, 'at 10.30 I will have Joachim for his
hip operation, at eleven little Mitzi for the ear, and at half-past
twelve I will ask you to come to me for a moment while I am in the
dispensary. This little one dies to-day, I think, in spite of her great
will. Do not trouble her with any more of our bad food. A little morphia
if she struggles--and then it is over!' 'Yes, Doctor,' said Eugnie. She
wished he would stay; while he was there a curious confidence persisted
in making itself felt; but he had other wards to visit, and operations
to perform. He was escorted to the door by his swarm of babies, and at
the door he stopped and waved his hand to the cot babies; and all the
cot babies waved back, except the dying baby and one tall little girl
who stood at the foot of her cot and talked all day long to herself, and
never saw anybody because her mind had gone.

Eugnie settled back once more into her struggle for the children's
happiness; she brought out their toys from a big cupboard. Then she got
Joachim and Mitzi ready for the theatre. Joachim took a stuffed rabbit
with him on the stretcher, and Mitzi a headless doll. After the two
children had been taken to the theatre, she went back to the dying baby
and sat by her for an hour.

Eugnie thought how much better it would be to go through the hospital
with a morphia injection and give each child enough for an eternal
sleep. Then she would send them all in hundreds of little coffins to the
Allies with the cattle they were proposing to exact under the Peace
Treaty. She wanted the cry of the children out of her ears; the pain out
of her heart; the sight out of her eyes.

She put all the comfort she had into the children who came back from the
operating room, and at last she found she had none left. She waited
impatiently for the baby to begin its struggle so that she could give
her the morphia and know it was all over. But the baby would not make
ready for death; her incomprehensibly strong heart beat steadily on.
Eugnie had often wanted to see a child escape before, but she had
wanted it with exquisite gentleness, with her prayers following the
little spirit up into the Virgin's arms. But to-day it was with a deep
impatience that she waited for the child to die and without any faith
that its spirit would go from a mother on earth to the Mother of all
mothers in Heaven. She looked at the clock, sent one of the nurses for
the dinners, and went out of doors into the icy air without her cloak.
She crossed the courtyard to one of the smaller sheds which was Carl
Jeiteles' dispensary, but she no longer wished to see him; she was angry
even with Carl Jeiteles. What was the use of pretending happiness when
there was no happiness? Of loving, when there was no place for love?

'I am glad you have come,' said Carl Jeiteles gently; 'we have had very
good news, Princess. I wanted to tell you myself. Professor Wenckebach
has come back from England and has brought us stores of disinfectants
and drugs. I was afraid to tell you last week--we were very near the end
of the chloroform.' Eugnie said nothing. 'Princess, you are glad?' Dr.
Jeiteles asked pleadingly, looking round from his dispensary table.
'Certainly I am glad of chloroform,' said Eugnie icily. 'As there is
now nothing the children can eat, it would be kindest to put them all
under chloroform and keep them there. This morning I gave them black
bread, and hot water with acorns in it, and half of them refused to
touch it. For dinner they are to have carrots, and at night they will
again be offered black bread and acorn juice. Yes, I am glad the English
have sent us chloroform. I hope they have been sufficiently thanked for
it. Is that all you have to say to me?' 'No,' said Dr. Jeiteles, 'it is
not all. Sister, you believe in God, I think?' 'I did,' said Eugnie
harshly; 'one lives and learns, Herr Doktor. I should not myself care to
be responsible for having made this world.' 'I do not believe in God,'
said Dr. Jeiteles still more gently. 'You are a great lady and no doubt
you have read much and filled your mind with noble ideas. I do not
myself find that these things are a help to one. But if there is no God,
there is certainly a greater responsibility laid on man. You feel that
to serve these children is a waste; but one thing I see, whether it has
an end or not, that out of these struggles some live, and that all those
who fail to live, if they are served with tenderness and understanding,
suffer less. They actually suffer less, Princess; this is a fact. My way
of looking at it then is this. If you believe in God, help God. If you
do not believe in God--help man. That is what I had on my mind to say to
you.' 'I am ashamed,' said Eugnie in a low voice, 'I will go back into
my ward, and I will try not to fail our children again.' 'You have not
failed them yet, Princess,' said Jeiteles, smiling at her, 'and I had
not for a moment supposed that you would. I only thought perhaps you
were a little disheartened. An affair like the coming to an end of the
cocoa this morning is disheartening. I find it so myself. Remember, you
do more than I; you keep the light burning in sixty little hearts all
day long. There is one thing that would be worse than anything we have
yet seen, and that is if you let the light in those little hearts go
out.' Eugnie held out her hand to him. 'I will not let the light go
out,' she said steadily. The shabby Jewish doctor bent over her hand and
kissed it reverently.

At five o'clock the children had their supper, and to make up for their
having had no cocoa, Eugnie stood in the middle of the ward and sang to
them. She had a beautiful voice. She stood by the cot of the dying baby
where she could look down at it every now and then; her hand rested
lightly on its tiny hands. She sang the _Lieder_ that the children knew
and loved. The doors were all thrown open so that the other wards could
hear as well. First she sang:

                    '_Schlaf, Herzens Shnchen,_
                    _Mein Liebling bist Du!_'

And then she sang:

             '_Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,_
             _Dass ich so traurig bin._'

As the last notes rang out through the heavy fetid air, Eugnie glanced
across the ward and saw a little group of people who had entered
silently: Dr. Jeiteles and two strange women. Eugnie knew in a flash
(even if she had not seen the expression of Carl Jeiteles' face) that
this was the first Relief Mission; and she knew what its coming meant.
Only the little baby lying under the touch of her hands must die--all
the rest of them--that silent, suffering, helpless little band--were
going to live; and some of them were going to get well.




CHAPTER IV


She came flying out of the hospital as if she had been a missile from a
catapult, and plunged against Franz Salvator with a velocity that nearly
knocked him off his feet. He caught a glimpse of her under the nearest
lamp post: a short thick mass of maize-coloured hair; a pair of grey
eyes under level brows nearly meeting; a tip-tilted nose and pointed
chin, with a wide, sweet, generous mouth set now in lines of fierce
pain. She was no more aware of Franz Salvator than if he had been a
letter box; she steadied herself by his arm without glancing at him and
prepared to dash forward again into the wet windy darkness. 'Is anything
the matter?' Franz Salvator asked her in English. He felt convinced that
she must belong to the least ceremonious of the nations. 'Ah! you're
English?' Carol Hunter said, pausing in her flight; 'Then for God's sake
take me somewhere out of this infernal place--I can't stand any more of
it. It's pretty near done me in!' 'You had better come into this shed,'
Franz Salvator answered. 'It's Dr. Jeiteles' consulting-room and always
open. You must, I think, be one of the ladies from the Relief Mission? I
was told they were to be here this afternoon. We can wait here till the
others join you.' Carol followed him up the rickety wooden steps into
the dispensary. There was nothing in it but locked cupboards, a kitchen
table with a green-shaded electric light, and two deal chairs. Franz
Salvator pushed one towards her, but Carol Hunter did not sit down. She
was not upset as Franz Salvator was accustomed to see young girls upset;
she showed no inclination towards tears nor any need for support. She
strode up and down the room with her hands in her pockets, kicking her
feet out in front of her like a schoolboy in a passion; and to Franz
Salvator's intense astonishment for several minutes she cursed without a
pause. She took no notice of his presence, so that he was free to
observe her thoroughly. She was small and beautifully made, her feet and
ankles, her wrists and hands, the set of her head on her slender throat,
were as fine as the points of the Medicean Venus. What, however, was
strikingly unlike any Venus was the complete absence in her of any
softness. There was no ounce of superfluous flesh on her slender,
compact little body. She was all velocity, suppleness and energy. She
had an air, that was strange to Franz Salvator in young girls, of
perfect independence of her surroundings. She might often have been
annoyed in the course of her short life, but it seemed to Franz Salvator
that she had never been embarrassed, nor was it likely that she ever
would be. When she stopped cursing, she flung round and looked at him.
'Well,' she said savagely, 'I don't know what you feel, seeing those
hundreds of children all minced up and useless, as if they'd been put
through a mangle--by our beautiful war for freedom!--but I tell you, I
feel pretty cheap! All soldiers' children, that doctor says--neglect,
starvation, bad blood--and they tell me these are the lucky ones! There
are hundreds more on the waiting list, babies like little broken dolls
hidden away under some rubbish in ice-cold rooms to starve! God, it's a
pretty world! Are you an Englishman?' 'No,' said Franz Salvator; 'I have
the honour--a sad one, but I still hold it an honour--of being an
Austrian.' 'How you must hate us!' said Carol Hunter. She stood still
now on the opposite side of the table, and looked straight into Franz
Salvator's eyes. 'I have used up my hate,' said Franz Salvator slowly,
'in the four years I spent fighting. The top of a mountain and no diet
to speak of--reduces hate.' 'I'd hate being beaten,' said Carol
fiercely, 'and I'd hate what beat me--as long as I lived, I'd hate it!'
'You would if you felt beaten, no doubt,' agreed Franz Salvator, showing
his shining teeth in an amused smile, 'but you see the trench I happened
to be in was an Italian trench which we took early in 1916, and as the
enemy never did anything to induce us to leave it, although we disliked
very much giving it up at the orders of our General when the Armistice
was signed, we did not feel particularly beaten. We felt perhaps
cheated; but it is better in the long run to be cheated than to cheat. I
have learned that there is no middle way.' 'I don't see how you can be
so calm,' exclaimed Carol. 'Don't you mind seeing your children all
spoiled, like so many broken egg-shells? They won't get better! I don't
know whether the lady in there who looks like the ghost of a Madonna
thinks they will--she's so pleased at having our milk and cocoa to give
them that she's forgotten what the rest of their lives will be like. Her
gratitude cut like a knife, that's why I ran out. She behaved as if we
were bringing Paradise straight into those children's lives, and it was
only little tins of food.' She sat down suddenly, and put her head in
her hands. 'I'd like to be sick!' she said, 'sick to my stomach! That's
all there is to it.' 'Don't be too upset,' Franz Salvator said gently;
'you have seen the worst all at once and all together. Try to remember
that each child has only its own tragedy, and that for the rest of us it
is not so bad. We have gone down little by little, our sufferings and
our needs increased slowly, and the shock of them wears off. I am not
clever--and how do you say it in your English?--but one becomes less and
less startled by pain as one's own vitality decreases. These children do
not know how sad their lives are. My sister--for I think it must be my
sister whom you describe as the ghost of a Madonna--can nurse them all
day long without being at all startled. What might startle us would be
if you showed us a room full of healthy children with beautiful colour
in their round cheeks; then we should feel the contrast; but in our
minds now there are no great contrasts, only a sliding scale of pain.'
Carol Hunter looked at him with eyes that seemed to eat into his face.
'I've got to get this known,' she said half to herself and half to him.
'People have got to know about the state of things. It won't do just to
sit down under it. People have got to know, and then they've got to act.
Don't you want to do something yourself? But maybe you are doing it?'
Franz Salvator sat down on the other side of the table. He was puzzled
by the young girl opposite him; she seemed to speak as if she held the
reins of the world. 'When I can stop thinking about bread,' he said
quietly, 'and how to get it, perhaps I shall be able to be of some use
to my country. At present I work eight hours a day, teaching English at
a Berlitz school, in order to provide myself with food. It is an
occupation like any other, and I am glad of it, but it leaves remarkably
little margin for altruism.' 'What are you here for then?' she asked
abruptly. 'It is a dark night, and I came to take my sister home,'
explained Franz Salvator. 'I am happy that I came, for this is the first
time--since it was my duty to kill them--that I have spoken to one of
our late enemies. We are very international here in Wien, and I have
missed very much being cut off from those foreigners with whom we have
always had most in common.' 'I'm American,' said Carol Hunter; 'I came
over with our ambulances, and drove one for our Army in France. I'm used
to soldiers, and I've seen wounds and death--but till I came to this
country I didn't know life was so mean. I knew it was terrible--it's
fine though to be able to stand up against terror and get the better of
it! but there are things you can't stand up against----' Franz Salvator
nodded. He pitied her intensely, but as he looked into the brave eyes
fixed on his, he would not have her cheated of the truth. Truth is
cruel, it is sometimes so cruel that people cannot bear it; but if it
knocks the life out of one, at least it does not poison; and those who
can stand it are the stronger for it all their lives. 'I'm twenty-one,'
she went on after a pause. 'Of course I pretended to be older to get
out, and my father helped me. My father was all I'd got--I don't count a
step-mother, and a lot of half kin--a whining set. My father was a
sport. He raised Hell to get me to Europe though he couldn't come with
me, and six months after I got here, he died of angina pectoris. I tell
you, that hit me! I'm not one of your soft-hearted girly-girlies that
wash down on their troubles, but when I do care for a person I care
hard. I came out here to succeed, and I'll do it too--but it's a queer
feeling to find that the person you wanted to make good for is out of
it. Like getting to the point of a joke and finding it hasn't got one.
Did I tell you I'm on a paper? No? Well, I am, it's the New York
_Meteor_, and has the fourth largest circulation in the world. When I
got that cable about my father I was in Paris; and I'd got Clemenceau
and was fishing for Foch, and then I ran into Dr. J. Simmons just coming
out here. I went for an interview, with the cable in my pocket, and I
got all balled up. She just took hold of me by the collar--like you
might a stray dog--and ran me out here. She said if I kept my eyes
peeled I'd find good and plenty going on in Wien--and she was right. I
shall stay in this country quite a while. Have you anything to hand over
about yourself?' Franz Salvator hesitated. He was a reserved man, and
incapable of quick intimacy; there was probably no form of research from
which he shrank so definitely as that of looking into his own mind. What
he liked was doing things with people who knew all about him, or with
those who knew nothing about him and had no reason to find out. But he
did not want this frank-eyed girl to belong to the latter category. Her
confidence had touched him, and he wished to make her a response. He
pulled out his card and pushed it across the table towards her. She
looked at it without recognition. It was apparent that his name--which
was three-quarters of his life, meant nothing to her. 'I am twenty-six,'
he said slowly; 'I've lost all I had; and my job as a soldier has gone
too. I thought a good deal of being a soldier. I could ride once; but I
shall not be able to afford a horse again. Most of my friends have been
killed. It is not a long history; and there are so many like it that it
is not even interesting.' 'It interests me all right,' said Carol
quickly. Franz Salvator hesitated and looked down. 'I have a friend,' he
said in a low voice, 'that I cared for more than those who died. He sold
his honour for comfort; and to-morrow perhaps you will find me doing the
same thing. All I can safely tell you is that I won't do it to-day!' She
stretched her hand suddenly towards him. 'You're a dear!' she said with
conviction. 'I guess your honour is pretty safe--I'd stand for it any
time.' Franz Salvator bent his head over her hand and kissed it. 'Thank
you,' he said, 'I shall remember that.' Carol stared at him in some
surprise at his emotion. She had no idea of how very near this impassive
young man had stood to the point of despair. Before she had rushed
against him in the dark, he had felt himself slipping away from his own
control, his nature itself had not seemed worth while. In giving up his
faith in Otto, he had seemed to be giving up everything. Now in a moment
he knew, with the resiliency of youth, that there was after all
something else. A new turn of the road--a fresh view of life. This young
creature before him with her vigour and her incredible optimism had
fired his blood afresh. The door behind Carol opened. Dr. Jeiteles,
Eugnie, in her white nursing-dress, and Dr. Simmons came in together.
Carol turned to face them. 'Oh, there you are,' she said. 'Well, I stood
all I could swallow, Dr. Jeiteles. I'm sorry I couldn't manage that last
ward, but I saw enough. I'll try to start a real prairie fire about your
hospital that'll bring in money. People in America can feel all right,
and when they feel they pay, but I've got to get your story hot and
running, before it can catch up with them. Will you give me a few
facts?'

Franz Salvator stood waiting for Carol to explain his presence, but she
gave no explanation of it; that she should have picked up a strange
young man and be found alone with him in the Doctor's dispensary had not
seemed to her a cause for comment. It was Eugnie who introduced him to
Dr. Simmons, the head of the English Relief Mission. Dr. Jane Simmons
was a tall, spare woman dressed in a long khaki overcoat with a cowboy's
felt hat on her head. She looked neither like a man nor a woman, but
like some strange sexless hybrid, born to carry out functions which had
nothing to do with either emotion or charm. The sights she had just been
seeing had not in the least discomposed her--she was used to pain--it
was the material upon which she worked. She gave Franz Salvator a
perfunctory hand, and looked at him with eyes which were unresponsive to
anything but human damage. After this automatic recognition she returned
instantly to Eugnie who, flushed and brilliant with renewed hope,
poured out to her in a kind of passion the needs and history of the
hospital.

Franz Salvator stood stiffly outside the little group of four; he felt
troubled and as if perhaps he had given himself away without cause. He
had dragged his confidence out of his heart with the utmost difficulty
to offer it to this young girl who had so spontaneously given him her
own, but she was talking to Dr. Jeiteles with the same intensity and
friendliness with which she had talked to Franz. Franz Salvator was not
a snob, but he knew there was a good deal of difference between a Jew
doctor and a Hohenberg--and that the difference was not in favour of the
Jew doctor. But Carol Hunter did not so much as glance in his direction
until Dr. Simmons touched her on the arm and told her they must go; and
even then it was Dr. Simmons who proposed to drive them home. Eugnie
laughed with pleasure. 'I have not been in a car', she said, 'for years;
it will be like flying!' 'Will you drive or shall I?' Carol asked Franz
as they stood in front of the Mission car. 'I will drive,' said Franz
Salvator, 'if you will allow me. I am fond of driving.' 'I thought you
would be,' said Carol; 'you've got the hands of a man who likes to do
things.' She had thought about him then, although her dismissal of him
had been so casual? She swung herself into the seat beside him and lit a
cigarette, protecting the match from the wind carefully in the hollow of
her hands. Franz Salvator was used to women upon whom he waited hand and
foot. It amused but rather shocked him to see a girl so physically
competent. Carol leaned forward, so that the light caught her face. She
had the quietness of another man. Franz Salvator felt himself vaguely
disturbed by her, not because she was a girl, but because she used her
privilege so little. Like most handsome men he was aware of his
attraction for women. He was not vain of it, he sometimes disliked it;
but he knew he had it. But, upon this girl beside him, he had no
influence at all. He had aroused interest in her, not because he was a
man and handsome, but because he told her things which she wanted to
know. Dr. Jeiteles had interested her quite as much; Eugnie had
interested her a good deal more. He had seen the girl's eyes soften
suddenly as they rested on Eugnie's face. Her interest was as lively as
a flame, but it had the purity of flame: nothing existed in it but the
force of its own fire. They reached the door of Eugnie's flat before
the silence between them was broken. 'Shall I see you again?' Franz
Salvator asked hurriedly. She glanced at him speculatively. 'Yes,' she
said at last. 'There are several things I'd like to have from you.
What's your number? I'll ring you up some time.' '1708,' said Franz
Salvator, 'but I would hardly have suggested a telephone. This is where
my sister and I live, but if you will allow me I will drive you to the
Mission and walk back.' Carol leaned across him without answering, and
held out her hand to Eugnie. 'I want to see you again,' she said
impulsively. 'May I come and see you?' Eugnie smiled uncertainly. 'It
would be the greatest pleasure,' she said with gentle cordiality, 'to
see you. Perhaps I may come some Sunday afternoon when I am free and
call upon you and Dr. Simmons?' 'Why did she say that?' demanded Carol
as Eugnie vanished through the dark gateway. 'Doesn't she want me to
come to her house? Not that I mind. I want to see her anyway. I'd sit on
the steps of a railway station if I couldn't see her any other way.
She's like something carried in a procession. You just want to watch her
pass by with lights and music. Aren't you proud of her?' Franz Salvator
was prouder of his sister Eugnie than of anything on earth, but he was
far too proud to say so. He murmured that he was glad she was
appreciated. 'She is a good woman,' he added simply. 'Well, there are
good women all over the place,' said Carol indifferently--'quite a drug
on the market, good women are--that isn't what grips you about the
Princess. She's so beautiful, she makes you hold your breath. You kind
of know she's that way inside as well as out--she's so beautiful, she's
safe; you couldn't break her. I tell you there aren't many women, or men
either, that you couldn't break. All the same I don't know why I'm not
to go and see her. Is she too grand for visitors?' 'On the contrary,'
said Franz Salvator, 'Eugnie is so humble that she has never been known
to get on a tram unless I dragged her on one. She thinks everyone has
more right to a convenience than herself. No doubt she wishes to save
you time and trouble by coming to see you!' 'Well, she can come,' said
Carol briefly; 'this is where we hop off.' Franz Salvator guessed by her
gesture rather than her words that they had arrived at the Mission, and
pulled up the car. Carol jumped off before he could help her. It was Dr.
Simmons who thanked him formally for bringing them home.

Franz Salvator found himself strolling back into the Stephansplatz with
the feeling that his interests had been tremendously aroused and his
personality entirely overlooked. It was a strange but not unpleasant
sensation.




CHAPTER V


They were immaculate in person; no one in the smartest London club ever
had fairer or more highly glazed linen, cloth of finer texture or a
surer cut. Their boots had the lustre of black pearls; their studs
gleamed with austere brilliance, and their fur-lined coats were
magnificent and orthodox. Their hearts were full of bitterness; and they
sat side by side in a tram. It was a tram that had long ago seen its
better days slip into worse ones, and its worse ones lose the last of
their blighted security. How it kept going at all on its worn uneven
lines was a wonder. Insufficient currents of electricity sent it forward
in a series of jerks and whines. The interior of the tram was stuffy,
cold and dirty; and it was over-filled with people who shared these
disadvantages, and accentuated them. They had long ago ceased to care
how they looked; their clothes were all survivals from the days before
the War; their faces were lined and drawn with hardships that had sunk
into habit, and habits which had lapsed beneath hope. Nevertheless
neither Otto nor Eugen felt the slightest sympathy for them. The common
misfortune of defeat does not bind people together, it disintegrates
them, for misery is more individual than joy. If they felt anything at
all for the emaciated, lack-lustre beings who hung on straps above them
or pressed their dingy persons closer together on the hard wooden seats,
it was rage against them for having, as they would have put it, 'driven
away their Emperor'. Their pity was for themselves; that they should
have to sit in a tram surrounded by a half-starved populace was the
sharpest of tragedies. They were both miserable, but Eugen was far more
under the spell of his misery than Otto. Otto had his schemes before
him; they fluttered beyond the screeching trams and rested in luxurious
limousines. 'Enough!' Eugen ejaculated harshly, and staggered, in and
out of a line of scarecrows, to the door. 'But we are not there yet,'
objected Otto, who had followed him in astonishment. 'It is true,'
agreed Eugen, letting himself down heavily on to the broken pavement,
'but I have sat in this Chariot of Demos long enough. There was a time
when the imagination of Tiberius and Caligula seemed to me a little
extreme. I confess now I find these remarkable men to have been
misjudged.' 'We shall arrive late,' said Otto indifferently; 'however,
on the way I can explain to you a little about our fellow guests, which
is perhaps an advantage. Our talk after dinner with Mandelbaum will be a
simple affair; he will try to get us into his hands, and he will find, I
think, perhaps with some surprise, that he has not. I ask nothing of you
but to watch me play my hand and when I signal to you, you will
reinforce me with whatever card you see that I want. But the earlier
part of the evening should be amusing. Have you ever heard of Elisabeth
Bleileben? She is a very clever woman, and, as you know, I do not use
this expression lightly. She is at the head of half the Charities in
Vienna, and at the throat of the other half. Her virtue is so far above
suspicion, but I believe she did very well out of her charities. I have
met her once or twice; she has great energy and a brutal wit. She is so
vivacious that I have not yet been able to discover if she is
good-looking or not. Her general appearance is that of a slightly
excited leopard!' 'I know whom you mean,' assented Eugen; 'they made her
husband a Minister because he could speak English. Before the Downfall,
he might have been a shoe-maker--never, I think, a good one. I hear he
is getting over his surprise at being a Minister, but with other people
the astonishment is permanent. No doubt his wife bluffed him into the
appointment. Be careful of her, Otto. Women who make stupid men a
success, may be dangerous to clever ones. What part do you suggest her
playing in our concerns?' 'It is impossible she should still be in love
with her husband,' replied Otto, 'and if she is not, she might assist me
in making use of his position. I should like to have at least two
Ministers under our influence so as to play one off against the other.
This is always a good arrangement. Do you not agree with me?'
'Possibly,' said Eugen cautiously. 'You say that she has been known to
do very well out of her charities. Is this merely a pious rumour on the
part of the other charities less ably run than her own, or can it be
proved? I do not ask if the rumours are true since that is a minor
matter; but successful concealment is a major one.' 'Have I not told you
that she is intelligent?' said Otto brusquely; 'nothing can be proved
against her--except her husband!' 'Then if she is discreet,' said Eugen
indifferently, 'it becomes merely a matter of taste. It is superfluous
to ask to what race she belongs since she is a philanthropist who has
not suffered pecuniarily from her exertions.' 'Of course she is a
Jewess,' said Otto moodily. 'But would Rosalie be capable of lifting a
finger to help me? I shall have to teach Elisabeth how to dress, and how
to sit still. Her feet are as solid as tomb-stones. She walks like a
duck approaching a worm. One knows that she will not fail to get the
worm, but one resents her not making the approach a trifle more
seductive. Still a clever woman learns fast, and when she wants to
attract she learns even faster. I think I may say that she already
wishes to attract me. This evening I propose to make her take a decision
about it.' Eugen shrugged his shoulders. 'It is your affair,' he
muttered; 'I, as you know, prefer the gutter where it is, to seeing it
transferred to the drawing-room.' 'We are not all so fortunate as you,'
replied Otto suavely, 'able to unite in the person of a cook both our
affections and our conveniences!' There was a short silence. Then Otto
laid his hand lightly on his friend's arm. 'Now, my dear Eugen,' he said
persuasively, 'we come to a business in which I shall need your help.
There is to be an American heiress at Mandelbaum's to-night who is
attached to the Relief Mission. She owns a newspaper. I have arranged
with Mandelbaum that you are to take her in to dinner. Find out for me
if she will be at all possible as a wife. I have come to the conclusion
that I must marry foreign money.' 'What will your mother say to an
American?' demanded Eugen, standing still. 'The Grfin as you know is
not international. I fancy that if she thinks of America at all she
supposes it to be inhabited by Italian organ-grinders and Red Indians!'
'My mother', said Otto, 'will have to become reconciled to any wife who
will enable me to keep Trauenstein, and you will find that when she has
set her mind at rest on this subject her manner to my future wife will
be beyond reproach.' 'Here', said Eugen, feeling under a brilliant lamp
for a bell draped in ivy, 'is the goal of your ambitions. Go a little
slowly with the Elisabeth if you wish to impress the American
favourably. I understand their strong point is the Puritan instinct.'

Frau Mandelbaum was waiting for her guests with that slight thrill
which, even after twenty years of solid entertaining, still played upon
her lethargic senses. She liked to put on her best clothes, to sit at
the head of a well-furnished table, and watch Julius take people in.
Frau Mandelbaum did not call it taking people in, she called it
entertaining them, but she knew very well that Julius never entertained
people whom he did not propose sooner or later to take in. Frau
Mandelbaum played a very innocent part on these occasions. She provided
excellent food and paid great attention to the points Julius told her to
make. To-night he had explained to her that the head of the English
Mission was her principal guest. She would have to talk English to him,
but she wouldn't have to talk very much. She must say that Austria would
perish without an English credit, but she needn't try to explain why,
she should just mention that Julius himself knew all the reasons better
than anyone else. Frau Mandelbaum had a very fine white neck on which
Julius had hung a string of medium-sized pearls. Her mouth always went
down at the corners when she thought of these pearls, because they might
have been much larger if Julius had not given pearls to other ladies on
whose necks they had no legal right to hang. All her guests except Graf
Wolkenheimb and his cousin arrived punctually. They sat about the
brilliantly lighted, freshly upholstered room as if they had met by
chance at a railway station and had begun to be a little uneasy at the
lateness of their trains. Julius took them in turns through his three
reception rooms and showed them several square yards of newly bought
impressionist pictures. Frau Mandelbaum bought the carpets; they were
rather like the pictures. She had never met Otto or Eugen before, nor
except for the Downfall would it have been possible for her to meet
them; but Julius had told her that everything was altered, Otto
Wolkenheimb would be glad to get a good dinner, and she needn't go out
of her way to be polite to him. Still when he did arrive, distinguished
and bland, about twenty minutes late, she felt obliged to go a little
out of her way.

Frau Mandelbaum was thankful that Dr. Simmons sat on her husband's left
hand, as far off from her as possible. She was frankly terrified by the
head of the Relief Mission. This lady wore what is known as a 'djibbah',
a formless garment which fell from her shoulders to her feet in one
straight line. A good deal of coffee-coloured lace was wound rather
cheerlessly about her throat. She was even more alarming than she
looked. She had already revealed to her hostess that she did not care
for food and that she was uninterested in the servant problem, except to
think that servants ought to have more freedom and higher wages. She had
no children and--in spite of being called a doctor--no husband. When she
said she hadn't got a husband, she looked as if she didn't want one.
Even Julius was not quite at his ease with her. When he paid her a long
and flowery tribute upon her generosity as a Relief worker, she looked
at her plate as if she didn't like what was on it, and said in the
driest of tones that she was interested in the results of malnutrition.
It was a great relief for Frau Mandelbaum to have Sir Roger Colet to
talk to, and to observe that he gave his unswerving attention to her
rather than to the shocking child on his other side, who had sat on the
sofa before dinner (that shrine sacred to the persons of married
_Excellenzen_) showing an expanse of French silk stockings (quite
unsuitable in a Relief worker) beneath her sheath-like skirt. Carol saw
only Sir Roger's rather high shoulder and round red neck, and her
notice, insufficiently claimed by these features, rested instead on the
sallow sardonic Austrian who had taken her in. He had very thick black
eyebrows and was much interested in his soup. Carol was not sure how to
begin a conversation with him, so she gave a fleeting glance across the
table at poor Dr. Jane Simmons who was trying to discover, without
committing herself, if there was the slightest sincerity in the
disinterested offers of help her host persisted in thrusting upon her.
Jane didn't want to be insular and suspicious, but she had lived long
enough in a world, whose corners had struck her as sharp, to distrust at
sight any lavish offer of assistance. Rich people of course often did
want to help poor ones, sometimes they even (though this was a rarer
manifestation of their generosity) knew how to do it, but they seldom
proclaimed their intentions with so much insistence the first time you
met them. Eugen raised his head abruptly from the mushroom soup. 'That
English lady is your friend?' he asked Carol. 'She appears to be in
trouble, and I find it wise that she should take that view. It is always
well to be a little alarmed when business men take to philanthropy.'
'Yes, she's my friend,' agreed Carol; 'at least I hope she'd say so, but
one never knows with the English. They're so kind, half the time you
can't tell whether they like you or not.' 'And the other half of the
time?' Eugen inquired politely. 'Well--the other half they're just as
cold and stand-offish as fish,' said Carol, with decision. 'She says I
mustn't call her Jane because I've only known her a month--don't you
call that freezing?' 'It seems to me', said Eugen, after a searching
glance across the table, 'even stranger that you should wish to call her
"Jane". It is a liberty that I should not have ventured upon had our
parents vowed us to each other from our cradles.' 'I like to get to know
people,' said Carol firmly; 'it's no use trying to be distinguished with
me; either I'm all in or I'm all out. With Jane I'd like to be all in.
With the Mandelbaums I'm not so sure--by the by, are you any relation to
either of them?' Eugen gave a low prolonged chuckle. 'That privilege',
he said, 'has been denied me. I have been a fortunate man in many ways.
I am as great a stranger in this house as you are yourself, but as I am
a good Viennese, and therefore fond of gossip, I could easily tell you
the life history of our hosts and their fellow guests.' 'I wish you
would,' said Carol eagerly. 'I think life histories are the nicest kind
of conversation, don't you? Who wants to know what people think! Do
begin with the man opposite, the one who looks like an English Prime
Minister--with the high up eyes and the dinky side whiskers?' 'Ah! I see
whom you mean,' said Eugen, lifting his glass and screwing it carefully
into the socket of his eye and looking fixedly at Otto. 'I know
everything about him, so you will excuse me if I tell you very little.
Especially as he doubtless hopes to be more communicative himself. He is
the cleverest man in Austria. His family have always played a
distinguished part in our history. Graf Wolkenheimb himself has been the
trusted councillor of Emperors. At the present moment he is explaining
to our hostess how to make marmalade which tastes like oranges without
using oranges. The rest of his life will probably consist of variations
upon this experiment; but I think he will not always be so generous as
to explain how he does it! Frau Mandelbaum, whom he is addressing, is a
lady who has substantial compensations for one great disadvantage. That
disadvantage, as perhaps I need hardly point out to you, sits at the
bottom of the table. The lady upon Graf Wolkenheimb's other side is very
remarkable. As a young girl she married beneath her; that in itself was
an achievement, for her family was already so insignificant that one
would not have supposed a msalliance to be possible. Her husband is one
of those men whom nobody notices unless their hats blow off. She has
made him a Minister. I understand that she now possesses all that she
wants to possess, and that she has never had to pay for it. She is an
admirable organizer of Charity; and her generosity in giving to others
what she has no further need of herself has made her universally
respected. Do you not think that so much orange velvet is a little
fatiguing to the eyes?' Carol laughed: it was a clear springing laugh
which made Otto glance across the table with appreciation. 'I should
think you must have the most unpleasant tongue in Wien,' she said, 'but
do go on; you're the only ill-natured Austrian I've met and I'd hate to
waste you.' 'You shall not waste me,' said Eugen, with unswerving
gravity. 'Beyond the Jewish lady, of whom we have been speaking, is the
richest banker in Wien. He has also this to attract your attention: he
is, let us hope, the ugliest man in existence. I see you shudder as you
look at him. He resembles, does he not, those animals we blush to look
on as our relations? Animals who sit in trees and who look pleasanter
with a good deal of foliage distributed about their person. His father
was a great rascal and made an enormous fortune. The present Baron is a
very little rascal; only sufficiently so to retain the fortune left him
by his father. Your friend Dr. Simmons is sitting on his other side. It
is impossible to tell what any lady so distinguished and intellectual
thinks, but we may at least imagine that any passion aroused in her by
our worthy host, she will manage to control. We come then to our host
himself. I am a deeply religious man, and I prefer not to criticize the
works of my Creator. Still one must admit, there has been a little
inadvertence somewhere. Perhaps he mistook his rle and should have
appeared on one of the earlier days of creation? One sees him as a wolf,
for instance, without that slight effort which is required to accept him
in evening clothes. Now we must lower our voices to touch upon my lovely
neighbour, although fortunately I have ascertained that she does not
talk English. She is just observing that she likes her oysters large and
fat, and I think that the subject interests her so deeply that she will
not suspect us of talking about her. She is easily the most beautiful of
the lower classes of Wien. Her mother married her at sixteen to the
banker opposite, whose appearance so greatly attracted you. It was
thought that at that age it would not be so startling. All the great
bankers of Wien have good-looking wives. This is a mystery which you as
a woman can doubtless explain better than a poor little bachelor like
myself. The Baronin, however, loves her husband; many interested people
have ascertained, and regretted, this extraordinary fact. In Wien
beautiful wives are not, thank God, rare; but beautiful wives who love
their husbands (the cause for gratitude is even greater) are practically
non-existent. We do not encourage such an economy. On the other side of
you sits the head of the English Mission. We like him. When we might
have suffered even more than we have suffered by the revolution which
upset our dynasty, Sir Roger Colet kept us safe by insisting on a
general amnesty. It is owing to his efforts that the head which is now
at your disposal is not reposing somewhere near Beethoven, in the
cemetery which you must visit, even before it is necessary to lay a
commemorative offering upon my grave. I could tell you many things
rumoured about this Englishman, but I will content myself by saying that
he likes good wine, treats women as well as they deserve, and prefers
sport to any other religion.' 'And now you may tell me about yourself,'
said Carol, meeting his eyes fully. 'Do you say unkind things because
you are unhappy, or because you have an unkind heart?' Eugen paused for
a moment; the directness of her speech evidently struck him favourably,
for he smiled for the first time before he answered her. 'Does not
America have to be called in to explain all the little problems of
Europe?' he asked her. 'It is enough for me to tell you that I am a
nobody, who was once attached to a somebody, and who is now entirely at
your service. At the same time I am going to be unselfish enough to
suggest that you address a few words to your other neighbour; he is in
need of compensation, poor fellow; I see he has just tasted our host's
manufactured burgundy. The grapes that went into these bottles appeared
in an earlier life as gooseberries.' As Carol obeyed him she again
observed Otto's eyes resting on her with approval. 'You seem to admire
that girl's dress,' Elisabeth remarked to Otto a little tartly, 'or is
it that you like a woman to be shaved like a poodle? This is the third
time you have looked across the table at her.' 'It enchants me,' said
Otto, 'that you should have taken the trouble to notice my discretion. I
do my best, you see, to hide the distraction caused me by your company.'
Frau Bleileben shot a glance of suspicion at him out of her tawny eyes.
She would have given a great deal--and hers was a nature careful in its
generosities--to discover how much meaning lay behind the screen of
Otto's philandering. 'When a man always knows what to say, is one not
right in supposing that his feelings hardly exist?' she said in a low
voice. 'On the contrary,' said Otto, 'words cover feelings, they do not
destroy them. Sometimes they even reveal them. Where is your husband
to-night?' 'In Paris,' said Elisabeth dryly, 'pleading the cause of
Austria.' 'We shall look for an improvement in our condition then,' said
Otto smoothly. 'Your husband's career must be a source of great interest
to you?' 'There are women', said Elisabeth, 'who even in this benighted
country, might prefer to have a career of their own!' 'That you already
have,' replied Otto, 'but it would interest me very much to know if
charity implies a private life equally devoted to the cause of morality?
One looks at the good English lady over there who appears to unite the
virtues of an angel with the garments of some obscure period in
history--and one has no doubts. But I find myself as my eyes come back
to you--wondering if you are satisfied simply to represent civic
virtue?' 'One makes the best of one's convictions,' said Elisabeth. 'I
have never pretended to any great love of my kind. I dislike disorder,
disease and waste; and I have tried to remedy them. In my private life I
do the same.' 'You speak as if no such thing as pleasure existed,'
observed Otto thoughtfully. 'Is making the best of one's convictions
incompatible with the lighter side of life?' 'To tell you the truth,'
said Elisabeth, 'I have my little jokes, but I have very few pleasures.
Perhaps I am not easily satisfied, or perhaps my circumstances don't
provide me with what I should look upon as pleasures.' 'One can
supplement one's circumstances,' said Otto gently. 'Not if one is a
woman,' said Elisabeth; 'one's circumstances are bounded by one's
married life.' 'But--a--surely', murmured Otto, 'one can supplement
one's married life?' Elisabeth shot a keen mocking glance at him, 'Is
your suggestion purely benevolent?' she demanded. Otto's eyes lingered
on hers for a brief significant moment. 'The purest type of
benevolence,' he observed, 'in fact, the only one I am inclined to
trust, is the expression of a mutual interest. You are a woman in a
million. What could I not have done if I had only had the happiness of
meeting you at some freer period of your life!' Elisabeth hesitated. 'If
you had met me before my marriage,' she answered, 'you would have tried
to do what you are trying to do now. You would have tried to turn my
head--and who knows, perhaps you would have succeeded?' 'My heart would
have been at your feet,' said Otto softly. 'At how many feet has your
heart been already, and at each foot how long has it remained?'
Elisabeth demanded. Otto smiled imperturbably. 'As long', he said, 'as
the temporary owner had the brains to keep it. You can measure therefore
how long in your case my heart would remain. Life is a short period in
comparison.' 'You are serious?' asked Elisabeth incredulously. 'I was
never more serious,' replied Otto calmly. 'You are the one woman in the
world for me. _J'y suis, j'y reste._' Elisabeth laughed again a little
uncertainly, and returned to her dinner. For years she had been the
faithful wife of her uninteresting husband. She had made up her mind to
make the best of him, and she had made it. It was not a very good best,
but she had thought at least all there was of him was her own, and
lately she had found that he was hers no longer. His Excellenz
Bleileben, infatuated by his sudden promotion, had decided that he was
attractive. It was not true, but at that time in Vienna all men who had
any fortune were attractive enough. Elisabeth, who flew into rages at
the slightest opposition to her domestic sway, was hushed before this
tremendous burst of insubordination. She hid her knowledge of it until
she had decided upon what course to take. She had been sick of her
husband for a long time; she was thirty-eight and there would not be
many years left in which being sick of her husband would leave her with
any agreeable alternative. Then she met Otto--Elisabeth knew her values.
Otto was a real 'piece', belonging to the best period. As a gentleman
and an aristocrat he was flawless. It had always been Elisabeth's secret
dream to have an aristocratic lover, but only if the advantages were
mutual. She did not intend to run any danger of finding herself the
weaker party. Her eyes flickered, and her vivid face, with its thick
nostrils, slanting eyebrows and lips, became more than ever like that of
a slightly excited leopard. 'How does one know what answer to make to
such an observation?' she murmured. 'If you do not mean what you say, it
is an insult, and if you do mean it--is it any the less an insult?'
'Such an offer on the part of a man of the world to a woman of your
capacity', said Otto, 'is a serious compliment. You are a charming and
delightful woman. I shall learn much from you, but you will also learn
something from me. You see I am quite frank with you. I admit that you
have something to learn. A woman without a lover is as incomplete as a
sail without a breeze.' 'It is true,' said Elisabeth with sudden
humility, 'I have a great deal to learn. I am surprised by your
suggestion, but I am not shocked nor am I displeased.' 'I hope I know
better', said Otto gently, 'than to make such a suggestion to any woman
whom it would displease. I am neither a Prussian nor a Turk!' 'No,' said
Elisabeth, 'but that is what puzzles me. You are an Austrian noble, and
I am a Jewess. I am also a woman of virtue. My life has not been spent
in attracting men, it has been spent in doing business with them.' 'You
shall do business with me too,' said Otto, smiling, 'but you won't do
your business any less well because I find you attractive.' Elisabeth
without answering turned away for a time to her other neighbour. She
talked to the Baron for ten minutes without her accustomed verve, and as
she turned away Otto observed with satisfaction that Eugen was managing
to entertain the little American very successfully. She had a charming
smile and her hands were dainty and well manicured. Elisabeth's were
overdone; they were not the hands to sustain the attention they
provoked. 'One is rather reversing the order of things,' Otto said to
himself. 'I should have kept the little one, who is delightful, for my
mistress, and Elisabeth who will be very useful, for a wife. Still it
would tire me to have too useful a wife.' He was not impatient for his
answer. If it had been unfavourable, he knew that it would have come
earlier--it would, in fact, have come before his offer had been made. He
went on entertaining his hostess until he was aware that he had kept
Elisabeth waiting. The dessert was on the table; in a moment Julius's
sharp green eyes would be used like missiles in the direction of his
wife. Thirty seconds before this silent signal took place, Otto turned
again to Elisabeth. 'I do not know,' she said in a low voice, 'even how
such affairs take place.' 'But nothing in the world is easier than to
find out,' said Otto, 'and for such a discovery, I put myself entirely
at your disposal.' 'Very well then,' said Elisabeth slowly, 'I consent.'

Frau Mandelbaum sighed luxuriously. She had eaten an excellent dinner,
and she sighed partly because she had eaten it and partly because, since
it had been excellent, there would be no reproaches from Julius. 'I
wish,' she said to Otto, as she rose a little ungracefully from her
chair, 'that I had met you before, Graf Wolkenheimb. It is really
wonderful what you told me about that orange marmalade. It tastes as if
it were made of oranges, and there is no orange in it--nothing but a
little lemon peel and very careful cooking! Wonderful! But I have always
said that with careful management of materials one can do anything.'




CHAPTER VI


The point of the entertainment had arrived. Julius had given the signal
to his wife to leave him with Otto and Eugen. The other guests had gone
comfortably off in their own motors without infringing upon the sacred
petrol which Mandelbaum loathed to put at the disposal of his friends.
Six different kinds of inferior liqueur, planted on a rose-painted
glass-covered table, and surrounding a gilded box of much advertised
cigars, gave to Julius an impression of festive generosity. This was the
moment he had longed for; he had fed these two men before him, fed them
well, for a particular purpose; now he was going to dictate to them. He
stretched his legs out before him and licked his lips with satisfaction.
In front of him, with his back to the light, was Otto Wolkenheimb. He
had chosen a comfortable chair; his legs were luxuriously crossed; the
finger tips of his expressive hands were lightly pressed together; his
eyes rested speculatively, but without hope, upon the labels of the
liqueur bottles. Eugen seated himself in front of a flaming scarlet
sunset, in which a flock of sheep were implicated. He felt, even though
his eyes no longer suffered from the glare, as if he had a fire at his
back. He smoked one of his own cigars, and looked as remote as St. Simon
on his pillar. 'What,' asked Mandelbaum, with a genial grin, 'do you
think of the English, Graf? They conquered us on the field--or they paid
the French to do it--whichever you like, we shall never know the truth;
but what do you think they are up to with this vaunted peace of theirs?
I saw you talking for some time with our respected friend, the English
Commissioner--about birds, was it not? How his eyes lit up when you
mentioned them! Well, how would it be, if under the cover of those very
birds we managed to pluck the sportsman himself for our own table?' 'The
English,' said Otto, bringing his bright brown eyes back from the
liqueur bottles to his host's face, 'are a simple, steady people; not
insignificant. Their strength, I fancy, lies in their simplicity. We
sharper Europeans can seldom bring ourselves to believe that what stands
behind their blunt spoken word is really only a lucky ignorance. We
think their statecraft subtle because it has often in the long run
proved successful where ours has failed, but a long study of their
character has led me to believe that their policy is merely a series of
astonishing blunders, retrieved at the last moment by a supreme common
sense. Our theories, on the other hand, are really subtle; we have in
them both skill and logic nicely adjusted to meet the dangers we
foresee. Our theories will stand anything except practice. When it comes
to carrying our policies through, they break down under the stupidity of
life. The inadvertence of experience is too much for us. The English
imitate the stupidity of life, as certain animals are found
unconsciously to take on the protective colouring of their surroundings.
We call this imitation hypocrisy, but I do not think it is anything so
intellectual as hypocrisy; it is the clockwork instinct of a very strong
animal in the moment of danger.' Mandelbaum stirred uneasily. He did not
want to listen to abstract reasoning. For one thing he distrusted it
intensely, and for another it could be carried on by people like Otto
Wolkenheimb as if they were still what they no longer were--at an
advantage. Julius wanted to use the man before him because he knew that
Otto had his uses. For instance, that very evening how differently Sir
Roger Colet had spoken to Otto, without any of that rather formidable
politeness with which he addressed Julius! Julius had climbed high, but
there were still people whom it was enormously important for him to
please, and with whom he wouldn't be able to make his own terms unless
they were pleased. But it was one thing for Julius to admit to himself
his social inexperience and quite another for Otto to take advantage of
it. Otto had got to learn that he couldn't. He was poor, without
influence, and naturally unpopular with the Socialists. The Pan-Germans
hated him; the Christian Socialists--Conservatives though they
were--distrusted him, although they feared him even more than they
distrusted him. If Julius consented to lighten Otto's poverty and to
allow him to take his place in the new order of things, it would only be
if Otto consented to leave his top-dog ways behind him. There must be no
mistake as to who was master and who was man.

Julius knew that he had just given Otto a dinner that Otto, without
straining his resources to the uttermost, couldn't have given him. It
was therefore absurd of Otto to sit there looking as if he owned
everything in the room and Julius was a man sent for to tune the piano.
Julius poured himself out a third liqueur with a steady hand and an
ominous brow. Both his guests had tried the liqueur, sipped it and left
it. This was an economy; but at the same time it was an insult. Julius
knew what his liqueurs were made of, but they were quite good enough for
the impoverished aristocrats before him.

'All we want of the English,' he said roughly, 'is for them to sit here,
keep order and spend their money; and all that I find necessary to know
about them is how to make them do it. The other Allies don't count.
France, because she thinks of nothing but how to destroy what is left of
Germany, and the Italians, because they can't do us much harm without
making the Serbs and Czechs too important for their own interests. They
may even do us good, because they wish to expand and may bring capital
into the country. They'll ruin the Tyrol of course and destroy Trieste
to benefit Venice, but they'll help Wien. To go back to the English. I
daresay you wondered why I had those Relief ladies here to-night--the
plain one, I mean--the pretty one of course any man would like to have
in his house; and keep there! Well, I had my reasons. I'm interested in
Relief as much as anybody. It keeps starving people quiet. The state of
the child life in Wien is appalling. If something isn't done about it
pretty soon the future is going to be handicapped, and we may see a
plague that would wipe out half the city. I want Relief brought in.
These ladies have solid money behind them. They're worth keeping in
with. I've subscribed heavily to their Mission, and I propose to lend
them a warehouse for their stores. What puzzled me to-night was that
that Dr. Simmons, as she called herself, didn't jump at it. Three times
I shoved it into her hands, and she got vaguer and vaguer each time, as
if the damned loose-witted hen was thinking of something else! Why the
devil didn't she take a perfectly good warehouse offered her for nothing
and be thankful?' 'Incredibly generous of you, my dear fellow, to offer
it to her for nothing,' said Otto, hiding a yawn; 'I can only suppose a
lady so formidable as the one we are discussing has received so few
offers in the course of her life, that her first instinct is to refuse.
You must return to the charge.' 'The point is,' said Julius bluntly,
'they're going to get a large supply of condensed milk through from
Switzerland for the babies, free of all duty. The Swiss are letting them
have the milk cheap for the Mission. My idea is to get them to order a
larger supply than they need--say twice as much--and hand the surplus
over to me at cost price. What do you say to that for a scheme? Babies
aren't hit by it, Mission people score over it, and town people benefit
as well--see?' 'Admirable, my dear Mandelbaum,' replied Otto, 'but in
your place I should not have offered Dr. Simmons the warehouse quite so
insistently.' 'Why not?' asked Mandelbaum, with some heat. 'That lady,'
replied Otto thoughtfully, 'whom we might describe as a "female lady of
the opposite sex," struck me as having a remarkably hard head. Her
manner was no doubt vague, but I should be surprised if her thoughts
were anything but clear. I have an idea that she was asking herself
whether she wasn't expected to present just such an equivalent in return
for your magnificent offer of the warehouse!' 'Well, why not?'
Mandelbaum again repeated. 'I tell you the babies don't suffer for it,
nor does the Mission. As far as they are concerned it is an absolutely
straight deal.' 'Yes, but it is a deal,' said Otto thoughtfully, 'and
Anglo-Saxon heads of Relief Missions do not indulge in deals. You see,
if the Swiss found out, they would curtail the milk supply.' 'They
aren't going to find out,' said Julius impatiently; 'I tell you I know
how to do these things! What I don't know how to do is how to handle the
Englishwoman. I'm not used to ladies in business, and I'm not sure, as
you say, that she'll take my idea in the right way. If one of you
fellows would undertake to bring her round to my scheme, I'll see that
you don't lose by the transaction.' 'I shall not,' said Eugen, without
moving his eyes from the tips of his shoes, on which they had been
steadily concentrated, 'connive at playing a trick upon a lady.' 'Even,'
asked Otto with his flickering smile, 'if she has the bad taste to
resemble a gentleman? It's an entertaining idea of yours, my dear
Mandelbaum, very ingenious indeed! Nor am I as particular as my friend.
Since we are doing the lady no harm and ourselves positive good, and
since we all know that it must be beneficial spiritually to the Swiss to
be made a little more charitable sometimes than they intend, I am quite
willing to join in your attempt. You are sure, I suppose, that you can
avoid all undesirable publicity?' 'Perfectly sure,' said Julius
scornfully. 'How do you suppose I have made my fortune--legitimately?
People with legitimate fortunes don't keep four motor cars--not in times
like these at any rate!' 'I am sure,' said Otto cautiously, 'that you
must have used great skill and consummate social tact.' 'Skill--yes,'
growled Mandelbaum, 'that kind of thing takes skill. Well, Graf, that's
my first offer to you. If that goes through I shall have plenty of
little jobs of the same sort in which I can pay you to be useful to me.
I don't quite see where your friend comes in if he's so particular, but
that's your business, not mine. We never put anything in writing of
course, and we keep our mouths shut.' 'My friend,' said Otto, 'is also
my legal adviser. The law is so incomprehensible to the lay mind just at
present that I hardly care to undertake any project without a legal
opinion. I frequently find myself reversing the words of the Apostle to
the Gentiles, and saying, "All things are expedient for me but all
things are not lawful." A little expert pressure, a little adaptation
here and there, and one finds that the law--expands.' Julius nodded; he
wasn't quite sure from Otto's manner if he yet grasped his subsidiary
position, and he knew he must not put too much emphasis on it at the
start. Fine gentlemen had weak stomachs. They couldn't take money unless
it came to them out of silk purses; and though they would have to toe
his mark, it would be perhaps wiser to let them take the preliminary
steps as if they were toeing their own. 'I reckon,' he said
contemplatively, 'on making a good deal of money over this milk deal if
it comes off, and under the circumstances, if you bring the lady round
to giving the double order to the Swiss, I am willing to let you have
twenty per cent of the profits.' Julius' sharp eye slewed round upon
Otto as he stated his minimum, and he was gratified, although surprised,
at Otto's not making any attempt to put up the percentage. It was
obvious to him that Otto knew less about business than he had supposed
possible. 'Very generous, I am sure,' said Otto pleasantly. 'I can see
no reason whatever for my refusing your offer.' Eugen looked up from his
boots with a surprise as great as Julius' own. 'With access to your
books of course,' Eugen said grimly. Julius gave him a prolonged uneasy
stare. 'I'll satisfy you of course,' he said after a pause, 'in the
usual manner.' 'I am not easily satisfied,' replied Eugen coldly. 'I
choose also my own manner.' 'I am sure,' intervened Otto suavely, 'that
when it comes to business you two will understand each other perfectly.
I had a little proposition of my own to make, but perhaps it is rather
late?' 'For me,' said Julius, 'business is never either too early or too
late.' 'Then,' said Otto, waving his hand gracefully towards Mandelbaum,
'I will lay before you the history of my little project. While I was
still in power, the owner of an important Armament firm--in which
several international financiers of an expert race were also
interested--approached me upon one of several possibilities threatened
by our military dbcle. It had occurred to this far-seeing gentleman as
early as 1916 that it would be as well to draw up plans by which he
could avoid the patriotic pleasure of sharing in the results of this
dbcle. He therefore first assured himself of the discretion and
influence of certain people in Czecho-Slovakia, America and Switzerland.
In the event of defeat and the consequent dismemberment of our Empire,
the frontier of Austria would naturally pass to the north of his factory
area, enclosing it in the relics of our broken country. But if neither
the local authorities nor the Austrian Government brought pressure to
bear there was no reason why Czechland--which has a not inconsiderable
acquisitive instinct--and the high financial experts already mentioned,
at work in Allied and neutral countries, should not evade comment and
slip the frontier to the south of his works instead of the north.
Geography has been known to yield to common sense. The usual historical
and sentimental reasons would be forthcoming. The really important point
in the negotiations was the passivity of Austria. So important was this
point that the gentleman who approached me suggested placing a sum of
Swiss francs in a bank in Zurich, in two names, one in the name of a
nominee appointed by myself, and the other in that of a reliable
acquaintance of his own. The ostensible object of this sum would be to
found a branch of his firm for making sporting rifles for the Swiss; and
it would pass automatically into the hands of my nominee when the Peace
Treaty was signed and the works found themselves secure in Czech
territory. I was, however, when this offer was put before me, a servant
of the Kaiser, and at that time--a few little qualities--like honour,
integrity and patriotism--which one would hardly care to boast of
now!--prevented such transactions from taking place. They did not,
however, prevent me from looking into the matter. If it should ever be
necessary--either as a threat or as a reassurance--I hold the proofs of
the offer. Therefore I can at any time produce them to bring about a
similar position or--to prevent it. You and I, my dear Mandelbaum, are
no longer the trustees of a great Empire, but little birds feathering
their not inexpensive nests. May I ask if you have any moral objection
to controlling the passivity of Austria?' Mandelbaum grunted. 'What is
your offer?' he demanded. 'That's the point.' 'We can, I think,' said
Otto, 'very fairly make the same conditions as you have generously
offered to me in the Swiss affair. On the success of the undertaking you
will receive twenty per cent of the profits, the remainder of which will
be my own.' Julius raised his heavy head like an animal under a sudden
blow. 'Twenty per cent!' he growled; 'but that is not enough for me! I
have the political pull; you cannot hold Austria passive without me! But
I can carry the job through without you as soon as I have the names and
the details. I should be prepared to give you something for them of
course--not a percentage of profits but an agreed sum down. Half a
minute will give me time enough to find out the firm! You must remember
I shall have to keep the whole Cabinet quiet, and in the House the
Pan-Germans will be full of objections. I may have to make concessions
of my own--and all you have to do is to give me a few details!'

'I think you underestimate the value of silence,' said Otto
indifferently. 'I hold the whip hand of all those who were or will be
connected with this offer since should any one act upon it without my
participation, I have it in my power to disclose the whole proceeding. I
think, upon reflection, you will see that my suggestion of mutual
profits is as fair a one as your own. You will soon, I am sure, accustom
yourself to handling your fellow ministers. You have nothing else to do;
the local authorities have already been successfully approached. The
whole affair is a very simple one.' Julius clenched his heavy fist on
the table. After all his precautions he had blundered. He had shown his
hand first. Why hadn't he waited, and got hold of Otto's project before
stating his own? If he took the deal in Otto's teeth, as it were, would
Otto dare to break him? That was the worst of men like Otto, they
weren't insignificant enough for tools. People listened to them. The
English, for instance; they simply must not know that Mandelbaum as a
Minister took--well--not exactly bribes, call them 'recognitions.' If
only he knew what Otto would dare if he braved him. Or what he could use
on his side as a make-weight against Otto. If only he could read that
indifferent ironic face, if only he could force that delicate manicured
hand to lay its cards upon the table. Otto smiled pleasantly. 'But
really,' he said, rising to his feet, 'we are staying unconscionably
late! Wasting your valuable time, my dear Mandelbaum! Pray excuse us for
prolonging so delightful an evening! And assure your wife once more for
us that we are more than grateful for her charming entertainment. Ah!
you are more fortunate than I, all your powers are reinforced by the
pleasures of domesticity!' Julius gave a grin that might have passed for
a smile. 'I can spare time,' he said a little awkwardly, 'for your
project. Perhaps we might raise the milk business to thirty per cent
profits, if what you suggest is practicable and worth half profits to me
to carry out.' 'You are too generous,' said Otto, without sitting down
again. 'But I prefer to keep to your original offer, and to make it the
basis of my own. For the future we might lay our hands upon the table
and make half profits our working policy. We should then know exactly
how we stood, and our interests would be identical. But since the first
of these projects is undeniably your own, and the second mine, it would
be unfair for me to ask an advance upon your original offer; nor do I
feel anxious to enlarge my own.' Julius cleared his throat. 'I also,' he
said, 'believe in going slowly. Of what do the profits in this Armament
deal consist?' 'My dear Mandelbaum,' murmured Otto gently, 'do you not
think that the indulgence of curiosity should be a mutual pleasure? Am I
to understand that you intend to enlighten us upon what you expect to
gain from the Swiss project? Of course, if you are--? No? I see by your
open countenance that you are not! I entirely agree with you! When we
are acting on half profits we will make our revelations as mutual as our
interests; but in these two little affairs--in which we only provide
helping hands--we will remember the scriptural injunction, and keep
those selfless members each from knowing what the other one does!'
Julius Mandelbaum's eyes became flat in his head, and all expression
faded out of them. 'Good, gentlemen!' he said after a long pause. 'I
agree; but why the devil doesn't this firm of yours come to _me_ now I
am in power?' 'A question of habit,' Otto murmured, 'no doubt. A
question of looking for authority where authority no longer exists. It
will pass, as all our errors pass, into the purifying ocean of
democracy!' Julius looked up sharply; he felt that Otto was laughing at
him, but Otto was looking particularly grave. 'We are your debtors,' he
said, meeting Julius' suspicious eyes, 'for a truly interesting
occasion.' Eugen bowed with his heels together, the deep perfunctory dip
of military training, and Julius took them to the front door himself. He
afterwards remembered that it would have been more dignified to ring for
a servant, but he would in that case have missed the satisfaction of
watching his two guests descend into his rain-soaked garden. They had no
car, and it was an inclement night.

Before they reached the twisted iron gates at the bottom of the short
drive, Eugen spat fiercely on the ground. 'All that,' he said bitterly,
'leaves a very bad taste in the mouth, Otto!' But Otto paid no attention
to his companion's feelings. A smile hovered around the corners of his
mobile lips. 'That was a damned good phrase of mine, you know, Eugen,'
he murmured, 'about the purifying ocean of democracy.'




CHAPTER VII


When Elisabeth returned from her dinner at the Mandelbaums' the look of
the things in her room irritated her; she felt as if each piece of
furniture was an attack upon her nerves. The furniture stood there,
because it couldn't stand anywhere else; there would be no room for it.
Her rooms were like Elisabeth Bleileben's life; she had chosen her life
for herself, but it had stifled and cornered her. At eighteen, passion
had caught her in a flood there was no resisting; it had thrown her
violently (against the wishes of her relations) into the arms of a tall,
handsome Jew with soft coffee-brown eyes, great fluidity of expression,
and a belief in himself which had impressed Elisabeth, before she
realized that self-confidence is a gift without integrity. It was twenty
years since she had this fit of passion, and she had been so horrified
by the want of judgement which had plunged her into so shallow a stream
that she had resisted every subsequent attack upon her emotions. She
felt that she knew love for what it was: a fierce and uneasy impulse
that came upon her in gusts of feeling for three or four years after her
marriage, and then, appalling and quite final, satiety. She did not want
anything more to do with Wilhelm Bleileben. She skipped him daily, as if
he were a leading article in a newspaper. Even if something unusual had
happened to him, she wouldn't have had the patience to wade through it
word by word. The only emotion which had remained to Elisabeth was an
occasional desire to slap the two small flaxen-haired girls, dreadfully
colourless and good, with whom Providence had blessed her.

She was brought up to believe that a woman's sphere is the home, and for
several stormy years Elisabeth limited herself to this form of activity.
Both she and Wilhelm liked rich, well-cooked food and rooms filled with
hard bright furniture. Elisabeth saw that, within the means provided for
her, the food was richer, the rooms more violently shining, her own
clothes and the children's more brilliantly dedicated to checks and
stripes, than any of her circle could afford. From morning to night
Elisabeth's brilliant eyes, her harsh voice and her pouncing wits
harried her servant and transfigured the house. Wilhelm was deeply
satisfied with her domesticity; and in time the monumental quality of
his self-complacence aggrieved and finally disillusioned Elisabeth. She
no longer wanted a model home; besides, when she had thoroughly
outstripped all her contemporaries, she began to long for new fields of
competition. Wilhelm made no more money than he had made when they were
first married; and Elisabeth saw that nothing fresh could be done
without money.

It was then that she chanced upon a real brain. Max Cohen, a consumptive
cousin of her mother's, came from Poland to Vienna to start a wholesale
business in furs. Elisabeth took trouble over Max Cohen. She found out
what he was really like--how much his brain was worth and how far his
constitution would be likely to carry him. After several months'
impassioned wrangling she drove her husband into partnership with him.
Elisabeth was thirty, and she still believed that a woman's sphere is
the home. But she kept an absorbed eye upon Max and the wholesale furs.
The two men talked business with her every evening. They fed on her
organizing and enlightening brain, and if her ideas seemed to be
produced from the small tartan frocks that she was making for her
daughters, they nevertheless inspired transactions between Archangel and
New York. Max swiftly acknowledged her powers and revelled in them.
Wilhelm took personal credit for all her designs and acknowledged
nothing but the tartan frocks.

It was her horror of his pride in her for being an ideal wife and mother
that drove Elisabeth into the business world. She learned secretly from
Max all the practical handling of their business, bookkeeping, and the
laws and evasions of trade. She fitted herself for a business career
without Wilhelm's discovering that she no longer had time to make
home-made jam; and when she had done this she half consciously let Max
Cohen die. Over and over again she could have saved him. All he needed
at first was a winter at Davos; even a reprieve from the harsh winds and
dusts of Vienna would have extended his short career. He was sanguine,
and Elisabeth played on his hope. He was consumingly ambitious, and she
never for a moment failed to keep his ambitions ablaze. They were making
more and more money, and she encouraged Max to believe that he was
indispensable to the golden flood. She helped him to ignore all his
warning symptoms until he suddenly found himself face to face with
death. Nothing he could do was any good then, but Elisabeth herself,
carefully chaperoned by an old aunt, took him up into the mountains to
the best sanatorium in Austria. There he had all the things which could
have saved him earlier: well-cooked wholesome food; the scent of pines;
the clean air of the snows; Elisabeth's untiring and quite magnificent
nursing. Max Cohen was a brilliantly clever man, but he died believing
Elisabeth Bleileben was the best woman in the world and leaving her his
share of the fur business. Elisabeth felt the loss of his intellectual
companionship deeply; but she now had money of her own.

After a year's careful investigation, she forced her husband to sell the
business at a staggering profit, and made him (with the capital at their
disposal) the director of a bank. The war broke out, and Elisabeth
launched herself into war charities; her organizing talents gave her
immediate influence, and won for her at least an outward association
with the most exclusive aristocracy in the world. Whatever she touched
succeeded, and ran, if not smoothly (for Elisabeth had a passionate
temper and used it with dismaying frequency), swiftly and with pecuniary
advantage. She often made social blunders, she often antagonized when
she should have pleased, and her fellow workers abhorred and feared her;
but she never made any business mistakes. Her accounts were impeccable.
When the era of starvation set in, inexplicably (but without a stain on
her character) she continued to feed Wilhelm, the little girls and
herself upon rich and totally unprocurable food. Perhaps Mandelbaum knew
how she managed it; she supplied all her war charities from Mandelbaum's
firm, and after the Breakdown Mandelbaum's influence secured her husband
his startling promotion to the Ministry.

Wilhelm Bleileben, hardly believing in his own good fortune, was
tiresomely certain that he deserved it. Elisabeth, whose father had been
a pawnbroker (she spoke of him as having been a collector of antiques),
was now addressed as 'Excellenz' and sat always on the sofa.

She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams; everything had helped her,
from the delicacy of Max Cohen's constitution to the calamity of the
European war; and yet Elisabeth was not satisfied. Something which she
could not define eluded her. She had yearnings which the small choked
flat at the corner of the Ring did nothing to appease. Something was
vaguely wrong with the flat. It smelled too much of food; the collected
treasures of a lifetime turned up too often. The two good little girls
were as good as ever, but they had become menacingly larger. They took
up too much room; so did Wilhelm Bleileben. They were rich enough to
afford a larger flat, but wouldn't a larger flat be simply more of the
same thing? Was it so much size she wanted as a difference in the
quality of life? At thirty-eight one begins to ask whether what one has
got is really what one wants. One asks oneself this question with an
uneasiness more urgent than in earlier periods of doubt. Elisabeth had
not a contemplative mind, but she was accessible to fact; she seldom
deceived herself. She saw that what she had not done she had very little
time to do--and that what she was not, with all her magnificent energy
and ruthless will, it was improbable that she would become. She had
touched the end of her personal resources.

It was in this time of intellectual instability that her husband became
unfaithful to her and that Elisabeth first met Otto Wolkenheimb. The
first of these two incidents, although it came too late to reawaken her
interest in her husband, gave her a queer mental shock. It showed her
that she had less power than she thought she had. Elisabeth had been an
extraordinarily useful and faithful wife to Wilhelm and, she had
supposed, genuinely attractive; and yet it hadn't been enough for him.
Ten years earlier she had been Max Cohen's friend, never anything more
than his friend, but it had been enough for Max Cohen; it had riveted
him to his bachelorhood. He said to her once, 'Elisabeth, I am not in
love with you, but you entirely prevent my falling in love with anyone
else. After you, I should find any other woman dull.' Hitherto Elisabeth
had not had her virtue greatly tempted. She was too busy to be tempted,
and perhaps, she told herself harshly, not attractive enough. She
challenged men's minds before she invaded their senses, and nothing
keeps a man's senses so silent as the attack of an intelligent woman
upon his wits.

Elisabeth had known that money was the first thing to procure, and she
had procured it; but money did not in itself satisfy Elisabeth; even the
power which she obtained by it did not satisfy her. What she wanted (she
saw it plainly the night of the Mandelbaums' dinner) was beauty; a
beauty not wholly material, but which she could use materially in her
daily life. She wanted before she died to be surrounded by something
finer than she had--more delicate and with more taste. She had
recognized the charm of Otto Wolkenheimb with a bitter humility. His
ease, his intricate lightness, were qualities she hadn't got. Perhaps
Elisabeth might have been content--if it hadn't been for the war--with a
simpler outlook in which virtues were essential and manners were not.
But her charities had thrown her with the aristocracy, and she had found
in them something which she couldn't buy. She knew far more about
business than they did, but they knew something which wasn't business
and yet which gave them a kind of power. Couldn't she acquire this
secret knowledge? She asked herself the question breathlessly as she sat
in her small florid bedroom rejoicing for the moment in its being silent
and unshared.

Elisabeth had no continuous privacy. She was forced by want of space and
her husband's traditional horror at marital separation to share a room
with him. Out of this led that of the two little girls. She could hear
them getting up in the morning and their nightmares if they had any at
night. They could hear--with the dreadful superiority of childhood--the
bitter altercations which took place with unstudied frequency between
their father and mother.

She got up impatiently, and went into the room of Paula and Marie. There
they were as usual, round rosy cheeks on white pillows, neatly plaited
colourless hair tied with thick white ribbons. She turned up the shaded
light on the little night tables and regarded each in turn
dispassionately. 'Ugh! why did I ever have them!' she exclaimed
disgustedly before she clicked off the light and returned to her own
room. Elisabeth had been a good mother to Paula and Marie; even now, if
they had suffered from anything, she would have swooped to their
assistance. In all their childish illnesses she had been an
indefatigable nurse; but they gave her no feeling of intimacy. They
belonged altogether to their father's side of the family. Elisabeth had
never once surprised wildness in their mild blue eyes nor any desire for
adventure in their blameless careers. Their occasional naughtiness took
the form of feeble greed or feeble laziness, never of rebellion. But as
a rule they were not naughty, they were dreadfully, dismally good and as
self-complacent as only good little girls can be. They reminded
Elisabeth of her husband, only they were worse because after all Wilhelm
was a man. He sometimes swore and once he had boxed his wife's ears. For
half an hour it had nearly reawakened Elisabeth's affection for him;
then he returned with his tail between his legs and apologized.
Elisabeth never forgave him his apology.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and swept her husband out of her
mind with as much ease as she had disposed of the little girls. Nobody
in life held her back from what she meant to do. Nor did she have any
conviction of sin. Elisabeth went to church three or four times a year,
but she believed in nothing. There was only one real obstacle to her
escape from morality; she had been respectable for thirty-eight years.
She undressed slowly, looking with a new distaste at the monograms in
the centre of the pillowslips, the buttoned sheets and thick red silk
eiderdowns. It was difficult to get away from these domestic symbols;
they did not seem to go with a life of sin. Elisabeth was not afraid of
discovery; two clever people, neither of them impulsive or young, can
easily outwit a fool. Everything would go on the same outwardly; no
intimacy existed to challenge this new supremacy. There would still be
the crowded little flat with its solid silver picture frames and bright
maple wardrobes; washstands that made washing a necessity and not an
art; and a looking-glass that seemed to accentuate the dinginess of duty
on winter mornings; but her mind would no longer be there--it would be
safely afloat in large mysterious rooms--rooms in which everything had a
history as well as a use, and nothing was definitely bright; soft,
silent rooms, through which her own voice--distorted and
nerve-racked--had never set its harshness. That was what she wanted, not
to be harsh any more, not to be violent or vulgar, but to find a place
in her own heart where she could be at peace. She was so often turned
out of her imagination by the crass materialism of her daily life. But
if this was what she longed for it was also what she feared. Would she,
when she entered into this region of delicacy and beauty, be fit for it?
Wouldn't her own ruthlessness and brutality spoil for her the very
experience for which she longed? Wasn't she too old to change? It would
be so wonderful not to shout any more, never to tear through intercourse
as if it were a crowded street with a flying 'bus to be caught at the
other end. Would she be able _not_ to chivy and bustle her companion,
and above all not to sour her own feelings with suspicion and distrust?
She wanted so passionately to be happy, happy not only in her
circumstances but in her strong and wayward heart. She had been
everything else. She had enjoyed grim moments of triumph over the wills
of others, she had felt the agitated relief of giving way to paroxysms
of anger, but neither her strength nor her achievements had brought her
peace. To have a lover--now, when she was conscious of this inner
trembling of the heart, this fear of the finish of things! To start
afresh upon the path of youth with all the sanity of experience and with
the intimacy of a man who could give her what no-one else had ever given
her: considerate understanding and delicious friendliness! Was not such
an adventure worth any risk? It would take the taste out of these
stagnant nineteen years of Wilhelm, his shaving, his teeth-brushing, his
dreadful little habits and arrangements, and the possibility of a
conversation which often ended in a row, simply because Elisabeth could
not get away until she had done her hair. Her married life unrolled
itself before her like a limp and ravelled elastic; there was no longer
any grip in it. She must let it go--and with it that iron lump of
respectability to which she had been for so long pointlessly attached.
Let her be young and gay and free as she had never been--and then let
Nemesis come in any form it liked! She would not mind Nemesis once she
had had her fling! But she could not help asking herself why did Otto
want her? Perhaps because the world was new--and its newness belonged to
her class and her type? Otto was a survival; he had as much to learn
from her as she had to learn from him, and after all it might be the
truth when he said that he had never met any woman like her before. The
aristocracy were mortally dull. Elisabeth had not seen much of them, but
she had seen enough to know that, if they had not belonged to the most
exclusive society in the world, no-one would have wanted their company.
Their style was perfect, but few of them had anything beyond their
style. Elisabeth swore to herself that she would give Otto a good
time--if he gave her one! She would throw under his feet the pick of her
brain and all the fruits of her experience. Suddenly, inexplicably,
Elisabeth buried her head in her fat little second pillow and wept a few
very small, very astounding tears. She wept because she was not young,
because she wanted beauty, and because she wondered if after all she was
not too stiff and too tough to be moulded, as she wished to be moulded,
by those delicate fingers which had hitherto known only the most
delicate and precious of human substances.




CHAPTER VIII


As Otto Wolkenheimb strolled to and fro in his library, he was intensely
conscious of the effect of his background. He was not easily impressed
by backgrounds; but he was vividly conscious of the impressions they
made upon others. He knew that, to anyone who lived in a dingy little
room, the lofty ceiling with its beautifully moulded cornices would give
a bewildering sense of space; and he was glad that the splendid crystal
candelabra shone like some trophy from a palace. The room was free of
little things, and the few pictures (dull, Otto personally considered)
had good names attached to them and were satisfactorily darkened by the
tone of time. Seen through the large north windows, the towers of the
Votiv Kirche occupied the vacant space between the bookshelves and his
old English writing desk as if they were part of his furniture. Otto
leaned out of the open window and looked down upon the broad glistening
avenue of the Universittsstrasse, across the gardens to the pink
crenellated barracks and over countless irregular roofs to the distant
blue hills. The air came fresh from the Wiener Wald, and carried with it
a breath of pines. It stirred in Otto memories of his home at
Trauenstein. Otto loved his home, but he loved it with a certain
impatience. It had been spoiled for him, like everything else he valued,
by the changes of the Breakdown. His peasants no longer revered and
admired him. They claimed as rights what he had given them as privileges
or what he would have given them as privileges if he had been rich
enough to afford his own instincts of generosity. What Otto disliked
most about the new order of things was the way in which it upset his
sense of his own virtues. He knew that he was a generous and considerate
landlord; but when he was suddenly pinched and driven by the loss of
more than half his fortune, was it the moment for his peasants to rise
up and chivy him into allowing them the same indulgence which (in the
goodness of his heart) he had conceded to them in the days of his
prosperity? Yet his peasants entirely ignored the goodness of his
heart--they said they were ruined too, and they demanded higher wages
and lower rents. In many cases Otto had had to give way or lose their
labour altogether, but the struggle had cost him his amiability and left
him with no desire to revisit Trauenstein unless he should once more
become its master. He strolled back from the window and looked with
sardonic eyes at the Oriental vases full of expensive flowers which he
had ordered to welcome the first visit of Elisabeth Bleileben. He knew
that she would like expensive flowers: mauve orchids and strong-smelling
lilies. Otto had studied women all his life with an untiring
pertinacity. He understood their differences of time and type.

Elisabeth had the disadvantage of her years; but she had also the
acquiescences. She would take things for granted, and be grateful for
what she got. In his relations with women Otto was seldom dominated by
passion; not at least by a passion for the women themselves. The passion
which ruled him was a much deeper affair, and women were merely its
priestesses. The master passion of Otto's life was his deep personal
vanity. Each new woman, over whom he acquired the influence of
possession, showed him himself afresh. They were like a series of
mirrors in a magic gallery; from each one he flashed back upon himself
at a different angle. He was at his best when he came fresh to a love
affair. As time went on repetition dulled the brightness of his image.
It was an effort to appear always charming and never to take the ease of
a moment's selfishness. Generally Otto became quickly disillusioned with
the uninspired Priestess who allowed the reproduction of himself to
fade. There was no woman with whom he could always be so interesting as
in the first half-hour of their intimacy. Sooner or later her attention
waned or she advanced some awkward claim of her own and spoiled the
delicacy of his romance. It had been Otto's experience that women were
less disinterested than men. Their very sympathies had tentacles with
which to grasp more effectually what they wanted. It was a pity, Otto
often felt, that he was forced by his fastidious nature into taking a
sentimental view of love. It would have been far simpler if, like most
men, he had been purely sensual. The attitude of the gourmand is always
much less expensive than that of the gourmet and on the whole more
satisfactory. Material gratifications are not exhilarating, but they
frankly cure simple wants by simple remedies. The trouble with Otto was
that he had not got any simple wants. This business of Elisabeth
Bleileben, for instance, stuck in his throat. He knew what he could give
her; and he knew that besides the substantial gain to his fortune he
would get a certain amount of interest, even a certain amount of
pleasure, from the effect he was going to produce upon Elisabeth. She
was going to be very useful to him, and as a reward he was going to
transform her life. He felt no scruples at all in persuading her to give
up her respectability; on the contrary the thought of her discarded
virtue, preserved for thirty-eight years, exceedingly amused him; but
the fact that he was about to make love to a woman who scarcely
attracted him struck him with acute shame. 'Interest! Interest!' he
muttered disconsolately to himself as he looked down at the curved
sinister leaves of the mauve orchids. 'Isn't that after all a little too
base? To place one's kisses like fortunate investments? No! Eugen is
right. There is something very ugly in this new life after all! But we
must live--we must live, and if one is to live at all, it must be
comfortably!' Otto heard the distant thrill of an electric bell, and a
moment later Elisabeth was announced.

In an instant his facile, dramatic mind had changed. He was back in the
magic gallery of mirrors again seeking once more, with the old
eagerness, the charm of his new presentment.

Elisabeth came forward slowly, a little timidly, into the great room. It
was, as she had expected, very quiet and mysterious. The forms and
colours of the furniture were too harmonious to catch the eye; they
seemed to withdraw themselves from any intrusion upon the inhabitants
and melt into a common background. Only the heavily scented flowers with
their strange tortured outlines impressed themselves vividly upon her
senses. The room seemed full of old silences, broken long ago by voices
different from her own. The distance between her and Otto Wolkenheimb
felt insurmountable. In another moment he was beside her laughing down
into her eyes. Elisabeth was grateful that he attempted no embrace. He
kissed her hand gallantly and lightly, and led her to the corner of the
sofa which Rosalie had for so long adorned. He did not do this purposely
to introduce a comparison, but because it was the most becoming seat in
the room for a woman who had reached an age when she looked her best
with her profile merged into the background of cushions. But when Otto
saw Elisabeth there he thought of Rosalie, and the thought pricked him
suddenly and made it difficult to keep the light of admiration in his
eyes. Fortunately this was a woman of intelligence, and Otto could
appeal first to her brain. He made her laugh, and he made her say
something to make him laugh. Slowly the immensity of the distance
between them grew less. Otto gave her tea, beautifully scented Russian
tea, and her nerves sank into quiet. Then bit by bit Otto built up her
confidence in herself. He made her forget that her clothes were not what
he was used to; that she was just a funny little Jewess, and that no
funny little Jewess had ever penetrated into this room before; and as
her sense of value increased in her own eyes, the importance of her
respectability waned. Otto's laughing face seemed to say to her through
the screen of his careful speech, 'My dear child, it's such a little
thing, isn't it? Less, I assure you, than the difference between having
a cup of tea or doing without.' Whether he talked to Elisabeth of the
awful conditions of Vienna or of the amusing domestic complications of
the Mandelbaums did not matter; it was what, under the veil of words, he
was doing for her that mattered, and--even more--that Elisabeth
understood triumphantly what this was and let herself go to meet it. She
was not too old or too stiff, after all, for that delicate manipulation.
He was making her what he wanted, and she was going on with it to the
end. If she had any ruthlessness left (and it really seemed to Elisabeth
as if it had all melted away like the last patch of snow on the
mountains under an insidious sun) it lay in the fact that
nothing--nothing on earth--should prevent her from going on with this
experience to the end. Her eyes met his brilliantly, provocatively.
Suddenly they stopped talking. The room filled once more with silences
that were not their own. But Elisabeth's intensity broke through the
alien silences; it seized upon Otto with a force that brought him to his
feet. He stood in front of her biting his lips and smiling; then very
gently he laid his hands on her shoulders. Elisabeth stood up to face
him. She was not swept off her feet, she was drawn very slowly off them,
but the force of her own feeling made her unaware of how anything took
place. She only knew that her consent was there. Far, far deeper than
Otto's demand was Elisabeth's consent. The passion that met Otto was so
fierce that for a moment it lighted his own. There was no mistaking the
image in this particular mirror; it shone upon him as if he were a god.
He held his breath at the sudden exposure of his beauty; and then, like
Narcissus, he plunged into the fateful waters to clasp his own image to
his heart.




CHAPTER IX


They were no longer strangers going carefully towards each other over a
long and difficult road; they might have known each other all their
lives.

Elisabeth explored his rooms with an intense and joyous curiosity; only
a few of them were inhabited; their size made them too expensive to keep
warm. The shining domed salon was empty, but beyond it Otto's bedroom
and bathroom were like a scene in a fairy tale. For the first time
Elisabeth saw what luxury was like. Not the luxury which can be procured
for large sums in first-class hotels, but a luxury evoked from centuries
of cultivated habits. 'I see now why you're so good-tempered,' laughed
Elisabeth. 'You can move about in peace without tripping over somebody
else's boots and shoes! _Mein Gott!_ Marriage!' 'You don't appear to
approve of that ancient and venerable institution?' Otto asked with
amusement. Elisabeth shrugged her shoulders. 'For the very young, the
very simple, or the very good,' she said, 'perhaps--the alternatives are
so excessively poor or so romantically risky--but for a woman of my age
and my intelligence, I ask you! Why, it is like living in a thimble with
a hippopotamus!' 'But if one possesses rather a large thimble,'
suggested Otto, 'and is slim--as hippopotami go--what then?' 'Even then
it would be the same!' replied Elisabeth frankly. 'I have had nineteen
years of one man. Is it asked of me to have nineteen years of pork chop?
Oh, I know all about the beauty of constancy--especially in wives! I
have practised it. There is something sacred, is there not, in always
sitting in one chair, always kissing one cheek, always darning the same
socks and watching the same kind of tempers arise over the same kind of
irritations? Or in knowing how one is expected to please and in forcing
oneself to do so? There are some kinds of women who are meant for wives;
to feel sure that nothing is going to happen to-morrow which has not
happened to-day satisfies them. I was unfortunate; I chose my career too
soon. This is the first time I have breathed--literally breathed--for
all these wasted years; and, _mein Gott!_ I mean to go on breathing!' A
cold sensation crept down Otto's spine. Elisabeth's voice had sunk into
a guttural dangerous sound. Her eyes were fixed on him like the eyes of
a wild creature sure of its prey. Was she not perhaps too sure? Otto had
never been anyone's prey before, and no woman had ever been sure of him
with impunity; but if they had had in the end to show how they could get
on without him, they had had the tact not to make him suffer for
it--beyond the passing inconvenience caused him by his naturally
sympathetic nature. There was something in Elisabeth's deep voice and in
her sly keen eyes which made Otto uncomfortably aware that if she had to
suffer it would not be alone. She would show no graceful feminine
decency in her retirement. If she had to retire at all she would drag
with her, not without noise and fury, as much of the broken situation as
she could carry; and there would be no decency left. Fortunately the end
of the situation was a long way off. The beginning had gone very well;
but without too much hurry Otto wanted to deflect their tte--tte to
business. The continued absence of Excellenz Bleileben in Paris was a
convenience for the moment though Otto foresaw that his return might
perhaps become an even greater convenience.

They settled once more in the library. The last light of the dying day
lingered clear and chill above the rounded hills of Leopold and
Kahlenberg. Once more Otto drew in a breath of the fragrant frosty air
which seemed to come from pine forests of long ago. 'It blows cold,'
said Elisabeth; 'these great empty rooms at dusk are full of shadows.
Have you a ghost here?' 'Yes,' said Otto, closing the window. 'I have a
ghost; but she will not disturb us.' A bitter smile played round the
corners of his lips. His ghost had haunted him for many years, but she
was discreet. No-one had ever seen her but himself. He muttered half
under his breath as he turned to bring cigarettes to Elisabeth, a line
of the strange little English poem 'I have been faithful to thee,
Cynara, in my fashion----' 'What do you say?' asked Elisabeth. 'What
cigarettes you possess, you bachelors! These must be made of gold. I am
sure that you said something in English, a language I do not very
readily understand.' 'Only a little tribute to my ghost,' said Otto,
smiling, 'The only perfectly quiet woman I have ever known! These are my
friend Eugen's cigarettes--in his dislike of Jews he allies himself with
the most select of Turks--and these cigarettes are the result.' There
was a moment's silence. 'I am a Jew,' said Elisabeth in a low voice,
'not by religion--for I have none--but by race. You think of us, I
suppose, as your cousin the Baron does--as dirt--dirt beneath your
feet!' 'My dear Elisabeth,' said Otto quickly (he was sincerely
distressed at his own tactlessness), 'I think so little on such a
subject that, as you see, I can afford to share with you the poorest of
jokes about it! Yesterday perhaps questions of race counted for
something in Austria--to-day, believe me, they weigh less--less than the
ash from this cigarette! Do not distress me by giving way to such
reactionary ideas. What does it matter to me what your family is? We are
both independent and modern--we belong to ourselves.' 'Say rather to
each other,' said Elisabeth in a moved voice, 'for I feel since I came
into this room as if I were born afresh and belonged wholly to you.'
Otto bent forward and raised her hand to his lips. It was necessary to
their partnership that Elisabeth should have this feeling, but he hoped
that she would not express it too often.

Then he introduced carefully and very lightly the subject of business.
It surprised him to find how instantly Elisabeth responded to his
signal. The light of passion still shone in her dark narrowed eyes, but
her softness fell away from her. She became as sharp and pointed as a
rapier. Her wits, he assured himself, were really magnificent, and she
showed him at once that they were completely at his service. It was not
necessary to hoodwink her, but if it had been necessary, would it have
been easy? Elisabeth had loved him for barely an hour; but she had done
business all her life. She told him how she had invested her own
fortune. A part of it had gone to win her husband his position as
director in one of the foremost Viennese banks. The rest of it she had
placed in Mandelbaum's business. It was a private transaction between
Mandelbaum and herself; not even her husband knew of it. Their
connection paid them both; and to it her husband owed his position as a
Minister. 'People talk such nonsense about honesty,' Elisabeth
explained. 'Of course one must be honest! How else can one be trusted,
and without confidence how can one exploit the public? Honesty is as
necessary as fat! One cannot cook without fat, but one may be paid for
butter and use fat instead, which is a considerably cheaper commodity,
and indulge oneself with the difference between the two prices. Every
penny of what has been given me for charity I have used for charity, but
I have used it in a business way, and made here and there substantial
profits for myself. Necessarily you will do the same. With Mandelbaum's
assistance I have guided my husband into several profitable
transactions, but Mandelbaum is a Jew. I neither like nor trust him--oh,
yes, there is something to be said for your prejudices when it comes to
the Mandelbaums of our race! And my husband is a fool! I am therefore
always on the _qui vive_ to save ourselves from being robbed. I suggest,
therefore, without Mandelbaum's knowing what we are doing, that you take
his place with my husband. What he can do as a Minister you know better
than I do and as well as Mandelbaum; you will help him to do it, and
naturally share in the profits! Do not drop Mandelbaum, however; he is
not a safe person to drop. I shall excuse the withdrawal of my husband
from his influence by using Wilhelm's vanity against Mandelbaum.
Mandelbaum has no tact; he can easily be made to offend my husband and
not so easily to excuse himself. It will seem to him that the
estrangement is entirely my husband's doing, and as long as I continue
to be his friend he will suspect nothing. This is my affair; I know how
to manage such things. Now, about the milk deal. How do you propose to
work it?' Otto leaned back in his chair and smoked reflectively. In the
subtly diffused light Elisabeth looked remarkably well. Otto could just
see her vivid eyes; her strongly marked features were attractively
vague, and her conversation was really much more interesting than he
ever remembered Rosalie's to have been. Nevertheless Otto rather
disliked the assured tone--almost the tone of authority--with which
Elisabeth handled business questions. 'Do we not go too fast?' he
murmured. 'You are the first woman I ever made love to--who talked
business. I must get used to the sensation!' 'Do you dislike it?'
Elisabeth asked quickly. She hoped with anguish that he did not dislike
it--for it was all she had to offer him that was different from the
offerings of other women more fortunately endowed. 'Not at all,' said
Otto soothingly; 'I find it very agreeable. The resemblance between
making love and making money never appeared to me before to be so close
or so desirable. Usually we take elaborate precautions to keep the two
pursuits apart. It is very restful to take no precautions at all and
watch them rush together as naturally as two raindrops on a pane. A
charming American poetess once wrote, "Love, when we met, 'twas like two
planets meeting!" Noisy, I thought, for the affections alone, but
delicious if it is meant to describe the amalgamation of fortunes and
affinities.' There was nothing in what Otto said to act as a reproof to
Elisabeth, but she was faintly conscious that in describing to him her
business methods she had felt herself the more practical of the two; and
it occurred to her now that when they next talked business it would be
as well not to appear quite so efficient. 'As to the milk affair,' Otto
continued lightly, 'I suppose it to be a simple question of tact. I
can't myself undertake to handle the English lady at the head of the
Relief Mission. She doesn't want to be made love to. She doesn't like
being admired. It is out of my power to intimidate her even if I had the
desire to do so--which God forbid! Nor can I at this moment offer her
anything for her Mission more satisfactory than my very good wishes. You
are in a position to do better. Can you not suggest that she should buy
a double quantity of this Swiss milk and hand over half to you for your
charities, receiving instead, if she wishes to receive anything instead,
some facility which you in turn can offer her? You can then hand over
the milk to our friend Julius and receive its equivalent for your good
works? It will be a delightful interview, and I regret that I cannot be
present. You both have such strong heads--but as she has only one idea
and you have several, I hope that the final laurels will rest upon your
brow. If they do not--I must try my hand on the young American. She runs
in and out of all the Relief Committees in turn, and her enthusiasm,
backed by American dollars, might prove useful to us.' 'Would it not be
best,' asked Elisabeth after a perceptible pause, 'to apply first to
this young girl--myself?' Otto took another cigarette, wandered towards
the door and turned on a delicately shaded lamp. 'I can see you better
now,' he said approvingly. 'Have you tried how delightful you would look
in black, a diamond or two, and a little white chiffon? Few women are
striking enough in themselves to stand black and white. You must come
with me to-morrow to a little place I know of where we can pick up an
effect or two. You are difficult to dress, and I fancy you haven't given
enough time to it, but it would be worth it, my dear Elisabeth, I assure
you, it would be worth it!' 'I will come wherever you like, and you
shall choose for me,' said Elisabeth humbly. 'But about the little
American girl, shall I not go to her myself?' Otto shook his head. 'I
think not,' he said reflectively; 'you see we must if possible have the
head of the English Mission working with us. It is only in the last
resort that I shall approach Miss Hunter. I fancy a young girl is more
impressed by the appeal of a man of my age than by the appeal of another
woman cleverer and more attractive than herself. And now, my dear
Elisabeth, let us talk no more about business! It is a subject one can
easily have too much of. Let us talk about yourself!' Otto was standing
behind her, and as he spoke he flung down his cigarette, took her head
in both his hands and drew it back until his lips reached hers. He did
not much enjoy kissing Elisabeth upon this occasion; but, for the
moment, it settled satisfactorily the question of the little American
girl.




CHAPTER X


There were fifty men and women collected in the big Mission rooms,
having tea at large kitchen tables after a long day's work, and
Elisabeth came in among them like a tropical bird disturbing a colony of
rooks. She regarded her fellow-workers with impatience: was it coming
out to Austria for Relief work that affected the way their hair grew on
their heads? It was sensible of the women to wear serge skirts and
sports jackets, but need they wear such serge skirts and such sports
jackets? Must their noses always shine? Did kind hearts always go with
unbecoming flushes, and altruism find itself at home only with the
forgotten waists of women and the bottle necks of men? Elisabeth was
pleasantly aware that she did not look in the least like a Relief
worker. Never had she seen so many middle-aged women so little conscious
of any necessity to please and yet so perversely ready to be pleasant.
They had given up their homes; come many hundreds of miles; diminished
their incomes; they were living uncomfortably in holes and corners on
tinned foods and all in order to benefit mankind. Elisabeth, sitting in
a corner waiting for Dr. Simmons to receive her, hated and despised
them. She longed to tear away from them all those illusions and
proprieties which made their lives significant. She wanted to send
crashing through their sympathy and kindliness some monstrous brutality
of fact. Above all she hated their having pretensions to wits. Elisabeth
knew her own limitations, she had not had time to read, she knew nothing
about Art; but whatever depths of ignorance lay beneath the sharpness of
her wit, she had wits. If you turned those women loose on the world
without what was in their pockets, where would they be? Flopping at
street corners with empty stomachs; but if you took away from Elisabeth
to-morrow all that she possessed, she knew that on the day after she
would have provided herself somehow or other with her usual number of
meals. Elisabeth had none of the loose moral luggage of philanthropy;
scruples, for instance, or inane and self-complacent pities were unknown
to her. These people denied themselves in order to do good; and
Elisabeth was both exasperated at the folly of their self-denial, and
vaguely puzzled by a benevolence that shut itself up in a _cul-de-sac_.
She did not for a moment suppose that these Mission ladies did nearly as
much good as she did herself; but they put themselves out more; and why
should you put yourself out more when you were bringing nothing in?
Although Elisabeth never pretended for a moment that she would suffer
herself in order to relieve the sufferings of others, still she was
willing and anxious to get suffering relieved. It grieved her to see her
city dirty and ill-kept and its people slow and sodden with starvation
and hopelessness. She felt sorry for the wreckage of war and the still
greater wreckage of the peace. She was perfectly ready, after she had
set her own house in order, to work upon the houses of others, but she
did not pretend she loved other people; and she frankly disliked those
that it was necessary to help. These Mission people were soft, that is
why she despised them; but she hated them for quite a different reason.
She bit her lips with sheer rage when she thought of the enormous
opportunities ignored by these soft and simple people. It was true that
Dr. Simmons had definitely checked the mortality in the child life of
Vienna. But how much else she might have done with all that solid
English gold! What far-reaching impulses might not have been set to
work; what amalgamations and dazzling personal triumphs might she not
have achieved! As Elisabeth thought what she and Otto Wolkenheimb
together might have made of this fund, so inhibited and misplaced by
empty scruples, her fiery hazel eyes grew hot and her lips twitched. So
deeply was her imagination aroused that she failed to realize a fresh
subject of annoyance approaching her till Carol Hunter, with a cigarette
between her lips, her hands in the pockets of an emerald silk jersey,
stood straight in front of her. 'Dr. Simmons is free now,' she said,
with a pleasant little lift of her thick eyebrows. 'Won't you come along
and see her?' Elisabeth's eyes riveted themselves upon the slim boyish
figure and the bush of straight gold hair. Did Otto like her? Why did
Otto like her? How rich was she? That look, at once of ease and
freshness, was it expensive or merely characteristic? The silk jersey
was heavy silk, the shoes and stockings were French, the cut of the
short skirt as simple as Art. No doubt, Elisabeth assured herself, the
girl had to pay for such simplicities. 'I am delighted to see you
again,' Elisabeth cried with a delayed pounce of enthusiasm. 'We met at
the Mandelbaums'! Do you not remember me, Miss Hunter?' 'Oh, yes, of
course,' said Carol, narrowing her keen grey eyes, 'I remember you
perfectly now.' She recalled in a flash the violent orange dress and
Eugen's little sketch of Frau Bleileben's history. Only what had become
of the violence? To-day Elisabeth's clothes seemed to have slipped
imperceptibly into a style so discreet that they had become positively
distinguished. She was in black and white, with a hat that shaded her
belligerent dark eyes until they shone with deceptive softness. But it
was not only Elisabeth's dress that had changed; her bearing had
imperceptibly altered. She moved less aggressively; even her voice had a
softer cadence. It was as if she had been plunged into some rectifying
chemical which had completely transformed the rough ingredients of her
personality. 'Dr. Simmons was so sorry to keep you waiting,' Carol
explained as they threaded their way through the room. 'She had a
committee meeting which only committed itself to sitting. They had first
one good idea, and then another good idea, and then all sorts of good
ideas which chawed each other up! Dr. J. handles 'em wonderfully, I must
say, for her. Once in a while she sticks in a point that festers; but
most of the time she looks into the middle distance and knits.' 'She has
a gift for silence, I have noticed,' agreed Elisabeth, with her eyes
fixed on the neck of the girl in front of her. It certainly was
attractive, the line of gold cut so clean and straight against the
smooth white skin; a wonderful neck, Elisabeth mused idly, to slip under
a guillotine.

Dr. Simmons was in a small room only divided from the living-room beyond
by a wooden partition. The dreadful simplicity of it annoyed Elisabeth.
There was nothing to be seen except Dr. Simmons sitting at a desk; a
small table, with a tea-tray insufficiently supplied with a dry cake;
and a good deal of cigarette smoke. Dr. Simmons had a very bad headache;
a slight flush rested on her hollow cheeks; she was looking quite
peculiarly thin and vague. She would have given all she possessed for
half an hour's quiet and a cup of tea by herself; but she had not had
those luxuries for two years. 'Don't go,' pleaded Elisabeth to Carol,
'unless you have some particular engagement. It is delightful to see you
both together; I have thought of you so often since our meeting. We
cheer ourselves, in working out our difficult problems, with the example
of our foreign helpers! I have come to ask a favour,' added Elisabeth,
turning towards Dr. Simmons rather reluctantly. 'But first do tell
me--why do you always knit?' Dr. Simmons flushed at this attack upon her
personal habits. 'I find,' she explained, 'that it helps to keep my mind
clear in conversation and--that it prevents me from speaking too
precipitately perhaps.' 'It looks,' said Elisabeth dryly, 'as if you
thought conversation was not enough. Perhaps you are right. I am not one
myself for many words so I will come directly to the point. You know in
my way--simple and practical--for I am a woman of business, nothing
more!--I work for Austria. You have had the kindness to interest
yourself in investigating some of my little charities, so I think that
you must know of my methods?' 'I admire very much,' said Dr. Simmons
cordially, 'some of their results.' 'You are too kind,' said Elisabeth,
'but I don't deny that what I put my hand to turns out well. You see I
do not put my hand to problems that are hopeless. I leave that for
sentimentalists of whom in our poor country there are still far too
many. I have been interested lately in a fresh and urgent problem. The
factories in the districts outside Wien are in a very grave state--some,
as you know, have had to close, others are working half time, and the
children of the employees are in a shocking condition. I should like to
start a scheme for their relief, and you could greatly assist such a
scheme if you would order for me--on the same terms as the Swiss
Government has arranged to let you have it--say, half as much condensed
milk as you need yourself at present here in Wien.' Dr. Simmons raised
her eyes; they rested for an imperceptible moment upon Elisabeth, and
then relapsed onto her knitting. 'But the Swiss Government,' she said
after a short pause, 'would they not grant you the same terms for your
charity?' 'It is not so simple as it sounds,' explained Elisabeth. 'In
the first place behind you is a great deal of money--Allied money--and
if I may say so Allied influence. Your work is well known all over the
world. My work is not known outside my own district, and the Swiss
Government would probably take the line that what is insignificant can
very well be left to run itself.' 'Your husband is a Minister,' objected
Dr. Simmons; 'you have therefore an official position to back anything
you demand?' 'An Austrian Minister, yes,' agreed Elisabeth, shrugging
her shoulders, 'in a Government that may last--half an hour! But, dear
Dr. Simmons, I know your co-operative spirit. Surely your assistance--a
mere matter of form as it is for you, but, I assure you, a serious help
to my little charitable efforts--will not be refused to me? I felt so
confident of your willingness to make the matter easy.' Dr. Simmons laid
down her knitting. 'But as I see it,' she said reflectively, 'it is
already easy. There should be a point of mutual advantage, should there
not, in any co-operation? And I fail to see such a point in what you
suggest.' Elisabeth's hands shook, she dropped her eyes for a moment to
hide the fierceness of her glance. She longed to tear Dr. Simmons'
knitting away from her. What a woman she was, colourless, faded, a worm
for slowness, and yet capable of obstructing a creature whose flights
were as unerring as a hawk's! 'The need of the factory people is very
urgent,' Elisabeth said, moistening her lips. 'I do not wish to waste
time over a correspondence likely to be protracted and not at all
certain to be favourable. If you could help me I could act immediately.'
'I am afraid the only suggestion I can make to you,' said Dr. Simmons
cautiously, 'is for you to go direct to Berne. The journey is short, and
you, with your natural quickness, could probably arrange the matter in a
few hours.' 'The Swiss Government will not do for two Societies what
they will do for one,' said Elisabeth, with laboured politeness, 'and my
time, though not of course as valuable as your own, is very fully
occupied.' Dr. Simmons said nothing. Elisabeth played with a black sude
bag fastened by a tiny diamond flower. Flashes of fierce temper came and
went in her eyes and showed in the lines about her nose and mouth, but
her will held them vehemently down. Dr. Simmons looked more tired than
before; her flush had faded into paleness; her usual vagueness had
become so marked that she seemed barely present in the room. The only
part of her in which consciousness remained was in the long thin fingers
which moved to and fro to the faint clicking of steel needles. 'I feel,'
said Elisabeth, breaking the silence which was creeping around her like
defeat, 'that to keep the factories going is one of the most vital of
our needs in Austria. It is bad enough to be a foodless land--but to be
a work-less land----' 'I quite agree with you,' said Dr. Simmons gently;
'as far as we can we are working on those lines--we make grants of raw
materials to many of the factories so that they may continue to keep
open.' 'Then,' said Elisabeth triumphantly, 'since you do that--why
should you not--with less expense--accommodate us with part of your
grant of milk? The only difference I can see is that in the one case you
pay for raw material for the factories, and in the other--I pay you for
the milk for the children!' 'Certainly we would not refuse to widen our
field in the direction you suggest if our own Stores or our policy
justified us in doing so,' said Dr. Simmons, 'but I am rejoiced to think
that you are in a position to finance this charity yourself.' 'And yet
you will not help me to do it,' murmured Elisabeth, stretching her lips
in a smile. 'You are not very logical!' 'I will certainly lay your
suggestion before our Committee,' said Dr. Simmons, 'but I think it is
only fair to warn you that we usually avoid responsibility for what we
cannot control.' 'In other words,' said Elisabeth, rising to her feet,
'you hardly trust me sufficiently for co-operation! I understand!' Not
even for Otto's sake could she do more. The Swiss Government itself
would be easier to handle than this intolerable woman with her false air
of being meek, and the temperament of a balking mule behind it. 'I am
sure you do not understand,' replied Dr. Simmons pleasantly, 'if you can
entertain such an idea! But I think, like you that all charitable
concerns should be run upon strictly business lines. We have made some
mistakes in the past by attempting amalgamations which were beyond our
power to control, and which, therefore, made us sometimes accountable
for things we should not ourselves have done. I do not think our Society
intends to take any further risks in the same direction.' 'I do not see
in this instance where the risk comes in,' said Elisabeth impatiently.
'I should be delighted to pay in advance for my half of the supplies,
and I can hardly suppose you doubt my distribution of them?' Carol held
her breath. Was this what J. doubted? How still she sat--and how flat
and tired her eyes looked--and how curious it was that she did not mind
more, making herself so disagreeable! 'That is true. I would not put it
like that,' said Dr. Simmons reflectively, 'and yet it is also true that
for a Society like ours, it is, I fear, indispensable for us to keep our
arrangements separate from those of other people.' 'Then you refuse
quite definitely,' said Elisabeth, 'to help me in this matter? I must
say I am even more surprised than I am disappointed.' 'I am afraid we
must seem very stupid,' Dr. Simmons murmured, 'but I assure you we are
grateful that you gave us the opportunity of co-operating with you; and
I am distressed that in this particular instance it is unlikely that we
can take advantage of it.' An irresistible desire to slap the woman who
was so cleverly circumventing her took Elisabeth quickly to the door.
She must go home then, having failed--failed with this old woman (Dr.
Simmons was as a matter of fact two years younger than Elisabeth) and
leave Otto to deal with this little gold-haired, white-necked child! She
looked quickly at the girl who stood waiting by the opened door. 'Cannot
you come with me?' she said under her breath. 'I wish to speak to you
alone!' Carol followed her obediently. She felt a vague sympathy for
Elisabeth, dressed up so smartly, with such a baffled power in her eyes.
It seemed to her that people did not often say no, or say it with
impunity, to Elisabeth Bleileben, and as Carol was conscious of the very
same masterfulness (it was a pity to call it tyranny) in herself, she
could not help being sorry for the bitterness of this outraged lady's
defeat. She took Elisabeth into a little room off the entrance, full of
dust and typewriters. Elisabeth threw open the window and took in a deep
breath of air. 'Oh,' she hissed, 'what a comfort to be with an American
after these cursed English! Everywhere! Everywhere they are the same!
They have the best beef in the world and they cook it to leather--their
pockets are full of money, and they use them to sit on. You can't get
them to move, and when you run away from them, it is to find them
somewhere else! The Germans told us zeppelins would blow their little
island into the mid-Atlantic, but I knew it was more likely that they
would blow away the Atlantic, and leave the English high and dry on
their island, going to church on Sunday--without so much as a glance
over their smug little cliffs to see by what they were surrounded!' 'I
guess you feel better now,' remarked Carol, with even greater sympathy.
'We all feel that way about the English sometimes, whether we fight with
them or against them. As for J. she can thin out the weeds better than
any patent lawn-mower I've ever seen.' 'Are you definitely leaving her?'
demanded Elisabeth. 'I do not wonder!' 'Well--I leave her, yes,' agreed
Carol slowly, 'but I don't exactly want to--I'll admit I have a queer
out-and-out pash for J. She keeps me guessing. What I want to know
is--is she really inside her clothes or not--but I never shall!'
Elisabeth shook her head impatiently. 'You show your good sense,' she
said coldly, 'in leaving her, at any rate. Now this matter I speak of is
important. Would it be possible for you on your own, to arrange with one
of the other Relief Societies what I have suggested to Dr. Simmons?
Certainly I could go to them myself--but I should prefer not to risk
again a frost like to-day's. I fancy most of their stores come direct
from America? That would suit me as well as Switzerland, and I can pay
the usual Relief prices.' Carol hesitated; she was not afraid of
Elisabeth. She had never been afraid of anyone in her life, but as she
met those small piercing eyes she felt a singular reluctance to
disappoint them. After all an appeal would cost her nothing. Relief
Societies could look after themselves, and Elisabeth Bleileben was the
wife of a Minister and noted for the faultless way in which she handled
her accounts. 'I don't see why not,' she murmured; 'I do know most of
them.' 'Let us come at once then!' cried Elisabeth with swift triumph.
'You shall speak for me, it will arrange itself! Ah, the American
dispatch! What a mercy it is to deal with it!' Carol seized a beret off
a hook in the hall and crammed it on her head. They shot down the stairs
together, and out into the narrow street. 'What made you come over
here?' Elisabeth asked as they hurried into the Stephansplatz and
plunged into the nearest taxi. 'That I cannot understand! You are too
young to be so amiable for nothing!' 'Ah! I'm a canny little vulture all
right, all right!' said Carol lightly. She had no desire to share her
sympathies with Frau Bleileben. Elisabeth nodded grimly. 'You are wise,'
she said. 'Those who pretend, like that Englishwoman, to have no fish of
their own to fry, make very poor cooks for themselves or others! But
what is it you want to pick up?' 'Well, how about princes for dollars?'
laughed Carol. 'Or do you think I oughtn't to fly much higher than a
Graf?' 'Ah,' said Elisabeth, 'but let me tell you that princes in this
country are of less weight than postage stamps. It would be wiser for
you to go to England; you could marry there one of their great noblemen;
that would be worth your while. Go to England, yes, that is the right
place for you, and go soon. Do not waste your time here!' 'Now I wonder
why she gave me that advice,' Carol asked herself coolly, as they
entered the offices of one of the South American Relief Missions. 'I
shouldn't have thought Excellenz Bleileben was so disinterested about
unattached young girls! But she wants me to go all right. She wants me
to go so much that she'd like to push me all the way across without
letting go of her grip! If she was a gimlet I wouldn't like to be the
thing at the end of the hole she was making. She'd get there.' It was
hardly necessary for Carol to do more than introduce Elisabeth.
Everything went like cream; the atmosphere was one of celerity and
dispatch. In five minutes they were once more outside on the doorstep
congratulating each other. 'It is almost a pity,' said Elisabeth
regretfully, 'that you go so soon to England--but you are wise to go
immediately; after a war men marry quickly--I fancy you are one of the
few women of whom I could make a friend!'




CHAPTER XI


Eugen Erddy had lived in the Josephplatz for ten years. When he had
first taken his flat there it was a fashionable quarter. Now it was no
longer fashionable, but since to Eugen's mind fashion had ceased to
exist he was untroubled by the mere shifting of democratic fancy. The
Josephplatz still contained more dust in summer, less sun in winter, and
at all times more noise than any other street in Vienna. Eugen's flat
was on the second floor; it consisted of three medium-sized reception
rooms, his bedroom, a kitchen and a servant's room. No one in Vienna was
allowed by law to possess more than two rooms: nevertheless Eugen
retained his flat exactly as it stood, and it was probable that he would
continue to retain it. The _Wohnungsamt_ visited it in due course, but
in some mysterious way their visits passed over Eugen's flat like a
brake that will not act. Many people take pains to keep what they
possess, but Eugen differed from most people in that he knew precisely
what pains to take. His schemes developed very slowly like the carefully
selected wines in his cellar, and when the moment arrived to put them
into practice they had acquired the bloom of maturity. He saved himself
a great deal of time because he never attempted what he could not do.

Eugen would have asserted that he lived entirely alone, and in a sense
it was true; his intellectual processes were solitary; but Lisa was in
the kitchen. Eugen Erddy was famous for his possessions; he had a
singular gift for finding treasures, and appropriating them, at a cost
astonishing to better-known connoisseurs. Of all his collection Lisa was
perhaps the most skilfully obtained, and the most personally
remunerative, of his finds. He was sent for one day to consult with an
old friend upon a domestic catastrophe. The problem was that of a
dishonest servant. It was a distressing case, for the girl had been much
prized; she came from a good peasant family, the chief people of a
mountain village; she was intelligent and adored by the children of her
employer. The sound of their adoration could be heard breaking
mournfully through the house as Eugen entered it.

Frau Hofrat Eiselsberg overwhelmed Eugen with her righteous indignation
and her desire, fast growing into an intention, of sending for the
police. The proof was damning, silver had been missed, and after a
careful search discovered in the girl's locked trunk.

'I will first see the girl,' said Eugen patiently extricating himself
from a cloud of fierce irrelevancies, 'and then I will give you my
opinion.'

The girl, isolated from her screaming charges, sat in a locked pantry,
shivering and weeping. She denied nothing, she confessed nothing, she
looked at Eugen, once or twice, out of drowned blue eyes--without hope.
At the bottom of those eyes Eugen discovered her honesty shining like a
flower, and after half an hour of patient ingenuity, he gave his
opinion. 'Dismiss her certainly,' he said to the Frau Hofrat; 'you no
longer trust her, therefore she will be of no further use to you. But do
not send for the police. She is young, you are merciful, and such cases
are always expensive. It is my invariable advice never to take a person
poorer than yourself into a court of law.' The Frau Hofrat was not
merciful; she disliked youth except in her own children; but she was a
careful housewife. 'I will dismiss her', she agreed at length, 'without
a character indeed, I will tell everyone that she is a convicted thief.'
'A thief', murmured Eugen gently, 'is enough. A convicted thief she
cannot be unless she has been through the Courts.' Privately he gave the
girl his address and told her that he thought he knew of a situation
where she would be kindly treated. Lisa came to see him the next day;
and she had remained with him for ten years. 'Do you know why I take
you,' he asked her on the morning of her arrival, 'in spite of all that
the Frau Hofrat has to say against you?' 'Because you are kind?'
whispered Lisa. 'Certainly not,' said Eugen firmly; 'I am very far from
being kind, but I know a thief when I see one, and you are not a thief.'

He took her over his flat and told her the approximate value of his
treasures. 'These are my fortune,' he explained to her; 'should you
repeat to anyone the sums I mention or even describe at all accurately
any of my possessions you would endanger them; but you will talk to
no-one about them; and I will teach you to take the same care of them
that I take myself.'

Lisa blinked and said nothing; she had always thought before that fine
furniture was big furniture, but something told her that the shining
_Biedermeier_, the polished chestnut surface--which looked as if the
inside were as rich as the out, the delicate shapes of the chairs and
table legs, the fine lines of Eugen's small desk by the window, were
perhaps richer than anything she had ever seen. 'This is my little
_Biedermeier_ room,' Eugen explained. 'Dust is not known here. I will
show you the cloths I keep to make the polish look like sunshine. You
will observe that there are only three pictures. Over the mantelpiece is
a Brueghel. Many people prefer it to Drer, but I do not. Drer is too
expensive for me. He has gone up on the wave of fortune, I do not say
too high, he was always among the highest, but I got this Brueghel
before people knew what Brueghels were worth. You will observe the
serenity of the colours, although the drawing is naturally beyond you. I
found this Carlo Dolci Cupid in Naples; it belonged to an excellent
young Marquis who knew nothing about pictures, and believed that he knew
all about cards. This belief was a misfortune for him and a windfall for
me. There is a law that works of art cannot be taken out of Italy--but
you see it looks very well upon this wall, does it not? The warm golden
brown of the skies and the roseate flush on the wing have a great charm.
That Cranach was given me by my Archduke for a little service I was able
to perform for him. Those slender scarlet figures, against a background
as brilliant as a jewel, are a speciality of Cranach's whether he does a
hunting scene or a Nativity. There is only one other clock in the world
like this--perhaps you have seen it in the Maria Theresa room in the
Hofburg? It is _pietro duro_, and those are the signs of the zodiac as
well as the hours and days--all marked as you see, as plain as an
alphabet. On this table you may study the Battle of Lepanto--it is of
ivory. You are surprised that the figures are all so minute and yet so
perfect--that the background, those trees and the little castle are the
size of my thumb? I admit it is an achievement to make the whole of a
battle come before one in six inches of ivory. Such things took a
lifetime to make--and they were worth a lifetime.

'This room is my office--you will always show people in here and you
will never leave anyone alone in it--except the three people who are to
be treated as myself, the Herr Graf Wolkenheimb, my cousin, the Princess
Felsr and her brother, Herr Von Hohenberg. In fact these three people
are to be treated better than myself, since they are worth more to me.
The next room you will have to learn very carefully--it is not probable
that you have yet learned how to treat a Gobelin? This is a
sixteenth-century silk tapestry, Brussels, of course. I have a special,
very light brush for it and you must use it as if you were blowing dust
off the Madonna. Never step on the rugs, they are Persian; that says
nothing to you of course, but they are the right Persian. I travelled
for many years before I acquired them; and I took time to understand the
secrets of texture. That is why, if you touch those little carpets, they
seem to melt away under your fingers. Colour of course I already
understood--stand a little to the left to get the light on the
rose-coloured rug. Does it not resemble the shades of the sky after a
brilliant sunset has passed and left in its wake memorable flakes of
cloud? This purple one is, however, perhaps the best; the sharpness of
violet has been burned out of it, but the bloom remains. These are
carpets which invite the proximity of China. Those two blue vases and
the green jade bowls belong to the happiest moment of a dead
civilization. It would be worse to break those vases than to destroy a
life--since men are reproduced easily but dreams never. I keep my glass
here too--you will hear people talk of Venetian glass--they make it
still, but not like this. This is what people's minds were like before
they made ingenious things that smell and hoot and hurry! This charming
modern world, electrically rushing towards the devil and marconiing the
news of it across space, does not make treasures. People were very
ignorant in the fifteenth century, they only understood form. You see
this glass--and this colour. They had no bathrooms or telephones when
they made this; they had only selection as fine as gossamer and as hard
as any monster made of steel! You will handle these things as if you
held the Sacrament between your fingers! Do not think me profane--no-one
who loves beauty is profane. You are a good Catholic, are you not?' Lisa
looked surprised; it had not occurred to her that any Catholic could
fail to be a good one. In her village in the mountains most of the
peasants went to Mass daily, and nothing ever happened without the
Church; she had not been long enough in Vienna to know that there was a
world which was not connected with the Saints. 'I am a Catholic,' she
said shyly, 'and I know how to handle holy things.' 'That is well,' said
Eugen approvingly; 'you will remember then that everything in this room
is holy.

'Now my third sitting-room you will see at a glance is different. There
is only one object of essential value here. You see that marble hand
upon my desk? You would think, would you not, to look at it, that it was
warm? Some young girl has opened her hand to take hold of life--or
perhaps to give all that she has towards it! Nevertheless that hand has
been cold for more than two thousand years.

'I live in this room--it is therefore made for comfort as well as
spiritual satisfaction. No-one who has sat in that chair has ever wanted
to get up again. My friend Graf Wolkenheimb spent thirty English pounds
on a similar chair--but after a few hours he discovered that the angle
of the neck was less assured. I spent several hours in that chair before
buying it, therefore no-one will ever discover in it any failure of
comfort. It is the same with that sofa--each cushion is as soft as the
kiss of a mother; it is also a great deal less tiresome as it demands no
response. Now we will come into the kitchen; every day for one hour I
will teach you how to cook. Never hurry--never economize and let
everything taste clear--that is the theory of good cooking, the
application must be taught.'

Lisa knew very little when she came to Eugen Erddy; but she had
obedience and steady wits, and upon this foundation he made her one of
the best cooks in Vienna. The relation between them gradually became
more elastic; finally, and without pressure, it grew intimate. Eugen
treated her with scrupulous fairness. 'I never intend to marry,' he told
her, 'and I am permanently in love with a lady who has other ties. All
that I can offer you, therefore, is my constant protection, and I shall
offer you that in any case. Nevertheless I believe that the arrangement
of nature for a man and woman to live together is more intelligent. If
you do not live with me you will probably wish to marry some one in your
own class of life. The work would be more arduous, and although I am a
modest man I think the entertainment provided by such a person would be
distinctly less than I could offer you; but I want you to understand
clearly that my offer is not obligatory. Should you agree to it you will
lose nothing in the eyes of the world, because people always make the
assumption that no relation between a man and a woman can be innocent if
it has any opportunity to be otherwise. In the eyes of God--which I know
nothing about--it cannot, I feel sure, be any more absurd than our
little legal arrangements. Think it well over.' Lisa seldom understood
Eugen's words, but she always understood what he meant. She went into
the kitchen and made an _Apfel Strudel_, an even better one than usual,
and then she returned to Eugen. 'Let it be as you wish,' she said
solemnly. 'All that I have learned since I have been here, has been good
for me. Why should I stop learning?'

Eugen told her nothing about his friends or his work, but she knew all
his tastes and habits, and the kind of sore throats he was liable to
catch in the winter. Lisa's religion was divided between the festivals
of her church and Eugen's wishes. If her two authorities had conflicted
she would have suffered severely; but fortunately the church and Eugen
ran on parallel lines. Eugen made a substantial provision for her in his
will, but he did not tell her that he had done so, nor did it ever occur
to Lisa to wonder if he had. Her attitude to Eugen was that of a
thoroughly intelligent and well-treated dog. She knew that Eugen would
look after her--how he did so was his affair. She did not know how God
proposed to look after her in Paradise, but when she died, God (prompted
by the Blessed Virgin) would no doubt make suitable arrangements for
her; and Eugen would do the same on earth. She would have liked to have
children, but Eugen told her it could not be managed. She could see for
herself how difficult it would be, living in a house which contained
such frail and priceless things. But if Lisa had been in the place
either of God or Eugen she would have stretched a point so as to include
a nursery. She felt sometimes as if some of the children she met in the
streets or in the gardens looked at her a little reproachfully for not
being a mother; but she had a docile nature and learned typewriting
instead, which was perhaps a greater help to Eugen, with his law papers.




CHAPTER XII


It was the happiest hour of Lisa's day. Eugen sat opposite her in the
kitchen, where they always shared their midday meal. He had finished
with approval a kidney omelette, a _Natur Schnitzel_ and a slice of very
fine _Dobosch Torte_. He now sipped slowly and appreciatively, his
fourth glass of every-day but inimitable Barsac. Kings might have envied
Eugen his cellar, but they could have hardly rivalled his palate. Lisa
gave him systematically the news of the day. She informed him of all
that their neighbours had done; she told him how many people there were
at early Mass, and exactly what she had paid in the market for her
purchases; she repeated to him a few tart and well-chosen words with
which she had been inspired to address the hall porter's wife on the
subject of washing down the stairs. Eugen listened sympathetically, but
of what he himself had effected in the course of the morning he said
nothing. There was, however, a blandness and serenity in the manner in
which he sipped his Barsac which spoke to Lisa of a good conscience. An
affair in which Eugen was deeply interested was going very well. He had
had an inspiration. It had come to him in a flash that the little
American girl Otto proposed to marry would do even better for Franz
Salvator. Otto's schemes were Eugen's business; but Franz Salvator's
interests lay dangerously near his heart. The scheme itself was not so
very difficult----its execution had gone like cream; but one point had
required a skill that Eugen had no need to feel ashamed of. Nobody had
guessed for a single instant the hand that had poured the cream. It was
fortunate that Carol Hunter had conceived a romantic passion for
Eugnie--and Eugnie an equally romantic gratitude to the entire Relief
Mission. Very little manipulation had been needed to complete the
initial stages of Eugen's plan. Dr. Jeiteles had played into his hand.
The good Jewish doctor was genuinely alarmed about Eugnie's health.
Nothing had been easier than to persuade him to insist on her leaving
the hospital for a few months' rest. Should she succeed in finding
foreign tenants, the rent would enable Eugnie, at last, to buy for
herself a few of the comforts of which she stood in need. Dr. Jeiteles
had therefore bethought himself of the only two foreigners he knew--the
sympathetic ladies of the Relief Mission. Would they care to take it?
Dr. Simmons could not move, but Miss Hunter without a moment's
hesitation had fallen in with the idea. Franz Salvator arrived
breathlessly to consult with Eugen. Could they get the Hungarians
legally out of their flat without hurting their feelings? Eugnie
insisted that whatever happened their feelings must not be hurt. Franz
Salvator was a little embarrassed by his own eagerness, which, he
explained to Eugen, was simply a repetition of Eugnie's; he was also a
little amused at having a young girl resident under their roof, and
perhaps a very little alarmed as to the possible consequences. In fact
he was in exactly the state of mind into which Eugen had proposed to
plunge him. Franz Salvator had not fallen in love with Carol at first
sight, but his first sight had roused in him every intention of
subsequent ones. As to the Hungarians, Eugen, who disliked them
intensely (they were his own cousins and related to Eugnie's husband),
reserved to himself the right of getting them swiftly out of the
flat--with unruffled feelings. 'They shall think,' he explained to Franz
Salvator, 'that we are doing them a favour in letting them go, in fact I
propose that they shall pay to get out. Only say nothing of the American
lady--and make Eugnie hold her tongue. You must both appear to desire
them frantically to stay.' 'How are you going to get rid of them?' Franz
Salvator demanded. 'Did you ask your General that question when he
ordered an attack?' replied Eugen composedly. 'Leave the strategy of
this affair to me, my dear boy--and execute the little order which I
have ventured to suggest to you.' The business was satisfactorily
settled at twelve o'clock that morning. The Hungarians, warned gravely
by Eugen of their financial liabilities in connection with the central
heating (an indefinite liability which might fall upon them from next
Quarter Day in respect of a privilege they had not been rich enough to
use) agreed eagerly to leave. Otto would be told of her new address by
Miss Hunter herself; and Eugen's name, from start to finish, would never
once appear. There was only one slight cloud upon the horizon. The
Grfin Wolkenheimb proposed to call upon Eugen; and she would require a
good many explanations of an evasive nature before she let things take
their course. The relation between mother and son was a happy one; the
Grfin showed tact; Otto's manners with his mother were often
affectionate and always polite; but the success of their relation was
entirely based upon the Grfin's never knowing what Otto's actual
arrangements were. She would not have liked them nor would Otto have
changed them, so that the simplest plan (suggested by Otto and carried
out by Eugen) was to keep her in a state of permanent and agreeable
ignorance.

'Lisa,' said Eugen, shaking his head sadly as she offered him the Barsac
for the fifth time, 'this afternoon four glasses are enough. After the
fifth glass I am conscious of an innate pleasantness in things, which I
find to be misleading. A deep unclouded pessimism is the right condition
in which to receive a visit from the Grfin. This condition arrives of
itself by the time she leaves me; but it sometimes has to be
artificially produced before she comes. I am expecting her to arrive at
two-thirty. At three o'clock you will bring in black coffee and a slice
of this admirable _Torte_. Unfortunately I shall not be able to digest
another slice at that early hour, but the Grfin will appreciate it. At
four you will return and say that a gentleman has come to see me upon
most important business. You will then show the Grfin out.' 'And what
shall I do with the gentleman?' Lisa asked with prudent foresight. 'I
cannot leave him in the _Biedermeier_ room alone?' 'You can leave this
particular gentleman alone in any room you like,' replied Eugen, 'as he
does not exist. It is possible that the Frau Grfin will ask you a few
questions. She may, for instance, want to know where the Herr Graf is.
You will not know. You will not know--even, my dear Lisa, if you are
bursting with accurate information--anything that the Frau Grfin asks
you. I only wish it were safe for me to model myself upon the extent of
your ignorance.' 'What shall I do if the Herr Graf himself calls while
his mother is here?' Lisa asked anxiously. 'You will tell him that he is
out of town and that I should advise him to remain out of town for the
week-end. Give me my cigarettes, dear child. I will close my eyes for
five minutes until she comes.'

The Grfin was punctual to the minute. She was a small brisk woman
between sixty and seventy. She wore a chestnut front a little to one
side, and her clothes suggested the idea of shelter from adverse
elements. In her ears hung a pair of diamond earrings worth a fortune.
She had no eyelashes and no eyebrows, which gave to her eyes a sudden
and disconcerting expression like that of a person who enters a room
without knocking. The Grfin had never been beautiful, but she had
always been powerful, and though the reins were no longer in her hands
the habit of using them remained unbroken. She looked sharply at Eugen
for several moments before she consented to sit down in a less luxurious
chair than he was anxious to offer her, and when she sat down, her eyes
moved unwaveringly over his possessions.

'So far you have sold nothing,' she said after Eugen had kissed her hand
a second time with respectful affection. 'That at least is a good sign
in this deplorable period. When do you expect the return of the Kaiser?'
Eugen shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. 'In five years,' he replied,
'if he has patience. Never, if he is impatient!' 'Do you not know what
happens to people who remain away for five years?' demanded the
Countess. 'No? Well, no affection survives a five years' absence. If my
husband whom I adored returned from the tomb, what should I do with him?
Should I eat once more the things which gave me indigestion in order to
please him? I think not. Would Otto rejoice that he must give up an
estate he has starved to the bone by his extravagance? No! Let the dead
rise again in heaven where there are many mansions, and where, so far as
we know, relations are not obliged to live together. But if he wants to
return to his throne, let the Kaiser be impatient! I have known perhaps
three patient people in my life. Did they ever gain anything by it? On
the contrary, Providence saw that they were fitted to bear misfortunes
and took every advantage of it. Where is Otto?' 'I believe that he is at
this moment out of town,' said Eugen regretfully; 'how unfortunate that
you did not notify him of your arrival!' 'I wanted to take him by
surprise,' said the Countess gloomily, 'but whenever I take him by
surprise he is out of town. It is a most peculiar coincidence. I have,
however, seen Eugnie and Franz Salvator.' 'I hope that you found
Eugnie well,' Eugen murmured politely. 'Not at all,' said the Countess,
'on the contrary I found her very ill. So ill that even that Jew
Jeiteles has turned her out of his hospital for a rest. Probably she
will die young. Without consulting me they are going to let their flat
to a young American girl. It is quite obvious from what they tell me of
her that she is an adventuress. She insists upon paying them a rent big
enough to swim in. I say insists--because those idiotic children have
implored her to give them less! But probably she has no intention
whatever of paying it, and will steal Eugnie's few decent things--all
of course left in her portion of the flat. They have no reference of any
kind beyond that she came out here with Dr. Simmons and now proposes to
leave the Mission. As you know I distrust philanthropy, but I even more
distrust those who give it up. If you become too dishonest to remain on
a relief mission--how dishonest you must be!' 'Dear Gndigste,' Eugen
said, 'people may have other reasons for resigning from Missions. I
understand that this young lady for instance, has a great fortune and
owns an American newspaper.' 'Ah, you understand all that, do you?'
exclaimed the Countess in triumph at having at last drawn a statement
from her cautious adversary. 'Well--if she has a fortune she is perhaps
respectable, but on the other hand if she has anything to do with a
newspaper she is certain to be an adventuress.' 'You must admit,
however,' said Eugen softly, 'that there is all the difference between a
rich adventuress and a poor one!' 'Yes, I admit it,' agreed the
Countess, 'but I don't like celebrities in the air. Proofs should be
obtainable. If she is indeed rich, in the present state of Austria,
Franz Salvator might do worse than marry her. What do you suppose
Eugnie said when I pointed this out to her?' Eugen shook his head. 'She
said,' the Grfin asserted with acidity, 'that the idea had never
occurred to her. I do not say that it was Eugnie's fault she lost her
husband and child--but you cannot be surprised that she lost a fortune!
A woman like Eugnie would lose anything!' 'Except her virtue!' Eugen
said under his breath. 'Except her virtue,' repeated the Grfin
contemptuously, 'and no doubt she would hold on to that at a moment when
it would be much wiser to let it go! But since Eugnie did nothing to
bring the girl under Franz Salvator's nose, will you tell me who did?
Such clever arrangements do not happen by chance.' Eugen looked
completely nonplussed. 'Perhaps,' he suggested, 'Franz Salvator himself
conducted the affair?' 'Franz Salvator!' said the Grfin, with still
greater scorn. 'If a plum fell into his mouth I doubt if he would have
the sense to remove the stone! No! the idea is without doubt your own,
Eugen Erddy! Since it is a good one I wonder that you take the trouble
to lie to me.' Eugen flung back his head and laughed heartily. 'What an
imagination you have, dear Gndigste!' he said at last, wiping the tears
from his eyes. 'Here am I, a poor little bachelor boy living as simply
as a chicken, and you suggest my influencing this strong-minded American
heiress whom I have for a few moments said a few poor words to--over a
dinner plate.' 'Ah, you've talked to her, have you?' asked the Countess.
'Then if you've done that you could do anything!' 'You flatter me more
than I deserve,' said Eugen, 'but as a matter of fact all that passed
between us was curiosity upon her part as to who Otto was, and my poor
little attempts to satisfy it. I must say, dear Gndigste, that if I had
any Machiavellian designs they would naturally take the form of first
providing a rich wife for Otto.' 'I daresay that you consider him
first,' said the Grfin, her unsmiling, unshaded eyes resting flatly
upon Eugen's face, 'you should--since you are his man of business! But I
have always observed in practice you act first for the well-being of
Eugnie. Pray do not contradict me. It is a waste of time since I am
always right.' 'If you wish to claim supernatural powers,' said Eugen
politely, 'I of course withdraw into my restricted little region of
fact. I hope that you will find my coffee possible to drink. You
remember these cups? The Empress Elisabeth presented them to my mother
as a wedding-present.' Lisa had entered the room noiselessly, curtsied
to the Grfin, and laid a round beaten-silver tray with the coffee cups
on a table beside her. An aroma like the scents of Paradise entered the
room with Lisa and deflected the attention of the Countess. 'Lisa
understands coffee,' Eugen said indifferently. 'Each time it is freshly
roasted, freshly ground, sufficiently strong and properly made; it
should therefore be drinkable.' 'It is drinkable,' said the Grfin
gravely; 'to expect coffee to taste as it smells is an illusion, but in
this instance the reality is extraordinarily near it. Lisa, how did you
make this _Dobosch Torte_--_Schleichhandel_ of course, since this butter
is real?' 'I do not know, Gndigste,' said Lisa simply; 'the Herr Baron
ordered it.' Lisa withdrew. 'Such a scandal!' murmured the Grfin. 'I
often wonder I allow myself to visit you. And now--she does not even
wear an apron!' 'Secretaries seldom wear aprons,' said Eugen pleasantly;
'it would go badly with a typewriter.' The Grfin ignored his
explanation. 'A mother makes many sacrifices,' she said, eating the
_Dobosch Torte_ with infinite relish; 'this is one of them!' Eugen
bowed. 'Immorality must exist,' the Grfin went on, 'but to meet with it
in the home! Terrible! Terrible! Terrible!' 'Indeed it would be most
terrible,' agreed Eugen pleasantly. 'Fortunately I have not got a home
so that these difficult questions do not concern me. Will you not take
one more little cup of coffee?' The Grfin leaned forward suddenly. 'I
want you to tell me,' she said sharply, 'on what my son is living? Wait
one moment, do not lie to me until I point out to you the directions in
which it would be useless. Two months ago Otto wrote to me that he must
sell all his horses immediately. He sent for them to Wien; they are here
still. They are not sold.' 'Horses cannot be sold as easily as apples,'
replied Eugen soothingly. 'Doubtless Otto wished to sell them to
advantage. Probably he is discriminating among the foreigners. More
arrive every day; and they need discrimination.' 'And while he is
discriminating among the foreigners,' said the Grfin, licking her
finger lightly and following the crumbs of the _Torte_ around her plate,
'does it help him economize to buy a motor? I hear that one is to arrive
next week.' 'Ah,' said Eugen serenely, 'you have heard of that little
flutter? He tells me it is advisable as an advertisement.' 'An
advertisement of what?' demanded the Grfin. 'Of ruin? It is ruin, allow
me to remind you, that we are suffering from at present. I am having
great trouble at Trauenstein. Otto must do something about it. The
peasants threaten to strike unless their wages are increased and their
hours shortened. They used to work while the sun shone; the sun still
shines as many hours as it did, but not apparently for them! I have no
money and no more timber must be cut. If we lose our timber we lose the
value of our property. I came here to see what I can do. I find Eugnie
and Franz Salvator living in the utmost indigence, and I find Otto with
his horses unsold, and contemplating a Mercds limousine. I think some
explanation is due to me, and I warn you, my dear Eugen, that I shall
not leave Wien until I receive it!' 'I quite agree with you about the
timber,' said Eugen reflectively; 'no more must be cut. If the peasants
are troublesome Otto must go down and see them again. He quieted them
last time. In the meantime I can let you have some money.' 'But what is
he doing?' persisted the Grfin. 'From where does this money come? Do I
not know his income? Have I not seen my _Kronen_ melt like butter? And
why does he neglect his cousins, whom he adores? I asked Eugnie, and
her reply was most unsatisfactory. She said she thought Otto disapproved
of her nursing. I asked Franz Salvator, and he said that since he
teaches eight hours a day in the Berlitz school he gets no time for
visits or visitors. You know them well enough to know what such excuses
mean. It is not Otto who disapproves of _them_--of their nonsense we all
disapprove--it is _they_ who for some reason or other disapprove of
Otto! Come, come, my dear Eugen, cease twiddling with that eyeglass
ribbon and give me a satisfactory answer if you can! Upon what does my
son Otto live? Is it upon women?' 'My dear Gndigste,' said Eugen,
lifting a warning hand, 'you shock me inexpressibly!' 'Stuff and
nonsense!' said the Grfin, pouring herself out a third cup of coffee.
'Your power to be shocked went with your first knickerbockers if not
before! Answer my question!' 'As far as I know,' said Eugen, with a
candid air, 'Otto is now living by a series of financial experiments. He
is as you know very able; and troubled waters suit expert financiers. I
really cannot tell you any more because my simple little legal abilities
fail to grasp the intricacies of high finance. I should suggest, my most
respected old friend, that you should personally ask Otto to give you an
explanation of his resources.' 'Should you!' said the Grfin dryly. 'I
think not--one does not consult an eel upon how it escapes from one's
fingers! However, one thing is perfectly plain to me. In the state in
which our poor country is at present no financial processes are likely
to be reputable or solid. What you mean is that Otto lives by his wits?'
'Wits that produce motor cars,' observed Eugen, 'are worthy to be called
financial operations. The position of things as you suggest is not
solid, but hitherto Otto has moved among these mercurial conditions with
a lightness that has rivalled their own.' 'And Eugnie and Franz
Salvator disapprove of his lightness so much,' said the Grfin
thoughtfully, 'that they would rather starve than profit by it?' The
expression on her face troubled Eugen; she looked suddenly older. The
Grfin's intelligence was unblunted by the fatigue of age, but her
strength to combat what she disapproved had weakened. 'The world has
changed, Gndigste,' said Eugen gently. 'What must one do? Stay as we
are and die like fishes taken out of water or accustom ourselves to the
sharper processes of air?' 'In other words,' said the Grfin, with a
sigh, 'what must we be, dead fishes or birds of prey? No! no! I dislike
what you tell me very much, my dear Eugen, and what you do not tell me
even more! I am glad that we still possess at Trauenstein land enough
for our graves. It is time, I think, that we took to them, and left
juggling with rival currencies to Jews.' 'I suffer for you--and with
you,' said Eugen simply. 'But Otto is a fine fighter, and--although I do
not say--because I do not believe--that there is anything left worth
fighting for--we must expect him to use his instincts.' The Grfin
closed her eyes and opened them again with the suddenness of a trick.
'Is it a necessary part of the fight,' she inquired, 'to have Jewish
mistresses instead of women of our own class and race?' 'I am an
unmarried man,' said Eugen cautiously, 'and therefore of course know
very little of such matters, but I should suppose that Otto must effect
an economy in possessing a Jewish lady of settled means--that is perhaps
why--if there is any truth in such a scandal--he has not had to sell his
horses.' 'And yet you say he is not living on women!' exclaimed the
Grfin bitterly. 'Pardon me,' Eugen contradicted her gently, 'if I point
out to you that there is all the difference in the world between living
on women and associating with a woman who does not live on you.' The
Grfin spread out her hands with a hopeless gesture. 'Eugnie is a
fool,' she said abruptly. 'She could have saved us from this. I have no
patience with over-scrupulous women. She was a widow who had every
reason to be relieved when her husband died. If she had expressed her
relief normally and kept her fortune Otto would certainly have married
her. But she chose to fritter away his feelings and her money on a
hospital. Now she looks like a broomstick and hasn't two Heller pieces,
and my poor boy is thrown to a pack of Semitic wolves! Let us speak
plainly, Eugen, for though I know you always try to deceive me you have
my son's interests at heart. A marriage is the only thing left to us in
order to save him from swindling and worse. Since a marriage with an
Austrian or a Hungarian is practically out of the question, one must
accept a mixed one. As things are I should make no objection to an
English woman or even a Czech. The woman must be well connected and have
money, that is all I ask.' 'On our side, what have we to offer?' asked
Eugen despondently. 'It is no longer enough, Gndigste, to say that Otto
is Otto Wolkenheimb of Trauenstein.' The Grfin was a woman of superior
intelligence, but for a moment she looked quite stupid. It sounded to
her incredible that it was not enough to know her son was Otto
Wolkenheimb. 'But,' she muttered, staring straight before her,
'Otto----? Eugen----? I do not understand.' An intense bitterness
invaded Eugen's heart. It was as if he saw all that his class had stood
for slipping away from him into an unplumbed sea. He was no King Canute
to order back the waves or to believe in any royal interventions. These
rising waters would, he knew, cover all the shore and drown those who
had not the wit--or, perhaps, the cowardice--to flee from them. The old
would go first, and Eugen loved the old; the young (born from ancient
races into the new world) would never even have seen the lost Atlantis
of their fathers. 'I will do what I can,' he said at last. 'Relieve
yourself of any fear of this Jewess--she is married already--Otto is
fond of English people; perhaps he will find someone suitable among
them. Should you object to the American girl in the event that Franz
Salvator fails to connect himself with her?' 'Of course I should not
like him to marry any of our late enemies,' said the Grfin bitterly.
'But this is not the moment for talking of what one likes. It is the
moment to nerve oneself to do without it. Bring me any decent woman you
can. All I ask is that she should have money and bear children!'

Lisa reappeared. 'There is a gentleman waiting to see the Herr Baron,'
she said, 'upon important business. He says that he has an appointment
for four o'clock.' 'That is true,' murmured Eugen apologetically. The
Grfin rose and blinked her unsheltered eyes. 'Good-bye, my dear,' she
said. 'Do what you can for me! You have told me a pack of lies, but you
are a good boy and your heart is with us. I know that I may trust you.'
'Till death, Gndigste,' said Eugen, bowing low over her hand. He went
downstairs with her and out into the street. The Josephplatz was full of
noise and dirt and there was no carriage in which to put the little old
lady with her diamond earrings and her powerless tradition. Eugen walked
with her to the nearest stopping place of the shabby red tram and put
her into it as if it had been a coach and four. He did not replace his
hat until she was out of sight. If he could do nothing else for her, and
the race for which she stood, he could at least show her the ceremony to
which she was accustomed. In fact slightly to accentuate his manners was
the only outward sign which Eugen Erddy allowed himself to make in a
world where all that led to good manners had ceased to exist.




CHAPTER XIII


Carol could not help feeling as if they were different from anyone else.
They sat together, a little apart from the other guests (for they had
come in late), looking like originals of Praxiteles strayed into a
company of plaster casts. Neither Franz nor Eugnie were merely
handsome; and the difference had not anything to do with their clothes.
It was a look they had been born with and could not shake off. What was
it, Carol asked herself, that made their beautiful courageous heads so
distinct? Why did they have that graceful set of the shoulders, so that
whenever they walked into a room they suggested a procession? The Relief
workers were all refined, the few Austrians they had invited were of
picked intelligence; but the eye slid over them, as if they could not be
anything else but background, and remained riveted upon the tall brother
and sister, as if wherever they chose to sit must be the centre of the
room.

Franz Salvator's eyes met Carol's with a smiling intensity. He already
knew that he was going to like nothing in the occasion except her
presence. He was in a very bad temper, but you could not have told it
from his smile; and Eugnie was in a worse one, but it only made her
loveliness a little more intense. They had quarrelled for the first time
in their lives because Dr. Simmons had invited them to her evening
party. Franz Salvator only discovered on their way there that it was to
consist of an account of Jew baiting in Budapest and that Jews (among
whom Dr. Jeiteles had been invited) were to be present. 'You cannot meet
Dr. Jeiteles socially,' Franz had asserted; and Eugnie had said that
she considered such a prejudice vulgar. As they came in Eugnie had
given Dr. Jeiteles her hand to kiss with marked cordiality, and assured
him earnestly how glad she was to see him. Her action confused Dr.
Jeiteles, enraged Franz, and surprised Eugnie herself. It caused the
other Jews a mixture of amusement and bewilderment; and the Relief
workers, who were all Anglo-Saxon, thought nothing of it at all. They
did not know that they had asked a member of one of the oldest Magyar
families to hear a criticism of crimes committed by her husband's
personal friends; and forced two social elements to meet which centuries
of studied isolation had kept apart. 'It's going to be rather an
exciting party,' Carol said as she handed Franz a box of cigarettes.
'Light up and be comfortable--the man over there with the red
tie--bottle-necked shoulders and Adam's apple--is going to speak.
Doesn't J. look a dream in that brick-coloured garment? She's awfully
handsome really if she'd ever looked in the glass and taken hold of what
she saw there. Where are you going to sit, if I take your chair?' 'I
shall stand behind you both', murmured Franz Salvator, 'to keep off the
ten tribes. What possessed your friend Dr. Simmons to set them loose
upon us?' Carol stared at him. 'What does he mean?' she asked Eugnie.
'The man who is going to speak comes from Birmingham--doesn't he look
it?' 'He means nothing,' said Eugnie gently. 'Except that he very
naturally wishes to keep your company to himself.' 'That also,' agreed
Franz Salvator, 'but that goes without saying. Wherever one was, one
would wish your company there--here it preserves one from extinction!
When are you coming to us, Miss Hunter? Our Hungarian cousins went last
week like melting snow; everything is ready for you--even an old cook
from the mountains; and I am more than ready--I am a little impatient!'
Carol met his laughing eyes--and there was something behind his laughter
which was like a sudden warning. 'Somebody or other will have to keep
their head in that flat!' Carol said to herself. 'Let's hope it's going
to be me!'

Dr. Simmons leaned forward and briefly introduced the object of their
meeting.

'Mr. Bolt', she said in her dry indifferent manner, 'is about to tell us
of his experiences in Hungary. We shall be very grateful for your
consideration of his story, and for your advice upon the problem which
it illustrates.' 'I don't fancy your advice will be much good myself,'
observed Roger Bolt with that absence of politeness which he felt
constituted sincerity. 'Still I don't mind letting you know what the
Hungarians are up to. The whole world ought to know it, and the whole
world ought to stop it, but it won't. It's far too busy lying and
looting. Any country will keep a blind eye on crimes that don't
interfere with its own, and if you Austrians think yourselves any better
than the rest of us, it's simply because at present you're too powerless
to do any harm.' 'You paint a charming picture of the world,' said
Professor Adler, smiling. 'I don't say that it is unjust, but I think
that its severity may make us all a little critical of your story.' 'You
can be as critical as you like,' replied Roger Bolt, 'but if you're a
Jew, as I suppose you are by your name, I should simply advise you to
keep out of Hungary. I went to Budapest last week to open a food centre
for the babies. All the authorities spread themselves to help me. You'd
think they were a lot of cats coming to lick up the cream out of the
condensed milk tins! They couldn't do enough or say enough to make
things easy. Eighteenth-century manners and third-century morals--that's
the Hungarians for you.' The young man shot a baleful glance in the
direction of Eugnie. 'Why third-century morals?' murmured Professor
Adler to himself. 'I always thought third-century morals rather good.
Christianity hadn't had time to wear off, nor the Church sufficient
power to cripple it.' Roger Bolt waived the question of Christianity
into silence. 'I had an introduction', he went on, 'to a man called
Joseph Bauer, a Jew of course, an educated, honest man, any man's equal,
most men's superior. He put me on to some of the worst districts and
gave me some invaluable Relief tips. He was the only person I met who
didn't want anything out of me in return. He also told me a few plain
facts--at my request--about the "White Terror". I know my job was
babies--as you so carefully pointed out to me, Dr. Simmons, before I
left here--but I happen to believe in right and wrong. I didn't propose
to act immediately on the notes I took. I meant to bring them back to
lay them before the authorities here in the usual way. I kept them
carefully locked in my dispatch case. Someone must have opened it in my
absence and guessed where I'd got my information from. I was to meet
Bauer at a little restaurant on Wednesday, but he wasn't there. He
hadn't been seen since the evening before. His wife was in despair. She
declared that the police had got hold of him and that she would never
see him again. She implored me to try to save him. Of course I thought
she was putting up a bit of a fuss, but I went to see some of the Allied
Mission people and asked them if it was likely to be true. They gave me
my first jolt. One by one they all said the same damned thing. I suppose
you can guess what it was, Dr. Simmons, since you've had some experience
of Allied Missions? They said, "Leave it alone". Then I went to the head
of the police and he said, "No doubt the fellow is off on a
spree--that's why his wife's so upset!" and he laughed. I said, "Then he
isn't in one of your prisons?" and he said, "Certainly not! Why should
he be--if he keeps the laws, I shan't touch him. But don't you bother
about Jews, my dear chap; let me advise you to stick to your babies." I
guessed he was lying, so I set straight off for the prisons. If you want
to know how I got in--I bribed my way in--and if you want to know what
with, it was with Mission stores. Perfectly immoral, no doubt, and I
shall catch it from the Committee, and if I had to do it over again, I'd
do exactly the same thing. Anyhow I got in, and I found Bauer. He was
locked up in a stinking cell the size of a rabbit hutch and as cold as
ice. He said, "For God's sake get me out"; his teeth were chattering so
loud he could scarcely speak and he looked--well--he didn't look the
same kind of man he was before. Have you ever seen a bullied dog?
Something so scared it has gone wild? He looked like that. Two days
before we'd been talking about Freud--but the fear of death scatters
most men's philosophy. He told me they'd flogged the man in the cell
next door to death--the night before. Not the prison authorities--but
some Hungarian officers broke in and did it--to teach Jews what to
expect when they asked for a secret ballot! I went back to the Allied
Missions. They said, "But what were you doing in the prison? You
oughtn't to have been there, you know. You'll get us into trouble!" I
said, "But I _was_ there--for God's sake get that man out before they do
him in". They said they hadn't any authority, but they'd do what they
could. They could cut the whole of a Continent up to suit themselves,
but they couldn't save one poor little persecuted Jew. I see just how
the Crucifixion happened now. That's the kind of Jew people kill--and
that's the way they do it. I asked how long it would take to get Bauer
out. The young man I'd been allowed to see said, "Oh, in a week or
two--I daresay something can be done". I told him what the cell was like
and what had happened to the man next door to Bauer, and he said,
"Impossible, my dear chap--someone's been pulling your leg", and went
out to lunch with his bit of fluff at the Ritz. I went back to the head
of the police, and told him where Bauer was. He said, "But what were you
doing in one of our prisons? I'm sorry but you'll have to go back to
Wien if you don't keep quiet. Bauer is a menace to the State, that's why
he's in prison if you want to know; leave him to us". What's the State?
And what kind of menace to any decent country is an honest little man
like Bauer, who only asks to earn his bread and his right to think in
peace? We've got the power, let's down him because he thinks--that's
statesmanship!' Roger Bolt's unpleasant blue eyes were hot with anger
and his knees trembled. Hermann Breit rolled his heavy head and groaned
with sympathy, and Dr. Adler surreptitiously looked at his watch. 'I
went to see the Prime Minister,' Roger Bolt went on in his harsh
hurrying voice. 'I waited four hours in his house. I just waited. When
they saw I was going to sit there till the Day of Judgement they let me
see him. First he said my story wasn't true. Then he said I didn't
understand the conditions of Hungary. Then he made a joke about Jews.
Finally he assured me that nothing serious would happen to Bauer. He
would be a humane man I should think--unless it hurt him to be!' 'He
_is_ a humane man,' said Franz Salvator sharply. 'I do not believe that
he would consent to any cruelty.' 'No,' said Roger Bolt with a catch in
his voice, 'and yet this cruel thing happened. Before I left he promised
to telephone and get the case looked into. I went away feeling a little
happier, but somehow or other as the evening came on I couldn't help
feeling less happy. You know Budapest? In the evening it gets gay--the
restaurants fill--and there's gypsy music in the air--and people walk up
and down beside the river. And not so very far off, in a lump of
buildings I could see from the Bridge, was Bauer in that cell. I went
back to the prison again. By then they'd had their instructions and they
wouldn't let me in. I couldn't eat or go to bed--I just stood outside
the prison while it got dark. East of Wien all you've got to do is to
find a man's price. Finally I got hold of a man who said he'd let me in
in the morning for fifty English pounds. I hadn't got half that sum in
the world--but I started rushing about raising it--fortunately everyone
keeps awake half the night in Pest. I raised it somehow or other; and in
the morning they let me in.' Roger Bolt covered his mouth with his hand.
Dr. Simmons sat as still as something carved long ago out of stone.
Carol leaned forward and let her cigarette go out. The men sat looking
at the floor, all except Franz Salvator, who kept his clear blue eyes
fixed sternly on the face of the speaker. Eugnie shut her eyes--she did
not want to see or hear any more--but she knew that she would go on
seeing and hearing long after everything was over. She had been made so
that she could not get away from pain unless she could lay her hands on
it and heal it. 'I went in,' said Roger Bolt unsteadily. 'I said it was
morning, didn't I? They didn't stop me, but some of them looked queer.
Somebody said they hadn't expected me so soon. I'd been out by the river
pretty early. The hill where their kings are crowned was a black lump,
and a fog ran like giant cobwebs over the town. The door of Bauer's cell
stood open. My guard pulled me suddenly back behind it. Four men in long
cloaks came out of the cell, pushing their swords hastily into their
scabbards to get them out of sight. I couldn't see what was on the
swords. I waited pressed back against the wall; one of them slipped on
something and swore, and the others laughed and made a joke, I suppose
about what he'd slipped on. "That's a narrow one!" the guard whispered
when they'd gone. "If they'd found I'd let you in, God knows if we
shouldn't have joined what's in there, Jew or no Jew. I've earned my
fifty pounds!" "Not yet," I said, and I lit a match and went into the
cell. I suppose you ladies wouldn't like to hear what I found there.
Most of it was blood; and the rest of it was Bauer. God! I didn't know
any of us had so much blood! They told me he was dead. I said his name
over and over; but nothing answered me. Then the fellow I'd bribed said,
"Come, come, get away quickly; you'll be arrested! Here's an officer!" I
suppose I didn't get away quickly enough. There was a lot of row, and
they took me along to our own people. I saw the young man again, the one
that had gone to lunch at the Ritz. He said he'd heard about the
"suicide" and I'd made a great deal of trouble and must go back to Wien.
When I said what I'd seen, he told me it was too dark to see anything,
and I'd probably been a bit excited. In my pocket I had the names of the
men who had come in and murdered Bauer--the fellow I bribed had given
them to me. He told me that a murder like Bauer's only happened to Jews.
Sometimes the officers got fined a few hundred _Kronen_ just to show it
isn't officially permitted.' The young man's voice broke suddenly. He
took out a large red pocket handkerchief and without concealment wiped
his eyes with it. Carol felt her animosity die; you cannot dislike a
young man who so innocently wipes his eyes on a symbol of revolution.
She saw too what she had not noticed before, that they were sleepless
eyes. 'You have the names with you?' Franz Salvator asked curtly. Roger
Bolt took out a dirty piece of paper; he hesitated a little over
pronouncing the difficult Hungarian names. Professor Adler took the
paper from him and read them in an even, unmoved voice. They were the
names of four men whom Eugnie and Franz personally knew. Dr. Simmons
sat with her hands in her lap looking straight in front of her as if the
things of sense were not solid enough to hold her clear gaze. She had
forgotten her party, forgotten the young man whose story burned in her
heart. She had forgotten everything but pity. Carol had sometimes felt
as if Dr. Simmons had no feeling, she was so abstracted and so
personally austere, but now she knew that Jane had nothing else but
feeling; only this feeling that possessed her was without the taint of
personality. At last Dr. Simmons stirred out of her deep silence and
looked across at Hermann Breit. 'Herr Breit,' she said, 'will you tell
us if there is anything you think we can safely do?' 'Very little, I'm
afraid,' said the old Socialist sadly; 'it would be perhaps of some use
to speak to your Minister here, and you might write to important people
in England--a little pressure--discreet pressure here and there from
those who have power? I do not know! The Hungarian nobles have always
been very cruel, and the people do not yet know their strength. Some day
there will be a Green Rising, and then perhaps that little paper you
hold in your hand, Herr von Hohenberg, may be useful.' 'To me it is
useful now,' said Eugnie, leaning forward and speaking in a resolute
low voice, 'for at least I can save myself from ever speaking to any of
these men again. They are dogs--wild dogs--they should not be treated as
human beings any more!' 'My sister overlooks the fact', said Franz
Salvator slowly and emphatically, 'that these men--all of whom are our
friends or the friends of our family--were driven wild. It is terrible
to be a mad dog--yes! and such an action as this gentleman has witnessed
is an action of a mad dog--I admit it--but what of those who have made
these dogs mad? I hope that these gentlemen who are present will not
take personally what I have to say--but a country that has been overset
by a Red Terror--that has seen its families broken up--its homes
destroyed--its King driven into exile, and believes, as these Hungarian
officers believe--that this tragedy was made by Jews, instigated and
embittered by Jews--and that, although Bela Kun and his myrmidons have
been overturned, yet these Jews remain, and will always be a hidden
bitterness, a fresh instigation to fresh terrors--are they to be wholly
cast off--wholly blamed--if they seek a fierce revenge?' Professor Adler
shrugged his shoulders. 'All this bitterness--these Red Terrors--these
White Terrors--are beside the point,' he said coldly. 'A country that
has a Government should be at least able to safeguard its prisoners, nor
should those who have made a Government be the first to break its laws.'
Carol Hunter looked up indignantly at the young man standing behind her.
'I am surprised', she said sharply, 'to hear a brave man trying to
defend a band of cowardly assassins! And for no better motive than fear.
What kind of Red Terror can you get out of a man like Bauer? It's worse
than wicked to think such stuff, it's paltry!' Franz Salvator bowed. 'It
is interesting to be taught', he said icily, 'by a countrywoman of those
who lynch niggers, that race hatred is paltry.' 'In America', said
Eugnie, meeting her brother's eyes with a strange hard pride, 'they
kill negroes who have committed crimes, or whom they at least suspect of
having committed despicable crimes against women--this man had committed
no crime at all. Miss Hunter's heart is touched, as mine is--as all our
hearts are touched, I hope, by the injustice of this action!' 'For four
and a half years', said Franz Salvator passionately, 'I have seen brave
men die--die, if you like, unjustly--men of enormous courage, of great
value in the world--day after day--night after night. Why should we all
be asked to become so indignant at the death of one poor little
Jew--even if he was honest and died without cause? The best men of our
time and of our country died--and died in vain!' 'Seeing all that ought
to have taught you a little sense,' remarked Carol Hunter crushingly;
'anyhow your officer friends died voluntarily, they weren't dragged off
in a time of peace to face black murder in the dark. What I think ought
to be done is to have it all out--start a stunt through all the
newspapers--names, facts, details--just dash it bang in the face of the
Public--and see if there isn't red blood enough left in Europe--egged on
by America--to stop Hungary sitting in a corner and chewing up her Jews
out of spite!' 'Miss Hunter expresses herself delightfully,' said
Professor Adler, smiling, 'but she has overlooked one great
difficulty--so I think has Mr. Bolt. We have all heard a very moving and
touching story--I think we all--even Herr von Hohenberg, whose
sympathies are so strikingly against it--believes this story to be true.
But if it is to get into the newspapers, where are the proofs? We shall
make our statement, and officially we shall be contradicted--our papers
will be held up for libel--the public conscience will be soothed--and so
soothed that if a fact we _could_ prove did come along later, it would
be twice as difficult to rouse anyone's belief in it. Miss Hunter,
weren't you struck by the creative power of the first official who heard
of this crime--it is the only creative power given to officials--the
marvellous instinct for cover--with which he immediately exclaimed,
"Suicide!" If you make this crime public that is what will be not only
said, but satisfactorily proved by all the Government authorities.' 'I
wonder if you're right,' said Carol Hunter thoughtfully. 'I hadn't
thought of that. But I'll be even with them yet; I'll go down myself and
do my own ferreting out!' 'I went there six months ago on the same
errand', said Professor Adler in a grave voice, 'at the risk of my
life--seeing who I am, to investigate a crime that sounded to me
unmistakable and which personally concerned me. It was in fact the
murder--under very dreadful circumstances--of my brother-in-law. I think
that he was murdered; the body--after infinite difficulty and danger I
was able to see the body--was unrecognizable, but we have never heard of
my brother-in-law since. Most of the other stories I have investigated
or sent people to investigate for me have been false. After one true
story a crop of false stories immediately arises. There will be many
false ones after these two murders--it is not the moment I should choose
to go to Hungary to investigate--later perhaps, when the little trouble
we shall be able to make--and I fear it will be very little trouble--is
over, they will begin again, and it might be useful then to go down.'
'And, Dr. Jeiteles,' asked Dr. Simmons, 'what is your opinion?' Dr.
Jeiteles had not spoken since Roger Bolt began his story--he had sat
with his face in the shadow, looking away from Eugnie. 'My thoughts',
he said sadly, 'are worth very little--I only beg that you will be
personally very careful not to get mixed up in the matter. The Relief
Mission must never touch politics--it is of the utmost importance that
your branch in Budapest should be reopened. Let nothing interfere with
that. I would let a few Jews die rather than many children.' 'I am of
your opinion,' said Dr. Simmons; 'what I can do quietly I will do; and I
ask of you all great discretion for the sake of the children.' 'Eugnie,
are you ready?' asked Franz Salvator stiffly. Eugnie rose slowly to her
feet; her usual air of gentle deference was gone. She looked stately and
very sure of herself. She held out her hand to Dr. Jeiteles and said so
that the whole room heard her, 'Good-bye, Dr. Jeiteles. I hope that if
you can overlook the fact of my Hungarian name--you cannot dislike it
more than I do at this moment--you will come and see me soon.' 'She's
got a nerve,' whispered Carol Hunter delightedly to Dr. Simmons. Dr.
Simmons watched the tall brother and sister leave the room together side
by side, their heads erect, their eyes looking straight in front of
them. 'I think she'll need it,' she observed reflectively. 'Perhaps I
ought not to have asked them both together, but it was very satisfactory
to get the views of two such different minds, both formed by old
traditions.'




CHAPTER XIV


The City was silent except for the rustle of footsteps, and dark but for
the lights in the caf windows. Those Viennese, who had no money but
loved late evenings, since they could not pay for any other form of
entertainment, had gone out to look at the moon.

Franz Salvator and Eugnie walked quickly towards the Rathaus Gardens;
neither of them spoke. Franz Salvator was so unused to being angry with
Eugnie that he hardly knew how to form his reproaches. He felt that she
had suddenly done him an injury, and yet it was his deepest faith that
Eugnie was incapable of doing anything wrong. He was as amazed and
shocked by her outbreak to-night as an ardent Catholic would be at a
strange antic taking the place of the ordered ritual of the Mass. He
waited anxiously for Eugnie to explain or to excuse herself, but
Eugnie did neither. She walked beside him with her head held high as if
she were proud of her inexplicable conduct, almost as if she felt an
injury had been done to her. She paused by the Rathaus Gardens and said
in a determined voice, 'Let us sit here a little and talk.' Something
had to be done about their anger, they could not go back to their empty
rooms with it; but it surprised Franz Salvator afresh that Eugnie
should take the lead in putting their anger to the proof. The moon rode
high above the statues on the Parliament House, the garden was a sheet
of frosted silver. The fountain in the centre was surrounded by a group
of chairs all filled with people. They made very little sound; tired
with the day's work and oppressed by the heat, they sat where they could
feel the freshness of the lifted column of water and listen to its
continuous whispering. Above an ink-black pool of shadow rose a magnolia
tree; the great buds lifted themselves firmly upwards on boughs bare of
leaves, as solid as if they were made out of stone. The air was full of
the scents of flowering bushes, lilac and syringa; and sometimes on a
little puff of wind there moved a fragrant breath of the distant Wiener
Wald.

'I am very much offended,' said Franz Salvator at last. Eugnie sighed.
She knew how deeply she had offended him. At first she had been proud of
her attitude, but by now her anger had died down, and her pride had lost
its significance. She was so accustomed to share Franz Salvator's
feelings, that in the interest of exploring them, her own had ceased to
be vital to her. But if her sympathy with Franz had taken the wind out
of her sails, she still knew where she intended to go. Something had
happened to-night which, however much she cared for Franz Salvator, must
not happen again. He had taken for granted that she would accept their
old traditions and allow him to act for her; and she could do neither of
these things. She knew now that their old traditions--some at least of
them--were mistaken, and that when she differed from Franz she must act
and speak for herself. Loyalty was the deepest quality in both their
natures, and to-night it was their loyalty which had been attacked; but
in Franz Salvator it was loyalty to a code, and in Eugnie it was
loyalty to a spirit. Naturally enough, Eugnie said to herself, Franz
Salvator was offended. He had had to listen to the history of a crime
committed by his personal friends, and to hear judgement pronounced upon
them by ignorant foreigners and biased Jews. Franz never admitted that
his friends were in the wrong except to the friends themselves. When he
heard them attacked, his first instinct was to fight on their side, and
he thought it secondary to discover if their side was right or wrong.
When he did discover it was wrong, it made him angrier and caused him to
fight harder. That was one of the reasons why he was so angry now; but
there was a deeper reason, which made Eugnie still sorrier for him and
all the more determined to try if possible to reconcile him to a shock
against his very heart. He was angry with Eugnie, not only for
forsaking their friends, but for taking any side at all. He wished to
keep her above the arena of battle. She should have remained a symbol of
what fights were for. She was his saint, his martyr; the human being
most sacrificed and sanctified by the war. Franz Salvator was too young
to feel his cousin Eugen's despair at their changed world, and too manly
to sit at home and sulk over his lost luxuries, but he did want to keep
Eugnie in her niche. Eugnie was half touched and half exasperated by
his attitude. She was only thirty-two, and she had stopped saying to
herself, 'Here I and sorrow sit'; she wanted to get up and walk about.
But it is improbable that she would have acted--at the cost of upsetting
Franz Salvator's cherished feelings--if she had not to-night suddenly
found herself being made part of a system that it horrified her to
accept.

'Yes, I know that you are offended,' she said very gently, 'and I am
very sorry, dear Franz, that I have offended you. I think I spoke
impulsively to-night, and that it would have been better if I had waited
till we were alone to discuss our differences; but it is difficult--when
one feels strongly--not to speak, and I felt very strongly.' 'I too felt
strongly,' said Franz Salvator sternly, digging his cane into the gravel
in front of him, 'but not as you did. I felt we had been insulted! We
should not have been invited to listen to a story told against our
friends, and I am astonished that you do not agree with me--at least
upon this point!' 'But, my dear, remember,' urged Eugnie, 'that the
English don't know who are our friends and who are not! No doubt Dr.
Simmons realizes that we belong to the same class, but I am sure that
she did not dream we knew personally any one of those names read out
to-night.' 'Perhaps she did not,' admitted Franz Salvator; 'it is
incredible the mistakes foreigners make! That they do not know is not
their fault, but that they do not try to find out before violating our
most sacred feelings, is--to say the least of it--exasperating! That was
what made it so--so impossible that you should ask Jeiteles to come to
our house! For you to repudiate our friends was bad enough, but in the
face of that repudiation that you should add a welcome to a Jew shocked
me to the heart!' 'But, my dear,' Eugnie murmured, 'you yourself have
always liked Dr. Jeiteles. Remember he neither introduced nor encouraged
the discussion, and he could no more help hearing that story than we
could ourselves.' 'You seem to have noticed uncommonly sharply what he
said or didn't say!' growled Franz Salvator; 'as to liking him--in his
place he is well enough, but his place is not my sister's drawing-room!'
'Certainly I noticed how he behaved,' said Eugnie calmly; 'he is my
friend, and I was grateful to him for sparing me the pain of hearing his
judgement upon my husband's old companions. I knew that it could only
have been as adverse as my own.' 'Eugnie, I cannot bear to hear you
speak like this!' said Franz Salvator sharply. 'You disgrace our
ancestors! I have honoured and admired your work in this man's hospital
for four years: do not make me regret it!' 'That you should regret
honouring me,' said Eugnie in a low voice, 'would make me sad, Franz;
but that you should honour me for the wrong things would make me sadder
still; and if you think that I can work for four years in the mutual
service of our country with a good man and not respect and like him--you
are doing me an injustice, whether you admire me for it or not!' 'One is
not obliged to make friends of people with whom one works,' said Franz
stiffly. 'I teach the sons of grocers in the Berlitz schools, and I am
on cordial terms with them, but I don't ask you to receive them
socially. It is foolish to consider Jeiteles your equal. He is _not_
your equal!' 'No,' said Eugnie in a still lower voice, 'I know very
well he is not my equal, Franz--he is my superior! Listen a
little--don't only be angry. You yourself admit that to-day we are in a
new world; its values are new and all its ways. We see, don't we, by
this war what is the fruit of race hatreds and pet nationalities? Are
any of our countries or those of our enemies the better or the nobler
for what we have been through? I think not. Patriotism is not so great a
virtue as we all thought; generosity is perhaps a greater, and I believe
that generosity of mind is the greatest of all. Dr. Jeiteles trained me
as a nurse, he taught me all that I know, he did not treat me as a
Princess--why should I treat him as a Jew? Let us be prepared to go a
little further still and to admit that there are no races which we can
afford to despise, and no titles which in themselves are worthy of
respect. I am a Princess only because I married Felsr, but I am a fully
qualified nurse because I learned how to nurse, and I assure you I am
much prouder of that title!'

Franz Salvator had never before heard Eugnie talk so much, or with so
much intensity. It startled him nearly as much as it annoyed him.
Eugnie was noted for being a perfect listener, and perfect listeners
seldom break out into fluent and antagonistic speech. 'You are talking
great nonsense!' Franz Salvator replied roughly. 'It is true that the
world has changed, and that we are ruined, but we should be worse than
bankrupts--as you yourself agreed about Otto--if we threw away our
principles!' 'But is it a good principle to despise Jews?' asked Eugnie
eagerly. 'And if a principle is not good, of what use is it to keep it?
I do not see that any grave harm can come of treating Jews as
equals--but I did hear to-night of a horrible crime that came from
despising them! What we blame Otto for is not that he has ceased to
despise Jews--but that, while despising them, he is base enough to make
use of them! That indeed is perhaps a worse injury than beating them to
death!' 'As Eugen puts it, it is a little different,' said Franz
Salvator uncomfortably. 'I do not uphold Otto, nor for the matter of
that do I uphold Aladar, Sandar and the others; but I see why they did
it. It was one of those madnesses that come when everything turns black.
Women don't understand such things. They should not know that such
moments exist; but for men there are occasions so terrible that a man
must be brave indeed to stand above cruelty. The Hungarian temperament
is fierce, fierce and excitable! They have the East in their blood. It
is deplorable what they do when they are roused. But it lies in the
race; they can no more help it--than the most docile of wolfhounds can
help flying at the throat of a stranger in the dark. My God! to hear
foreigners speak as they did to-night! Very kind, very intelligent even,
but, oh! Eugnie, so immune! They are brought up so safe--those
English--on that damned little island of theirs! How can they understand
what is done where the only frontiers are men's blood and women's tears?
Think of those hordes of evil vermin crawling out of Russia, out of
Poland, like bugs! Spreading their infected way into Budapest,
under-selling, under-buying us, sucking like leeches the value out of
our money and the honour out of our public life? Think of these things,
you who should know what they mean, and ask yourself if it is so strange
that our Aladars and our Sandars should rush at them with sticks as you
would at an army of rats!' 'An army--yes,' said Eugnie consideringly,
'but one poor little man--trembling in his cell!' Franz Salvator swore
under his breath. They were silent as if the gulf of difference between
them could no longer be bridged by words. Eugnie's eyes fixed
themselves upon the white whispering water. They were nearly alone in
the gardens, the vague shadows on the seats had melted away to their
homes. The moon had sunk behind the Rathaus tower; a golden glow still
lingered in the sky; half the night was gone, and there was still no
darkness. 'Franz,' said Eugnie in a voice that made him turn his head
quickly towards her, 'do you remember that it was in May my Rudi
died--not this night--but one just like it--towards morning--when the
stars had grown small and far away and very cold? I tried to think of
him--afterwards--in the stars--but I could not--they did not seem the
place for a child. You know--no-one else knows--what it cost me to go on
living. For a year always, I saw all day long--and in my dreams at
night--nothing but his death. The world went down into his grave, and I
could not lift one of my thoughts out of it. What kept me sane was my
work in the hospital. When there were so many beds to tend, I could
forget the one bed that I was no longer tending--and where so many
suffered I could escape sometimes the sufferings of my own little one.
You know that I am better now, don't you? So much better that I have
stopped thinking of Rudi's death. The child himself has come back to me.
Often I feel his hand in mine, and hear his hurrying questions. I can
almost--almost pass a toy shop now.' 'Don't, Eugnie dearest, don't!'
Franz Salvator whispered, his large strong hand covering hers firmly.
'You must not! I know! I too sometimes cross the street! But why torture
yourself to tell me these things to-night--as you say--you are
better--really better now!' 'Because I want you to know why I am
better,' said Eugnie resolutely. 'Dr. Jeiteles has never spoken to me
about my child, but one day he asked me to sing to the ward songs I had
only sung to Rudi, and I said, "No--I cannot--those songs are sacred to
me," and he said, "Things are not sacred, Sister, unless they are used."
Oh, Franz! it was as if all my sorrow rose up in me and cried to be let
out! I had not used it, and from that day I have tried to use it, and in
using it the child himself has come nearer to me, and the weight of my
grief has gone. I am very proud Dr. Jeiteles is my friend, I am proud he
is a Jew. Be angry with me if you must, but don't be angry with him, for
he will not come and see me. He saw your eyes!' 'If you wish it,' said
Franz Salvator slowly and painfully, 'I will go and apologize to him
to-morrow, and I will say that I should like him to come and see you!'
Eugnie rose and put her hand in Franz Salvator's arm. 'We will wait a
little,' she said, 'there is no need to be in a hurry. Now that you have
said--this brave thing--I shall not be afraid any more. I know that
whatever comes we can share it together; I shall not have to act alone,
nor say to myself that Jews are the only good men.'




CHAPTER XV


Eugnie would never have dreamed of refusing to take Carol as a tenant
even if she had wished to refuse her. If Carol had asked her for all she
possessed, Eugnie would have given it to her and then apologized for
not possessing more. She thought that anyone who had come to help their
country in distress was entitled to the uttermost friendship and service
of which any Austrian was capable. Franz Salvator, although he was
usually more measured in his enthusiasms than his sister, agreed with
her on the subject of their tenant. Even if Carol no longer helped the
Mission, she had helped it. And now that her interest in Austria was not
confined to Missions, she was helping it even more by the careful
publicity she gave to its problems. It was dreadful to both brother and
sister to be forced to take any rent from her, and after they had
reluctantly agreed to take it they argued for hours as to how they could
best expend part of it, without her knowledge, in making everything more
festive to receive her. They consulted every available authority upon
the habits of Americans; short of human sacrifice they were prepared to
fall in with all their customs, however strange they might seem. Franz
Salvator had very soon to put his tolerance to the test. He had expected
that when he next met Carol (after their heated controversy on Jew
baiting) it would be suitable for one or both of them to apologize. He
had prepared a very careful and polite statement which, without damaging
his loyalty to his Hungarian friends, might show Carol that she had
judged his point of view too hastily and without a thorough grasp of the
facts. But a greater tolerance was required of him. Carol ignored the
whole occasion. She met him in the highest of spirits, carrying a beaded
waste-paper basket in one hand and a rose-crested parrot with grey
feathers in a cage in the other. Apologies were no longer in the air,
and Franz Salvator hung up the parrot's cage in the sunniest window of
Eugnie's old drawing-room and hurried out to hunt for the exact kind of
bird seed suitable for 'Annabelle's' extensive but fastidious appetite.

'One must remember that Carol is wonderfully free,' Eugnie warned
Franz, 'and not be surprised at her going out alone, even in the
evenings.' 'Strange! very strange!' murmured Franz. 'But by then I shall
have finished my work and be able to escort her where she wishes to go!'
'She sits in cafs and talks with newspaper men,' Eugnie warned him.
'Dr. Simmons tells me it is part of her profession and need not alarm
us.' 'But what a profession for a woman!' exclaimed Franz Salvator in
pained astonishment. 'And what dangerous imbecility on the part of her
relations to allow a young girl to take such risks. Think to what it
exposes her! We must carefully explain to Marie that the Americans are a
people who are respectable whatever they do, and no more open to
misconstruction than the Saints.' Eugnie looked a little uneasy; she
had already explained a good deal to Marie, and Marie had taken her
explanation in the same manner that an indulgent mother listens to the
first flights of a child's imagination. Marie was forty; she looked as
if she was made out of wood--particularly hard-grained wood--and she had
round black beady eyes which it was difficult to imagine shut. She had
come from her distant mountain home when Eugnie sent for her, without
expending half of what Eugnie had given her for her fares. She had
walked ten miles from her home to the nearest station, stood for
eighteen hours in a freight train, and on reaching the distant outskirts
of Vienna she had once more walked five miles to avoid passing the
customs, in order to retain without difficulty the contraband articles
she had concealed upon her person. Marie listened with an impassive face
to Eugnie's suggestion that she was to cook for a foreign lady in the
other half of the flat; and while she listened she had carefully unwound
a ham, suspended from her waist, and drawn from mysterious corners of
concealment two litres of fresh cream, a dozen eggs, and an endless
procession of sausages. 'You will be doing us a great kindness, Marie,'
Eugnie had finished. 'I shall be doing my gentle-people a kindness,
shall I,' Marie repeated, 'by remaining in a part of the flat which is
furnished while they are in rooms as bare as a Convent Friday, and by
waiting upon a stranger while they wait upon themselves? The kindness to
the strange lady I see very well, but I do not see any other kindness.'
Franz Salvator explained. 'If you look after the Frulein, we shall
profit by it. She pays American dollars for our rooms, and we shall have
food for her dollars.' 'For the first time I perceive some reason,' said
Marie, without enthusiasm, 'and later, if the young lady is rich enough,
perhaps the Herr Kapitn will marry her?' Franz Salvator grew very red,
and murmuring, 'For God's sake, make her understand, Eugnie!' hurried
out of the room. 'There is nothing to be ashamed of in a good marriage,'
said Marie, looking severely after him. 'Even love, though foolish, is
no shame once it has been blessed by a priest.' Eugnie tried to efface
Marie's romantic theory, but she soon gave up the effort. Marie's
impressions were not easy to efface; they were instinctive and
infrequent; and it would have been as easy to uproot a mountain as to
change an idea once it had been imbedded in the hard and gritty
substance of Marie's intelligence. 'If this young lady, who is a friend
of ours, could not be with us,' Eugnie explained, 'we should be forced
by the Government to take in strange people who might be a great trouble
to us and steal all our things. There are so many thieves now in Wien,
Marie.' 'Of course there are thieves,' agreed Marie. 'People who have
been honest all their lives look in the glass when they get up and say:
"Can I still be honest to-day?" Without a Kaiser there must be thieves!
I myself would steal from a stranger without it disturbing my
conscience. What business have strangers to be here? If they were good
people they would naturally remain at home.' Eugnie expressed her
enthusiasm for Relief Missions while Marie methodically disposed of the
smuggled stores. 'It is possible,' she said when Eugnie had finished,
'but the gracious Princess always sees jewels where others only see
stones. Young high-born ladies if they do good at all should do it under
the roofs of their parents, and if they have no parents their nearest
relation should arrange a suitable marriage for them or dispose of them
in a convent.' 'But, Marie, Americans have different customs from ours!'
Eugnie urged. 'That is what I complain of,' replied Marie. 'Why should
they have different customs from ours unless they are heathen? And I
know well they are heathen, for my uncle's child took service in a
family of American people in Salzburg, and they cooked always without
butter and never went to Mass. But do not distress yourself, gracious
Princess; I am here now and I will prepare a little ham and cocoa for
your supper and that of the Herr Kapitn. As for this foreign lady--many
things are terrible in times like these; but money in a household is not
one of them. I shall accommodate myself to her if she leaves me liberty
in the kitchen. Does the gracious lady permit me to ask how the Herr
Baron Erddy and Frulein Lisa are?' Eugnie with great relief responded
freely to this subject. Marie's black beady eyes fixed themselves upon
her face. She had asked this question out of politeness, since she had
already called at the flat of Baron Erddy and questioned Lisa minutely
upon each member of the family. Lisa was also a Tyrolese peasant, and
she withheld successfully one or two facts from Marie's relentless
probings; but she was not as old as Marie and therefore less astute, and
she suffered from the awkwardness of having lost her respectability; she
knew that Marie despised her for having mislaid a virtue which in her
own case had never been seriously threatened, and the knowledge that she
was despised had shaken her powers of concealment. 'And how, if I may
ask,' continued Marie while she skimmed slices off the ham as thin as
the edge of a leaf, 'is the Frau Grfin and the Herr Graf Otto?' Eugnie
thought she kept her voice as normal as usual in answer to this last
inquiry, but she failed to carry a conviction of normality to Marie.
Marie finished with the ham, and folding her hands across her apron
observed, 'They say--but naturally I do not know what truth there is in
such a saying, that the Herr Graf has suddenly become rich and that he
consorts with _Schiebers_?' 'I think he is rich,' answered Eugnie
hesitatingly, 'but I do not understand business. In these hard times
people are very ready to say unkind things about those who are more
fortunate than themselves. Nevertheless we see very little of the Herr
Graf--and--and perhaps it is better as it is.' Marie made no comment.
She knew everything about her family's affairs; if they had been in her
hands she would have managed them a great deal better. She knew that
Otto should have been the Princess's husband, and when the Princess
became a widow Marie waited for the event to take place, and deeply
disapproved of its not having done so. She knew even before she came to
Vienna that Otto had made a name for himself in the small financial
circle of men who had never been heard of before: men who had their
homes outside Vienna and sent their wives and children to the Semmering
because they were afraid of being hanged to the nearest lamp-post if
they remained too near the city. In Marie's opinion these financial
magnates were formed by destiny for lamp-posts. It was well known how
these men made money; they speculated in foreign currencies; they sent
their own exchange flying up and down, ruining hundreds of their fellow
citizens in order to buy and sell their own securities at a fabulous
profit. Fortunes drove about their heads and settled upon them like wild
birds on unknown islands, while the middle classes of Vienna watched
their savings melt like snow in May. Marie, although she was an ignorant
peasant, knew the names of these men; knew in some cases the commodities
they had cornered and doled out to their pinched compatriots at ruinous
prices. To the starved and driven population of Vienna, money was like
some magic genius. If you possessed it, you had only to rub your lamp
and ask for what you liked. No man refused you. They looked with longing
eyes towards the golden stream, some drop of which might fall upon their
parched docility. But the peasants were not docile; the land was still
productive, and, though they often played into the hands of the
_Schiebers_ by holding up their stocks till the prices became ruinous,
they hated their financial dealings with an activity which would have
led to lamp-posts had they--instead of the starving mild-hearted
Viennese--been forced to put up with _Schiebers_ in their midst. Marie,
looking around her beloved family's empty rooms, cursed Otto in her
heart. Up till that moment he had been one of the 'Family,' respected,
uncriticized, accepted, but he was abolished now with a completeness
which left no scrap of his personality exempt from malediction.

'Yes! If one has one cow,' she observed aloud reflectively, 'it is
always better not to be too familiar with those who have seven.' 'But he
would help us, I think--if we would let him,' Eugnie said gently. 'The
Herr Graf was always generous, Marie!' Eugnie sighed. She did not know
how to explain, without blaming Otto, why she and Franz Salvator so
steadily refused the tentative offers Eugen had made to them to share
Otto's benefits. Franz did not even take the trouble to refuse; his eyes
met Eugen's upon one of those thankless errands, and when Eugen looked
away again he knew that it was no more use expecting to help Franz
Salvator through Otto's money than to bring back a Russian Czar through
a petition signed by Lenin and Trotsky. Franz Salvator would do nothing
against Otto now. He would speak to him if they met; but he would only
take Otto's hand if it were empty; and even Eugnie, for all her
gentleness, would not have accepted help from Otto to save her life. In
the old days they would have shared everything they had--but in the old
days nothing that they had had come to them through trickery. Marie with
her small beady eyes steadily fixed upon Eugnie's troubled face, knew
this as plainly as if it had been shouted in her ear. 'They won't,' she
said to herself, 'touch his money, because the Herr Graf has become a
rascal, and it has broken my Princess's heart. Still it is better to
have a man who has broken your heart out of the house than in it. I made
a mistake about that marriage. What the Herr Graf wants is not a wife,
but a cup of coffee with a little weed-killer in it.' 'The Frau Grfin,'
Eugnie said after a pause, 'lives now almost entirely at Trauenstein.
But she was in Wien the other day, and she asked after you, Marie.' 'My
humblest greetings to the Frau Grfin,' replied Marie, with a prompt
curtsy, 'and thanks for the honour.' Eugnie hesitated. 'And the Herr
Graf,' she said, turning towards the door, 'he also--never forgets you.'
Marie said nothing at all about the honour done to her by the Herr Graf.
Eugnie lingered for a moment. She guessed that Marie knew all and would
forgive nothing. Then she went out of the room with her head bent,
because Eugnie never quite got over the feeling that if Otto had done
anything wrong, it was for her to feel ashamed.




CHAPTER XVI


It was six years since Eugnie had been to the races. She wondered if
Eugen remembered, as they sat in silence in the shrieking red tram
jolting to the edge of the Prater, the last time when he had driven her
in the smartest of tandems. It had been just such a day in June, 1914.
The chestnuts were out in long lines of white and pink blossom, the
leaves flaunted a hundred shades of green; green sheathed in grey; green
breaking out of coppery brown; green pale as silver, and green that
shone in the hot sunshine like flame. Green lay flat under the trees as
if each blade of grass held light within, while overhead the deep blue
of the sky was broken into patterns by the flickering emerald leaves.

'It is the same world as then,' said Eugnie softly, as they turned off
the dusty road on to a grass path through the trees, 'and yet I feel as
if someone had breathed on a glass I was looking through; everything is
a little vague, a little dim!' 'The Prater is covered with dust to begin
with,' replied Eugen disgustedly, 'utterly overgrown, and filled with
your charming friends--"the people." Nature does the best she can, but I
have never thought very much of nature by herself. She is like a woman
who needs expensive dressing to appear tolerable.' 'And I was thinking
just the opposite,' smiled Eugnie. 'I was thinking that since nature is
the same, and so beautiful by herself, so generous with her little
flowers in the grasses, we ought to be content to let the years take all
the rest. Look at those silver birches in a group over there--how young
they are--so slender and so pale--they look as if they had been made out
of moonlight.' Eugen put his eyeglass into his eye and looked obediently
at the silver birches. He had a grudge against silver birches. He was
not given to poetic images, but when Eugnie was very young it was to
that particular tree he had secretly compared her. He had thought of the
silver birch as a fountain sending up jets of green and golden leaves
around its white and slender stem; and he had resented having to see it
stripped of its cascade of glistening leaves to face the storms of
winter. When he looked at the silver birches he did not see the trees;
he saw instead Eugnie's face when she was young and happy and secure
enough to be as careless as the Spring. 'You have a contented spirit,'
he observed dryly; 'when I come to the Prater I come to look at horses,
and I am not easily consoled by being asked to look at trees, which if I
were in charge of this particular wood should most certainly be thinned.
There are, I believe, only thirteen horses running to-day, and with this
new outrageous tax we shall be lucky if we retain what we have. We shall
certainly get no more horses from Hungary.' 'How excited I was,' said
Eugnie, 'last time we came here. Do you remember, Franz Salvator rode,
rode and won? The Emperor himself congratulated him. I felt as if I had
a hundred hearts all beating in my throat at once! I had not meant to
come again. You must, I think, have had some special reason in asking
me; what was it, Eugen?' Eugen paused before he answered her. He
required occasionally such moments of silence with Eugnie to separate
what he was thinking from what he intended to say, an operation which,
in talking with anyone else, he performed automatically. 'It seemed to
me,' he replied cautiously, 'since you are no longer working in the
hospital, a good moment for going back to play. The weather is fine,
Otto and I still have our old box, nothing better suggested itself to
me. The one pleasure that is still the same is the pleasure of your
company; so it occurred to me to try to induce you to give it to me on
this reminiscent occasion.' 'But, Otto,' Eugnie objected, 'may not
share your pleasure, Eugen? Did you ask him first?' 'No,' admitted
Eugen, 'it did not seem to me necessary to ask him. In the first place,
Miss Hunter is to be with him and he will therefore have her society as
well as ours; and, in the second place, I take for granted that Otto
_will_ be pleased to see you. Why should he not be? You have given up
trying to make him do what he knows is right; that, I think, was the
only grudge he had against you?' 'You forget, I think, that I too have a
grudge,' said Eugnie bitterly. 'Do you think it is nothing to me to
have my cousin, my friend, the head of my house, called a swindler and
profiteer, and not to be able to contradict it? My blood and my thoughts
are stained by Otto's dishonour, and your dishonour also, Eugen! For
although I know you take no _willing_ part in his affairs, nevertheless
that you are in them at all is a disgrace! You are my friend; and if I
did not know that it is relationship alone that binds you to Otto and
his miserable money-making, I should have broken my friendship with you
as ruthlessly as I sometimes feel you have helped to break my heart!'
'My dear! my dear!' said Eugen gently. 'If I have given you pain it has
not been ruthlessly--the way to your heart lies across my own. Never
think that I gave way lightly to Otto or without regrets. Only ask
yourself was I wrong to stand by him when if I left him I took away the
only check he had upon a path that may lead to misery and must lead to
danger? You judge Otto hardly. Forgive me! but to think too well of a
man is seldom a great kindness. Otto is an intellect and a great force;
without money he loses the only material he can find in the modern world
to work on; and if he loses his use of his powers he would sink into
bitterness and the lowest kinds of dissipation. I speak plainly because
in times like these only plain things count. You have confused your
judgement with ideals and standards which existed, but which exist no
longer. We are cast back into barbaric conditions. The strong use teeth
and claws. They survive. The weak perish. A few people, like yourself,
live nobly and use up their strength rowing against a stream that is too
fierce for them. When you die there will be no more like you! We shall
produce a new type, fitted for the new conditions; born in armour,
invulnerable to beauty or to sacrifice. Machines will have done their
perfect work. There is still a soul in a few pictures, in a few
beautiful shapes and colours; there is no soul left in man!' 'If there
is no soul,' Eugnie cried passionately, 'at least let us make our
mortal lives worth something! To betray God--to destroy the spirit--is
an abstract wrong. There may be pardon for it! But to betray our brother
man--to fatten on his ruin--ah, Eugen! you know as well as I do, you
feel as I do--it is despicable!' Eugen was silent for a long time. At
last he said gravely, 'If you feel like this about Otto it would have
been better not to come. As for myself, it is perhaps true that I have
sunk too easily into the mire. You must remember that I believe there is
nothing else; and I retain my hope that by remaining in the mire myself
I may keep Otto from being quite submerged.' 'Ah, but we know,' said
Eugnie in a gentler tone, 'why you are acting with him. We deeply
regret it, but we respect your motive. I cannot respect anything at all
about Otto.

'I had a long struggle before I accepted your invitation, knowing that I
might meet him here. In the end I came. I came because I wished to see
what was left--you know the feeling--of all those old memories! I wanted
to see if I could----' She hesitated again. 'Bear them?' Eugen asked
gently. 'Oh, bear them--no!' cried Eugnie. 'I have borne them for many
years. No! I wanted to see if I could get rid of them, once for all, as
one gets rid of fear, by standing still and looking it in the face!'
'But memory is all we have got now,' objected Eugen; 'to get rid of it
would be to get rid of life itself. I come here--week after week--for an
exactly opposite reason. I want to cultivate memory. To bring the old
days closer, to find again, through some trick of the eyes, something
fresh out of the past. The course itself evokes memories. A chance horse
reminds me of horses I had forgotten; when I exchange greetings with the
trainers, old victories come back to me, or old defeats. I hardly care
which, for all of them were better than anything one gets now. I am a
modest man, very little satisfies me--I feed my memories on any old
straws that the wind brings me.' 'You are not modest at all!' flashed
Eugnie. 'You are too proud! You won't risk the new world! No future is
good enough for you! I am not like you. I want to make myself over
again. That's why I want to test my courage here to-day; but I should
try with a much lighter heart, Eugen, if you would try with me!'
'Try--with you?' asked Eugen, raising his thick eyebrows. 'But, my
dear--I can't! When I was quite a young man I wanted the moon and I
understood that what was usually done under those circumstances was to
cry for it. I refrained. Those who cried for the moon in my experience
did not get it; and their tears weakened them. I at least have profited
by retaining my strength; and I discovered also that there was nothing
else to cry for. As I did not care any more about my personal life
except to make it as comfortable as I could and to escape those things
which I felt tiresome, I interested myself deeply in the Court. I did
not want, you understand, to make a career for myself, but I was part of
a system, a system I believed in, and which justified me to myself. I
knew what I should be at forty, at sixty, and after my death I knew
exactly what would be said of me, "That good fellow Erddy was
useful--he knew everybody and everything about everybody. He was
discreet and it will be difficult to replace him." I do not believe in
survival after death, but should there be such a thing, and I should
overhear that tribute to myself, I should be extremely gratified. Also I
should know that it was just!' 'Dear Eugen!' said Eugnie, 'but you are
only forty now! Why will you shut yourself into the past or, worse
still, follow Otto into a commerce that you despise? It is my idea to
try and surround myself by the intelligent new world, the world that
hopes to build up Austria and to make out of our very losses and
restrictions a new way to serve her. All the people I shall try to bring
together will be poor people, professors, doctors, writers----' 'Jews?'
interrupted Eugen with a swift glance at her lighted, eager face.
'Yes--Jews!' said Eugnie impatiently. 'The picked brains of an
intelligent race which has become a part of us!' 'I have told you,' said
Eugen slowly, 'that I take for granted what you do is right. Franz
Salvator, I understand, even associates himself with your plan. He is
young and no doubt the war shook his sense of caste. Mine has not been
shaken. The people you mention would not entertain me. I should consider
their manners bad, and their sense of values would be obscure to me.
Frankly I should dislike them very much. I thank you for trying to
include me in your new hospital for intellectuals, dear Eugnie, but the
operation would be too radical for me. I should die under the
ansthetic. I must remain what I am, a poor little monarchist and your
devoted friend! You will not, I think, refuse all association with those
who are not in the lower order of life? No? You relieve me infinitely.
Do what you like then with your new world--short of marrying a Jew! That
would be, I must confess, the final disappointment.' 'Why do you speak
of my marrying?' asked Eugnie, deeply hurt. 'All accidents are
possible, I suppose, but this is of all accidents the least likely. I am
only trying to find something to fill my life with again--something that
will not hurt me!' 'Please forgive me!' said Eugen quickly. 'What I said
was atrocious. As to marrying again, I believe the only known safeguard
against second marriages is not to have entered upon a first, but I may
be mistaken. In any case I had no business to insult you because I
dislike the kind of people you intend to receive. They cannot have worse
manners than I am guilty of. Before we join Otto and the little
American, tell me that you forgive your stupid old Eugen; but tell me
also that you forgive Otto the worse sin of competing with Jews? For if
it is bad to despise them--it must be worse to imitate them! Or if you
cannot forgive him, remember that you are too good for him and that to
be too good for a vain man weakens him in his fight against his lower
self.'

Eugnie stood quite still and fixed Eugen with indignant eyes. 'You mean
that because I would not be his mistress I have helped him to be base?'
she demanded. Eugen met her indignation with unchanged gentleness. 'It
is nothing which you have done or left undone which has hurt him,' he
replied. 'It is what you are. You could not help this. You would be
right to be angry with me if I had asked you to try. But will you not
remember that Otto also is what he is, and that he has suffered nearly
as much from caring for you perhaps as you have suffered from caring for
so light a man?' Eugnie hesitated. 'I wish you would not call him
light!' she said in a low voice. 'Ah, then you have forgiven him!' said
Eugen, smiling a little sadly. 'It is probably only I--who remain
unforgiven?' They had reached the grand stand; and Eugnie looked away
from him without answering.




CHAPTER XVII


The eyes of the two men met above a mass of papers on Otto's desk and
measured each other carefully. Eugen leaned back with a gesture of
weariness. Otto shrugged his shoulders impatiently and began to walk
restlessly about the room. 'Well,' he exclaimed at last, 'why don't you
say something, Eugen, instead of sitting there like a hen on a chalk
egg? Surely you have not been through that haystack for nothing?' 'I
find,' said Eugen after a brief pause, 'a good deal to say, but I doubt
your patience. On one side we have this heap of liabilities, past and to
come--there cannot be such another in Wien--and on the other your
balance is overdrawn. The overdraft, I understand from the bank, is
final. This is the result of more than a year's co-operation with Jews.
I see something also which you have neglected to mention to me, but
which I very much dislike--there appears to be a second mortgage here
upon Trauenstein, a mortgage made in the name of Herr Julius Mandelbaum.
A man out of whose hands it would have been well to keep.' 'One must
have foreign capital to speculate with!' said Otto impatiently. 'I tried
everyone else first, but Mandelbaum is the only man who could lend me a
thousand English pounds--and I am not in his hands. He will never
foreclose with Elisabeth between us. All their interests are mutual!'
'Ah,' said Eugen. 'So you are in _her_ hands. They are not small and
they struck me as powerful. Do you like the sensation?' Otto groaned.
'How was I to know,' he said, coming to a standstill before his friend,
'what a liaison with a middle-aged Jewess would be like? I had never had
one! Hitherto the ladies who have honoured me with their friendships had
other resources. Elisabeth has none. If I had had any idea of what a
woman of forty who has always been respectable demands from life! The
worst of it is she pays! She is no expense to me, and she brings money
in. She is to come, as you know, this afternoon, and she tells me she
has at last got hold of an investment that is worth a capital sum. That
is what I need--hitherto the money coming in has been altogether on too
small a scale. Our little plans have succeeded; that milk scheme, for
instance, came through so easily--I thought the future plain sailing!
And my arrangement for the Armament factory would have prevented the
second mortgage and given me permanent security if those damned
lily-livered old maids that call themselves a League of Nations hadn't
suddenly blundered in upon it and made everything impossible! No, I've
had no luck--unless this idea Elisabeth brings with her this afternoon
clears off the rubbish heap before us! But at what a cost! Why should I
have to spend my time with a woman I dislike under the added
disadvantage of having to be pleasant to her?' 'I am glad that you put
this question,' said Eugen after a pause, 'since it is one I was about
to put to you. Do you not think that your plan at the time of the
Breakdown has proved a mistake? I disliked it then, but I was willing
for you to try it, since without a trial one could not have persuaded
you of its drawbacks. Now I think you have sufficiently tested them.

'You have enjoyed measuring your wits against Mandelbaum; and at first
you got the better of him. You have advantages that he has not; but you
have this disadvantage. You have only your wits to use, and he has forty
years' commercial experience behind his wits. That deed I came upon just
now may be an excessively ugly business, my dear fellow, and I think it
should prove to you that the game has gone against you. The game--and
the candle for which the game was played. We come now to this Jewish
lady. She has done for you all that you imagined she could; she assists
you, she even protects you. If you were madly in love with her one would
turn away one's head. "Deplorable!" one would say. "But men do these
things, and while doing them--whatever the result may be--they enjoy
them." But you are enjoying nothing--except the protection of a Jewish
lady. My dear boy, this is worse than deplorable! It comes as near as
possible to a thing so ugly that I shall not name it. Can we not find a
way out of the whole affair and leave these dubious fishermen to fish in
their troubled waters by themselves?' 'But of course one can!' replied
Otto irritably. 'I am not such a fool as you imply. Did I not always
keep the American heiress up my sleeve? It is true you have done your
best to prevent my success. Somehow or other I find her suddenly
transferred to Eugnie's flat! Franz Salvator hardly had the wit to put
her there, but even he cannot fail to take advantage of her presence. I
tell you frankly, when I see Franz and Eugnie interfering--and
interfering successfully--with my arrangements, it is not to their
account that I shall present my little bill for damages! It is to
yours!' Eugen waved a protesting cigarette. 'Surely! surely,' he
murmured soothingly, 'a little accident should not be suspected as an
intrigue? What has become of your nerves, my dear boy? Not brandy, I
know. You were always a moderate drinker--then it must be the
Bleileben--it is she who has brought you to doubt your oldest friend in
this painful and unnecessary manner! Come, marry the heiress if you
will--and can! But, if not, listen to me! Dismiss your present
establishment, sell your motor and horses, let this flat to the English
as well as the one above it. Live for a time with me. We will get rid of
this Jewish lady together; and, as soon as you have cleared the
mortgage, make a good marriage--or find a profitable speculation which
you and I can undertake by ourselves with our unaided natural resources.
They are not despicable.' 'And I should be in a position to make good
speculations, should I,' asked Otto scornfully, 'when I had put down my
motor and sunk into apparent penury? My dear Eugen, you may have the
best legal mind in the world, but you know as much about high finance as
your little Lisa! Appearance is everything! You must look as if you were
on the top of the wave or you will soon find yourself at the bottom of
it. Mandelbaum has four motors!' 'And he has five factories,' replied
Eugen. 'One looks from the motors to the factories, and one sees where
they come from. Your motor, my dear, runs on air. I look at it, and I
look behind it. I don't say, "This man is rich--trust him!" I say, "This
man is extravagant--beware of him!"' 'You have the logic of a mouse,'
replied Otto; 'in speculations such as mine timidity gains nothing. The
public is impressed if you know how to be impressive. I may not have
many gifts, but I flatter myself that when I wish to impress--I _am_
impressive.' 'I am not sure that in the end,' replied Eugen cautiously,
'one does not find that one has impressed only those whom it would have
been wiser to escape impressing.'

Even as he spoke the door opened abruptly, and Conrad announced
breathlessly, with less than his usual impressive dignity, '_Ihre
Excellenz Frau Bleileben_.' Conrad liked to make his announcements
slowly and in due form; Elisabeth had plunged upstairs at a reckless
speed and hurried his form. Much had happened to Elisabeth since her
first appearance in Otto's library, and she came in now in a very
different manner. She was without shyness, and the glance she cast about
her was the proprietary glance of someone to whom the room--or the man
in it--belongs.

'Ah,' she said, without pleasure, 'Baron Erddy!' Elisabeth had expected
Eugen. Otto had insisted on his presence and she had resented his
insistence. Elisabeth knew a little too much about Eugen; he was an
influence, and she had never been able to bear influences other than her
own. She intended, since the occasion was forced upon her, to find him
his place and put him into it. He was either to be their man of business
and do what he was told--or she would quarrel with him. If she
quarrelled with him, Otto must, out of mere courtesy to her, give him
up. Her sharp irritable eyes took in both men at a glance. It would be
necessary to go very carefully with Otto, and only to quarrel with Eugen
when she had a good enough pretext. Otto looked tired and depressed.
Fortunately she had very good news for him; her eyes softened and
sparkled. She ignored a little brusquely the chair Eugen had hastened to
offer her, and, crossing over to Otto, patted him gently on the arm and
sank into the chair nearest him. It was a very deep low chair, and
required a graceful figure with long legs. Elisabeth's legs were short,
and her fat little feet barely touched the ground in front of her.
'Now,' she said, 'business first, and pleasure after, or, in this case,
perhaps both together. I'm sure you're both dying to know what I've got
up my sleeve.' Eugen regarded her impassively; anything less like a
death from anxiety than the fatigued politeness of his manner could
hardly have been imagined. The woman was better dressed, he thought to
himself, but even more common than he had remembered her. All her
gestures, and she was a woman who made many gestures, were as stiff as
if they had been made with drumsticks. 'The beauty of the whole thing,'
Elisabeth went on, 'is that it's so simple, so legal! One has only to
act with dispatch and one turns over a sum!--I shan't pretend to give it
in _Kronen_, but the total amount will be a hundred thousand pounds--for
which one puts down only ten thousand pounds! It sounds like a joke--but
about money I don't make jokes.' 'You should, Elisabeth,' Otto murmured
under his breath, 'you should. Money is a subject that lends itself
readily to wit--and is far too serious for most of us to face
comfortably without laughter. Your figures are amazing. Where do you put
down ten thousand pounds to draw in such a beneficent return?' Elisabeth
leaned forward; she forgot that Otto had once warned her not to lean
forward in that particular chair. The effect upon a short-legged woman,
he had explained, was disastrous. Traces of the disaster were visible
upon the faces of both her listeners, but Elisabeth seldom observed the
faces of her listeners. 'You know Regenswirt--the transport people?' she
demanded. 'They run between Linz and Buda. They have twelve steamboats,
and it has always been a good line. Regenswirt, father and son, and the
two Pistors owned it. Before the war it was the best river service we
had, and in 1914 they put on fresh steamers. Well, one knows what trade
is now. Naturally, like all the other firms, they have run down. But,
unlike all the other firms, they refused to sell. You know the English
are taking all the river traffic? They mean to have the Danube under
their pillow. But, if you will believe it, this Regenswirt--the son was
killed--and the two Pistors are Pan-German! Pan-German to the ears.
Idiotically Pan-German! I ask you--because you have lost a son in the
war--do you wish to lose all the rest of your possessions? They hold
on--they run at a loss, they say they would rather die than sell to the
English. And die they will of course unless they are rescued. Regenswirt
came to my husband last night to appeal to him for help, some kind of
Government help even. As if any of our Ministers would be such fools!
Even my husband, who hasn't a high intelligence, nearly laughed in his
face. It was pitiable, Regenswirt's condition. He told us he would sell
gladly for twenty million _Kronen_ in any solid _Valuta_, lock, stock
and barrel--to-morrow--to a fellow countryman--but to the English--not
until all three of them were drowned in Danube mud! I said nothing. I
signalled to my husband to play with the idea sympathetically; to say
that a loan was possible and then to get rid of him--as quickly as one
could get rid of his gratitude. Then I said, "Go at once to the
English--find out from them what their figure is, tell them you will use
Ministerial pressure to induce Regenswirt to sell--if the figure is high
enough! Be very careful, say it is for the good of the country, that you
can only advise a sale if the price is substantial enough to capitalize
a good land scheme. Talk a great deal about land schemes----the English
think we should do much with the few hundred miles of stones they have
left to us--! Say it must be a figure to cover the boats and the dock
rights--the good-will--everything as it stands--but about this do not
lie, for the English must have spies on the river and will know the
facts! Promise delivery of everything within a fortnight, and come away
with a hundred thousand as an offer!" My husband, when a line is laid
down for him, follows it well. He returned this morning with the offer
in his pocket. All that remained to do was to meet Regenswirt and tell
him of a buyer--an Austrian of course. The poor creature jumped at it. I
have the rough draft of the agreement in my pocket. Now what do you say,
Otto, to your little Elisabeth?' Otto said nothing to his little
Elisabeth. He drew his eyebrows together and looked down at the carpet.
The thick soft rug at his feet had no communication to make to him but
its accustomed softness; still it was a refuge; Otto did not want either
to look at Eugen or to see Elisabeth. Eugen never took his eyes from
Elisabeth's excited face. He read in it her happy greed, the complete
absence of the faintest scruple, and a nave and childish pleasure in
successful acquisition. She had Otto--she had money with which to keep
Otto. Life was for a moment simple to Elisabeth, simple and
satisfactory; and such moments are rare. The expression on her face did
not make it beautiful, but it made it curiously touching. 'Of course,'
said Otto, without raising his eyes from the rug, 'it's a very
astonishing offer. What do you think, Eugen?' Eugen settled his eyeglass
firmly in his eye; he spoke without a trace of either surprise or
annoyance. 'It is indeed,' he assented blandly, 'a very large sum. And
you really think the Regenswirt firm would be willing to sell for the
equivalent of twenty million _Kronen_?' 'To-night they will be willing.
We need only an Austrian signature to the agreement and Otto's five
thousand pounds, to which five thousand I add my own. Naturally my name
must not appear on account of my husband's position.' Elisabeth spoke
triumphantly. 'It is as simple,' she said, 'as holding out one's hand
for a cup of tea.' She held out her hand, and both men watched her as if
fascinated; while she held it, her thick broad thumb, closed like a vice
on her short fingers. 'And Regenswirt,' asked Eugen, after a pause,
'will not limit the sale by a condition that it goes only to fellow
countrymen?' 'That will be understood,' said Elisabeth indifferently.
'We will give our word of course, but nothing legal. Here is the
agreement; I took advice on it myself from my husband's lawyer. One can
go through it as if it were a paper hoop!' Eugen read the document out
loud to Otto in a slow expressionless voice without moving a muscle of
his face. Then he folded it carefully and returned it to Elisabeth.
'Yes,' he said quietly, 'I agree with your lawyer; there is nothing in
the document more binding than the fact that you have given your word of
honour to a patriot.' Elisabeth bounced round upon him, her eyes
sparkling with anger. 'You call yourself a business man,' she said
angrily; 'what kind of an objection is this for a business man to make?
All you are asked to say is if we are legally safe.' Eugen bowed. 'I
should imagine,' he said, 'that you would always be--legally safe.' 'You
forget who you are speaking to,' said Elisabeth; 'in fact I don't know
why you are speaking at all--this offer has been made to Otto. It is for
him to speak!' 'Speak, Otto,' said Eugen gently; 'this--lady--listens!'
'It is an enormous sum of money,' said Otto thickly; 'it is an amazing
opportunity, Elisabeth, and your handling of it is of course also
amazing. But one hesitates, does one not, to take advantage of men who
love their country?' 'But, Otto,' said Elisabeth passionately, her voice
softening marvellously at his name, as if it flowed round him, 'they
will gain nothing by their obstinacy. What we do now others would do--if
we left it--later on! Or, if they did not, our poor friends would ruin
themselves. Ten thousand pounds will be a god-send to them. Remember we
are not depriving them of the sum the English offer; they would not
touch it!' 'Yes--remember, Otto,' Eugen murmured, 'we are only
touching--what these Jewish gentlemen--will not touch.' 'Will you hold
your tongue!' cried Elisabeth, now thoroughly exasperated. 'It is
nothing to do with you, and if you get anything out of it, it will be
only a small commission! I suppose it is that knowledge which makes you
speak like a fool? The grapes are sour, are they not, for you? But for
Otto and myself they are the finest in the world. If you don't wish to
help us get them--keep your hands off!' 'Excellenz,' said Eugen, and
into his usually quiet voice came the sudden rasp of a Prussian officer,
'you can insult your husband, because he is your husband, and you can
insult Graf Wolkenheimb because you are his mistress, but there is no
relationship between us of which you may take advantage.' Elisabeth
struggled with her breath; she was so angry that she dreaded the sound
of her own voice, and yet even while she burned with rage she was afraid
of the cold inscrutable eyes fixed on her own. She felt that she was
struggling against a power that no matter what she said or did would
control itself, and her own powers flinched at her lack of
self-restraint. 'Is your paid man of business,' she said at last,
turning to Otto, 'to insult me in your presence with impunity?' 'My dear
Elisabeth,' replied Otto, with bored displeasure, 'please lower your
voice. Both you and Eugen seem to be behaving in a most tiresome way
about nothing. I thought I had already told you that if my greatest
friend undertakes my business for me, the obligation is mine, not
his--and I must say you have added to that obligation considerably in
the last five minutes. Eugen, my dear fellow, don't be brutal. It's
quite unnecessary, and it sounds rather badly in this room. I don't
think the acoustic properties were arranged for plain speaking. I expect
I differ from you both about this affair--but under no circumstances do
I propose to lose my temper.' 'Excellenz,' said Eugen in smoother tones,
'Otto is of course perfectly right--those who have nothing in common are
under no compulsion to express their differences. Let us both overlook
this unfortunate interlude and return to our business. The plan you
suggest is perfectly practicable no doubt--I daresay such things are
done every day in a commercial world by commercial people--but for men
like Otto and myself--it is simply impossible--you understand
me--impossible.' 'But why impossible?' asked Elisabeth in a lower voice,
but with even more incisiveness. 'I don't understand you. Either a thing
is legal or it is not legal. This money lies there to be picked up.
Nobody is robbed by it, and Otto and I are the better by ninety thousand
English pounds. You cannot mean that you will refuse it, Otto? I simply
will not accept Baron Erddy's word for yours. You admit yourself that
you differ from him. As I said before he is secondary in this affair--if
he doesn't choose to touch it we have my lawyer to fall back on, or you
can arrange matters yourself. If you refuse I shall be broken-hearted.
Indeed you _cannot_ refuse what it has been my greatest joy to procure
for you?' 'I am grateful,' said Otto, going to the window, 'and it is
hard to refuse it, Elisabeth, since if I refuse you also suffer--but I
think that I agree with Eugen--it is a shade harder to accept.' 'I
cannot believe,' said Eugen firmly, 'that if you refuse to accept this
partnership Excellenz will be obliged to renounce her project?' 'Am I a
fool or mad?' demanded Elisabeth hotly. 'Because you both are! On the
contrary, since Otto is mad I will be sane for him. I shall take my plan
immediately to Mandelbaum; he will fall upon it like a cat on a
sardine.' Otto turned round suddenly from the window. 'Mandelbaum?' he
asked. 'Why Mandelbaum?' 'Because he has five thousand pounds always
handy for a good investment,' said Elisabeth, 'and because, if you wish
to know, we see eye to eye on such matters. I shall not need to break my
heart to get _him_ to accept a fortune which involves my own!' 'There is
your husband,' suggested Otto weakly. 'You are right,' said Elisabeth,
'there is my husband, and there he is likely to remain! He is a little
man who has not got five thousand pounds in the world. What there is on
his plate--I put there!' 'And apparently upon mine also,' said Otto,
under his breath. He turned his back on Eugen and looked down at
Elisabeth. 'It is a handsome sum, dear Elisabeth,' he said gently. 'I
always hoped to sell myself for a good amount. I still hope that Eugen
will do the business part of this deal for me, but even if he refuses--I
agree.' Eugen said nothing. Elisabeth looked up into Otto's eyes, her
face transfigured with emotion. Never in her life had she felt so
overwhelmed by relief, and never had any triumph tasted so sweetly on
her lips. 'You have done this for me,' she whispered. 'I shall never
forget it.' 'And for ninety thousand pounds,' said Eugen in a low voice,
but neither of them heard him.

It was all over; Otto would not go back on what he had said. He would
have refused the offer if it had not been for the mention of Julius
Mandelbaum. Elisabeth had inadvertently, in the very moment of her
failure, called up the spirit of Otto's vanity, and it was a spirit
which never failed to respond to a call. Eugen took out his eyeglass,
wiped it, replaced it and rose slowly to his feet. For a moment, as he
stood at the door, his eyes and Otto's met. Otto's eyes were full of a
sick distaste; he turned away his head as if he were ashamed for Eugen
to see his shame.




CHAPTER XVIII


It was raining, and the natural thing for Eugen to do was to go home to
dinner. But he could not go home; he felt as if his heart was homeless.

Behind the Votiv Kirche there is a small caf; ivy and pots of pink
geranium sheltered its little tables from the dust of the street. Eugen
said of it, that the food smelled like the waiters, and the waiters
smelled like the food; but he could get cognac there; and it struck him
that that was what he wanted more than he wanted anything else. He
longed to have the raw edge of fact blurred to him. Cognac would fortify
him in what he had done. After a time his legs would become
irresponsible, and his wits would cease to fling their home-thrusts at
his heart. There was no one else in the caf. After a moment, a very
small, very shabby old waiter sidled out of a door behind Eugen and
approached the table. He was a forlorn old waiter, his head was bald,
his shoes brown, his seams staring. A vague accumulation of grease, the
baptism of years, hung drearily about him. 'Cognac, Herr Ober,' said
Eugen courteously. The old man, his self-respect faintly stirred by a
title he had never deserved, padded swiftly back into the darkness and
reappeared with a thick glass on a splashed saucer.

The streets grew emptier; the lights shone mistily in the rain; behind
Eugen the Alserstrasse was like a shining black funnel; in front of him,
the open avenue and the space around stretched wide and empty into a
formless sea. The two spires of the Votiv Kirche thickened in the sky.
Each street lamp made a pool of light in which the occasional passers-by
shone suddenly and vanished. There was an island of lights in the middle
of the avenue where people waited for the trams, and there, late in the
evening, Eugen easily distinguished the brisk impatient figure of
Elisabeth Bleileben. He watched her clambering fiercely into a crowded
tram; she pushed through the passengers as if they were made of
cardboard. Ruthless and efficient, giving and receiving the full brunt
of contact, she moved as if in her elation nothing could withstand her
will. Her elbows were lifted, her head lowered, and her feet thrust
pitilessly forward. 'What a moment for an artist,' Eugen murmured to
himself; 'it would be profane to make such a figure and call it the
"Assumption," but it would reveal something in this essentially modern
type which needs revealing! Otto would like the idea.' Then it came over
Eugen once more that Otto and he would no longer exchange ideas as they
used to exchange them. This separation of values would make all
intercourse a difficult thing. The sense of their difference was what
Eugen wanted to forget, but the cognac was not acting as he had hoped it
would act. It cleared his brain with the same pitiless energy with which
Elisabeth had mounted her tram. What would happen if he agreed to
undertake the business he had refused? One could at least ask oneself
that? Life would go on the same, Otto would be infinitely relieved and
protected. Elisabeth Bleileben would lick her lips, and despise him the
more; but Eugen cared nothing for the opinion of people who were beneath
him; what he cared for was his own opinion of himself. On the other hand
if he kept to his decision he would gradually lose Otto. He would lose
Otto because Otto would not be able to bear Eugen's knowing what had
happened to him unless Eugen participated in it. He would feel that he
was no longer superior, and Otto never forgave, and indeed never
associated with, those to whom he could not feel superior. There were
two dangers that would arise in leaving Otto alone; one was the danger
to himself, for Otto was his life; and the other--and Eugen thought of
the other with a deeper pang--was the danger to Otto. If he left Otto to
Elisabeth, he would be in very great danger. Not at once; Elisabeth had
a head on her shoulders, she was less shifty than Mandelbaum, and about
her desire to serve Otto there could be no doubt whatever. But this
desire to serve him was the product of her ardour. As long as Otto
played straight with Elisabeth he was safe. But how long would Otto play
straight with Elisabeth? He was not used to disgust, and he never
accepted with patience what he disliked. Otto's vanity would blind him
to his personal danger; he believed in an Elisabeth whose one desire was
to please, but Elisabeth was a single-minded person--suppose that her
one desire became--to displease? Eugen had seen the flash of hate in
Elisabeth's eyes when he thwarted her will, and he had measured it with
some care. He thought it was an active quality. 'In another class of
life or perhaps under other circumstances,' Eugen said to himself, 'she
would throw vitriol, and what she threw would hit. It is important that
the vitriol--and in all business intimacies there is something which
takes the place of vitriol--should remain in my hands. Otto will be
careless--he will let her lawyer hold proofs against him--he won't know
how to protect himself, and Elisabeth, even while she is in love with
him, will collect these proofs, and when she ceases to be in love with
him or finds that her love is useless, she will fall back on being
poisonous. One does not get into trams like that for nothing!' 'Herr
Ober! another cognac. You have a clock in there; perhaps it will be
simpler if you continue to bring me a fresh cognac every quarter of an
hour until I tell you to stop.' 'For myself,' Eugen went on gloomily,
sipping at his fourth glass, 'I give up Otto--and I cease to be amused.
What would Eugnie say! Eugnie would again urge upon me her idea of a
new life. I might have accepted the idea once, but I am too old a man
for a new life. New lives, what do they mean in the end? A fresh set of
little troubles, more solid perhaps than the old. People who talk of new
lives believe there will be no new troubles. They are idealists. Eugnie
is one; Franz Salvator, though he flatters himself he is a materialist,
is another. They make out of their fancies little playgrounds for their
energies. I too should like to make for myself a little playground, but
of a different kind. I should have liked a wife, I should have liked
children--I flatter myself I could have removed from Youth some of its
stumbling blocks--but my playground was inaccessible, and Eugnie's
would fatigue me. Poor Eugnie! what will she make of her enlightened
lower classes? Austrian _Hausfrauen_ playing at Cassandras;
Englishwomen, who look as if they had been born in water-proofs, without
sufficient attraction to seduce umbrellas. Jews who think philanthropy a
good disinfectant for gutters. And in the middle of them--I see her! My
Princess with the beauty of the lost centuries upon her, history in her
eyes, and romance upon her eyelashes. The last of the Renaissance
Madonnas! And it is with this group she suggests to herself the
restoration of our Empire! I don't believe in making the world better, I
found it quite good enough when I had the means to enjoy it. I don't
believe in the recovery of Austria. Austria is dead. We are a little
group of parasites playing on a dead body. Some play on it to live, as
Otto does, and others because they think to make it alive again, but we
are all parasites, and the body is dead, and the dead do not return.
Herr Ober! this brandy is made from wood, from very rotten wood; will
you do me the favour to drink a glass of it, and after you have drunk
it, will you tell me what you do when an action is impossible to you,
and to refrain from that action is equally impossible?' The hovering
waiter bowed very low, he suppressed a yawn, and his bewildered eyes
settled gratefully on Eugen. A glass of brandy would warm him very much.
'In that case, Herr Baron,' he murmured, 'I find often--that such an
action is not impossible.' 'Bring me then', said Eugen, 'a pencil and
some paper. Here is five hundred _Kronen_ for yourself, and when you
return I think it will be the moment for the next cognac!' The waiter
vanished with a sudden spurt of speed. The gentleman must be a real
Baron and mad--but what a pleasant form madness takes in the higher
walks of life! But there was a doubt to be laid, before the waiter could
drink his share of the stranger's madness in peace. 'It is a great deal
of cognac,' he murmured confidentially, returning with the tenth glass,
'already it amounts to two thousand _Kronen_!' 'It repays itself,'
answered Eugen, 'but here is the money that you may feel reassured. So
far I rob only on a large scale. Now leave me. Before one does what is
impossible--one likes to be left alone.' The waiter scurried inside the
caf, but he kept his eye on Eugen from the doorway. Was this mysterious
gentleman about to commit suicide? There had been a great many suicides
lately and some of them took place late at night in solitary cafs; and
it was often very inconvenient for the waiter who was left in charge of
the caf. Also they sometimes called first for a pencil and paper, and
wrote wills. But this was a very short will. It was written in a moment,
and the gentleman did not seem to want to part with it after he had
written it. He drew it back hesitatingly into his left hand.

Eugen stopped talking to himself; pictures took the place of words,
pictures of his youth, scenes in which he had acted sometimes so capably
and well, and sometimes, in spite of all his sense, with so much
futility! Here he was at the end of forty years, and he had won none of
the things which at twenty he had set out to win; not even (though he
had worked harder for these things than for any ambitions of his own)
had he done what he had longed to do for his friends. He had wanted to
help Otto to be a Prime Minister, and to see Franz Salvator a General;
and Eugnie--well--he wanted to see Eugnie a happy woman. Eugen had
still believed that if Otto saw Eugnie often enough, any other woman
beside her would be eclipsed as easily as the light of a fire is
eclipsed by the sun. Even lately, behind his wishes for Franz Salvator,
had lurked the hope that when Otto saw the little American under
Eugnie's roof, he would be unable to resist the passion of his life.
But now he was less sure; even if Otto asked Eugnie, would she want
him? Eugnie saw now, with eyes too clear for happiness, what had become
of her dreams.

To give her whole-heartedly to Otto, without a sign of his own love, had
been the great surrender of his youth; and it had been useless. Otto was
not worthy of her; and he had taken no advantage of Eugen's invisible
sacrifice. But a man's loyalty to a woman is narrower than his loyalty
to a man. Eugen would have died many times over for Eugnie; but he
could not help being a little resentful that she had not stooped to
Otto. He would have preferred to see Eugnie less perfect than to see
Otto sink lower than he need have sunk. 'I am a sentimentalist!' he said
to himself. 'No woman ever changed a man's character--and yet I make
Eugnie responsible for Otto's! The truth of it is that I wished to
replace Destiny, and Destiny decided that I was too small a man for the
part. If I could have helped to win them happiness, I would have been
content to return to my carpets and my Lisa. Being a man of habit I
shall return to those blessings without content, having--after forty
years--made nothing, except a pretty interior and a useful cook. One
isn't after all middle-aged for nothing, one sees what has taken the
place of all one's hopes!'

Eugen slowly unclosed his left hand, the waiter in the doorway trembled.
Was this the moment for the revolver? 'Herr Ober!' called Eugen, 'you
will infinitely oblige me by carrying this note across the road to
number 15 Universittstrasse, and leaving it with the _Hausmeister_!
There is no answer. No-one will be likely to come here in your absence.
If they do I will make your excuses.' Once more Eugen read through the
few scrawled words. They satisfied him. 'I will obey the orders of the
Jewish lady.' Yes, Otto would understand--they were enough. He thought
he had made up his mind to leave Otto, but the habit of years was too
strong in him, he could not face the emptiness of a future without Otto.
'I am too old a dog,' he said to himself. 'You can take a young dog away
from its master, but it is not fair to drag away an old one.' The waiter
shot a cautious glance up the Alserstrasse and down towards the
Schottenring. If only there was a policeman, but there was no policeman!
After all the gentleman looked very quiet; and he had just got a fresh
cognac. One would not surely shoot oneself before one had drunk a
perfectly good cognac? The waiter clutched the note, and hurried across
the road, looking back anxiously now and then over his shoulder. Eugen
watched him with a faint smile. 'There goes my honour,' he murmured.
'What a messenger!' Rain pattered heavily down on the awning above his
head. All the little green tables in front of him were dripping. The
trams had ceased to run--the night and the storm together made their own
sounds undisturbed by man.

Eugen gave a sudden start when he heard, 'Shall I bring you another
cognac, Herr Baron?' murmured in his ear. 'Ah, you have returned
already?' he asked with horror in his voice. 'What a little time--what a
little time it took!' 'But it was only just across the road, sir,' the
waiter reminded him; 'one does not take much time to cross a road.'
'No,' said Eugen in a low voice, 'that is true--one does not take much
time to cross a road. One more cognac then, to wash the memory of that
crossing down.' 'Certainly, Herr Baron,' the waiter replied with relief,
'at the Herr Baron's orders!' To the waiter--this was curious, Eugen
thought--he was still a gentleman, but to himself he would never be a
gentleman any more. Gentlemen did not deceive patriots; they took no
advantage of legal flaws; they did not stick to their friends in their
base actions because they thought it was more base to let them do wrong
alone. What, Eugen asked himself, did gentlemen do in his circumstances?
Probably they killed themselves, but if they did that they were of no
more use to their friends. There was the Danube. He could go through Am
Hof; down the Judenplatz; stop for a moment at his favourite church Sta.
Maria am Gestade.--He would look at the spire of very ancient, very
surprising Gothic; grotesque without the clumsiness of the grotesque
style, and Gothic without that smack of empty dignity which he was too
Eastern to appreciate.--Then in a minute he would reach the bridge over
the Canal. But he would not drown himself, since--if he did--the very
thing he still believed he might prevent, would happen to Otto, he would
be left in Elisabeth Bleileben's unfettered hands. If it had only not
been the English to whom he was going to betray Regenswirt! How
wonderful it would have been to take Otto's five thousand pounds to
Regenswirt and say: 'Take this--run your line longer--and when this is
finished I have some little carpets that are worth a thousand or two--I
will sell those for you. It may be in a year or two commerce will have
improved, and your hard corner be turned, but whatever happens I will
help you to the last moment to resist the English!' Not that Eugen liked
Germans, they were too efficient, and organized as no Viennese ever
dreamed of organizing. He had looked down upon them because they had
neither ideas nor manners, and they were too solemn ever to laugh at
themselves; but they had made a magnificent fight, their will-power was
enormous, and their industry unflagging. They would have success again;
they were still a country. 'We shall not,' said Eugen, staring straight
before him. 'We shall never have power again. We shall make beautiful
music, and people will buy our embroideries and our ladies' little
hand-bags. They will visit our palaces as if they were museums, and our
Archduke's castles in the mountains will become hotels. Perhaps some
day, if our Jews are energetic enough, we shall become a second
Switzerland. We shall be liked better than the Swiss, but we shall not
be so efficient. People will have forgotten by then that we were
once--Austria! God! and I sell my brothers to the English! I who
know--and no one better--that if it had not been for their intervention
we should have won the war! Russia was top-heavy; she was rotten at the
core, France had no tenacity. We shook them loose in 1914, and we would
have dragged them down by 1917. Our nerves were stronger than theirs,
and in the long run men win on their nerves. But the English! They have
no armies--they know no discipline, their education stops before their
minds are open; and yet--they win! Their reason is never a scarecrow to
act upon their nerves. They come into a war casually as into a game of
play, and they never go out until their side has won. We should have so
easily conquered without them! America would never have come in--those
little spiteful Latins would have been held down under our thumbs. But
Fate has turned us back. Germany she has injured--Austria she has chosen
to destroy; and since I can do nothing for a country that has ceased to
exist, since all that I stand for is dead, why should I not let Otto
decide how best we are to face together the years that are left?
Something of mine has ceased to exist to-night; one dies little by
little all the time! It was not a useful possession--my honour--still I
valued it--and it is gone! Herr Ober!--this is the last cognac. I go
now, if I can stand upright. Yes! I stand wonderfully. The Votiv Kirche
has a cluster of towers, and I perceive that the street rears, an action
not habitual to streets. No, do not trouble yourself, good Herr Ober--if
you have a bed, go to it. It is a little late, is it not? You think that
light is the dawn? You may be right; I should have said it was a lamp
reflected in a puddle. You have been very attentive.' The waiter's eyes
glistened as Eugen fumbled at his pocketbook; the thousand _Kronen_ he
found in his hand was like a fortune to him, he hurried off into the
darkness lest his magnificent patron might come to his senses and recall
it. Eugen lurched heavily against a tree--then he found the back of a
bench--he moved forward cautiously until at last all support failed him,
and he waded out into a sea of faint and empty light; into this he fell
headlong, and found himself in the gutter. A sense of peace stole over
him. This was what he had been wanting all night. One did not fall out
of a gutter, one did not sink beneath it. One had indeed no feeling left
that could be associated with height.

At length the cool dawn wind roused Eugen out of his stupor. It was
light now, only without sunshine. The city lay as silent and as lifeless
as an empty glove. 'All over,' said Eugen, rising first to his knees,
and then, with a great effort, to his feet, 'world's dead. Good thing
too--only I've got to bury it. Most unfortunate coming out like this
without a spade. Must go home and fetch one.'




CHAPTER XIX


Franz Salvator dressed himself with great care; he first laid his
clothes out on the bed and brushed them till not a speck of dust or a
deflected hair betrayed the lack of a professional valet. Fortunately
his clothes were very good; they had been made in Savile Row before the
war, and they resisted the processes of time. Then he stood in front of
his small glass and spent several ineffectual minutes trying to take the
curl out of his hair; finally he satisfied himself that his tie, his
handkerchief and his socks coalesced exactly as they should, without
revealing too conscious a partnership. It was a moment when he would
have liked to wear his dress uniform and all his medals, but uniforms
were now forbidden in the streets so that he had to do the best he could
with civilian clothes handled by the smarter type of military mind. It
might have been supposed from the extent and intensity of Franz
Salvator's preparations that he was going to pay court to a Duchess; but
he was not; he was going to make a call upon Dr. Carl Jeiteles. He felt
that it was not a step to take lightly; in taking it at all he was
breaking the traditions of his class, and even though he must break with
these traditions he was unable to imagine a moment when a change of
spirit could do away with the scrupulousness of form. Eugnie had not
mentioned Carl Jeiteles to him since the night in the Rathaus Gardens.
She had left the initiative to him. Franz felt that she had done right,
but that her having done it forced upon him the obligation he most
wished to avoid. She was not going to put any pressure upon him because
she knew that Franz Salvator would put pressure upon himself. On the way
to the hospital he meant to consult Eugen as to the best way of carrying
this obligation out. Eugen would naturally disapprove intensely of his
visit, but that would not make any difference to his advice. You might
do exactly what Eugen most disliked, but if you went to him for advice
he would show you how to succeed in doing what he did not like with the
same scrupulous skill with which he advised you how to accomplish the
plan nearest his heart.

Lisa opened the door to Franz Salvator, with reddened eyelids and eyes
that looked half drowned in tears. 'Oh,' she cried, 'I am so glad that
you have come, Herr Kapitn! If you had not I should have telephoned to
you this afternoon! Things are wrong with my dear Herr Baron--they are
_very, very_ wrong!' 'What is it? Is he ill?' Franz Salvator asked
anxiously, 'I have not seen him since last week, but then he was quite
as usual?' Lisa led the way into the _Biedermeier_ room and stood there
wringing her hands. There was no dust or damage visible to the naked
eye; the furniture still blazed about them, as if the sun had been
caught and held captive in the old polished surfaces. Lisa's anxiety was
deep, but it had not gone deep enough to betray the exquisiteness of her
daily care. 'No, it is not an illness,' she said, in a low shaken voice,
'at least if it is--it is an illness of the heart! Five days ago he went
out as well as ever--he was to come back for dinner but he did not
return--he came back at dawn--deranged as it were----' 'Drunk?'
interrupted Franz Salvator gently, with eyes in which an anxious
sympathy prevented the slightest condemnation. Lisa nodded. 'For a few
hours', she said, 'one expected he would be--what one is naturally at
such times!--but at twelve he got up and went out again. He was very
steady and quiet then, but he would take nothing to eat, and when he
came back an hour later he went straight to bed, and he has lain there
ever since--with his face to the wall. He does not notice what he eats,
and he speaks as if there was nothing left to say!' Franz Salvator
looked very grave; he paused for a moment while his eyes met Lisa's.
'And all this time he has been drinking?' he murmured. Lisa would not
have admitted this fact to anyone in the world except Franz Salvator,
but experience had taught her that he had an unchanging heart, and that
her master would be as safe with him as with herself. 'Yes,' she said
simply, 'but it is not the drink that I mind--the poor one--it is the
unhappiness! I cannot find out what it is. It cannot be money for when I
urged him to take less brandy he said, "Ah, Liebling, I can afford it
now!"' 'And the Herr Graf?' asked Franz Salvator, glancing away from
her. 'He calls daily,' said Lisa, 'and each day after he has been I
think that I find my Herr Baron worse!' Franz Salvator sighed deeply. 'I
will see him,' he said, 'and tell you what I find. It may be necessary
to ask my sister to come to him, she has great influence over him.' 'I
do not think he will see the Princess,' replied Lisa, without
enthusiasm. 'He has turned her picture out of his room.' 'What, the
miniature of her before her marriage?' asked Frank Salvator
incredulously. 'It is no longer there,' said Lisa impassively, 'and in
its place--there is nothing!' 'Strange, very strange,' Franz muttered,
passing quickly through the vision of carpets extended like fields of
mountain flowers upon the shining floors, and through Eugen's
sitting-room, in which the skilful comfort, spread out and tenantless,
left a curious impression of mockery. Eugen's bedroom was a small room,
looking out upon the Hof Bibliothek; a shabby cliff rising up on three
sides of a square to the golden brown roof which faced his window. It
was his habit to look out at it daily from his bed. It was Eugen's
theory that a view should be the furniture of a room in which you
wake--and he had very little else--only an old Dutch clothes press, and
a Tudor four-post bed with its ancient hangings. On the grey walls hung
water-colours of all the horses Franz Salvator had ridden, and the most
famous of those Otto had owned. Eugen had moved his bed away from the
window with its back to the Hof Bibliothek. He lay with his face turned
on a blank space of wall, haggard, unshaved, his eyes sunk into his
head, his colour blotched and mottled. As Franz Salvator entered, a
smile of affection rose to the surface in his eyes and sank back again,
leaving the face more hopeless than before. 'You have come to see how I
am?' he asked in a low thick voice. 'Well--you see--I am an
Austrian--that is how I am!' 'But, my dear fellow,' protested Franz
Salvator, drawing a chair forward close to the bed, 'this won't do at
all--we can't let you go to pieces like this. You have your friends and
family as well as your country to think of. How do you suppose we are to
get on without you? And the little Lisa--half drowned in tears. Tell me
what has struck you down like this--some new blow?' 'Was that needed?'
asked Eugen. 'I should have thought there was enough. No, my dear--I
have been carrying out what I intended--and it has disagreed with
me--mortally disagreed with me! You are young, too young to realize that
sometimes there comes a moment when the will ceases to act because the
human being who possesses it ceases to care. Why do we live? Because on
the whole we do not wish to die! Why do we die--only because it is too
uncomfortable to go on living. I do not say we die when we wish to die,
for it has not been arranged so considerately, but we die when we have
no wishes left.' 'But you have not ceased to care for us?' asked Franz
Salvator in a deeply moved voice. 'You have lived for us, Eugen--I know
it--that is why, whatever you do--whatever you leave undone--we belong
to you and shall always need you. Even to-day--I did not come here to
find out how you were--I came to ask your help.' 'Ah, if you came for
that,' said Eugen, rousing himself suddenly, 'perhaps I have still that
much energy. About what is it you want my help? I thought your affairs
and Eugnie's were going very nicely?' Franz Salvator was silent for a
moment--he was too greatly shocked and moved by Eugen's condition to
mention what his errand was. He felt conscious of a deeper need; the
thing he had buried--put away from him perhaps forever--came rushing
back. If this were a moment for confidence at all, it was the moment for
a great confidence. Eugen's eyes rested upon him with a flicker of life
in them. They had looked burned-out when Franz Salvator came in; but
life still smouldered there, a life that Franz Salvator might call up
and hold if he went deep enough into his own heart. 'Eugen,' he said at
last, 'something has happened to me since I saw you. I think it happens
only once in a man's lifetime. People say that one loves many women--but
it is atrocious nonsense to call what one has for women--love! What one
has _once_ for one woman is love, what one has for the rest--is only a
snatching at something pretty which passes and which we want to hold in
our hands.' 'Even more--afterwards--one wants to let it go again,'
murmured Eugen, 'that something which breaks--and will not go.' Franz
Salvator went on after a pause. 'I do not know if it is sorrow or
happiness that has happened to me. Sorrow, I think, because she is so
strange--of another race. I only know--because I have had fancies
before--I have known women before--that this is quite different. It is
something that will stay in my heart always, as long as I live.' 'Ah,'
said Eugen softly, 'that is interesting. Yes, it is very interesting,
and it is true what you say--one gets over everything else; and probably
one gets over that if one marries satisfactorily, but if not--one does
not get over it. I am glad you have told me, it alters my plans. Should
you say the little one returns your feeling?' Franz Salvator fixed his
eyes on Eugen's. 'You will say I am a fool,' he answered, 'or perhaps
even a boaster--on very slender grounds. I have not put my feelings to
the test; and yet a hundred times a day whenever my eyes meet hers, I
know that my eyes speak, and I think that hers answer me!' 'She is in
love with you, of course,' said Eugen reflectively, 'there is no reason
why she should not be. Women would always fall in love with you--unless
they happened to be in love with someone else; and you are constantly
together, so there is the last inducement--propinquity. Therefore, my
dear--my advice to you is, make love to her a little more. It is
difficult to resist love-making when it is continuous, and if the heart
is involved, it is impossible. Make fierce love to her then, and after a
time it will be convenient for her to contemplate marriage.' Franz
Salvator's eyes returned to the floor. 'She is in my care,' he said in a
low troubled voice, 'and she is very innocent. That stays in my mind as
it would in yours. It is curious, for one would suppose she could not be
so innocent. I take her out often in the evenings; to the most
unsuitable places, cafs, night clubs, wherever she thinks she will find
a "story" for her paper. It is sometimes her idea to write about the
night life of Wien. At first it shocked me to think she knew of such a
life, but now it only touches me. She does extraordinary things, and she
does them--not like a Madonna--but like a shrewd little child that knows
how not to get hurt, but has in her none of the things which in
themselves are hurtful. How could I make love to her unless she will be
my wife? Don't you see--if she should not--I should be taking away from
her the armour in which she is safe against the world? I must not touch
her hand--I must not call her by her name--unless she will be my wife;
and I must not ask her to be my wife until I am quite sure that her
feeling for me is as deep as mine for her. It is the accursed money that
keeps me silent!' 'You have the military mind,' said Eugen impatiently.
'It goes backwards if it moves at all. My poor child--make love to
her--and she will be your wife--she will be anything that you want!'
Franz Salvator shook his head obstinately. 'It may be true what you
say,' he replied, 'but with me she shall run no risk. This going about
constantly alone with such a girl has been a revelation to me, Eugen.
The little one knows how to live. She thinks for herself, she works
hard, as hard as a man, and she sees with the eyes of a woman, which see
deeper and quicker than ours. I discover new things with her every day
which I should not discover if I spent a lifetime alone. I know now that
many of our old traditions were wrong. It is necessary for the world to
change, even to break up in order to change, and I see that Eugnie is
right, we must change with it--we must lift Austria by changing--not by
lamenting change! It will not be a great Empire again with the most
brilliant Court in Europe, but if it becomes a self-respecting small
country like Switzerland which pays its way and keeps its culture, its
universities, its sense of beauty and art, it will not lose its soul.
And we can contribute to it by our own work and by our steadiness of
outlook. It is the integrity of our work that Carol most admires. She
says we are a country of artists, that we make hay and pastry with the
same perfection with which our musicians make their symphonies and
sonatas. Perhaps it is true? And what we have to give to Europe is a
higher standard of beauty. You see, I used to know nothing except about
horses, and now I am talking to you, who are an expert on art and
beauty! That is what comes of falling in love with a girl who is above
one's intellect!' Eugen groaned. 'All men', he said wearily, 'discover a
new world when a little girl succeeds in attracting their attention! You
feel very naturally that she must be a combination of the Madonna and
Minerva to have been capable of so affecting you. Believe me, your
intellect will climb up to hers in time; and then you will discover that
the world has not changed because two young people have been remarkable
enough to discover their reflections in each other's eyes. But now,
Franz Salvator, let us be practical. I think it is as well you should
marry this girl--better even than I thought in the first instance--but
there is one very serious obstacle.' 'Her birth?' asked Franz Salvator
doubtfully. 'No,' said Eugen, 'her birth, since she is an American, is
out of the question; it is not a matter, therefore, that need concern
us. She is as you say a good girl; probably not quite as good as you
think, but that she should be good at all with this freedom of modernity
is remarkable; and no doubt her goodness is warranted by experience to
last; but she is not a girl to fall into the mouth like a ripe fig.
Somebody else wants to marry her, somebody who generally does what he
wants.' 'Otto?' asked Franz Salvator, in surprise. 'But there is Otto's
liaison with the Jewess!' 'He has indeed a liaison!' replied Eugen
grimly. 'He is like a fish with a hook in his jaws; but the hook is well
baited. What do you say to forty-five thousand English pounds falling
into his hands? Otto can be as rich as he likes now, only what he gets
with it is like poison to him. He sees in your little American a way
out. She has a great fortune. I approached the American Minister to make
sure; he told me that he knew her father's name well, and that he made
at least a million by his paper; and left it to his only child.
Presumably the million remains, and Otto feels that with it he could say
good-bye to the very disagreeable experience which has put him on his
feet. To tell you the truth, if you had not shown me that your heart was
in it I should have urged you to stand aside, for I believe that Otto
would be a different man if he married successfully and had enough upon
which to support life tolerably. But he can gain enough by other
methods, and it is obvious that you cannot.' Franz Salvator rose to his
feet, and walked slowly towards the window. The roof of the great
Bibliothek shone at him, a shabby golden brown; below was the arch which
led to the iron gates of the Hofburg. It was the heart of Wien; the
shell of the old traditions which had been housed for centuries in its
mild secretive serenity. Franz Salvator looked on its emptiness and its
dignity with an aching heart. The Bibliothek was as dignified as it used
to be--but the people, whose old traditions housed there, were not being
quite so dignified. It was not altogether surprising that Eugen had
turned his back on the walls of the Hofburg. 'Money,' Franz Salvator
murmured in a low voice, 'I don't like that, Eugen--all that money!' 'My
dear good child,' said Eugen impatiently, 'what does it matter to you?
If you love her you are not marrying her for her money! When one loves,
nothing matters! Make love to her then, and make love to her quickly or
Otto will get her. He means this business very seriously indeed.' 'If
her heart is mine,' said Franz Salvator under his breath, 'he won't get
her!' 'You talk the language of a fool or a lover,' said Eugen huskily.
'Otto will get her because he knows how to make women take him whether
they love him or not. He'll watch the girl for a weak moment, and snap
her up. Don't waste time.' 'It is detestable to me to think she has all
that money. I did not know it was so great a fortune!' said Franz
Salvator; 'I wish to Heaven you hadn't told me.' 'I see what it is,'
said Eugen; 'I shall have to get up. Ask Lisa for some hot water, and
tell me while she gets it what made you come to call upon me dressed
like a Crown Prince?' 'I am going to make a call upon Dr. Carl
Jeiteles,' Franz Salvator explained gravely; 'Eugnie wished it. You
have heard of her scheme of intellectuals meeting at our house? He is, I
suppose, one.' 'He is not an intellectual,' said Eugen, getting out of
bed with surprising agility. 'He is a little Jew doctor. If you go to
call upon him like that you will put God knows what ideas into his head.
I see I must go with you. We drop in by accident on our way to a
wedding. There is a church somewhere in the neighbourhood where such an
event could take place. As we pass by the hospital we remember Eugnie
is anxious to know about one of her sick little girls. There is a Mitzi
I remember, with a bad spine. It is fortunate that all little girls of
the lower classes are called Mitzi. In the course of conversation we
mention Dr. Simmons, she leads naturally to the thought of relief
conferences. We remind him that Miss Hunter will draw to these meetings
important American and English visitors, politicians and editors of
newspapers; and we suggest that he should come to tell them about his
hospital and the needs of his children. He will be quite satisfied with
this suggestion--and Eugnie also--and nothing need happen which looks
more personal than it should. Ah, Lisa! you will have the kindness to
brush my clothes. Try to make them look like the clothes of the Herr
Kapitn in whose boots one could see the reflection of a maiden-hair
fern. But you will not succeed. No woman--not even you--takes boots to
heart as they should be taken.' Franz Salvator followed Lisa out into
the kitchen.

When Eugen joined them he still looked ill, and he walked stiffly to
conceal his feebleness, but it was impossible to connect him with the
broken figure with its face to the wall. His hand shook a little as he
lifted his monocle to its usual position; but his ironic, twisted smile
was perfectly composed. He looked with friendly approval at Franz
Salvator leaning against the immaculately scrubbed table talking to
Lisa. When he died, it was to Franz he had left the care of Lisa. Franz
knew how to treat her, he was as natural and as kind to her as if she
were Eugen's sister. Otto would have been charming too--he always was
charming to Lisa--but he always made her feel uncomfortable, as a
tribute to his charm. The kitchen was a delightful room; it had a
spotless red-brick floor, and on the walls and dresser were the pride of
Lisa's life--her copper pans--and the deep-blue and white china which
she thought ought to be put in a cupboard, but which Eugen insisted on
displaying. Everything was in order and as it should be. Their youth and
their friendliness; the sunshine in their faces; the gleam of the copper
pans, made a picture of a happy interior. As Eugen stood there looking
at them he felt like a visiting ghost. His inner world had gone to
pieces; there was no youth left in it--no sunshine--no illusion. He
would not have felt regret if a bomb had dropped into the middle of the
kitchen floor--and spread ruin to his carpets and his Brueghels. Life
was a series on messes, and one spent one's time cleaning them up; if
one had any heart at all, one also gave a part of one's time to cleaning
up those of other people. Franz Salvator knew nothing about life, he had
spent all his maturity in the trenches studying death, how to inflict it
and how--for his men at least--to avoid it. He was therefore peculiarly
prone to mix his ingredients wrong. Eugen had no feelings at all for a
strange American girl; it would have saved him a great deal of trouble
if Carol had married Otto; but it was plain that Franz wanted her, and
that if he did not get her he would take it hard. The trouble therefore
could not be saved, and Eugen, with a last tilt of his hat a fraction of
an inch to one side, slipped his hand in Franz Salvator's arm. 'We are
going to make a call upon a Jew,' he explained to Lisa. 'It is the
modern equivalent for going to Court, so that I am afraid we cannot ask
you to accompany us. _Leb wohl_, _mein Liebling_, and prepare something
peculiarly good for me on my return. I find these excursions to the
pinnacle of modern society exhausting!'




CHAPTER XX


Franz Salvator closed a book of Heine's poems and looked elaborately
away from Carol.

The bitter heart-twisting words he had been reading aloud had gone
sharply home to him. This was how he knew life; and yet when veil after
veil had been caught away from it, there was always this ache left.
Disillusion could not shake that final hunger. It could shake everything
else, it could tell you where beauty failed, and what selfishness lay
hidden at the bottom of the finest sentiments. But what disillusion
failed to solve, was why these things, with nothing in them, haunted you
forever.

Carol watched him curiously between her long fair lashes. She too felt
the prick of Heine's searching spirit; but the poems took with her a
more concrete form than they had taken with Franz Salvator.

She asked herself, if she dined with Otto at Cobenzl, and took whatever
he had to offer her, why she should mind doing without what Franz
Salvator had never offered her? Austrian men were strange. Carol had
been so often warned against their primitive love-making; and yet for a
year she had been in daily contact with Franz Salvator and he had not so
much as kissed her hand. He sat near her now, so near, that if he had
leaned back, his shoulder must have touched hers. She knew in every
nerve that he was intensely aware of her proximity; but she knew that he
would not lean back. Again and again she had tried to shake his
self-control and after each failure she had been more certain of his
ardour; and less of her own immunity. His eyes stirred her senses and
drew hers, even against her will. His voice when he spoke to her
summoned her heart. When they were alone together his silent presence
made her feel as if she were near a fire. She knew what his starved
heart was trying to hide; she even knew why he was trying to hide it. He
was too poor to ask for anything; too poor and much too proud.

If only she could have felt there was nothing else to care about,
nothing else but him, it would have been simple to break down his pride
at the cost of her own. But how she hated poverty and insignificance!

Carol had been poor enough to know how poverty hampers life, how it
strangles youth and joy--and why not love? Why pretend material values
were not of vital importance? She supposed she could take life hard if
it came hard--but why this unnecessary galling hardness of marrying a
man who really need not be poor?

It was a fault in Franz Salvator not a fault in her that kept them
apart.

Otto had said that Franz Salvator would be well off to-morrow if he were
not so medieval. Medieval of course meant fantastic and old-fashioned.
Anger stirred in her as she looked at Franz Salvator's handsome resolute
features and the tell-tale hollows in his cheeks.

He turned his head and met Carol's eyes.

'Is it with me or with Heine that you are angry?' he asked smilingly.
'You would like the truth to be prettier perhaps? Well! It isn't! But
it's not my fault! If I could make it prettier for you--be very sure I
would--and for myself into the bargain!'

'I don't mind truth when it is truth,' said Carol, taking a deep breath.
'If reality comes along and hurts--I can put up with it--but I won't put
up with any pain from shams! Give me a light, will you? I think better
when I'm smoking. Do you suppose a girl and a man can ever speak the
truth to each other?'

'They might,' said Franz Salvator, bending over her to light her
cigarette, 'at least the girl might----' He drew back carefully. 'I am
not so sure about the man!'

'There you are!' said Carol angrily, 'all you European men at the bottom
of your hearts despise women!'

'No, forgive me for contradicting you,' said Franz Salvator, 'it is not
because I despise you that I would hesitate perhaps to speak the truth
to you, but because I should fear that you might be angry--as you are, I
think--a little angry now! The truth is an unpleasant substance and some
of the unpleasantness clings always to the man who speaks it--even if he
only reads it out loud!'

'And wouldn't you be angry, just as much, if I spoke the truth to you?'
Carol asked defiantly.

Franz Salvator's eyes flew to her face, but he took a long time to
speak: 'I should have more to lose _if_ I were angry with you,' he said
at last; 'probably I should prefer to control myself than to lose it.
But in speaking the truth would you desire to make me angry? I think if
it were not your desire I should not be angry. But if you wish to make
me angry, with or without the truth, I am sure you could! It is your
intention--not your words--that would influence me.'

'Well,' said Carol after a long pause, 'I'm going to risk it. Are you
satisfied with the way you are living now?'

Franz Salvator dropped his eyes from hers, a faint smile touched his
firm-set lips. 'No, not very,' he said quietly.

'Then why don't you change it?' Carol demanded, leaning forward till her
arm touched his sleeve.

Franz Salvator's eyes followed her arm and rested on it; but he did not
move. 'You wish me to tell you,' he said at last, 'what I thought you
already knew? I am too poor to change my way of life.'

'You are too proud!' said Carol, indignantly withdrawing her arm and
leaning back in the corner of her sofa. 'That's what is the matter with
you, Herr Ritter von Hohenberg! You are too damned proud!'

'What a discovery!' laughed Franz Salvator. 'You have known me--how
long--over a year? And you have just discovered I am proud! I thought
your American methods were quicker!'

Carol bit her lips. Somehow she felt that she could arrive at the truth
more easily if she succeeded in making Franz Salvator angry.

'I am going to dine with Otto at Cobenzl to-night,' she said, fixing her
eyes on Franz Salvator's face. 'I don't know whether you know it or not,
but I have been seeing a lot of your cousin lately.'

'So I should suppose,' said Franz Salvator. He stopped smiling.

'What do you mean by "suppose"?' Carol demanded. 'Do you think I've been
trying to hide it?'

'On the contrary,' said Franz Salvator quietly, 'you apparently proclaim
it. I said "suppose" because if you had not been seeing a great deal of
Otto, I imagine you would not call him by his Christian name--or dine
with him alone at Cobenzl.'

Carol coloured hotly. 'Thank God I am an American girl,' she said, 'and
can do as I like!'

'I think it is for Otto to thank God,' said Franz Salvator; 'no doubt he
does! The use you make of your freedom, however--leaves me no room for
gratitude!'

'And yet I would go with you if you asked me,' said Carol. Franz
Salvator merely looked at her. 'I would go with you alone--anywhere!'
Carol went on, her voice shaking a little, 'and I would rather----' Her
breath failed her.

'At least you know,' he said in a low moved voice, 'why I must not ask
you, and you know that I would give my life to go with
you--always--everywhere!' He got up and stood looking down at her with
his hands clenched on the edge of the table.

'If you really wanted to,' said Carol, 'you'd make enough money! Oh! I
know all about your refusal to look after Trauenstein! I know you think
Otto's all wrong because he does business. And I know you could do the
same if you wanted to. And there is Eugnie as white as cotton and thin
as charity--and God knows what privations you both have to put up with!
And you not able to act the way you want to act--and poor Otto wanting
to help you and being despised for it--let alone me sitting here and
doing nothing--but read that wormwood of old Heine's, and all because
you're proud! You think more of your old mouldy medieval self-respect
than of anyone else's life or happiness. There! That's the truth! You
can pinch that table into a pudding, it won't make it any different! And
you can be just as angry as you like!'

Franz Salvator let the table go. 'You say it is the "truth" you have
told me,' he said slowly, 'but I think you must feel it is not _all_ the
truth. Otto knows why I have refused his offers; and Eugnie, whose
judgement I think you value, fully agrees with my refusal. Even Eugen
would not expect me to have acted differently. Please don't think I feel
in any way angry with you for wanting me to make money. On the contrary,
I realize how it must seem to you and your indignation with me is a
proof of your friendship for--for us both. Please believe that I take
money seriously too, though not as seriously perhaps as Otto does. I
think that there are things beside which money is nothing.'

'But you admit you could make it if you did what Otto suggested?' Carol
asked, throwing away her cigarette.

'If I could do what Otto suggested--yes----' said Franz Salvator
reluctantly. Carol sprang to her feet.

'But you're too noble!' she said contemptuously. 'Is that it? And Otto,
the head of your house, a man as well bred as a race-horse, is not noble
enough? Why don't you try to convince me--if what you say is true--that
Otto is a rogue? You see it's pretty plain to me that either you are a
fool or Otto is a rogue; and I think I have a right to know which is
which?'

'Not from me,' said Franz Salvator, turning away from her. 'Half of
truth is confidence and you have not got that half. I will not try to
convince you of anything. It is much better that you should consider me
a fool than that I should blacken Otto to you--even if I could!'

'Ah,' said Carol eagerly, 'then I am right--you could not!'

'You are perfectly right,' said Franz Salvator, bowing to her and
opening the door. 'Have you not arrived at the conclusion at which you
wished to arrive?' And before she could answer him, he was gone.

Carol opened her lips to call him back, but she closed them again
without a sound. This sudden desire to have the truth out between them
had not ended very successfully; but it had ended: there wasn't any use
calling Franz Salvator back. He would come--but he would be just the
same. Men were like that. They were not, Carol told herself bitterly,
really fair.

Now she had got to make up her mind all over again--without fresh
evidence. Unless indeed she could get Eugnie to help her? Eugnie knew
all about Franz Salvator and a good deal about Otto.

Franz Salvator was not fair to Otto. Otto lived the right kind of life.
He was older and more generous to women. He was more tolerant too of
people who did not agree with him. It was not any good expecting Franz
Salvator to change his way of life, and if Carol meant to be practical
it followed that she could not share it. Eugnie would know if there was
any real reason why Carol should not share Otto's. Carol rang the bell
for Marie.

'Please ask the Princess', she said, 'to come to tea, and then bring in
a good tea with _Schinkenbrot_ and little cakes.'

'And the Herr Kapitn?' asked Marie in her wooden voice. 'Does one ask
him also?'

'No, one does not!' said Carol shortly. Afterwards--meeting the eyes of
Marie, black and still like dead water--she rather wished she had asked
Franz Salvator. It would have looked better--and he might have come. But
it was too late, Marie had automatically vanished; and when she returned
it was only to say that the Princess thanked her and would come
immediately and might she bring her embroidery with her? She always
asked these perfectly unnecessary questions, and when Carol assured her
that she was to use Carol's rooms as her own, she thanked her without
retaliating by any corresponding concession or subsequently taking the
least advantage of Carol's lavish offers. 'It's lovely having you here,'
Carol greeted her. 'This room is too large for any one person, even with
a parrot. Don't you think Annabelle looks too cute against all this
tapestry? She might have been made for it.' Eugnie agreed as to the
appropriateness of Annabelle, and, taking out her embroidery, a very
fine white linen tablecloth which she hoped to sell for enough to enable
her to buy a pair of shoes, she settled to her work. Carol curled
herself into a corner of the high-backed, brocaded sofa. 'I wish you
smoked,' she said, lighting a cigarette. 'Somehow talking and smoking
seem to go together--and I wish you weren't a princess!' 'One is so
little of a princess now,' murmured Eugnie apologetically, 'and there
is not the slightest need for you to consider me in that light if it is
an obstacle to conversation!' 'May I call you Eugnie then?' demanded
Carol. Eugnie's beautiful, pencilled eyebrows rose a fraction, and then
subsided. 'But certainly, call me what you choose,' she said tranquilly.
'You know my plan, which you so approve, to have all the intellectuals
meet here together for the service of Austria? It will be a good
beginning to throw all titles away. But I shall leave you to reconcile
Franz Salvator to the idea. Men move slower in these matters than
women.' 'Oh, I'll settle with Franz Salvator all right,' said Carol
unhesitatingly, 'but what I want to know is why you don't invite your
cousin Otto to join your new society? He's lots more modern than Franz
Salvator, and no-one can say he isn't intellectual!' Eugnie sewed
steadily for a moment without answering, then she said, 'But I do not
think that Otto would care to come. It is one thing for him to have the
pleasure of your company, and quite another to share it with people he
has never shown the slightest inclination to meet. It is true they are
intellectual, but there are different kinds of intellect, different
kinds of modernity, and I do not think--that this kind--would be Otto's
kind.' 'Eugnie,' said Carol, fortified both by the Christian name and
the cigarette, 'I wish you'd tell me just what you think of Otto
Wolkenheimb, and why you're not so friendly with him as you used to be?
He told me you were once great friends, and now you are nearly
strangers. Why is it?' Eugnie continued to look at her embroidery, and
Carol felt that she needed all her reinforcements. Eugnie's face did
not promise any confidence. It looked as shut as the locked doors of an
official building. At last she said, 'If Otto told you as much as that,
I am surprised he did not also give you the reasons--such as they
are--for his statement. Personally I have never quarrelled, and I hope
that I never shall quarrel, with Otto. His mother is my nearest
relation.' 'He didn't say you had quarrelled with him but he said you
disapproved of him,' explained Carol, 'and that Franz Salvator
disapproved even more than you did!' 'Ah!' said Eugnie, and that was
all she said. 'I can't think', Carol continued, when she had recovered
from the finality of Eugnie's gentle monosyllable, 'why you disapprove
of him, Eugnie--if you do--because after all his going into a business
world and making a fortune is about the most modern thing he could do,
and must be good for Austria, since losing a fortune--which is what most
of you do--isn't!' 'I think', said Eugnie reflectively, 'that Franz
Salvator thinks Otto's business is not good for Austria. I know very
little about business, but just at present I suppose that all sudden
fortunes won--perhaps through speculation--are disconcerting to the
economic life of a ruined country. I should imagine that to earn enough
for one's needs by means which do not fluctuate is more honourable than
to make such a fortune. But as I say, I know practically nothing of such
questions, and I am so relieved that I have enough money to live on
without having to deal with problems which I am quite unfitted either to
solve or to judge others for solving.' 'But if you aren't friends with
Otto because of what he is doing, you _do_ judge him!' persisted Carol.
'You don't know how he spoke of it--of course ironically as he always
speaks--but I could see it had cut him to the heart.' 'Poor Otto,' said
Eugnie gently, 'it is true _I_ am sorry he is so rich. He had his
choice, my dear, and he took it. He knew well enough what we should
think of him--and, knowing what we think, it is perhaps natural that it
should not give him pleasure to be with us.' 'But why do you think it?'
Carol asked impatiently. 'What right have you to condemn him? Making big
fortunes doesn't necessarily upset a country--it is how they are made
and what a man does with a big position when he holds it that counts.
Otto Wolkenheimb is the cleverest man I ever met, and I think he is the
most disinterested. What I want to get at is why you think he isn't!' 'I
have not said that I believe Otto to be corrupt,' said Eugnie with that
sudden plainness of speech which sometimes took the more direct Carol's
breath away. 'He is the head of my house.' Eugnie gave a little
apologetic laugh. 'There,' she said, 'now you see how democratic I am
after all! As if it mattered about one's house! That little difficulty,
the difficulty of the blood, how hard it is to blot out! I suppose what
I mean is that, if I cannot praise Otto, I would rather not speak of
him.' 'But you haven't yet told me why you can't praise him?' urged
Carol. 'If you don't understand money, it can't be money. Look here,
Eugnie, you owe him a loyalty, but don't you owe me one? I'm not only
your friend--but I'm another woman. I don't ask all these questions
about Otto simply in the air--or out of interest in Austrian ethics. I
don't know if you know it, but Otto likes me. He's made himself pretty
clear already, and if I don't hold him off he'll make himself clearer.
Now what I want to know is, ought I to hold him off? Is there anything
about him I ought to know--and don't? Haven't you a loyalty to me?'
Eugnie let her embroidery sink into her lap, and met Carol's eyes
unfalteringly. 'I cannot answer any such question,' she said slowly.
'Your own heart must answer you. If you love Otto you must risk your
heart, and if you love Otto you _will_ risk your heart, whatever I tell
you.' 'You don't, then,' Carol persisted, 'know of anything very bad he
has done to any particular woman--so bad that it would hurt another
woman to marry him. I'm not too particular. One sees his genre. Otto
Wolkenheimb doesn't give one the impression of a pure and snowy lamb,
but I wouldn't want to have another woman on my conscience as well as
what men call their "experiences".' 'You need not have another woman on
your conscience,' said Eugnie gently, 'as far as I know. But you must
remember that the Otto I knew has long ago ceased to exist. Of the
things which really counted in his past I knew something. Of what counts
in his present I know nothing. Men of our country and of Otto's class do
not have the same ideas nor the same sense of their duties towards women
as Anglo-Saxons have. Sometimes I wish this were not so. I wish that
women could be treated as human beings and not as objects to possess or
to discard. I wish that men were our companions and not our hunters or
our slaves! I think if I were a free girl like you I would marry a man
who held me free or else--I would never marry!' Eugnie's eyes sparkled
and the colour rushed into her cheeks, she folded and unfolded her work
nervously on her lap while she was speaking. Somewhere behind her words
was her heart; but Carol did not perceive Eugnie's heart. 'Forgive me,'
said Eugnie, rising to her feet, 'I must go and cook our supper--I hope
that Marie gives you all that you want?' 'She gives me everything--every
damned thing!' said Carol, 'except a little human speech. She seems to
think Annabelle one point nearer to humanity than I am. But, Eugnie,
before you go--did you mean Otto was like the men of his class--a
hunter--or a slave--to women--or did you mean--just Austrian men in the
abstract?' Eugnie shook her head and hurried to the door. 'I am an
Austrian woman,' she said quickly over her shoulder, 'do not pay too
much attention to what I say. For me there are no men in the abstract.'




CHAPTER XXI


Eugnie leaned back and closed her eyes. The concert room was full, but
in that mass of intent listening faces she felt safe from discovery. She
was afloat like a fragment of seaweed, long cramped and dried by sterile
sands, set free at last by the returning tide. She saw nothing, felt
nothing, but release. Otto watched her for a moment before he sank
unnoticed into the empty seat beside her. He had not planned his moment
but it came to him with wonderful celerity. Would she know that he was
there, or, before she had time to put her armour on, give him an
unguarded response?

The last movement of the Symphony began slowly and without excitement.
There was nothing in the music to lift the long dark lashes from her
cheeks--but they lifted suddenly, and for one brief moment she looked
into Otto's eyes. Eugnie could deny what she liked afterwards--hide
what she could--her eyes had not denied him. They had opened wide, with
a swift flash of welcome, and let him in. She closed them again swiftly,
and turned away her head. Otto looked discreetly at the conductor. The
movement drew to a dramatic end. Under the cover of the applause Otto
leaned towards Eugnie. 'Dearest,' he said in English, 'I did not know
you would be here. This is not my seat; but if anyone comes to take it
he will find that he cannot. I saw your face--and came. One should not
hesitate to support one's luck even by robbing one's neighbours.' 'I
come to these concerts very seldom,' said Eugnie. 'To-day Carol gave me
her ticket. It surprises me a little to find you care so much for
music?' Otto smiled. 'It is always rather startling, I know,' he
observed, 'to find one's taste shared by the stage villain; but you
should leave the poor fellow margin enough for one or two innocent
hobbies. Don't murderers keep pet mice?' He took the programme out of
Eugnie's hand, and as he did so slipped his fingers over hers. 'Is it
necessary that you should sit in the lap of that wide lady, who extends
beyond you, simply because you have your wicked cousin on your other
side?' he asked. 'What are we to hear now, Schubert's "Unfinished
Symphony"? I, for one, should be glad if it had no end.' Eugnie tried
to keep the lines of her face stern. She was angry with Otto, very angry
with him; and she felt that she needed all her anger to protect herself
against him. He did not press his shoulder against hers, but she could
not prevent his light touch, and at his touch all the tides of her being
set towards him.

She knew what he had seen in her eyes. She tried to stiffen herself
against the insidious beauty of Schubert's 'Unfinished Symphony.' It was
music they had heard together in their innocent youth; Eugnie could not
escape her memories; they played on her like a hand, touching with
infinite skill the familiar strings of her heart.

Otto was happier than he had been for years. He leaned back in his
chair, his shoulder touching Eugnie's, his heart aware of every beat of
her heart. Without looking at her, he saw her; he watched the quick rise
and fall of her troubled breasts, the stiffening of her mobile lips, the
faint colour that came and went under her delicate skin. Her anger
touched him; her strength to resist him deepened his tenderness. She was
not an easy quarry, and Otto's affections were always quickened by his
hunting instinct. Women who wanted to hold him bored him; the woman he
had never held enchanted him; she almost controlled him. How charming
that episode of his youth had been! Like the music itself--love had
swept into their consciousness; and like the music itself, there had
been no completion. Neither had been on guard, each was equally willing,
equally surprised and enchanted at the response of the other. Their love
had never gone beyond one shy swift kiss. Passion had been there, but a
bewildered unself-seeking passion. Eugnie's beauty had possessed the
world; Otto had never possessed her beauty. This incomplete and pure
emotion had gone further into Otto's being than any subsequent and
finished incident of his maturity; and in spite of all the intricate and
clouded years which intervened the magic still persisted. The purity and
the bewilderment alike had gone; they were both on their guard now, and
Eugnie was unwilling. He had abused and neglected her faith in him
until her supreme proud confidence had wasted away. He put this thought
quickly from him. His senses hungered for her still; and as for his
soul--that extravagant sense of wanting to please and serve her was of
course merely a boyish ignorance of what the main business of passion
is.

She was far too thin now; but she was lovelier and younger looking than
when she worked in that accursed Jew's hospital! Her eyes were like the
golden waters of a pool, luminous and deep; but they refused his image.
He became uneasily aware that Eugnie had withdrawn into herself, and
that he had ceased to hold her. He turned a little so that his arm and
hand touched her; she did not move away from him; but her senses had
stopped fluttering. The secrets of her heart were safe. The music
reached her, and she had passed, as if on its wings, out of his power.
The wrongs he had done were like a wall that hid him from her.

The music swelled and deepened around them, pressing back the limits of
sense and letting in a rush of life so great that it broke the shell of
personality. Ah! if they could only escape as the music escaped, if all
their discords could be resolved and they could be melted together,
moulded together into a perfect whole! But the music stopped. The
symphony was over; and it was not finished; they were still acutely
separate.

The audience left their seats and stormed towards the platform. 'Will
you come to my rooms for tea?' Otto asked in a low voice. 'No,' said
Eugnie. 'Then will you let me come to you?' She shook her head. 'You
will have nothing at all to do with me?' Otto persisted. 'I will talk
with you--if you wish it,' said Eugnie slowly. 'I will go with you to
Demel's. We can take tea there. It is on my way home. Do you wish to
stay for the Concerto?' 'No,' murmured Otto. 'I could not bear any other
music. You remember it, don't you? It gave you to me once--I felt your
heart in mine. Dearest, look at me. Did it not give you to me again?'
Eugnie got up quickly, and passed, without answering him, through the
crowd to the door.

The gold of the western sky had dropped into the streets. The long hot
summer was over, but the spirit of it lingered in the heavy air like a
remembered passion. 'What a bore,' said Otto. 'Here is Demel's! They
must have moved it nearer the Musikverein since I was here last! What
will you take? Coffee that has been promoted to two coffee beans as well
as a handful of acorns--chocolate--a medicinal mixture cooked in
water--or what they call English tea, a pale bitter fluid rather like
Victorian morals, warranted to keep your pulse exactly as it finds it.
And do you propose to sit surrounded by European adventurers or Austrian
brigands one of whom you will have at any rate to confront? I see that
you are in a condemnatory mood?' As he spoke Otto led the way to a small
table half screened from the rest of the room. 'And I insist upon taking
my punishment as privately as possible. What new crime do you want to
scold me for, or is it an old one? I am not particular, I only ask to
stay as long as possible with my judge!' 'I wish that I were not a
woman,' said Eugnie in a low voice, 'or that you would forget it for
half an hour! Then perhaps you could talk to me honestly, and I should
know what you really meant, and feel free to tell you what was in my
mind without the constant threat of your impertinent love-making!'
'Judges must not be unfair!' said Otto quickly. 'I do not make love to
you against your heart! If I did I should be impertinent. But if
you--for some abstract reasons of your own--choose to make yourself into
a prude and pretend you don't like me, it is you who are dishonest and
not I!' 'I never pretend I do not like you!' replied Eugnie, facing him
suddenly with steady eyes. 'Although you make it difficult for me to
feel anything for you but anger and disgust. You count too much upon a
weakness in me which you have yourself destroyed!' 'I do not admit love
to be a weakness,' said Otto, smiling, 'and I think you must not say
"destroyed". Very truthful people cannot afford sweeping statements.'
Eugnie turned her face away from him. 'You have destroyed something in
me,' she said a little wearily. 'I do not always know what it is!'
'Well, I can tell you!' said Otto. 'What is destroying--or at least
excessively upsetting us both, is your taking the attitude of the
Ancient Mariner in the English poem, who obstinately refused to be
separated from a dead bird. If you will carry this adamantine sense of
virtue round your neck long after any life there was in it is extinct,
your habit of mind is bound to be funereal! Do tell me why you should be
the only member of our family with these bourgeois notions! As to your
husband's people, you know as well as I do that they were not even
satisfied with the little irregularities of normal sexuality. I don't
ask you to follow the vagaries of the Hungarian temperament, but why be
as rigid as a pastor's wife?' 'It is perhaps because I have seen too
much of these things, Otto,' replied Eugnie, 'that I cannot look on
them as lightly as you do. I have learned to value constancy and truth.
To make, out of the deepest thing in one's heart, a vulgar
intrigue----No! It disgusts me! But I have something else of
which--since we are together--I want to speak to you! Why are you
dragging Eugen into the dust? No! Wait! I know as well as you do Eugen's
weakness; and his power to control it. He is not a drunkard! And I know
that he is drinking now simply because he has lost something which was
worth the effort he used to make to keep sober. This something is his
self-respect. What have you done with Eugen's self-respect? Never mind
your own! I know that is not available; and you appear to be able to get
on quite well without it; but give Eugen back his!' Otto's nostrils
quivered, his eyebrows rose, and for a moment he looked as wicked as a
vicious horse. The moment passed quickly, but not the emotion which
caused it. 'Surely, my dear child,' he said in a voice of dangerous
softness, 'Eugen is man enough to look after his own lost virtues? If
his self-respect is of so loose a character as to have become detached
from him, I fear I cannot be held responsible for handing it back. You
say that I do very well without my own? It is flattering of you--but
what then leads you to suppose that I should be so ready--even if it was
within my power--to restore Eugen's?' 'Because,' said Eugnie, 'you are
his greatest friend; I cannot think you wish to see him die!' Otto
shrugged his shoulders. 'Drunkards rarely die before old age,' he
replied coldly. 'Eugen will get over this unfortunate bout, and soon be
restored to us. I only wonder that your influence has not already
assisted him to recover. But I have often observed that though women
like yourself frequently drive a man to drink, they seem powerless to
save him from it!' Eugnie ignored this taunt. She looked at Otto again,
and as their eyes met, their hearts softened towards each other. 'If you
love me,' said Eugnie, 'you would save him for me! He is the best
friend I ever had. In fact, he is the only one.'

Otto put his arm along the back of her chair and leaned towards her.
'But I am not to love you--you forget,' he said, smiling into her eyes.
'I am impertinent if I make love to you and heartless if I don't!'
Eugnie's eyes did not smile in response. She was less angry with him,
but the lessening of her anger only made her more just. 'You are only
impertinent,' she said, after a pause, 'if you make love to me while you
are living with another woman. I think any man can fairly be called
impertinent who makes love to two women at the same time--or is it
three?' Otto's breath was for the moment taken away by this unexpected
thrust, but he recovered it so quickly that no-one who knew him less
well would have known that he was hit. 'You should take no notice of
such things,' he said quietly. 'People of the type you allude to--are
not your rivals; and you know it. Besides, what do I gain by living
alone? Am I to exist like a Trappist for the reward of telling you how
much I should like--what you decline to give me?' 'I should suppose,'
said Eugnie slowly, 'that you gain one of two things, either the
freedom to marry Miss Hunter or----' She could not go on. She felt
Otto's arm tighten against her shoulders, his eyes burned on her face.
Her lips quivered. 'That by itself,' she said at last, 'is enough for an
honest man.' 'That is not, I think,' said Otto, 'the way in which you
meant to finish your sentence. May I finish it for you? My other
alternative--if I were of course the honest man you so generously offer
to call me--would be my freedom to make a penniless marriage with the
woman I love? You overlook the fact that beggars cannot be choosers.'
Eugnie lifted her head proudly. 'Yes,' she said, 'I suppose I do mean
that. I know that I bitterly resent your manner to me while you are not
free! But I resent, if possible, even more your seeking this child in
marriage for anything but her heart. She is a good, charming, clever
girl. Why should she be deceived into marrying a man with a Jewish
mistress, who pretends to be in love with his cousin?' Otto's arm
dropped from the back of her chair. 'Enough!' he said. 'You wish to give
me pain! I accept your wish--you have given me pain. This is my answer
to your saying I "pretend" to love you. No other woman has ever given me
pain.' 'That is not what I wish,' said Eugnie entreatingly, 'and indeed
I do not wish to give you pain at all, Otto--unless there is no other
way to move you?' 'Ah! you could give me pleasure, too,' said Otto
ruefully; 'that's the devil! We come back to where we started from. You
are too good to give me pleasure, and I am so bad that I can only give
you pain!' 'No! no!' cried Eugnie eagerly, 'that is not true. You can
give me great pleasure! And I shall be so pleased that you will have at
least the satisfaction of knowing it is in your power to make me happier
than any one else can!' 'You make me out more unselfish than I am,' said
Otto, 'but that is more inviting than being painted a perpetual black!
Well--what am I to say? I will try to pull Eugen up. If I succeed in
marrying Carol Hunter, I will follow no more financial adventures. I
will certainly abstain from the other occupation you alluded to! What
will you do for me in return, Eugnie? Will you give me what I want most
in the world?' 'I will thank God,' Eugnie said quietly, 'and believe
that I was not foolish to have given up my life to caring for you!'
'Always God,' said Otto softly. 'Am I never to be thanked myself? I feel
somehow that I deserve it rather more than He does! Surely Heaven and
its representatives here on earth drive rather hard bargains?' 'I have
never said I will not be yours,' said Eugnie faintly, 'only that I
could not be your mistress. I understand you hate marriage without
money, and I forgive it. Will you not forgive me that I cannot be your
mistress, since I am willing to be your wife?' Otto was silent for a
long time; then he said. 'There are some wrongs for which there is no
forgiveness. I think it is your willingness that I cannot forgive! But
if I agree to your requests--I suppose you will permit me a few little
pleasures in return? Your company sometimes, for instance? And your eyes
when they are not angry? And your smiles when I am happy enough to amuse
you? And I may be allowed to talk to you as if you were a little kinder
than you appear? You will not hinder my obvious arrangement with the
little American either?' 'But that I should not do in any case,' said
Eugnie. 'I will neither hinder nor help you there, Otto, for I must not
think only of you!' 'You mean you must consider the hopes of Franz
Salvator?' he asked. Eugnie shook her head. 'I must consider the girl
herself,' she said. 'If you are going to do as you say, and be what I
know you can be, I shall not in any way influence her heart against you
or towards Franz. She must follow her heart, but at least, I must be
sure that her heart, with you, will be reasonably safe.' Otto was silent
for a moment. He gave Eugnie her tea and poured out his own--then he
said, holding her eyes with his in an unmistakable sincerity, 'I am
afraid I can only give you a qualified promise. I cannot be as faithful
to her as I should have been to you--if you had given me a different
answer!'




CHAPTER XXII


Carol sat curled up in a nest of bed-clothes; her arms clasped round her
knees; her heavily thatched golden head bright against the embroidered
pillow case. Marie moved softly about the room. She placed the
reading-lamp at the right angle; and wanted to pull down the blinds--but
Carol objected to the blinds being down, she liked the noises of the
night and the broken darkness. She said 'good night' to Marie with a
friendly smile, and received in return the mere resting of Marie's eyes
upon her face, expressionless and wary.

After Marie had gone, Carol drew out her writing pad and prepared to
make up her 'story'; but, in spite of several sheets of scrawled and
underlined information spread in front of her, the story was slow in
coming. For the first time in her life Carol did not know what she was
going to do--or what was more curious still, even what she wanted to do.
If Fanni Wilchek's information was true she ought to go to Budapest; but
one had to take into consideration the staggering inaccuracy of Fanni's
mind. Fanni belonged to one of the oldest families in Hungary; and was a
determined Monarchist with a wildly romantic heart. Her father, a
swashbuckling Hungarian bully with the instincts of a bandit, had
occasionally some political influence. He had joined the Government and
was one of the leaders of the Monarchist wing. A great many interesting
things had happened to Fanni, but her habit of exaggeration had taken
the vitality out of them. She was very plain and had never been loved,
but since the age of eleven she had imagined herself winning and won by
every man with whom she came in contact. She always asserted that during
the days of the Red Terror, a Jew Bolshevik had made an attempt upon her
virtue, although it was usually believed that the object of this assault
was her jewels. Apart from her traditions, Fanni was a warm-hearted,
generous creature; and although she believed that Carol's position on an
American newspaper put her in touch with the world, she was equally
certain that her political sagacity built up the reputation of her
American friend. Every fortnight she poured out her soul to Carol, and
every fortnight Carol, with knitted brows, tried to edit the account of
Fanni's redundant experiences. Fanni was in a position to know facts,
and she sometimes did know facts, but unfortunately what interested her
most had seldom happened. To-night, for instance, there were thirteen
aeroplanes hidden in an orchard. Carol knew those thirteen aeroplanes by
heart; they were generally hidden in an orchard, and when she took the
trouble to go down and locate the orchard, they turned out to be
threshing machines or a new kind of plough. There was a _cache_ of
revolvers too--within a railway arch--you took out a few bricks and
there you were--the hollow arch tottering with revolvers! Carol knew
there were any amount of scattered arms in Hungary, but not in railway
arches--places much more convenient could be found for them, but less
romantic. There remained the fresh rumour of the Kaiser's return. '_This
time_,' Fanni wrote, 'I am sure it is perfectly _true_! You asked me in
your last letter, dearest, for _proofs_. Well, you know Father! I took
my courage in both hands after dinner last night, and told him what I
had heard at the Club. He shrugged his shoulders and growled. After a
moment he said, "Don't repeat that story!" You know what that _means_
from Father. He wouldn't have the slightest objection to my repeating it
if it were not true! The poor E. suffers terribly. The English are--as I
always thought--at the bottom of it _all_. The French _understand_ us,
and never insult, even if they can do little to remedy our misfortunes.
It is the English who have insisted on tying the whole family up in
Switzerland--the dear E. _hates_ Switzerland, and I do not think it is
very healthy for the _children_, the mountains are so high and _gloomy_,
and the cows full of tuberculosis. They say _He_ (poor darling) has
given his _word_ not to come to us, but Amlie, who knows them all
_most_ intimately, says she does not believe this. Besides, a "Parole"
_forced_ upon a _bleeding_ heart does not count! Amlie is quite
wonderful! You know she married O. merely to detach him from the
Government, and turn him towards the E.? It was all done so cleverly. He
is a _perfect_ Brute, and has no birth; once he even broke off the
engagement because he suspected her! But she managed to meet him again
in a _wood_, and persuade him of her sincerity. She has _such_ courage
and is lovelier than ever. Once she sat and watched O. hang two men
outside her window--he did it to impress her of course, but she never
turned a hair, and when she was quite sure the men were dead, she rang
the bell for lunch and called out to him to come in and not let it get
_cold_! She met me yesterday in the Club for tea. She says she is quite
fond of O. _in a way_! Although he always has her shadowed by two
detectives! She told me that marriage with him is like taming a lion. If
the E. comes he has promised her to remain neutral; she may be able to
do _more_ by jealousy _later on_. But if O. is neutral and L. is
definitely for us, all may go well. H. is the problem. He _acknowledges_
his _master_, but says it is not the _time_! He is afraid of course of
the horrible Allies! Forgive me, darling. I do not mean America is
horrible. On the contrary the American Attach here has the most
heavenly blue eyes, and a _warm Southern_ manner. There is something
extraordinarily sympathetic about him, but alas! he is married! Why do
sympathetic men always _marry so soon_--before they have found their
_true_ mate? I spend all my time at the Foreign Legations and Missions,
trying to find out what they really do think about the E.'s return. Papa
says it's the most useful thing I can do, but they are terribly dense,
and never talk about anything except hunting and shooting. One of them
collects butterflies! Butterflies, darling--when we are all being
_broken_ on the wheel! I need not say he is English! There is a feeling
in the air that great events are about to happen. We will not give up
the Burgenland to the _crawling_ Austrian Bolsheviks, be quite sure of
that. H. is terribly _slack_ about Jews! A most unfortunate thing
happened a few weeks ago. Trouble was stirred up at the Legations about
one of our informal executions. A perfectly simple thing, as dear Papa
says, "If a mosquito stings me--where is it?--wiped off!" But H. was
quite annoyed, he actually sent for dear A. and N. and said it mustn't
happen again! When one thinks of their burning hearts full of outraged
patriotism it is very hard. I know you don't quite agree with me,
darling, about these little things; but if you had been through _my
dreadful experience_, when that Jew Bolshevik attacked me with his
diabolical leer, you would understand. Think what would have happened if
I had not had the presence of mind to give him my jewels instead! We
have had as usual a _very bad time_ lately. The result of the elections
was fairly good, but the opposition methods were awful! Papa had three
forged telegrams sent him to postpone meetings which were _vital_ to us,
and when he tried to send telegrams _against the other side_, he had to
pay the most _enormous_ sums and one of them never got through! But Papa
keeps perfectly firm and cool, and never gets down-hearted. If only the
dear E. had a little of his sangfroid. Now, darling, have I told you
_all_? No! I think not--Amlie, who _of course_ knows everything (she
gets it out of her O. by sacrifices I _shudder_ to think of!) said, "If
your little newspaper friend wants a sensation, let her come down here
this month!" Thank you for asking about Mamma and Carl--they are still
_interned_ on our own estates, barely twenty-five miles to move about
in. Of course, Mamma hates the city and Papa is always far _quieter_
when she is away--but still the _injustice_ of it all! We could not go
abroad even if we wished to; the Government refuses us passports! _I_ am
especially suspect (you know H.'s old _tendresse_ for me--and can guess
_why_!). So one bears one's shaken life! Do come, darling--Amlie says
O. would like to meet you--he looks terrible, but always behaves
properly _while she is there_. If he took a fancy to you he might let
you go with him to the Burgenland! Of course dear Papa got in. Only six
people were killed during the elections--the calm before the storm! Ever
your devoted Fanni.'

Carol drew out another cigarette (she had to hide them as Marie objected
to her smoking at night) and grinned. Was the storm coming? She could of
course go to Budapest if she had to--but she would like to stay a little
longer in Wien to decide a personal question. Perhaps two personal
questions? There were her relations with Franz Salvator to define, and
the fact that every day at five o'clock Otto Wolkenheimb took her for a
drive.

Franz Salvator was always charming; but he did not take her for drives.
He worked all day at his wretched language school, and although he
devoted himself to her service in his spare time, it was a devotion that
stood still. She had told him to call her by her name, and he had only
smiled and never called her anything at all; but when he said 'you' it
was as if his silence was more significant than a name. She was
conscious of him always, conscious of him not only when he was there but
in her thoughts. He blocked the path to other things. She could not, for
instance, see herself going back triumphantly to America when she
thought of Franz Salvator, or plan with the old light-heartedness a
dramatic future without his presence. And yet she did not want a future
with Franz. It would be like living at concert pitch. He was always
thinking of what other people ought to have and denying himself in order
to give away what Carol thought he ought to keep. Carol loved Eugnie
for precisely the same quality; but it irritated her in Franz. She
thought a man ought to make more of a splash for himself; and she hated
his poverty.

'Well--I'd marry him,' she said to herself, defensively, 'if we were
living before the flood, and he didn't take eternity to ask me in! But I
can't go burrowing back to Noah now! I'd rather have Trauenstein than
the Ark any day.' She resettled herself against the pillow and flushed
uncomfortably. She had told Eugnie lightly enough that Otto liked
her--and so he quite obviously did--but supposing that he did not want
to marry her--and after all, with his queer European standards, why
should he? Was she prepared for the other proposal he was quite as
likely to make? Otto was thrillingly interesting to her. He built up out
of the confusion of Europe endlessly entertaining histories. His manner
with her was so personal and so intimate that she felt as if she had
known him all her life. His caressing brown eyes laughed into hers with
no shadow of constraint. She felt conscious that there were no barriers
between them; she was not on her guard with him, and yet she never felt
for a moment the least safe. There was nothing so dull as safety in the
intimate sophisticated playfulness of Otto's manner with women. He
simply seemed to say, with eyes that ignored her defences, 'Come, it's
no use having secrets with me. I know you through and through, and as
I'm enchanted with what I know, your transparency hasn't any drawbacks
either for you or for me.' Was she in love with Otto? Well--she did not
want to go to Budapest. She wanted to please him; she sharpened her wits
to meet his; when she knew he was coming, she wore with care the
prettiest of her carefully chosen clothes. She was at her best with
him--and most people like being at their best; but when he was not
there, she did not think of him very much. He was not in the back of her
mind, and Franz Salvator was always in the back of her mind. Carol gave
a little impatient gesture of her shoulders. It was no use thinking
about men, she must write her 'story'. Perhaps after all she could use
the thirteen aeroplanes hiding in the orchard, and stay where she was?
Rumours about the Emperor Karl were not enough. Amlie, it is true,
probably knew something. She saw in her mind's eye the beautiful
flowerlike face of the Countess Amlie; the expressionless rosebud
mouth; the blue eyes as clear as glass. That provocative exquisite
creature, tinted with rose and pearl, had a heart harder far than any
coal-heaver's. Idle rumours did not emanate from her. The Countess
Amlie spoke very seldom and always to the point. It might be worth her
while to go down after----? After to-morrow night, for instance, when
Carol was to dine with Otto alone at Cobenzl? She remembered how he had
glanced down at her as she stood on the pavement--holding his daring
horses with such easy skill. 'I don't know just how far the
transatlantic margin extends,' Otto had observed lightly, 'but Cobenzl
is out of doors, and I believe married people go there together, and
dine in that rather cheerless silence which marriage seems after a while
to produce. I can offer you that security, and I can provide you with
everything, except perhaps the silence.' And Carol said that the
transatlantic margin would take her that far--and that she did not care
much for silence anyway; and then she had gone in--and quarrelled with
Franz Salvator. She looked wistfully at the blank page on which she
meant to write her story. Thirteen aeroplanes buried in an
orchard--well--why not--the calm before the storm! And if they turned
out to be threshing machines there was still the rumour of Karl!

Carol wrote quite a good 'story'; but when she had thrown the cigarette
ashes out of the window so as not to arouse the suspicions of Marie, and
put out her light, she had still not decided what was going to happen at
Cobenzl. 'I shall do what I like anyhow,' she said to herself
reflectively. 'I won't be held back by Franz Salvator, and I won't be
pushed forward by Otto Wolkenheimb. I shall just look well all around
me, and when I decide to leap--I'll hit it! Thank God, I've handled boys
since I was knee high--so I don't get what's coming to me without
wanting it!' In spite of all her youthful experiences Carol did not know
that if you let matters drift with a person who knows how to steer you
are likely to land precisely on the spot where he intends to land you.




CHAPTER XXIII


Otto watched her with appreciation. He approved of the blue taffeta
dress, the grey sude shoes and silk stockings, the blue and silver
cloak which fell straight from her slender shoulders; and above all he
approved of her little, close-fitting, azure-blue toque, with little
bunches of forget-me-nots round the brim, which filled the eyes beneath
them with colour. Carol had had the sense to wear a veil, so that he
knew she would look as well on their return as at the moment of their
departure. She reminded him of a patch of blue scyllas breaking out of
the earth into a shock of azure light; and no one could appreciate the
shock administered by blue scyllas better than Otto. Her charming,
cheeky little face was, for the first time since he had known her, sad.
He had had to make her sad because one cannot propose to any woman who
is in the best of spirits and meets every attempt at sentiment with
raillery. Otto had given her a very dramatic picture of the Breakdown,
and the sorrows of his country adhered picturesquely to himself. This
was not surprising, as he had chosen his phrases with care while he
drove his turbulent horses up the winding slopes of Cobenzl.
Unfortunately he had driven them so well that in her ignorance of horses
Carol had been unaware of all the dangers they surmounted. It had really
been the devil to avoid flaxen-haired, hatless families spreading out
like fans under his horses' feet; and to choose his English phrases with
bite enough to hold her attention while his wrists were half dragged out
of their sockets.

The evening was perfect. The terrace of the famous restaurant was filled
with rows of little tables, set among balustrades of flowers as high as
the tables. Beneath the terrace green fields sloped into the dark beech
woods; and out of the plain beyond them rose the city itself, encircled
by the pale thread of the Danube. A mist rested over the distant roofs
and filled the streets with blue. The roof of the Stephans Kirche rose
up like an ark out of the flood. The squalid fringe of suburbs was
swallowed up in an enchanting vagueness of orchard and encroaching
shadow. The dark deepened, and one by one the lights sprang out. First
the Ring was outlined in a stream of stars, and then little flames broke
out hither and thither, solitary or in groups. There was no sound; the
City lay like a heap of jewels, dumb and shining on the misty plain. It
was incredible to think how close against the beauty of the summer night
stood the acuteness of want.

'My city is half dead,' said Otto gently. 'It is beautiful, is it
not--that shell down there? Fortunately the outside of things does not
always correspond to the hollowness within! When I look down there I
think of the ghosts of the two last winters. Every day people streamed
along this road to the Wiener Wald for wood. You could watch them for
miles, staggering like ants under the burden of the fir wood they were
allowed to cut and carry home. It was like watching the woods themselves
moving. Poor frozen ragged creatures--who had been so well off
once--dazed under the weight of necessities they had never imagined!
Sometimes they staggered to the roadside to rest, and never went on
again. The next comer took the wood they had gathered to cook his own
last meal. The food is here now. You will, I hope, have a favourable
specimen of it to-night, but the people are dead. Don't think as you
look round you at these little tables you are seeing many Austrians. I
am an exception, and for me this occasion is also a great exception; all
the rest are profiteers, the chosen people, and our charming neighbours
from the Balkans--who eat with their hands and feet. You will see that I
have arranged so that you may sit with your back to them and have
nothing to look at but the lovely ghost of what was once a great
Capital--and is now--a collection of old curiosity shops, where people
sell their treasures to foreigners in exchange for bread--until their
treasures cease!' 'Do you--do you hate us?' Carol asked under her
breath. 'I often wonder--you have been so charming--you and Eugnie
and--and her brother--making me feel as if I were at home, and yet my
money must seem dreadful to you! Like a mockery! And it's so awful the
crumbling feeling Wien has--Eugnie never complains, but she came in
yesterday from market without anything in her hands, and Marie tells me
that what paid for a week's meals last week won't buy a potato to-day.
Sometimes I feel as if I couldn't bear to stay here a day longer!'
'Don't feel that,' said Otto gently. 'You are like the dawn--to people
who have suffered all night. We may laugh at our foreigners sometimes,
but we never resent them. Why should we? They bring health and life back
to us, and stimulate trade; some of them, like yourself, do more--they
see--and try to relieve our sufferings!' Carol looked up at him quickly.
There was real feeling in his voice--a feeling that took fresh life from
the sympathy in her eyes. 'As for me,' Otto said gravely, 'I am much
more in your debt than that! Human beings don't show, any more than
cities at dusk, their real necessities! And yet if you looked--past the
circle of outside lights, through the street walls still standing--into
the want and emptiness within! I don't know whether you even trouble to
think of me, but perhaps, if you do, it is to say: "He at least is
untouched by the fall of his country!" Well--I wish people to think
this--but I should like you to look further. I will not speak of sorrows
and losses. Others have perhaps had as much or more to bear, but I once
saw life for myself quite differently. I was trained first as a soldier,
then as a diplomat. I rose quickly, perhaps too quickly. I missed many
things that come to others, but what I gained seemed solid--and is gone.
Ah! here is dinner. I hope that you like this caviar? It is not very
good, but caviar is scarce just now. It is to be followed by a Russian
soup, chicken cooked with asparagus, and a dish they are rather famous
for here--iced peaches with strawberries and cream whipped over them.
The peach-cup is good; it is made from a receipt Eugen gave them before
the war, at a time when we liked to have our special tastes studied at
our favourite restaurants. What was I saying? Well--the individual has
been wiped out. That is, I think, the lesson of modernity. One built up
a personality, and now one finds oneself rather an unimportant part of
an incongruous whole. Suppose, for instance, that one believed oneself a
master and trainer of dogs, and suddenly one discovered oneself to
be--not even a dog, but a tail that wags when the dog is pleased!' 'I
can't somehow see you like that!' Carol said, smiling a little
uncertainly. 'I don't think you'd wag if you weren't pleased!' 'On the
contrary,' said Otto, 'I should if it was in my power make rather a
point of wagging whether I were pleased or not. It is all that has been
left to me of my manners. But the point I wished to make is that I had
not been pleased for a very long time until you came to Wien. That is my
reason for gratitude!' He raised his glass, and--holding her eyes--drank
to her. 'You have done more than please me,' he said as he put his glass
down. 'You have given me a new standard of womanhood. Perhaps a part of
my regret is that in my old life I knew only one type of woman. Our
ladies of the Court were charming, very beautiful many of them, and
untrained for any other profession than beauty. We appreciated this
beauty--and--since there was nothing else they had to offer us--we
profited by it. It never occurred to me until I met you that women could
have for men--not only beauty to madden them--but wit to keep their
madness in check--and, may I add, a heart--to make their madness
permanent.' The provoking twinkle came into Carol's eyes again.
'Well--you're wagging all right,' she murmured, 'but Heaven knows if you
mean it or not! I'd think more of my compliment if it weren't that it
seems to shut out Eugnie--with her all the time to look at I should
think you could get mad and keep mad without straining a nerve!' 'My
cousin,' said Otto dryly, 'married young and confined her influence to
her husband.' He had for the moment completely forgotten Eugnie.
Carol's reminder not only put him out because Eugnie was an argument
for Carol, but because in his heart he knew how damnably good an
argument she was. 'Well--she has rather a keep-off-the-grass look about
her,' Carol admitted, 'but I should have thought that made it all the
more fun for you!' Otto dropped his eyes. This was the kind of thing one
had to expect from Anglo-Saxon girls; they were expert, when all a young
girl ought to be was immaculate. You could apparently do what you liked
with them, until you came on their hidden armour of chaff which was
quite disconcertingly efficient. Otto, however, knew how to meet a
check. He raised rather indifferent eyes, as if the subject bored him,
and looked away from Carol towards the other diners. His attention
became fixed rather more sharply than he had intended. A little to the
right of them he saw Julius Mandelbaum; his heavy head and jutting-out
chin were bent over a conspicuously dressed young woman, who was
certainly not Excellenz Mandelbaum. 'Don't bow to him!' said Otto
sharply, as Carol's eyes followed his own. 'Really one had expected to
be safe here! I apologize, Carol--it is such a pretty name, may I call
you Carol?--these new rich never know where to go or how to behave when
they are incognito. This is a place where one brings one's wife--or if
one does not--one does not flaunt a conspicuous substitute. But Jews go
everywhere; and know nothing. He appears to expect, the good Mandelbaum,
that I should recognize him! He is strangely mistaken.' Julius
Mandelbaum half rose to bow, sat down again, and decided that he had not
been seen. Finally he rose and left his remarkable companion plodding
through her second slice of _Torte_, and strolled across towards them.
His small blue eyes glittered with amusement, his heavy saw-edged mouth
widened hungrily as he looked down at Carol. 'I had no idea', he said,
with what he imagined was a pleasant smile, 'that one had a chance of
bringing you out here to dinner without a chaperon.' 'And you were
right,' Otto replied, before Carol had decided on a reply, '_You_ will
have no such chance, Excellenz!' Otto's eyes were fixed with a curious
intentness upon the big figure above them; but his voice was as soft as
silk. Julius Mandelbaum's leer vanished promptly from his face; his
heavy head dropped lower, like an exasperated bull's. 'Are you trying to
teach me my manners?' he asked Otto with a snarl. 'God forbid!' said
Otto gently. 'It is inconceivable that anyone should teach you manners.
I am trying to make it easy for you to return to your own table and to
the lady you have brought here to entertain!' Carol held her breath. She
thought the enormous bulk of Mandelbaum would be precipitated across the
table. He seemed to be swaying over it for a dangerous eternity. Otto
gazed into space a little to the right of the infuriated face above him,
as if no such landmark existed. The curtain of his indifference
obliterated the outer form of Julius Mandelbaum--with no more effort
than if he had pulled it across to shut out an unpleasant draught.
Julius Mandelbaum clenched his fist, and Otto's eyes came back to his
face; but though Otto's eyes rested on Mandelbaum's with a curious light
in them, they still looked as if Julius's face was not there; and a
moment later, to Carol's intense surprise, Julius had gone. He opened
his lips, muttered something that sounded like the word 'Bleileben' and
moved clumsily off between the flowered tables.

'I think after that one would like a little music,' said Otto with a
smile, and he raised his hand in the direction of the head waiter.
Instantly the air filled with a quick rush of sound. 'You don't mind
Hungarian music?' Otto murmured. Carol shook her head. She began to
think she would be willing to take whatever Otto offered her. The clumsy
incident of Mandelbaum had played into his hand. A girl respects a man
more for presence of mind than for any other quality; and when to
presence of mind he adds something formidable to be used in case mere
wit fails, she is in danger of complete surrender. The violent gypsy
music of a Hungarian band fell upon the air like fiery hail. Otto leaned
back so that his face was in shadow and watched the girl curiously. She
was nervous, a little fluttered, but was she stirred enough? He felt
uncertain about her; an amusing but rather an odd feeling.

On their arrival he had given the reins to the groom behind him, and
jumped down in time to catch Carol in his arms. Elisabeth in making
similar descents hung on Otto with a weight which he compared to a party
of Alpine climbers slipping into a crevasse, upheld by the single
efforts of an Alpine guide. Carol was so light and supple that she had
slipped through his hands almost without the sense of touch. Otto would
have preferred a moment's passivity. A woman should not leave your arms
before you have had time to know if she likes being there or not. Still
it was a blessing to realize that he was not going to have another eager
woman on his hands. Carol was indeed the exact opposite of Elisabeth.
Slim, young, delicious, nervous--she asked for the most delicate touch
upon the reins--and she would get it. Let her pull as much as she liked,
he would hold her; but so gently and so quietly that she should not feel
the intention of control. She would simply go, at the pace and in the
direction that he wanted. Otto smiled softly to himself. He was far too
much of a tyrant to sink to the level of a bully.

The first violin came forward to their table and stood in front of
Carol. He flung back a long lock of black hair, fixed her with intent
inscrutable eyes, and began a slow languorous waltz tune. All the
innocence of the night vanished. The haunting melody of the violin left
the quickened senses in no uncertainty; the delicate, unscrupulous,
passionate music poured out the history of pleasure. Carol's eyes fell.
She knew that Otto was watching her intently; under the cover of the
cloth, his hand groped for hers and covered it with a quick fierce
pressure. She made a movement as if she would withdraw her hand, and
then, biting her lips nervously, left it in his. It did not mean
anything, she said to herself; lots of men took hold of a girl's hand.
If she wanted she could take it away again. Franz Salvator had never
touched her; but then, if Franz Salvator had taken her hand it would
have meant something--and she would not have wanted to take it away
again.

The gypsy music whirled like madness in her blood. Suddenly it ceased;
after the perilous hurricane of sound the silence came upon them with an
actual shock. Something had vanished since the music began; life itself
had moved at a quicker pace. It did not come to Carol as a surprise when
Otto leaned towards her with an unmistakable intention in his eyes. She
felt the table was a very narrow space and she could not take her eyes
away from his. They fixed her with intentness, but without softness.
'Carol,' he said in a low voice, 'how does one say such things? You
please me--you please me very much. It is charming, I find, to be
together. Life is not all music, but a little of it is! Give me that
little! This is my first proposal of marriage, and I am a little nervous
since I intend it to be the last. I have very little to offer you--an
old name, an old castle, a man a little old too, perhaps, but one who
can I think make you smile, who will never, if he can help it, make you
cry--and a man whom you will altogether satisfy.' It had come, and she
could not stop it. Did she want to stop it? 'I don't know how to answer
you and that's a fact!' she said hesitatingly. 'You're so grown up, and
I feel kind of--young! I'm not really so green--I've been about a lot
and picked up a thing or two. I can't think why I should satisfy
you--and I'm half scared to try--and I'm not very keen on getting
married anyway!' 'Your feeling,' said Otto with a faint smile, 'has
hitherto been my own. Don't be afraid, Carol, I will learn to please
you; and marriage needn't be very difficult with people of tact. I
express myself badly, but I know very well what you mean. I want you
very much; but I won't tease. My heart is impatient, but it has never
yet got the better of my manners. We will go as slowly as you like!'

Carol still hesitated. Otto was the most brilliant man she had ever met
and the life he offered her was like a dream come true. She would be the
mistress of an ancient castle, the wife of a great nobleman, the
companion of a man who had had one--and would, she felt sure, make
himself another--great career. Her heart beat quickly; was that not a
sign she was a little in love with him? His grasp of her hand had made
her a little angry, a little confused, but also a little pleased. Otto
waited very patiently for his answer, but his face was grave. Carol
remembered with a wave of generous tenderness what a bad time Otto had
had. All she felt for the beautiful broken city at her feet, for the
long agony of his conquered country, the personal losses of all her
Austrian friends, rose together to take her heart by storm. But there
was another feeling which pulled her back--a useless and more tender
feeling, a compulsion not of the will but of the spirit, a longing that
had never left her since she first read the same longing in Franz
Salvator's eyes. She believed in Franz Salvator as she could not believe
in Otto. Deep in her heart she rested on his chivalry. She had felt his
strength, she knew his courage, but it was too proud for her--it would
not come out into the open and make a splendid dash in the eyes of the
world; it kept itself for little invisible things. To be with Franz
Salvator was more than rapture--it was peace; but very young people
undervalue peace. Carol asked herself if her feeling for Franz Salvator
was not a demand for something that did not exist? He thrilled her and
was as handsome as the hero of a cinema; and he had behaved like one up
to a certain point; and there, like most heroes, he had stuck. The
interest passed on to the stage villain, or at any rate to a live man
who moved things and did not just do his duty at a Berlitz school,
eating nothing but dry bread till her imagination faltered. That was
just what did not falter with Otto--he used up all the imagination she
had and asked for more.

Carol lifted her eyes slowly to his smiling ones; they had begun to
smile as if her silence pleased him. 'You remember that motto of yours',
she asked, 'you told me about the other day? "What I will--I win----"
wasn't it? Well, I don't mind sharing it--if you want me to--I like the
sound of it!'




CHAPTER XXIV


The next morning Carol woke with a faint shiver of anxiety to meet as
usual Marie's menacing eyes. If Carol was in any doubt of Eugnie's and
Franz Salvator's affection, she was kept in no doubt at all about the
hostile attitude of Marie. Marie did what she had to do and gave what
she had to give, but she filled the margin with hostility. Carol had all
her physical wants supplied, and she was astounded at the little she
continued to pay and the quantity and the quality which she received for
it; but she was under no delusions as to the feelings she inspired. At
every turn she was met by a stone-like rigidity which never broke up
into a semblance of cordiality. Marie never spoke to her new mistress
unless she was directly questioned, and then she replied by a
monosyllable of the sternest nature. Everything she did for Carol she
did flawlessly and with the same air of unflinching disapproval. Carol
tried for months to win Marie's unresponsive heart by every blandishment
in her power; but the more she coaxed and blandished the more rigid was
Marie's manner, the stonier the glint of hostility in her small black
eyes.

'Marie,' she finally demanded, receiving on her lap the beautifully
prepared breakfast-tray, 'what is it you dislike so much about me? Is it
that I am not a Catholic?' Marie retreated a step or two from the
bedside, smoothing out as she did so the blue satin counterpane which it
had once been her pride to spread over Eugnie's bed. 'I judge of
people's religion,' she replied, 'by their conduct. It is true you are
the first heathen I have ever worked for, and that one does not expect
one's Gndige Frulein to dodge about the streets all day like a dog
without a master. Still it would be all the same to me if you only went
to Mass accompanied by a nun and spent two hours a day upon the rosary.'
'Then where do I go wrong?' Carol demanded. 'You can talk, for I have
heard you often enough talking to the Princess and the Herr Kapitn. I
do the best I can to be a good mistress to you. I only go out about my
work, which you as a working woman ought to respect, even if it is
different from your own; but I can see you'd rather serve a pig in a
sty. Is it because of the war you've got such a "_Gott strafe_" attitude
towards me?' 'Certainly not,' said Marie. 'The war is over now. It did
not concern me. It was a war of great people, and if they have taken
their own eye-teeth out and suffer for it--let them suffer. Where I live
everything is the same. Snow in winter--sun in summer. Cows, sheep,
fields and harvests are what they always were, and what they always will
be. We have food, and we make our own clothes, and we work as we are
accustomed to work. If you wish to know why I dislike to serve you--and
it is true I greatly dislike it--you have only to come with me next door
into the Princess's apartment.' 'But that', said Carol hesitatingly, 'is
what they have never asked me to do.' Marie shrugged her shoulders and
left the room in silence. Carol ate her breakfast slowly and
thoughtfully. She wanted to know how her friends lived, because she
longed to help them. Perhaps there were things she could do to make
their lives easier; and how could she do these things when their lives
were as hidden from her as if they inhabited a tract of equatorial
Africa instead of the same flat? She was devoured by curiosity about the
rooms next door. Bluebeard's wife had not an acuter longing or so much
excuse. When she had dressed and opened the door of her own enormous
salon, she was again confronted by Marie. 'I have the key,' Marie
remarked with significance, 'and the _Herrschaften_ are out. The
Princess is at High Mass in the Cathedral. The Herr Kapitn has gone, as
usual on Sunday morning, to visit the stricken ones of his regiment.
Neither will return for an hour.' Carol still hesitated; it was of
course wrong to go into their rooms in their absence, even if she was
not found out. But was it not also wrong for them to keep her out of
their rooms? Did not she know them well enough to make a joke of her
curiosity? She would not examine anything that was private; she would
merely take a general impression of how they lived, and come out again.
She was going to be their cousin soon. Then she could play the good
fairy to their needs--probably this was what Marie meant: they had
needs, and it was Carol's duty to find out what they were and supply
them. Still she felt uncomfortable as she followed Marie through the
door between the two apartments and found herself in a little empty
hall. 'This', Marie said, 'that my family now use as a hall once led to
the second kitchen and was only used by tradespeople and servants. Now
there are no servants and they use it themselves.' Then she threw open
the door of Eugnie's salon. Carol saw a great wide empty room, with a
little sunshine on the parquet floor. 'This', said Marie, 'was the
boudoir of the Gracious Princess--it was once full of fine things--as is
the salon of the _gndigen Fruleins_--I have seen Archduchesses in it.
No-one uses it now, except mice. One I found here yesterday.' 'But
why----? What has happened to all their furniture?' demanded Carol.
'Much of it the Princess sold to save her friends from starving,'
replied Marie dispassionately, 'and much she put into the rooms of the
_gndigen Fruleins_. They kept for themselves part of what their
servants had used. Even from this they sell bit by bit what they
need--for others whose need they think is greater than their own!' Marie
turned once more and threw open a door upon the right. 'This is the room
of the Herr Kapitn,' she said. 'When one says it is better than the
trenches one has said everything.' Franz Salvator's room was
scrupulously neat. He had a small iron bed, a wooden table with a
cracked jug and a tin basin, a kitchen chair and a shaving-glass. His
clothes hung behind a sheet, meticulously placed in cotton sacks. Upon a
trunk near the window stood a gold statuette of a man upon horseback,
jumping; above it was a large signed photograph of his General, Archduke
Eugen, in uniform. Opposite from this hung a photograph of his regiment;
and over the bed was a water-colour of a medieval castle on the side of
a hill surrounded with pine trees.

Carol stood in front of the statuette. 'But it's solid gold,' she said
in amazement. 'That', observed Marie, 'was given to our Herr Kapitn by
the Emperor Franz Joseph. It is not practical--the gifts of Emperors are
seldom practical--but the family prize it. Here by the bed is a tin
bath, and all winter long, with the water turned to ice, the Herr
Kapitn washes in it--washes of course, as all _Herrschaften_ do, much
too much. The bathroom is in the flat of the _gndigen Fruleins_--with
hot and cold water--because the _gndige Frulein_ can afford a good
fire in the kitchen.' Marie looked curiously at the strange young lady,
who with a dazed look stood fingering the golden image on horseback
which was supposed to represent Franz Salvator jumping.

She followed Marie without a word into the passage and through a further
door which led to Eugnie's room. Eugnie's room was the counterpart of
Franz Salvator's except that she had a prie-dieu, with an ivory crucifix
hung above it, and that there were three photographs in the room. One
picture by Eugnie's bedside was of a very beautiful little boy five
years old; one was of Franz Salvator in uniform with all his medals; and
one of a young man whose face Carol felt was vaguely familiar, but for a
moment she looked at it without recognition. It was a photograph taken
from a portrait, and hung on the wall where the light from the window
fell full upon it. There was youth and eagerness in the face, and an
unexploited power. 'Is this Graf Wolkenheimb?' Carol asked. Eighteen
years had changed him; the power was exploited now, and the youth and
eagerness were gone. 'It was the Herr Graf', agreed Marie, 'before he
lost himself. If I were the Princess I should destroy that picture. But
she has the heart of a Madonna. She would get Judas out of Purgatory by
her prayers if the Holy Ones hadn't the sense to keep him there.' 'Why
do you say Graf Wolkenheimb is lost?' demanded Carol curiously. 'Has he
done anything wrong?' Marie's lips closed firmly. She had thought that
everyone knew what the Herr Graf had done--and had not done; but if this
strange Frulein was ignorant--let her remain ignorant. After all the
Herr Graf belonged to the family, and his sins, however great, were
above the heads of vulgar foreigners. Marie backed out of Eugnie's room
without replying and opened the kitchen door. 'Here they live,' she said
briefly, 'and this is what they live on!' As she spoke she took two
slabs of black bread from a box and a handful of turnips and small black
potatoes from a bowl of water. These she flung upon the white wooden
table. 'They live on this--my _Herrschaften_!' she exclaimed fiercely,
facing Carol across the table. 'This is why my Princess is half a ghost
and my Herr Kapitn teaches the accursed English tongue to _Schiebers_!
Now perhaps you see why I dislike you! It was because they had not
enough food that I left them after twenty years' service. And it is
because they have not enough food that, when I come back to them, I find
myself serving a foreigner!'

Carol found no words to answer Marie. This was worse than the worst she
had feared. It was not going to be a happy fairy tale; it was a
nightmare with no awakening. Marie stared at her vindictively, and then
turned to replace the slabs of bread.

They heard a door open and shut and a quick firm step across the hall;
the kitchen door opened, and Franz Salvator looked at Carol with eyes in
which blank amazement turned slowly into stern contempt. 'Go immediately
into your own kitchen, Marie,' Franz Salvator said sharply; 'I am
astonished to find you here in the Princess's absence, but I will speak
to you about your conduct later.' Marie disappeared as if by clockwork.
She was not in the least afraid of being spoken to by Franz Salvator.
She invariably obeyed the voice of authority when she heard it, and
usually circumvented the authority later on when it had ceased to be
vocal.

After Marie had gone an interminable silence filled the little kitchen.
It seemed suddenly impossible to Carol to explain to Franz Salvator that
her visit was half a joke and half an errand of mercy. For weeks she had
grown accustomed to Franz Salvator's homage. She knew that he regarded
her as often strange, but always immaculate. She had been half amused
and half touched by his scrupulous reverence for her, and in a moment it
was gone. Carol had violated not a custom which he could excuse, but an
instinct of delicacy which lay deeper than any custom. She had a curious
moment of vision: behind Franz Salvator she saw centuries of privacy;
homes which were castles, and castles which had always been homes. He
would not understand that she had not ever had a real home, or
even--until now--apart from a hall bedroom in a third-class apartment
house, a room to herself. She had not been able to afford privacy. How
could she explain this to Franz Salvator, who took privacy as a matter
of course? Even her friendly desire to help them became suddenly an
insult. She had no right to help them since they had hidden from her
their need of help. The colour burned in her cheeks; had not she her
pride too! Could not Franz Salvator realize how his silence struck
her--did he expect her to apologize? She was sorry for what she had
done; sorrier than she had ever been for any action in her life, but she
would rather die than admit her sorrow under those scornful eyes. Franz
Salvator waited for Carol to speak; but she was held, in a miserable
flushed silence, impossible to break. At last he asked her icily if
there was anything he could do for her. 'I--I think you're real mean!'
cried Carol defiantly. 'It isn't so very awful what I've done anyhow!
You and Eugnie ought to have asked me here before!' 'It remains--that
we did _not_ ask you,' Franz Salvator reminded her. 'Well--I don't see
why we need have the Day of Judgement about it!' Carol protested. 'It
seems to me friends have a right to go into each other's homes without
the roofs coming off! Marie said if I'd come here she'd show me why she
hated me--I hadn't any idea--how could I?--what it was like! And, oh,
Franz, why didn't you tell me? Eugnie hasn't got any dressing-table.
She has to stand up to do her hair!' Carol collapsed suddenly on to the
nearest seat; her legs were shaking under her and she kept swallowing
her tears. She did not notice that in her excitement she had called
Franz Salvator by his Christian name. She always spoke of him as Franz
Salvator to herself, and in her panic his name slipped out with a
naturalness that touched his heart. It suddenly occurred to Franz
Salvator that perhaps he and Eugnie had made a mistake in not letting
Carol into their empty rooms. He moved quickly round the kitchen table,
and bent over Carol's chair. She sat hunched up--a disconsolate and
shrunken figure--with her head upon the table. He did not touch her; she
was only aware that he was very near her and that there was no anger in
his nearness. His arm was close to her, and she put her head against it.
She felt his other arm move lightly across her shoulders and then
enclose her. It was strange how at home and comforted she felt in Franz
Salvator's arms. Her heart was without questions. 'You see, if you like
people,' she whispered into the friendly darkness, 'you must want to
know how they live!' 'If you like them very much,' Franz Salvator
whispered back, 'you must want to live with them!' And then Carol
remembered Otto Wolkenheimb. 'Otto!' she gasped, springing to her feet
and pushing Franz away from her. He instantly released her. 'Why do you
speak of my cousin Otto?' he demanded. 'Because I must! Because I'm
going to marry him!' Carol exclaimed. 'But, oh, no! no! I can't now! I
didn't know! You hadn't said anything, and I didn't know about the
furniture or that awful bread or the way you had to live. And you hadn't
kissed me!' Franz Salvator grasped her by the wrists. 'What do you
mean?' he asked sternly. 'What difference does my life make? How dare
you pity me? Never let me hear you speak like that again! It is the last
insult that you should pity me! If you have engaged yourself to Otto,
you must keep your word; there is no more to be said!' 'I don't pity you
the way you mean anyway,' Carol pleaded. 'You've just upset me! And I
can't marry a man I don't love--engagement or no engagement. We have
more sense than that in my country! Stop holding my wrists as if I
needed handcuffs! You can hold my hand if you want to--but that's not
the right way to do it. You were gentle enough a minute ago--why can't
you go on being gentle?' Franz Salvator dropped her hands. 'I beg your
pardon,' he said stiffly. 'I have no right to touch you. You forget that
I did not know of your engagement to my cousin just now. You will not
have to reproach me again.' 'I will,' said Carol angrily. 'I shall
reproach you right along--you ought to be pleased I like you better than
I like Otto--instead of standing yards away like an iced coconut on a
pole!' 'Why did you engage yourself to Otto?' asked Franz Salvator still
more sternly. 'You must have known I loved you! For months you have been
under my roof. And because you were under my roof--and rich--I did not
ask you to be my wife. I wanted to be sure--as sure of your love as I
was of my own; then nothing would have mattered, my poverty or your
wealth! I had nothing to offer you but myself; but I have offered myself
to you every day. Did you not know I loved you?' 'If you felt that way,'
said Carol defensively, 'you shouldn't have been so silent! Otto wasn't!
That's all there is to it. He spoke first; it was only yesterday. I felt
all mixed up, and you hadn't said anything, and I do like him anyway;
but it can't go on now. What are you going to do about it, Franz
Salvator?' 'It is perfectly simple,' replied Franz steadily. 'You have
given your word to my cousin Otto Wolkenheimb, and you will of course
keep it. I shall never see you again. You will stay here, I hope, until
your marriage. I shall live altogether on the land settlement where I am
already working in my spare time. No-one will ever know what might have
happened. You must forget what took place here this morning. I also will
try to forget it.'

Carol looked at him in astonishment; that he should dare to speak as if
their relationship were under his control took her breath away. Before
she had time to disillusionize him, the door opened and Eugnie stood
there lifting faintly surprised eyebrows. Franz Salvator turned quickly
towards her. 'Eugnie,' he said, 'forgive me, I asked Miss Hunter to
come in here. It was a sudden impulse--I should have waited till your
return, I know--but she is our friend, and now I fear she is a little
distressed to find our rooms so empty. I think perhaps we were to blame
not to have explained it all to her before!' Eugnie looked at Carol,
and then she opened her arms. Carol flew into them. 'Oh, Eugnie!' Carol
sobbed. 'You're both so hateful, and I love you so much!' Franz Salvator
dashed out of the room. When the two women were alone together, Eugnie
made many promises about the future. They would not be ludicrously proud
any more, they would divide the furniture and take their principal meals
together, and Marie should wait upon them in common; Eugnie would even
spend some of the rent upon themselves as well as upon their starving
friends; but in spite of all these concessions Carol wept on. She said,
between her sobs, that Austrians were cruel; that Americans had their
pride too; and that you could feel just as badly about what you had as
some people could feel about what they had not. Eugnie was anguished by
Carol's misery; but her apologies seemed unable to lighten it. Finally
Carol admitted that it was something unforgivable Franz Salvator had
said. She could not repeat it, and she could not get over it; but he was
not a bit like his cousin Otto; and after she had said that, Eugnie
asked her no more questions.

The only person who was thoroughly satisfied with the morning's events
was Marie. She went about her work with a beaming smile. 'Everything',
she said to herself, 'will now arrange itself, but one has to start
these things. Puddings cook themselves--but not until they have been
properly mixed first and the fire prepared for them.'




CHAPTER XXV


Eugen leaned back in the armchair he had taken so much trouble to
select; he closed his eyes and outwardly relaxed his entire person to
the illusion of comfort.

It was eight months since he had decided to ignore the claims of the
Danube, and nothing had happened to re-assure him as to his choice. He
went over the objects of his existence one by one; they were all a
little worse off than they had been before. Otto indeed had flourished,
but his flourishes lacked the bloom of finality. The transfer of the
shipping company had long ago been completed; but the sting remained. It
had been no worse than Eugen had expected, but it had been as bad. He
flinched now at the recollection of the Regenswirts' gratitude; it was
worse to remember than their amazed incredulity when subsequently they
discovered that they had been tricked, not only out of a fortune, but
out of a principle which they believed Eugen shared. When they found
they had no legal redress they had not even been violent--they had been
broken-hearted. 'You cannot, gentlemen,' Eugen had said at the
termination of their long, unpleasant interview, 'have a poorer opinion
of me that I have of myself. It would be impossible.' Perhaps they
thought he was laughing at them, for they had only looked at him with
stunned unquestioning eyes, and gone away. Eugen had kept Otto's name
out of the business, it was all he succeeded in keeping. Otto had liked
the completion of the affair scarcely better than Eugen. When Eugen
informed him that it had succeeded and that forty-five thousand pounds
reposed in Eugen's strong room at the bank, with the slur of the infamy
upon Eugen's head, Otto looked at him as a man looks at his jockey who
has won a fortune for him by pulling his horse. He had even had one of
his waves of sentiment on the subject, and against Eugen's judgement
refused to pay off the Trauenstein mortgage. 'I must have cleaner money
to free myself with,' he had said, looking away from Eugen. 'Then you
must make it in a cleaner fashion,' Eugen had retorted grimly. Except
for five thousand pounds for his immediate expenses, the sum had lain
there, increasing in value as the _Krone_ fell, until it was the largest
secret hoard in Vienna. Eugen had considered it the moment for opening
negotiations with one of the chief banks, and making an arrangement by
which, in return for the placing of his great fortune, Otto should
become one of the leading directors. Such a position was one of
financial security and would release Otto immediately from the shady
transactions of a Mandelbaum and from the increasing distastefulness of
Elisabeth. Instead of cheating Relief Commissions, Otto would be able to
watch the rush down of the _Krone_ and gamble with the ruin of his
country in a manner that defied criticism and would reap permanent
advantages. And now without a word of explanation Otto crashed through
his own security. He had rung up from Budapest and demanded his entire
fortune to be sent to him within twenty-four hours, and he had said that
it was impossible to tell Eugen over the telephone what he intended to
do with it.

It was not often that Eugen felt so utterly at sea or so incapable of
discovering the handle of a situation which nevertheless, as he told
himself, must have a handle. Perhaps Otto's good fortune had turned his
head, for he had added a piece of information which might be a key to
his recklessness. The engagement with the little American, which had
hung fire since the autumn, was to be announced, and the marriage would
take place as soon as Carol agreed to a date; and Elisabeth must be duly
notified. Eugen was to undertake this duty. Eugen smiled to himself as
he visualized the effect of such an announcement upon Elisabeth. It
would be like entering the cage of a very hungry lioness in the absence
of her keeper, and suggesting the cutting down of the meat supply.
Nevertheless Eugen had courage, and his sporting instinct was roused by
the contemplation of this scene. Elisabeth had great natural weapons,
but she was vulnerable, and Eugen was less vulnerable; he might have
been invulnerable if it had not been for the shipping deal. She had him
there, and she knew that she had him; but while Elisabeth had been happy
(and she had for a time been very happy) the taunts she had addressed to
Eugen had been, for Elisabeth, delicate and friendly taunts. He had
climbed down, and there is nothing so pleasantly amusing to the
unscrupulous as the descents of those whose standards pretend to be
higher than their own. But there had been other scenes lately,
threatening and ominous, scenes which dealt with the possibility of
Otto's treachery. For weeks Elisabeth had not been able to see Otto
himself; the massive figure of Conrad filled Otto's doorway. Bribery was
nothing to Conrad; insistent women were less than nothing. He was as
faithful as a wolf-hound. It was to Eugen Elisabeth had turned her small
eyes, slanting and glittering with suspicious rage; it was to Eugen she
would return, now that her rage was justified. She would think of course
that he had arranged the marriage, instead of disliking it very nearly
as much as Elisabeth herself disliked it. The person to be blamed was
Franz Salvator, but Eugen was unable to blame him since his fantastic
integrity had resulted (as fantastic integrity usually results) in deep
personal disappointment. Eugen sighed impatiently; the second object of
his existence hung heavily upon his mind. Franz Salvator's folly had
been worse than Eugen had expected; it had been more thorough. Once a
week with gloomy disgust Eugen plodded through the suburbs of Vienna to
a small untidy plot of ground to inspect the amateur building operations
of Franz Salvator's land-scheme. Here Franz Salvator lived, dressed like
a workman, slept in a carpenter's shop, and pretended that the smartest
officer in a crack Hungarian regiment, and one of the best riders of his
day, was happy. Eugen would have preferred a weekly pilgrimage to a
cemetery to lay a wreath upon his young friend's grave. 'War graves are
at least respectable,' he said to himself. 'These burrowings into the
lowest reaches of democracy are not!' He could hardly bear to let his
mind rest upon the final object of his existence. Eugnie had carried
out her intentions. She gave a fortnightly meeting, for foreigners and
relief workers, at her house; and Dr. Jeiteles visited her regularly as
if he were a friend of the family. Eugnie was probably under the
impression that Dr. Jeiteles came to see her to talk over his cases. It
was quite probable that their conversation consisted entirely of the
needs of the hospital and the methods of supply. 'A man', Eugen said to
himself bitterly, 'can make love while he is discussing surgical
instruments quite as dangerously as if he were writing poems to his
mistress's eyebrows! Franz Salvator has become submerged under the
waters of affliction; even one's visits to him should be paid in a
diving bell! It is no wonder that he no longer sees what is taking place
above his head; and as for Otto, some maggot possesses his intelligence.
He searches for money as if he were a dog hunting fleas, and has neither
heart nor time to catch happiness. I am useless of course. I keep sober
to enable Eugnie to meet Franz under my roof, when I should much prefer
their meeting under hers; I do not say I should manage things better if
I were drunk, but I should suffer less. I supply Franz Salvator with one
meal a day--I suspect it of being his only one--between the hours of his
absurd little language lessons. My rooms are no longer worth looking at
since I have sold my china and my Cranach. I go in and out, and see
nothing but gaps, like the wounds of a friend. And yet although I know
no life is in the least worth saving, what can one do? One cannot watch
one's friends stagger down the road to a demoralizing death, and keep
one's little treasures on one's wall. It is an outrage that the lives of
people one knows should be at stake, and it is another outrage that one
should be obliged to succour them; and it is the greatest outrage of all
that there should be a Reparations Committee dancing its heels off in
our midst, while we die of its abortive efforts! There is nothing of the
artist about God; he does not know when to stop. My wits are not what
they were either, or I should have guessed this little mystery of
Otto's. What does he want forty-five thousand pounds for at Budapest?
There is no stability there, and no banking future. Besides, if there
were such a possibility, there is no hurry. People with forty-five
thousand pounds need never be in a hurry over their investments. Usually
too Otto does not do these things alone--my mental powers up till now
have been serviceable to him.' Eugen got up suddenly and began walking
up and down his room. It was no use pretending any longer that he was
being comfortable. There was a possibility as to Otto's fortune which
had occurred to Eugen even across the telephone, but he had put it
swiftly away from him. He did not want to deceive himself, and the
possibility was so splendid a hope that his cautious mind instantly
receded from any reliance upon it. It made his blood run fast even to
think of it. What if Otto meant to fling his fortune (won from the
cursed English) into the restoration of Karl? That was a cause into
which Eugen would gladly see any fortune flung, and even more gladly
know that the hand which flung it was Otto's. Otto was at Budapest, and
it was to Budapest that the Emperor, if he ever returned, would go. Was
Otto redeeming that damned unpleasant deal by making Karl's return
possible? He would not of course if he had not been sure of the American
marriage; but even with this certainty, would Otto give up the whole of
his own fortune? It was a magnificent risk, and Otto was fond of making
large serious gestures with money. The Emperor had always distrusted
him; would it not be rather like Otto to drown this distrust in a flood
of generosity? If he could buy Vienna with forty-five thousand pounds,
he could certainly buy Budapest. Budapest was richer than Vienna, but it
was a great deal more venal. There were things you still could not
persuade Austrians to sell, but there were no such restrictions in
Hungary. There rich Jews provided the money for officers to persecute
poor Jews; and the aristocracy played with the remnants of the feudal
system as if they were loaded dice. 'It is possible,' Eugen murmured to
himself, 'even good things may come by a kind of accident, and with Otto
accidents go far! He reinforces his luck with his wit. It is a good
combination. God! I could face daylight again if I could say to the
Regenswirts, "You lost your boats, my friends, but you restored the
Kaiser!"' A knock at the door stilled his sudden passion. He turned his
sunken eyes under their thick suspicious brows upon Lisa. 'The Princess
Felsr would like to see you,' said Lisa, without enthusiasm. Lisa
guessed what Eugen felt for Eugnie, and she thought that everyone's
admiration for the Princess was grossly exaggerated. 'I will see her
immediately, of course,' said Eugen; 'ask her to have the kindness to
enter.' 'Dear Eugnie,' he exclaimed, bowing low over Eugnie's hand as
she stood hesitating a little in the doorway. 'You do me too great an
honour. Franz has long ago gone to his little grocers, and you should
have sent for me to come to you.' Eugen placed the chair he had been
sitting in for Eugnie and sat down opposite her. He looked at her for a
moment in silence. How would she take, he was asking himself, this
marriage of Otto's? It was an atrocious personal insult, and she would
take it probably as if it did not concern her. That was the way for a
woman to meet an emotional disaster. Eugnie seemed in no great hurry to
tell him the object of her visit; she looked round her appreciatively.
She too knew and felt in her heart the gaps in Eugen's treasures, but
she would not speak of them, she would only love him the more for his
unwilling sacrifices. 'Do you know,' she said, 'of all the beautiful
things you possess, I most envy you that little marble hand you have
upon your desk. Did you not tell me you found it yourself?' 'I had that
happiness,' said Eugen wistfully. 'It was my greatest find--long ago on
the beach at Anzio. It was washed up at my feet from Nero's submerged
palace. It comes from a good period; if not the work of Praxiteles it
was born in his happy hour. It is very young, very touching, and open
with the generosity of youth. The little fingers are curved back so that
it could keep nothing. It was made only to give. You look at it with so
much pleasure that I am amused. Why do you not look into your lap
instead? You would find two such hands there. Nature broke her mould I
think after she had made them!' 'Oh, my dear! My old thin hands!'
laughed Eugnie. 'What beautiful things you say to me!' 'Vein for vein,
and curve for curve,' said Eugen gravely, 'that hand is yours: even the
length of the fingers is the same, and when your hand lies in your lap,
it lies always like that--open. Now tell me, Eugnie, what is troubling
you?' 'I do not know that I am troubled,' said Eugnie thoughtfully. 'It
is true that a few days ago I was not sure that the marriage between
Otto and Carol would take place, and now I am sure. It is a great grief
for Franz Salvator--and yet it may be that for Otto it will be
salvation. For Carol herself I hardly know. Girls' hearts are not easy
even for another woman to read; they are not easy for the girl herself
to read! She thinks that she knows her way because she is modern and
life is an open book to her. But life is not a book; one has to live
first, and know what one's life has meant afterwards. Meanwhile there is
something I can do for her, and something I should be glad if you would
do with me. Tante Augusta has been a little difficult. She has so
disliked these six months that have been neither the one thing nor the
other--and Carol does not know how much it matters to please Otto's
mother! I have arranged with Tante, that their first meeting is to take
place at Sacher's. There is to be an opera party, and then supper.
General Swalkin will be there, and I count upon your arranging such a
supper that the dear Tante will be at her best. Then she will invite
Carol to Trauenstein, and I hope that you will come too. I also have
promised to go there; and if there is anything that does not go well, I
shall think it strange if together we cannot make it smooth again. The
wedding will probably take place from my flat at the end of the month.'
'And Otto knows that you will do all this?' Eugen asked gently. Eugnie
nodded. 'I will not make it hard for him,' she said beneath her breath.
Eugen said nothing. He was used to his astonishment over what Otto took
from women. All that Otto valued in life had come to him from women; and
he despised them. Eugen had received nothing from women, and given much,
and he thought more of them than he did of men. 'Then we will, as
usual,' he said after a pause, 'act together? It is to be hoped that
since there must be this marriage it will turn out happily. Is it your
impression that it will?' Eugnie gave a little sigh. 'Until last
night', she said, 'I was convinced it would. That is to say, I thought
Otto would have from the marriage what he looked for in it; and I
believed that if this happened, he would make Carol happy. He knows how
to please women. But last night I discovered something that has made me
a little anxious. I had understood that she was to bring Otto a great
fortune, he had frankly spoken to me of it as his reason for the
marriage--although I hope it is not his only reason. Last night Carol
told me that she possessed nothing beyond what she earned.' Eugen sat
bolt upright--his eyeglass swung out upon the air. 'The devil she did!'
he exclaimed incredulously. 'No fortune! but the girl's mad! Her
Ambassador answered for her fortune!' 'It was a mistake,' Eugnie
explained tranquilly; 'she says that there was a relation of the same
name as herself, but quite distant; he made a fortune out of a
newspaper, and left it not long ago to his only daughter. Carol writes
for the same paper--and her father died recently. One sees that the
confusion was possible. Tante Augusta spoke as if she believed in the
fortune, but I had not myself thought about it again although Franz
Salvator mentioned to me that you too thought she was very rich--and
that he was troubled by it. What frightened me yesterday was wondering
if Otto knew the truth. Of course I could not ask her if he knew.' 'Ah!'
said Eugen slowly, 'it is not necessary to ask her. I happen to know
that Otto's affairs depend entirely upon his belief in her fortune.'
'Then,' said Eugnie hesitatingly, 'ought he not to be told immediately?
If Otto is to be at all influenced by the fact that she has no money, I
think we should act before the girl is any further involved?' Eugen
closed his eyes. 'One moment, Eugnie,' he said; 'more depends upon this
revelation than you know. I think I must tell you what is in my mind,
though in a sense it is a breach of confidence--a breach of confidence
to Otto.' Eugnie raised her head proudly. 'I think,' she said, 'you may
tell me what you like--about Otto.' 'I think so too,' said Eugen, 'but
he must not know that I have told you. I would like your promise not to
let him know.' 'You have my promise,' said Eugnie steadily. 'Otto,'
Eugen went on after a pause, 'won a fortune some time ago from one of
his speculations. I was just placing it for him to very great advantage,
and in perfect security. To-day he telephones from Budapest and tells me
to send it to him immediately. It is in English bank-notes and is
reposing at this moment in that box of Coronas at your elbow. The bottom
layer is composed of something even richer than tobacco. I have been
employing my time since lunch in steaming off and then replacing those
very cleverly arranged seals. I think the result is satisfactory. The
English courier is a charming fellow with a great sympathy for
Austrians. The box will accompany him to Budapest to-night. It will be
quite safe. The English have one great quality--their honesty--one may I
think rely upon it. The box will reach Otto to-morrow. Otto informs me
that the American marriage will take place in a few weeks. I know that
he expects to receive from it a greater fortune. You understand, I am
morally sure that he would not touch this money unless he was sure that
Miss Hunter brings him more than its equivalent. If we wait twenty-four
hours before telling him that she has no fortune, this money will be
gone perhaps beyond his reach, and he will have precisely nothing.' 'But
why should we wait?' Eugnie demanded. 'Think for a moment, Eugnie,'
said Eugen, dropping his voice lower. 'For what purpose can Otto wish
this money? Not for any business advantage. All such advantages I have
obtained for him here. I think--I am not sure--but I think--there can be
only one purpose for which Otto needs this money in Budapest. Can you
not guess the cause?' Eugnie leaned forward. 'Oh,' she whispered,
'Eugen! You mean the Emperor? The return of the Emperor?' Eugen looked
up and met her eyes. Youth had rushed back into her face. It filled the
hollows of her cheeks, and invaded her whole being with colour and life.
'Oh,' she said under her breath, 'Otto is going to do this great
thing--to give his fortune--his whole fortune for the Emperor!' All her
faith in Otto rose to Eugnie's eyes--her broken, damaged, faltering
faith--restored suddenly by a miracle into a triumphant certainty; and
following her faith down the path of least resistance, poured her heart.
Eugen, looking at her intently, caught some of her exultant confidence.
It was possible, he thought to himself; it was even probable. For such a
sum one could almost insure Karl's restoration, and Otto would regain by
it all his lost influence! The world--the old world--might come creeping
back, as waters find an old accustomed channel, and return. 'I cannot
say,' Eugen murmured, 'I do not like to say too much. But it is more
than possible, Eugnie; only remember, we throw away that possibility if
we tell him now. He will not strip himself of _everything_--even for the
Emperor.' Eugnie sprang to her feet. 'Can we not believe,' she cried,
'that he would give all he has, everything! everything! to bring back
Karl! Otto is _generous_, Eugen!' Eugen took her reproach in silence. He
rose slowly, and stood with his back to her triumphant figure. It was
hard for him to have to undermine that triumph, to see that flush die
out. 'Not everything,' he said at last. 'We should be wiser not to
expect too much. There are complications which you do not know. Otto
cannot at a moment swing clear of them. I may say that I know the
American fortune is vital to him. We are taking an enormous
responsibility on ourselves if we let him sacrifice his capital without
the knowledge that he is left penniless by such a sacrifice. As an
Austrian I am prepared to take the responsibility in order to restore
our Emperor. For good or ill--let Otto give all he has--not knowing that
it is all he has! I know our Emperor, Otto will be repaid for what he
gives. But, Eugnie, for God's sake let him give it!' Eugen faced round
upon her--and he saw that he had been right. Her colour had faded, and
half the light had gone out of her eyes. 'I am sorry that you doubt him,
Eugen,' she said slowly, 'but I am glad--oh, yes--I am very glad--that
he gives _much_!' They looked at each other as if some great and
unexpected treasure had been pressed into their hands, and yet they had
only been given back a little faith in the man they loved. Eugen took
both Eugnie's hands in his, and held them for a moment. 'We have done
what we can to help him,' he said gravely. 'But the result may not be
favourable. It may be that the marriage will not take place, because
Otto refuses to go on with it; or it may be that not even his fortune
can replace the Emperor. If he fails to restore Karl, he will have
neither the fortune he expected with his marriage nor the recompense the
Emperor would have made him. He will have exactly--nothing.' Eugnie
drew a long breath of anxiety, but the light lingered in her eyes. 'I
know! I know!' she murmured, 'but we must not measure this action by
results. He will have done at last something worthy of him! I think he
only needed to win back his honour. This will give him courage to go on
doing right! He must marry the girl of course, he has given his word;
and she will help him face any future, she is made of audacity and has
the vigour of her new race. Whatever happens, nothing is hard for me
now! Oh, Eugen, you don't know--not even you--how happy I am! I ought to
be heartbroken for Franz, I should be anxious for Carol, and more than
anxious for you, upon whom all that goes wrong--if anything goes
wrong--must fall. But I will tell you the truth. I cannot feel as if
anything else matters now! Think that Otto has redeemed himself at last!
Perhaps he meant that all along? He knew better than we how to serve
Austria, and all that we hated was perhaps necessary and even right in
such a cause!' She caught her hands away from his and covered her face
with them. 'I cannot bear even you to see how happy I am!' she
whispered. Eugen turned quickly away from her; as he did so his eye
caught the receiver of the telephone, and he found himself wondering if
that small, firm voice at the other end of it had been meaning to do
anything so very noble after all.




CHAPTER XXVI


Like an island rising out of a flood, the opera house, with its classic
pillars and its fountains, rose above the miseries of Vienna. It was to
the life of the city what the Bank of England is to London, what Wall
Street is to New York, what St. Peter's is to Rome. It might freeze in
the winter; it might stagnate in the summer; it might give performances
to empty houses; its singers might be half starved and its scenery a
dilapidated farce, but as long as the orchestra trooped to its place
(thin and yellow like last year's leaves, but with their subtle lan and
rhythmic responsiveness undimmed) the city could still breathe. Mozart,
their patron saint, was safe in his shrine; and they could still offer
up before the impassive Heavens the incense of his music. One day the
Heavens might hear; and the thin stream of ebbing life pour back into
its ancient channels.

It was the first time that Otto and Eugen had stood together in the
great gilded vestibule since the days when the Court filled the opera
house and used it as if it had been a private drawing-room. Now the 'new
public' moved across the hall in congested packs, as if at a railway
station fighting for a train. Most of them were in morning dress; very
few of them were Austrian. Their earlier existence (if indeed they had
existed before the war) had been conducted discreetly in some
underworld, but now the whole surface of the city was theirs, and they
poured through the shrines of privilege like a barbaric horde which has
overrun an older civilization and neither knows nor cares how to handle
the exposed and ancient deities. Otto and Eugen, waiting on the steps
for the arrival of Eugnie and Carol, exchanged glances full of memory
and disgust. 'Ah, there is Eugnie!' Otto observed. 'The Balkans appear
to flow between us--if you go to the right of the pillar and I go to the
left we may be able to rescue her!' Otto hardly knew if it was purpose
or accident which brought him first to Eugnie's side. She looked at him
as if she were possessed by some strange gladness; there was colour in
her cheeks, and she held her head as if she were crowned. 'The
announcement of my engagement has made you so happy that you look ten
years younger,' observed Otto, with a lift of his eyebrows. 'I had not
counted upon that particular effect! No! It is no use trying to run away
from me. You cannot get through six fat men and a woman with shoulders
like the roof of the Stephans Kirche--lean against this pillar, and if
you can, explain to me why you have such a light in your eyes and such a
colour in your cheeks--and forgive me for touching your hands because I
cannot possibly help it!' 'Don't spoil what I feel,' murmured Eugnie;
'it's because I've heard you have done an action which I think is great.
Not your marriage--that too pleases me if it makes you happy--it was
time you should settle down, and the little girl you have chosen I love
very much--but the other thing that you have done pleases me more.' Otto
felt frankly puzzled. What the deuce had he done to win Eugnie's
praise? He put his arm around her to keep the indiscriminate pressure of
the crowd away, and drew her a moment against his heart. 'Dearest,' he
murmured, 'dearest, what an opportunity these Balkan pigs present! Don't
draw yourself away from me! I assure you I'm behaving with the strictest
austerity compared to what I feel; and if you are pleased when I do what
is right it is nothing at all compared to the pleasure I should feel if
you would consent sometimes just for a moment to do what you think is
wrong. I wanted to say--though it sounds rather brutal--that I'm
marrying your little friend because I have to--not because I want
to--but I'll try and make her a tolerable husband.' As he finished
speaking the crowd freed them and they found themselves at the foot of
the stairs, at the spot where Eugen had already succeeded in piloting
Carol. Otto transferred himself to Carol's side without a perceptible
pause. 'It's been such a stupid forty-eight hours,' he murmured as he
moved away with her. 'I hope you haven't enjoyed it. My mother is full
of apologies, but nothing will induce her to re-enter the opera until
the return of the Emperor. She will await us at Sacher's.' Carol had
felt faintly apprehensive of this first meeting with Otto since the
finality of their announcement; the excitement and the pleasure of his
company had been shaken out of her mind by deeper feelings. She had been
everywhere; she had done nearly everything; but she was only
twenty-three; and this marriage to a man nearly twice her age and of a
foreign race weighed on her like a responsibility which she had not the
power to meet. But the friendly reassuring irony of Otto's presence put
all her fears to flight. His eyes fixed upon hers, half in ardour and
half in mockery of his ardour, challenged her spirit of attraction. 'Is
your mother like you?' she asked, smiling. 'If I please you--will I
please her? Or must I begin all over again and try something else--more
European in style?' 'Be just what you are,' said Otto, laughing, 'you
will then be sure of pleasing every man--and any woman over sixty. I
find the little white dress delightful. It makes you look like a fairy
on a Christmas tree, and I see the orchids go very well with it. It is
the right contrast, perfect simplicity and a little touch of
sophistication to make it go down. We are to hear Jeritza in "Salome"
to-night. Eugen has just informed me that it is very improper, and that
I ought not to have taken you until we are married. At my age one
forgets these little distinctions; whether, that is, we should be
improper first or improper afterwards! It is so much simpler to be
improper all the time!' Carol laughed. 'You forget,' she said, 'as he
does, what a lot I've been about the world--why, I've heard "Salome"
twice already, but not with Jeritza, and I guess I'm improper enough to
be able to hear even her interpretation!' 'And you look as if you were
only fifteen and had seen nothing but the cloak behind the Madonna's
shoulders,' said Otto admiringly. 'Still, at fourteen if I remember
right, Juliet had an extraordinarily intelligent knowledge of rope
ladders and the uses to which they might be put. But the Jeritza is very
fine in her interpretation; if you have anything left of the Puritan
spirit she'll let it down very easily.'

The conductor took his place. Otto was glad of the music. He wanted a
few minutes to think. What had he done to please Eugnie? Could she have
heard, could Eugen have told her, of the withdrawal of his money; and
had they together, taking into account his unexplained visit to
Budapest, pitched upon the possible return of the Emperor? He was
supposed then to be financing the return of Karl? He would not scold
Eugen for betraying his affairs to Eugnie, since the betrayal had had
such a satisfactory result. The idea itself could do no harm shared by
these two, whose devotion to the Emperor was only less than their
devotion to Otto. Eugen had asked him no questions, and Otto had not yet
felt called upon to yield his confidence; nor would he yield it. Let
them think what they liked. He must not go on looking at Eugnie. There
she sat with her dark head outlined against the dull red of the
curtains, her neck and arms as white and firm as the petals of a
magnolia. She wore an old-fashioned black velvet dress; yet what woman
in the house compared with her--those long shadowy eyelashes covering
beauty that stirred deeper than the senses; her blessed stillness, as if
she had grown in some occult and sacred place without noise or hurry!
When she moved, how subtly she did it, like a seagull's effortless poise
of wing! He drank in the happy line of her features--at once vivid and
austere. 'Not Venus--Psyche!' he murmured under his breath.

He dragged his eyes back to Carol. The pretty bobbed-haired girl in
front of him, alert, and with certain rather good points, was not
finished; she would not last! Nature had hurried over her. She had not
paused and let the secret of old selected beauty pass into her blood.
And yet nothing in his new life was as good as this girl, who was not
fine enough to please him! It was atrocious that he could not reconcile
himself to the life he had chosen. He had had to choose it; but it was
full of vulgar things. He had had to accept stupid, ugly relations which
made his finer instincts smart and feel cheated. The harsh, restless
music with its undertone of menace stirred him unpleasantly. Life was
devilish. Beauty caught at your senses like a snare, and when the trap
closed on them you found Beauty had remained outside. Take his own life,
for instance. If he could be put back ten years ago into the old world
with its old prizes, how differently he would choose! He would not
flounder about like an overburdened bee, drugged with honey, from flower
to flower. He would choose Eugnie, and be more or less true to her. He
would not throw himself into half a dozen lives--be half jockey--half
politician--a hunter of women--an intellectual--a firebrand of the
aristocracy, and a student of finance; he would select a line and force
his wits into one deep successful channel. It had all been so exciting,
and he had been too young to know the worth of what he had sacrificed.
Now he knew its worth, he was tired of riding a dozen horses at once,
and making love to women who only repeated in half a dozen keys the same
brief refrain. Life itself had begun to bore him. He had all his powers
intact, but the incentives had become dim. His wits were--thank
God!--sharper than ever, but his will flagged. He could be ruthless with
others, but he had ceased to be able to deny himself anything that he
wanted, and in another ten years what would become of him! The music
shot up suddenly into flaming discords, and trailed off in smoke. 'You
look so cross,' the child in front of him whispered. 'What has happened
to you?' 'The first scene of an opera always makes me cross,' murmured
Otto. 'Ah! here is the Jeritza, now I shall be less cross--she is
something that happens!' In the bar of light across the palace stairs
stood Jeritza; she was looking down upon the well of the dungeon in
which St. John was imprisoned. Carol became suddenly aware that she was
not going simply to listen to a voice, she was going to receive the
impact of a great personality. The Salome, when she moved, slid down the
stairs like a lizard. In a moment there seemed to be no such thing as
safety; all the world was balanced on a razor edge of danger, ready to
kill or to die. Jeritza's voice, when it came, cut the air; at first it
sounded hoarse and rough. It won its way slowly into beauty, as if what
it must prove, before anything else came from it, was its power. In the
scene that followed with St. John the Baptist, it was terrible to feel
the tension of Salome's instinct, held back like a weapon tearing at the
thin sheath of her control. Salome was astounded at the strength of a
spiritual repulse; all her nature was in revolt against it. Again and
again she flung at the saint the force of her beauty, overwhelmingly
sure of herself, overwhelmingly powerful, incredulously checked. 'I
suppose I am like that to Eugnie,' Otto thought bitterly, 'a kind of
inverted Salome, keeping her in prison, or walking about with her head
on a charger! I can't help it. I don't see the sense of this resistance
to pleasure! Why can't that livid snail of a saint respond to a
beautiful woman? Why can't Eugnie let herself go with me? She loves me.
When I touched her to-night I knew she was pulling herself away not
because her instinct refused me, but because of some silly scruple in
her mind. People don't light up as if someone had set a flame in a dull
lantern because they think you've done something rather fine--unless all
their feeling is involved in what you do. I can't marry her because I
must have money, but what on earth has money or marriage got to do with
love? It's beastly materialistic when you come to think of it, all this
ice and iron about a ceremony!... Jeritza hasn't gone off. Gad! if
one could have the distinction of Eugnie and the kick of a woman like
the Jeritza, what an emotion for any man! The devil--there's Elisabeth!'
Otto's eyes hardened to a cool deadly stare, as he met the eyes of
Elisabeth Bleileben across the stalls. Her face was white and ravaged;
it looked like a strip of country across which armies had fought; but
her eyes were alive--slanting, sparkling, livid with rage, they met his,
and forced their way through the hard armour of his indifference. Otto
turned his head and murmured, 'Eugen!' Eugen Erddy gave him a curt nod,
and a moment later disappeared unnoticed from the box.

Eugen slipped out into the corridor, and met Elisabeth face to face. She
had cleared her way rapidly through the flesh and blood which stood in
her path, and for a moment Eugen wondered if she did not mean to force
herself past him into the box. 'I must see Otto!' she said in a low
voice. Her lips moved upward like a snarling dog's; she did not tremble
as a weaker woman would have done, she was stiff with rage. Eugen stood
in front of her, impassive and formidable. 'Don't make yourself
conspicuous,' he said quietly; 'take my arm. Women should always appear
to be enjoying themselves in public, it is unbecoming to them to do
otherwise. I am not Otto, but for the moment please accept me as his
substitute. It is quite impossible that you should speak to him now. He
is entertaining a party for the evening.' 'It has been impossible for
him to speak to me for weeks,' said Elisabeth vehemently, 'impossible
for him to write--impossible for him to telephone. I can no longer
accept all these impossibilities!' She spoke in a hurried guttural
voice, as if she were swallowing her words to prevent herself from
shouting, but she took the arm Eugen offered her and walked towards the
foyer. Choked as she felt with bitterness, there was something like
exultation in appearing even in the empty foyer on Eugen Erddy's arm.
'I tell you,' she went on, her vivid slanting eyes moving swiftly from
side to side of her, 'I cannot bear it, and what I cannot bear--does not
get borne! It explodes!' 'But one does not explode in an opera house,'
replied Eugen imperturbably. 'One leaves these great moments of sudden
expansion to prima donnas who are trained for them, or else, Excellenz,
one gets turned out.' 'This marriage,' she went on without heeding him,
'this marriage must stop! I have come to say this to Otto and I mean to
say it, either here or elsewhere. Nothing, no one, shall prevent me!'
Eugen was silent for a moment. No one could possibly have disliked his
companion more than Eugen Erddy disliked Elisabeth, but his dislike was
not uppermost in him at the moment. He found it quite compatible to
sympathize with a being he hated--as compatible as he found it to judge
with disgust the actions of someone whom he loved. 'Excellenz,' he said
at last, 'you may not think of me in the light of a friend, but I give
you the advice of one. Do not attempt to force anything upon Otto. You
will not succeed, and you will be made to suffer more than you are doing
now.' 'I must see Otto,' Elisabeth repeated. 'You do not know! Something
has happened. My life is breaking up around me. I am a proud woman. I
should like to hurt him, it is true, but if I could get on without him I
would have left him alone.' Eugen looked down at her. He saw that she
spoke the truth, something had broken in her. Her eyes had the startled
anguish of a drowning creature, it was as if she suddenly felt the cold
weight of waters covering her head, and knew that she could not surmount
them. 'If it is possible I will arrange a meeting with Otto for you,'
Eugen replied gently. 'But I fear I must ask you to give me the grounds
for such an interview first. In what way is Otto responsible for your
fresh unhappiness?' Elisabeth turned slowly with him at the end of the
long foyer, and paused. 'This is what has happened,' she said rapidly
under her breath. 'Yesterday I told my husband everything! I think I
went mad when I received your message. I threw it at him. He was all I
had to hurt! Should he stand there fat with his happiness and I torn to
pieces by treachery? No! I wiped off that smile. He will never look so
satisfied again. He ran away out of the house like a whipped dog. After
he had gone I repented, and when he returned late last night I told him
it was all a lie and that I had only said it to pay him out for his own
unfaithfulness. He licked his lips--for he is always afraid of me--and
said he had found out that what I had told him was not a lie, but the
truth. He had got proofs! I thought he had run away because he was
afraid of me--the cur--but he had run away only to find evidence. Now he
has found it he will divorce me. He is no longer afraid of me. To-night
he turned me out of his house!' Eugen walked on slowly without speaking.
Each word she said increased his loathing of her; he was as conscious as
she was of the surprised glances of the people he passed. Everyone
connected however remotely with Viennese life knew Eugen Erddy, and
knew that he had for the first time in his life a Jewess on his arm.
Nevertheless this was a woman who had not received common justice. She
had made Otto's fortune, and he was getting rid of her as if she were
the end of a cigarette. Eugen could not do very much for her perhaps,
but he could walk beside her as if she were a queen. 'This is very
serious,' he said at last. 'I quite agree with you that this is serious,
though I must point out to you that your confession brought it upon
yourself. Women should never confess anything--nothing at any rate that
they have really done. To-morrow I will call upon your husband, and see
if it cannot be cleared off. A divorce is the most culpable of human
failures, because it is quite unnecessary. It relieves nobody, and
involves every one in scandal. As a Minister your husband will be making
a great blunder. I think this may be brought home to him. Candidly,
Excellenz, I do not believe that any one can prevent Otto's marriage,
but as a man of honour he will doubtless help you to the utmost of his
power to avoid the consequences of your culpable impetuosity. Rest
assured it is to the interest of neither of us to let this divorce take
place. Therefore I think it will not take place. Where do you propose to
go on leaving here?' 'I have not made any plans,' said Elisabeth, biting
her dry lips. 'I mean to see Otto--it is for him to make my plans.'
'Forgive me,' said Eugen, 'but I do not think Otto will see the matter
in such a light. It is best that we should consult together to do what
is safest for you. I will give you a card to my secretary, and she will
look after you in my rooms until Otto is free. You can have an interview
with him then--and afterwards I will take you to any friend of yours who
will receive you for the rest of the night. If you will wait here for a
moment I will tell Otto what we have arranged, and let you know at what
hour to expect us.' Elisabeth gave him a long searching look. It was
incredible to her that this man, whom she had triumphed over and
insulted, should speak to her with such grave deference now that she was
at his mercy. She wondered if he was playing a part, and meant to trick
her--as she would have tricked him if she had been in his place. But she
had no one else to trust--the horror of her doom was upon her, and she
grasped at the only help in sight. A divorced woman in her class loses
everything, and Elisabeth had much to lose. If Otto listened to
her--married her--she had everything to gain, and between her and that
possibility of safety was Eugen's enigmatic face and this strange sense
that, without having anything to bribe him with, she had yet somehow or
other obtained Eugen's protection. She was not attracting him, she had
too much sense to believe in her own charms for a man like Eugen--but he
pitied her, and since this was all she had to use, she must use it
right. 'Do what you can for me,' she said simply. She watched him
disappear down the long corridor, his tall, upright figure nonchalant
and unhurried. Then she shut her eyes and waited.

Salome was dancing. Herod and his Court watched her strip off her veils
one by one and haunt them with her loveliness. An instinct moved Otto to
turn his eyes from the stage to the back of the box. He rose noiselessly
and joined Eugen, who stood silently close by the door. 'You must see
her,' Eugen murmured. 'It is essential. Her husband threatens a
divorce.' 'Nonsense,' Otto whispered back sharply, 'it is out of the
question. The divorce must be stopped of course. There can be no
evidence. My servants are safe. You will arrange all that. What should I
see her for? To tell her that I have finished with her? She knows that I
have finished! It is enough.' 'Nevertheless you must see her,' repeated
Eugen gravely; 'you owe her at least that, and I have promised it for
you. Do not forget what she has done to serve you! She goes immediately
to my rooms and will await us there. The woman is desperate, Otto. She
has neither the self-respect nor the strong nerve of a young girl. She
was middle-aged and innocent when you took her--you should have left her
what she was, or be prepared to protect her!' 'My dear boy, you're mad,'
replied Otto impatiently. 'I was not responsible either for her middle
age or her innocence. I am sick of the sight of her, and it will not
make her any less desperate to be told so.' 'I shall refuse to assist
you about the divorce unless you agree to see her,' said Eugen slowly
after a long pause, in which their eyes met and sounded each other. 'I
regret to say so, but I shall refuse.' Otto shrugged his shoulders.
'God! what an idiot you are!' he murmured. 'Well! have it your own way
then--the way of a sentimentalist, who thinks to make facts less
unpleasant by dragging them through scenes. What does she want me to do?
Marry her I suppose? And do you think I _should_ marry her whatever
unpleasant excuses I am forced to make? I tell you, my dear child, I had
rather jump off a cliff than touch her again! I am also middle-aged, and
if I am not innocent--I have nerves!' The music ran higher and higher,
they could no longer hear each other's whispers, the stage darkened.
Jeritza lying on the ground sang her broken, bitter, puzzled exultation
over the severed head. Her voice filled the house and challenged Heaven
with the shock of her defeated will. Otto crept back to his seat behind
Carol. She put her hand on his knee--it was the first time she had
voluntarily touched him. 'I'm frightened,' she whispered. 'Oh, Otto, it
sounds as if--as if she didn't know what she'd got.'




CHAPTER XXVII


Carol did not find eating a dinner in a starving city a satisfactory
form of amusement. She could not shut her mind to the sharpness of the
contrast. She found herself imagining that even the head waiter was
watching the bread by her plate, praying that she might leave it; and
she thought that a mob and a lamp-post should have been added to the
last course. How could Eugnie stand the taste and feel of the luxury
surrounding them? For the last two years Eugnie and Franz Salvator had
stripped life bare to the bone. Carol had never understood before why
they shrank from Otto's prosperity; but she understood now; great
contrasts are always cruel. The thought had a curiously disturbing
effect upon her. She began to criticize Otto. Why had he spent all this
money on unnecessary splendours? The lights on the round table shone as
if they were imprisoned gold; beneath them was a floating sea of
niphitos roses. The heavy frost-like silver, the delicate cobweb damask
cloth--the food a series of unprocurable delicacies, handled by
extravagant skill--what was it done for? Why could not she just have met
his mother over a cup of tea? She thanked God Jane was not there to see
the kind of dinner given in her honour. Carol had never been able to
forget Jane's first criticism of Otto, 'An uninteresting little man with
predatory instincts!' Her eyes sought Otto's face. It was quite
expressionless, and when it was expressionless, was it not a little
hard? This was not the background she had intended for herself when she
came to Wien; but it was, she saw with a sudden intensity, what she must
be prepared to accept now. This would be her new
life--luxury--fastidiousness--exclusion. Otto and Eugen knew nothing
else; they had preserved through the cataclysm of their fallen empire,
through the drifting away into death and destitution of all their
friends, a fortune which they could expend upon the tastes they had once
cultivated. They could not use their talents upon anything else because
they had no other values. Perhaps this was what Eugnie had meant when
she had pointed out to Carol that the life Otto had chosen was too
different for real friendship to be possible? Eugnie was here to-night,
and she was looking as if she enjoyed herself, but she was not here for
Otto, and she had made it clear to Carol that she would never come
again. She had come to help Carol meet the Grfin because it was
supposed to be a formidable event to meet the funny, stumpy little old
lady with a crooked chestnut wig and flat active eyes, who looked as if
she was paid to prevent the waiters from carrying off the spoons. The
Grfin herself considered the occasion extravagant, but she liked food,
and her eyes rested caressingly upon the oysters and brown bread and
butter. On her right sat her greatest friend. He was an old man with
white hair, bushy eyebrows and gentle tired eyes. He looked as if he was
made of very thin brown paper, and as if all the solidarity left him had
gone into keeping his shoulders erect. General Swalkin had been the
Emperor Franz Joseph's oldest comrade, the only personal friend--apart
from reasons of State--Franz Joseph was known to possess. He had been
quietly starving for months, and he had only come out of his obscurity
to do honour to the son of one of his oldest friends. No astonishment at
mere circumstance had ever shaken his self-control, so that he hid his
bewilderment at the meal before him as if he had not been used to dining
daily off black bread and vegetables and wondering if the _Kronen_
sufficient for his next meal would be forthcoming. When the _Krone_ fell
further he would not have any more meals. None of his friends knew
exactly what his circumstances were, so that he would not be interfered
with. The old world had ceased to exist, and he was perfectly content to
follow its example. He had been at Sacher's constantly in his former
life, and his eyes lingered on the familiar tapestries with pleased
recognition. He ate very sparingly, with a good deal of consultation
with the Grfin and Eugnie as to what his _Magen_ could be induced to
stand, and sometimes he looked across and smiled at the young American
who, his friend the Grfin had explained to him, stood solidly
entrenched in dollars behind this and any other entertainment Otto might
choose to indulge in for the rest of his life. General Swalkin was glad
she was pretty as well as rich, because he was a gallant old man and
believed that Otto would give to beauty the tribute it deserved. Otto
had to marry money of course, but it would have been very unpleasant if
the little girl had not managed to be pretty as well. The Grfin ate
systematically and with critical appreciation; probably she would not
get such food again in a lifetime, and even if the whole affair went
smoothly and Otto allowed her enough to indulge all her tastes, the
money would then be her own and she would not have the same lawless
feeling about it that she had now in passing from Otto's oysters to
plovers' eggs, keeping well in view the tournedos with mushrooms, the
Styrian chickens cooked with pt de foie gras  la Lyonnaise, and the
ineffable _Torte_ at the end! But why should such splendours have an
end? There, above the flood of niphitos roses, were grapes and
nectarines to follow. But the Grfin knew her capacity--not raw fruit at
the end of such a dinner! 'My only criticism,' she murmured to the
General, 'is whether Eugen would not have been wiser with pork cutlets
instead of beefsteaks? One has one's passion. Nothing in life has ever
seemed to me quite like a pork cutlet!' 'It is true,' said the General
gravely; 'taken by themselves--perfect--but, dear Grfin--would they not
be, with all these other delicacies--oppressive to the _Magen_? I feel
myself that in beef--if it is not overcooked--and here one is safe from
such savagery--Eugen has found a happy inspiration; beef accompanies
better than pork.' 'True,' murmured the Grfin, 'and fresh mushrooms!
But where _can_ Anna Sacher get mushrooms? These taste upon the palate
as young as morning dew.' The General shook his head, and the Grfin
turned suddenly upon Carol. 'I wonder if you can cook,' she asked
briskly. 'In your wonderful country I am told there are excellent dishes
and some attention paid to domesticity, but the Anglo-Saxons as a rule
are deficient in homemaking.' 'I can', said Carol, 'do anything about a
house if I've got to.' 'Ah! in that case you are more practical than the
English,' replied the Grfin with a flicker of cordiality. 'Englishwomen
are the most helpless in the world. They should be kept behind purdahs
as they are in the East, to produce babies and eat nougat. They may have
learned better since the war, but in former days my hostesses in England
knew literally nothing about their kitchens--and the result! Terrible!
Terrible! Terrible! I said, "Have you no sauces?" They said, "Yes, we
have sauces." One of them was mint sauce. Would you believe--it was
nothing but vinegar and water! A few green herbs, chopped raw, floated
in this sea of bitterness! And then they had another--made of bread and
milk. When I tasted it I could have wept. "In our country", I said, "the
poor give this to young babies." I was not surprised when our good
German submarines failed to starve the English, since after centuries of
malnutrition they had failed to starve themselves!' Otto took the
conversation gently into his hands; it passed away from the good German
submarines, and Carol, who knew conversational causes, was a little
pained to notice that Otto's--sparkling and vivid as champagne--was
nevertheless founded entirely upon his own self-esteem. It was strange
that she had not noticed, until now, the hard core of egoism in Otto's
delicate wit. Everything that Otto talked about, and he talked this
evening a great deal, redounded--subtly and without emphasis--but still
redounded--to his own credit. He talked away from himself, but the point
of the talk came back. He listened--he was an extraordinarily good
listener for so good a talker--but his listening magnetized the
conversation either upon his personality or his experiences. Once only
did he forget himself, and the occasion was so curious that, though it
was over as quickly as the flight of a bird, the impression of it
remained with Carol. They were talking together about American politics.
It was a subject very familiar to Carol and very interesting to Otto.
Carol was aware that she was handling it well and that all the table,
except Eugnie and the old General, were listening to her. Eugnie was
giving the old General rather a pointless little reminiscence of a ride
she had taken with Otto in the Imperial woods. Otto's eyes grew fixed,
his attention wandered, he even forgot himself so far as to turn his
head. Immediately his attention was called back by Eugen's asking him a
direct question, but by then Carol's eyes too had wandered; they had
rested on Eugnie's face and seen a deep rose colour rise from her neck
to her forehead. Eugnie got to the end of her little story without
faltering, but she had blushed beyond the possibility of doubt when Otto
had turned and looked at her. Why had she blushed, and why had Otto
given up his researches into American politics to look at Eugnie? It
was peculiarly noticeable because, even apart from the interest of a
topic, men seldom give up listening to the woman they adore in order to
look at a woman they do not. Otto's attention never swerved from Carol
again, not even when she dropped rather skilfully out of his restored
self-impressionism and asked General Swalkin to tell her something about
the old Emperor? The General roused himself from his startled interest
in a plover's egg with an attention he had for no other subject. 'His
Imperial Majesty Franz Joseph!' he murmured. 'My dear young lady, he was
my master! What can I tell you of him except that he was a very good
one? And that I think--I still think--in spite of this world that is now
around us and which despises masters--that obedience to a good master is
the best life for any man who is not born a king. I am an old man, and I
would not choose another life. Those old dogs who die on the graves of
their masters are the happiest. I saw very little of His Majesty after
war was declared. I think about the last, certainly the most noticeable
of my audiences, was on the occasion of the Archduke's murder. I was
allowed the privilege of entering unannounced into His Majesty's
presence, if he was at liberty. I do not think anyone else about him,
except of course the Empress, knew him better than I--but it will be no
wrong to His Majesty's confidence in me if I repeat what occurred on
this sad occasion. It bears out a point that has often occurred to me,
how little one knows the heart of anyone else--even of his greatest
friend! Not even the man one has watched all one's life, as, for
instance, I may say, Eugen has watched Otto, or Otto Eugen--for I know
that they are true friends, as it was my great privilege to be my
master's friend. One day--it is like yesterday, for six years are
nothing to an old man, the young possess the hours and leave to us the
minutes, an official brought me a telegram--and asked me to break the
news of the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife to the
Emperor. She was, you may remember, his wife, but not the Archduchess.
By courtesy of the Emperor she had become Countess of Hohenburg. Still
she had died with him, and if what they say is true she died trying to
defend him. I took the telegram, and I said to myself, "This is the end.
He has had everything taken away from him. All the past is in ruins, and
now the future. Also it will mean war." He was in the room where he
worked daily, seated at his desk. I thought he looked very old and
tired, as if all the years and all his sorrows had got upon his back at
once. I stood by his side and waited; and I would have liked to give the
rest of my life to wipe out that telegram. At last he looked up, and
said, "Well, my boy, what have you come to tell me?" "Bad news, your
Majesty," I said, "bad news." He looked up at me; there was no fear in
his eyes, and now that he was old there was no curiosity either. I
thought it best to put the telegram into his hand. He read it through
carefully, and then laid it down by the letter he was writing. "Very
interesting," he said, "very interesting indeed. So Providence has
carried out what I myself was powerless to perform." And he sat up quite
straight as if some of his old sorrows had fallen off his back. It was,
as I say, a surprise to me. I knew that he had no great love for the
Archduke; their natures were dissimilar, and the Emperor had bitterly
opposed the marriage, but after all the Archduke was his heir apparent,
and the Emperor had never let his hatred show. Perhaps there was no
hatred, only His Majesty's sense of order, which was very great. At any
rate it was a great relief that what I may call the last of his personal
tragedies failed to touch him.' 'I did not know that----' Eugen
murmured, with a look in his eyes which Carol had never seen there
before. 'I also am glad! But you say one does not know one's friends? It
is true you were surprised, but it is true also that His Majesty had not
done anything against his nature; he had merely had a deeper feeling for
precedent and breeding than even you had imagined, a deeper feeling than
he had happened to have for the Archduke Ferdinand.' 'Yes, but yes!'
said the old General almost irritably, 'that is what I mean--which is
the deepest feeling in any of us--who can say for another? One is lucky
if one knows what it is for oneself, and one is luckiest of all if one
is allowed to act upon it!' Eugen rose slowly to his feet, he had tried
to meet Otto's eyes, but Otto's eyes this time were bent, where they
ought to have been bent earlier, upon the face of his future bride.
Eugnie was looking at her plate, and the Grfin pushed away from
herself, with a wistful sigh, a little dish of salted almonds. Nobody
noticed Eugen until he had left the room and returned with a bottle
reclining at a careful angle in a basket, 'This', he said with great
gravity, 'is a wine of which I have very little left. It is suitable, I
think, for the occasion. Three bottles of superlative Tokay remain to
me; one I keep for the restoration of the Monarchy, one is to be opened
after my death at the discretion of my executors, and one I am about to
open in order that we may drink to the health, the prosperity and to the
success of all the purposes of my old friend, Otto Wolkenheimb, and of
my young friend, his bride!' With cautious deliberation Eugen took a
silver corkscrew in his hand, and, wrapping a small embroidered napkin
round the neck of the bottle, drew the cork with infinite dexterity. It
was a liquid that ran like a sunbeam into their glasses and tasted like
fire and honey. After drinking it, the honey lingered on the palate; the
fire stirred in the blood. Eugen lifted his glass, slowly touched each
of their glasses in turn, and Otto's last of all. This time the eyes of
the two men met and lingered in each other's. 'And to all his purposes!'
Eugen repeated. After he had drunk, he threw the glass over his
shoulder. The surprise of the little crash remained in Carol's memory.
Everyone had started, except the old General, who followed Eugen's
example, murmuring, 'Such a wine is history. It would be a pity to pour
a meaner wine into the same glass'. 'It would be for me--impossible,'
said Eugen solemnly. 'When the best of anything goes one does not keep
what held it.' The occasion melted away rather quickly after the little
ceremony. The General made a kind little speech, Otto replied with
exquisite neatness. The Grfin embraced Eugnie with some warmth and
held out her small, rather fat hand cordially to Carol. 'I shall have
the pleasure of receiving you at Trauenstein in a few days, shall I
not?' she asked. 'It is a poor crumbling old place, but you will do it a
great deal of good; you belong to a new country and have plenty of
vitality. Otto will need it all.' The Grfin did not resemble her son in
any point except perhaps the expression of her eyes. These organs were
as remarkable as Otto's. They seemed capable of taking everything in
without falling into the weakness of ever letting anything out. They
rested upon Carol for quite a long time as if enjoying this process to
the full, and then they turned in the direction of Eugen. 'This has been
a very successful occasion,' the Grfin observed, giving him her hand to
kiss. 'The extravagance is doubtless Otto's and the intelligence as
usual--yours. Pray divide my thanks. Everything was perfect. You may
tell Anna from me that I was satisfied. Perhaps another time, if there
should be another time, you will reflect carefully before choosing beef?
A very young pig has no dangers and a peculiar delicacy of its own.
That, my dear General, was a point we overlooked in our little argument!
If taken young enough--even pork is not oppressive.'




CHAPTER XXVIII


As soon as they were alone in the car, Eugen faced Otto. 'It is then for
our Emperor', he asked in a low guarded voice, 'that you withdrew your
fortune?' Otto hesitated for a moment. 'You have guessed it,' he
answered, 'but do not ask me any more questions. One is afraid of the
very paving stones, and I promised to give no details to anyone till it
is over.' Eugen gave a quick deep sigh, the sigh of a man who has seen a
danger escaped, a danger so great that some of his being had passed into
his fear. 'I am satisfied,' he murmured; 'I ask no details. You did
well. Has the whole sum gone?' 'Every penny,' replied Otto with a
nervous frown. He moved uneasily in his seat. 'I wish my bride had worn
jewels to-night,' he said; 'I thought American girls dressed in diamonds
when they had them! One hears of her wealth, but so far one has seen no
tangible sign. She keeps no maid, no car, no establishment. I cannot
easily bring myself to believe in money which is so much in the air.'
'It is true she has no background,' Eugen admitted, 'but she has good
taste. To appear hung with jewels when Eugnie had none would have been
execrable taste. I thought it one more point in her favour.' 'Perhaps,'
said Otto doubtfully. 'Certainly she is intelligent; but she talks too
much, and she listens as if she were criticizing one's self--not only
what one says. I dislike critical women. It is one of Eugnie's charms
that she takes what one says as if she were receiving a benefit--and so
she is; the best of a man's experience is a benefit for any woman to
receive! These countries where the experiences of men and women
approximate must be extraordinarily dull. Damn Elisabeth! Fancy having
to finish one's evening off with her! It takes the taste of your
excellent Tokay out of one's mouth! It is strange the tricks one's
nerves play one; whenever I looked at my little bride at Sacher's I
seemed to see Elisabeth's face! This divorce might be a nuisance, if she
has not invented it to catch me out?' 'I do not think she has invented
anything,' said Eugen thoughtfully. 'But be careful that she does not.
If you show her no consideration she may make herself extremely
dangerous. It would be wise to let her think she still had something to
lose.' 'So she has,' said Otto with a little laugh; 'she has forty-five
thousand pounds, but trust Elisabeth--she won't lose it. What
consideration do you expect me to show her? If she gets divorced I
shan't marry her, and if she escapes the divorce she needs no
consideration from me.' 'She has given you a little present of a very
great fortune,' said Eugen dryly. 'It seems to me that it would be well
not to forget it; also to an Austrian gentleman it used to be considered
something, that--a woman granted him her favours!' Otto swore bitterly.
'You are throwing up at me the life I told you I should forget,' he said
angrily. 'Don't remind me that I used not to do things like this--for
interest. Remember only that I used to have no need of anyone's interest
in order to live as I pleased! I hate all these women and their money.'
Eugen made no further comment. As the car drew up before his door he
said briefly, 'When you have finished with the Jewish lady, I shall be
prepared to escort her to her friends, and if you will await my return
here I will take the car'. Otto nodded and walked into the _Biedermeier_
room alone. Elisabeth had not, however, remained where she was shown.
She had ranged all over Eugen's flat. Lisa provided her with food and
drink, and Elisabeth ate ravenously, for she had taken nothing for
twenty-four hours. She penetrated into the room of Eugen's carpets, and,
seeing immediately that they were of great value, she proceeded to put
Lisa to the question. The unequal contest lasted for a long time.
Elisabeth had at her disposal all the chief methods of successful
curiosity; she hit wildly in the dark to see what sprang up under her
blows; she worked underground; she used conciliation, flattery and fear.
She appeared to know everything already, or she pounced with incredible
ferocity and swiftness upon a lurking possibility; but she had never
before come into contact with the mind of a mountain peasant. Lisa had
sound nerves in a sound body; she wanted nothing that she had not got,
and she had no fears, except one she knew silence would never expose,
that of vexing Eugen. Elisabeth never once got past the guard of Lisa's
intensive stupidity. 'I do not know.' 'The Herr Baron has not told me.'
'Perhaps it is so, perhaps it is not.' As far as this Lisa went; her
eyes were mild and her ignorance as impenetrable as the armour of the
most finished Jesuit. Elisabeth gave her up at last, and returned to
Eugen's pictures. Lisa took a seat in the hall behind the hat-rack, to
see that Elisabeth did not walk off with any of her master's treasures.
'Only dishonest people', Lisa said to herself, 'wish to know the
business of others.' Elisabeth examined everything within her reach, and
then sat down heavily. 'I must not speak to him of the money,' she said
over and over to herself. 'Oh, God help me to hold my tongue! If I
remind him that he owes me anything he will hate me--but that he should
forget!' This fact really astonished Elisabeth. She had no very high
moral standard, but she had the integrity of the orthodox Jew and his
gratitude. She kept all her bargains, and if anyone had given her money
she would never have forgotten it, and when occasion offered she would
have given a practical proof of her remembrance. It did not astonish her
that love should be repudiated nor shock her that Otto should have
broken down her virtue only to betray her. But that he had repudiated
money--that he had betrayed a gift of forty-five thousand pounds--this
seemed to her abominable. It was incredible as well, for it was not all
she would have done for him--it was the beginning, and Otto had
deliberately turned back from this path of gold.

When Otto entered at last she remembered with a literal pang of agony
how she had first come to his rooms. Otto had the same dreadful ease. He
met her as if nothing had happened, only his eyes were changed. Then
they had been kind and full of laughter; now they were very grave, but
the gravity was for himself; and of his kindness nothing whatever
remained. 'You wish to see me?' Otto asked. He stood with the breadth of
the room between them--the clear, soft, shining room. Eugen's most
beautiful rug lay like a fallen rose at Elisabeth's feet. She leaned
forward and spoke hoarsely as if a hand was pressed against her throat.
'I am to be divorced', she said, 'for you! It comes to this then, what
you told me was so simple to carry out, so easy to conceal, such an
advantage for a woman!' 'I thought you were a woman of the world,'
replied Otto coldly. 'Women of the world do not confess their intrigues
to their husbands, nor above all do they choose the moment when the
intrigue is over! I am amazed that you could have made so criminal a
blunder. It is of course excessively awkward for us both. Still I can
hardly conceive that your husband will proceed to extremes. Eugen will
do what he can, and I think you will find the result satisfactory.' 'You
think', said Elisabeth, 'that because it is inconvenient to you this
will not happen? That is where you aristocrats always make the same
mistake. You will find it _will_ happen! My husband is a good bourgeois,
he is also a weak man. Where he is good is as inconvenient for us as
where he is bad! He will never take me back. He will on the contrary
jump at his release and remarry immediately. I have no proofs that his
faithlessness preceded mine. Such an error on his part did not seem
important to me until you took away from me the position which was my
safeguard. The divorce will take place. You will be inconvenienced and I
shall be ruined. You know our Wien. There is no circle in it where I
shall be allowed to move. I am too old for the one alternative with
which you have presented me. I cannot take up a life of sin. You should
have begun and finished with me ten years sooner!' Otto stood still with
his hands behind him. Only his eyes moved; they flickered impatiently
over Eugen's treasures. 'You speak bitterly,' he said, when Elisabeth
had finished, 'and it does you no good. A woman should appear to believe
in her own charms even when it has become difficult for others to do so.
I can only repeat that I shall do everything in my power to stop this
divorce and to free your name from scandal. The Chancellor is as you
know a man of the very greatest moral integrity; such men do not like
colleagues who divorce their wives in order to remarry; nor do they care
for colleagues whose commercial morality is frail. It is in my power to
expose your husband's frailty. Eugen will warn him of these facts. I
will, I repeat, do my best for you and for myself.' 'Unfortunately for
me,' said Elisabeth, with her anger rising, 'the best that you can do
for me no longer occurs to you as the best you can do for yourself. You
are not yet married. If this divorce takes place, you can save me by the
one act of an honest man. You can make me your wife.' 'My word is
already given elsewhere,' said Otto coldly. 'It is a pity that one can
seldom appear honest in every direction simultaneously, but so far as I
remember I never suggested wishing to marry you, nor did I say I would
refrain from marrying any one else. I am of a marriageable age. It is
very necessary for me to possess a fortune, so I therefore marry a
fortune, and you as my very good friend might, I think, be prepared to
congratulate me!' Elisabeth trembled. The worst had come now; the demon
of her anger broke across her self-control as if her will were tissue
paper trying to dam a flood. 'I have already congratulated you', she
said, 'upon another fortune. A fortune without encumbrances, and if you
wished to add to it, that also I could have procured for you. I only
asked in return a little of your fine gentleman's honour! You are too
proud to keep faith with a Jewess, though you may put your hand in my
pocket and live off my wits! God, you stand there grinning at me with
your shining clothes and your scented face--till I could spit in it!'
'May I remind you', said Otto with extreme gentleness, 'that my whole
capital--five thousand pounds--enabled you to take up the successful
deal to which I suppose you refer? I excessively dislike mixing these
questions up, but if one must do so, let us at least--without informing
the whole of Wien--get our facts straight. Of this fortune, which we
earned together, I have already given up my share. I am quite penniless,
and I consider myself free to make any fresh arrangements which occur to
me. I was interested in you when our affair began. I find--I am sorry to
say so--but you force me to speak clearly--that this interest has wholly
ceased.' Elisabeth stared at him; even her anger sank beneath the weight
of her incredulity. 'What!' she cried, 'you have parted already with
forty-five thousand English pounds? You are mad! What have you to show
for it?' 'Precisely nothing,' replied Otto carelessly. 'I do not take so
great an interest in money, you perceive, as you imagined. I admit that
it is necessary, but one does not live by money alone, any more than by
the spiritual graces which pretend to exist without it. You have, my
dear Elisabeth, misunderstood my nature, and I must confess that I had
not taken in the consequences of your own! This is not surprising, for
men and women live by misunderstanding each other. It is what brings
them together, and, when understanding arrives, it is what drives them
apart. I find it a great lack of culture to suppose that any one is to
blame for this rather entertaining state of things.' 'But what have you
done with the money?' insisted Elisabeth. 'Is it too late to get it
back? Cannot Baron Erddy help you? You stand there looking at me like a
silly child who thinks it can walk on water. I tell you one drowns
without money! One drowns!' 'Possibly,' said Otto, looking at his
polished nails, 'but one does not make too much fuss about it, and if
one has the wits one uses them to prevent such a dnouement. It is three
o'clock in the morning, and the poor Eugen waits to take you to your
friends. May I not call him in?' Elisabeth stared at Otto for a long
moment without speaking. She believed this time what he said, but her
brain refused to take it in. What had he done with forty-five thousand
pounds? This fearful problem took the place of what he had done with his
more frail affections. If a man could get rid of solids at such a pace,
no wonder that more intangible substances evaded his safe-keeping. But
as Elisabeth looked at Otto, the knowledge that she would never see him
again swept over her with a dreadful certainty. She rose slowly to her
feet, with her eyes fixed on him. She took him in--every inch of his
hard polished fineness; his high domed forehead; his quizzical chestnut
eyebrows, arched over his bright inscrutable eyes; his clothes that
seemed as much a part of him as a shell; the diamond and onyx links,
little points of light above his long slender hands, which hurt her like
his eyes. All his image sank into her being. She had known him only two
years, but she had known him as one knows the air one breathes. She had
drunk him in like life. Everything else went out of her mind; the money,
her ruin, and his perfidy. This was death, this last look at him. She
felt the sensations of death, the dimming of the eyes and the slipping
forth into an unknown night. She held her breath; and, fumbling with her
hands, as if she were already in the dark, she moved awkwardly and
slowly towards the door. Otto sprang forward to open it, but he kept his
eyes away from her. She said once, 'Otto!' and again, 'Otto!' as if her
whole being summoned him, and when the summons failed she walked quietly
out into the hall and took Eugen's arm. Elisabeth did not speak during
the long drive out to Schnbrunn through the early dawn. They passed the
palace and the gardens, still and empty in the pale hard light. Nothing
stirred in the streets. Eugen got out at the door of her old governess's
rooms and lifted Elisabeth on to the pavement. She looked up at him and
saw that his eyes were full of kindness and a respect which she had
never seen there before. In a curious shadowy way his look helped
Elisabeth. 'It is all over,' she said in a low voice, 'no one can do
anything for me now.' Nevertheless I hope to be able to do something for
you,' Eugen assured her gravely. 'Excellenz, one goes on living! One
marks time--until time itself becomes obedient to life, and in the
end--the taste of things comes back!' Elisabeth shook her head and
shivered. She felt as if she did not want it to come back. She was
afraid of the taste of life, for it was Otto who had taught her what
life tasted like.




CHAPTER XXIX


Dr. Simmons, through the smoke of her cigarette, observed Dr. Jeiteles
with a cool, faintly weary expression. She saw that she was going to
receive a confidence; and she hated self-exposure, feeling that all
emotion should be as perfectly concealed as the action of the lungs.
Breathe you must; but, unless diseased, you should not pant. Dr.
Jeiteles had come into her room as if he had been blown there. He shot
up and down the narrow space between her desk and the window like a man
just stung by a wasp.

'It is a most painful--a most delicate matter!' he said with an anxious
roll of his eyes in her direction, 'and it is bewildering--it flings
itself into one's work like a bomb! I don't know how to begin. Nor how
to explain myself. You may say, why should I disturb you--my esteemed
colleague--because I have been disturbed myself? To that I can only
answer, that you are a woman, and it is by a woman that my feelings have
been outraged. It is possible, therefore, that you should advise me what
I should do. If it were for myself alone it would not matter, in a time
like this one should have no feelings that are for oneself alone. What I
fear is that she will extend her violence to others!'

Dr. Simmons leaned back in her chair, it was a hard one, but by leaning
back she seemed to be able to get further away from Dr. Jeiteles'
emotion. 'Perhaps you do not know', Dr. Jeiteles continued rapidly,
'that outrageous--that devastating--woman, Frau Bleileben? Her title is
purely complimentary in a democratic Government and I shall therefore
not use it! It is from her I had this most painful, most surprising,
visit this morning!' 'Ah,' said Dr. Simmons vaguely, 'I do not know her
very well!' 'She told me--I assure you it was quite uncalled for----'
Dr. Jeiteles continued, 'that Graf Wolkenheimb was a scoundrel and--I
hardly like to mention the fact in your presence--he had just discarded
her after a two years' intrigue!' 'Two years is a long time,' said Dr.
Simmons reflectively. Dr. Jeiteles stared at her. 'That aspect of the
affair', Dr. Jeiteles replied after a short pause, 'had not occurred to
me. But, yes! Now that you mention it I see what you mean. It seems
incredibly long! And why any man unless he were obliged to----! I told
her that I had operation cases waiting, but she literally barred the
door. If there had been severed arteries from my consulting room to the
gate, I doubt if I could have reached them. And the terrible details she
poured into my ears!' 'But what, I wonder,' asked Dr. Simmons in her
precise and careful German, 'was the point of her making these
disclosures to you?' 'Why to me? Why to me?' repeated Dr. Jeiteles,
drawing his hand through his hair with a gesture of desperation. 'She
was once rude to me at the Hospital Supplies Committee! On the strength
of this she expects me to interfere between Graf Wolkenheimb and his
betrothed. I am to tell that innocent, respected young girl that her
fianc lives a life of depravity, that he is a well-known swindler, and
has even cheated the Relief Societies over the milk supply! And if I
refuse to tell Miss Hunter these things this She Devil threatens to go
to the Princess Felsr, expose her own cousin and head of the family,
and force the Princess to break off the match. I would rather die than
allow the Princess to suffer such an indignity! And I could weep when I
think that by my foolish suggestion to Miss Hunter I have been
instrumental in throwing her into the hands of a reptile like the Graf!
She might never have become engaged to him if she had not gone to his
cousin's flat!' 'Pray do not weep,' said Dr. Simmons with some asperity.
'Miss Hunter met Wolkenheimb some time before she went to the Princess's
flat. What is it that you propose to do?' Dr. Jeiteles flung out both
his hands. 'Do!' he exclaimed. 'What can I do? Have I not come to
you--this young girl's friend and sponsor? Dr. Simmons, I implore you to
relieve me from this office, for which I am not fitted! I know no
English; Miss Hunter's German makes me dizzy; and I cannot under any
circumstances go to the Princess and attack her cousin!' 'Do smoke,
won't you?' suggested Dr. Simmons in her carefully expressionless tone.
'You take it the Graf _is_ a scoundrel, I suppose? Under the
circumstances you mention, can we consider Frau Bleileben a reliable
witness?' 'She gave me a string of facts and dates,' replied Dr.
Jeiteles with an effort at composure, 'and I went to my brother-in-law
on my way here. He is a clerk in the Wiener Bank. He tells me that the
Graf is looked on with suspicion, he is supposed to be associated with
Mandelbaum and his set. What more does one want? He is also hand in
glove with that fellow Erddy, who made that infamous shipping deal.
Even if nothing can be proved against Wolkenheimb, look how he lives!
Where does his money come from? His land is a burden round his neck, his
fortune was in _Kronen_, his hand must go into somebody's pocket! There
is no doubt either about the Bleileben intrigue--her husband is
divorcing her for it. It is this that has sent her mad! I implore you to
tell me quickly that you will consent to act for me, and stop this
marriage!' 'I'm afraid I can't do that!' said Dr. Simmons, lighting a
fresh cigarette. 'I never under any circumstances interfere with
people's love affairs. Miss Hunter already knows my opinion of Graf
Wolkenheimb; he always struck me as a light-fingered gentleman. But
there is no need for the Princess Felsr to be distressed. Will you
excuse me one moment while I speak to my secretary?' Dr. Simmons drifted
out of the room, leaving Dr. Jeiteles to a fresh tussle with his
agitation. When she drifted back a few moments later, there was the
suspicion of a smile upon her lips. 'We may expect,' she said, 'Frau
Bleileben to join us in a few minutes. I am afraid I must ask you to
remain, in case I need to ask you to verify anything that passed between
you this morning. Before she comes would you mind repeating to me
whatever you remember of her accusations against Graf Wolkenheimb? Not
of course the personal ones!' Dr. Jeiteles groaned aloud. 'You ask me to
remain?' he expostulated. 'Do you know what took place between us? It
was terrible--terrible! Before she left I had called her a bad woman to
her face!' 'Dear me!' said Dr. Simmons with unbroken calm. 'And that is
not the worst of it,' Dr. Jeiteles went on in a low shocked voice, with
his eyes fixed intently on the floor. 'It was frightful what she said to
me! She fixed upon me an insult I can never forget! She told me that all
I said was like an air bubble, because everyone knew I was in love with
the Princess Felsr.' 'Very rude indeed,' agreed Dr. Simmons serenely,
'about the air bubble, but why do you feel it was an insult to be
supposed to admire the Princess?' 'Any man might well be proud to love
her,' said Dr. Jeiteles bitterly, 'except a Jew!' 'Ah!' said Dr.
Simmons. For the first time during their interview she leaned forward as
if the subject interested her. 'You make a mistake, Dr. Jeiteles, if you
suppose the Princess has retained any such childish prejudice. I think
her work in the hospital has taught her more than you know.' 'But you do
not know how heavily custom binds Austria!' said Dr. Jeiteles sadly. 'It
is like a frost which turns the living earth to iron!' 'We live in a
broken world,' said Dr. Simmons thoughtfully, 'but misery has this
advantage, Dr. Jeiteles, the line between those who desire to heal it
and those who desire to profit by it becomes unusually distinct. You and
the Princess both belong to the side that heals. No other difference
counts in the same scale.' 'No! no! You are not right!' said Dr.
Jeiteles. 'It is too deep, this caste system. Even if the Princess had
freed herself, how could I bring myself to believe that she had? Also,
her family would bind her down to their observances. The soul can be
free, but one's acts--never!' 'And yet supposing that I should be
right?' said Dr. Simmons gently. 'My God! if----' murmured Dr. Jeiteles,
turning away his eyes from her face. 'And now do you mind telling me
what you remember of the milk deal?' she asked dryly. Dr. Jeiteles
became himself again; for ten minutes he spoke succinctly and
efficiently, while Dr. Simmons with her head bent over her desk took
careful notes.

At the end of this time Frau Bleileben broke into the room like a storm
troop. She moved forward with a fierce rapidity, and without an attempt
at greeting seized a chair that stood between them, and sat down
heavily, her feet planted firmly at some little distance apart. She held
her black sude bag with a diamond clasp as if she were trying to
strangle it. The suffering of the last few days had coarsened and
distorted her; but her vitality had come back. She was no longer the
crushed and broken woman who had clung to Erddy's arm at dawn; she was
an avenging Fury. She could not prevent Otto's leaving her, but she
could prevent his receiving any benefits from having left her. With the
same direct unflinching spirit with which Elisabeth had entered the
supreme adventure of her life she faced its end. Only now, instead of
altering her stubborn will to meet Otto's wishes, she was about to tear
his wishes to shreds to meet her need for revenge. She glanced from one
to the other of her adversaries with snapping eyes. What did it mean
that they had put their heads together? Had she gone too far in her wild
outpouring to Jeiteles that morning? She had had no fear of the little
monomaniac tied up in his hospital, but could this woman of a larger
world have put two and two together in any inconvenient manner? Was
Elisabeth in this bare stupid room--stark with discomfort--to get what
she wanted or to receive another set-down? Let them try, that was all!
She had had to behave properly before, but, thank God, she had not got
to behave properly now! 'Ah!' she said in a low guttural voice, 'so Dr.
Jeiteles is here, is he? I thought I had finished with him!' 'Won't you
have a cigarette?' Dr. Simmons asked politely. 'Yes, I asked Dr.
Jeiteles to remain. I understood that you had taken him into your
confidence?' 'And you,' Elisabeth demanded, whirling around upon Dr.
Simmons, 'so you no longer knit? You do not need then, I suppose, any
help as to what to say to me--you find it easy? Good! I also shall not
stop to measure my words. If this Jeiteles had been a man he would have
acted as I told him to act--and not come whining here to you. I don't
care who breaks the engagement! But it shall be broken! and quickly! I
don't depend on slugs to set the pace for me! If it is not publicly
broken in three days, I act as I choose; and I shall take my gloves off
when I act!' 'I understand', said Dr. Simmons gently, 'that you think
Graf Wolkenheimb an unsuitable husband for Miss Hunter and that you are
kind enough to wish her friends to warn her of this fact before it is
too late?' 'You may put it like that if you like,' said Elisabeth,
moistening her lips. 'She shall never marry him! If you ask me why I do
not go to her myself, I will tell you frankly I do not know where she
is! The Princess Felsr and the Baron Erddy--whose finger is in every
pie, though he pretends that nothing sticks to it!--keep servants who
are mentally deficient. I say nothing as to their morals though everyone
knows that Erddy lives with his cook! The Princess--who has also
vanished--returns in three days' time--that I know! She has one of her
insensate social gatherings with her pet Jews and goggle-eyed
foreigners--they go there because of her title; and she thinks they go
there to uplift the Universe! That is what it is to be intelligent in
the higher classes--but no matter! If the marriage has not been publicly
given up by then, I will be in myself a social gathering! I shall tell
her all I know--and it is not a little--about her noble cousin!' 'What
is it that you expect to gain by this interview with Princess Felsr?'
Dr. Simmons asked, her eyes narrowing a little as they fixed themselves
upon the glittering organs of Elisabeth. 'May one not suppose that she
knows at least as much about Graf Wolkenheimb as you can tell her?' 'Ah,
you ask what I gain?' asked Elisabeth, leaning forward with a triumphant
smile. 'Well! I tell her, her old lover is mine--that is always
something to tell another woman! And I warn her that unless she stops
this marriage I ruin him! I can have his precious Trauenstein in the
market in a year--and in the papers such a story of his dealings that
even our mild Viennese will discover what his neck was made for!' 'You
lie!' cried Dr. Jeiteles, who had started to his feet at the beginning
of Elisabeth's speech, 'and it is your own neck that should be wrung!
The Princess has never had a lover!' 'Except a Jew!' said Elisabeth with
a derisive grin. 'That too can go into the papers!' 'One moment,' said
Dr. Simmons. Something in her voice made Dr. Jeiteles suddenly reseat
himself, and Elisabeth's grin vanish from her expressive features.
'Publicity is a two-edged weapon, Frau Bleileben,' Dr. Simmons observed.
'Do you really wish to provoke it? I have kept an account of our last
interview together, which, when it is joined with your confidence to Dr.
Jeiteles this morning, produces a curious impression. A publicly
discredited Relief worker has no ground to stand upon; and although I
quite think you might escape any legal penalty, I am convinced that you
could not avoid being publicly discredited through the evidence which I
possess.' Elisabeth's eyes dulled as if she had drawn a sheath over
them. A long silence followed. Dr. Jeiteles wiped his brow. Dr. Simmons,
shrouded by a mist of smoke, grew more and more shadowy; and
Elisabeth--crouched, intent, shaking with hidden force--made the small
room feel as if it held a dynamo. There was something terrible in the
silent conflict of the two women. Finally a slow smile spread over
Elisabeth's face; she hitched her chair closer to the shadowy figure and
tapped her bag emphatically with her closed fist. 'Why do we beat about
the bush?' she asked insinuatingly. 'I am not empty-handed, my dear
friends. No! no! I have here something that speaks! Now, what is your
figure? For is there not, sitting in your minds, a little figure ready
to pounce? I don't say that I will meet it--but I shall not be disposed
to haggle about the price of this tittle-tattle you have pieced together
against me. Out with it! We will settle this affair first, and then go
back to mine!' 'Miserable woman!' thundered Dr. Jeiteles. 'If you feel
no shame at trying to bribe a fellow Austrian, at least respect this
noble foreign lady who has come here to help us!' 'Nonsense!' said
Elisabeth sharply. 'I could be foreign myself if I chose to travel to
other countries, picking up there what I had not the wits to find for
myself at home! One knows the English do not come to Wien for their
health! Even this good lady----' 'Please let us be practical,'
interrupted Dr. Simmons brusquely. 'Frau Bleileben, you may take my word
for it that we have no information which we intend either to sell or to
buy.' Elisabeth dragged at her sude bag with such violence that the
clasp snapped, and the diamond fell to the floor. Dr. Simmons picked it
up, and laid it on her desk. 'If the Princess Felsr is left
undisturbed,' she went on dispassionately, 'it is quite improbable that
it will be necessary to rake up any unpleasant scandal against any one.'
'Ah!' said Elisabeth, drawing a deep breath, 'but what do I gain? Who'll
stop the marriage? If Jeiteles is too much of a coward, why don't you
tell Miss Hunter yourself? It is after all to your interest as well as
mine, for if she is a friend of yours you cannot wish her to marry a man
who has escaped the gallows by an accident!' 'I do not care to repeat
second-hand evidence against anyone's character,' said Dr. Simmons
calmly, 'but you are at liberty, as far as I am concerned, to tell Miss
Hunter what you choose!' 'Ah!' said Elisabeth with a long hissing
breath. The sparkle came back into her eyes, and her lips tightened.
'But if I do not know where she is until after the marriage, how can I
tell her anything? No! no! I must have her under my thumb first!' and
Elisabeth pressed her thumb upon the black sude of the bag: the mark
remained visible for a long time after she had removed her thumb. 'There
will be no harm', said Dr. Simmons thoughtfully, 'in letting you have
her address in a few days' time. The date of the marriage is not yet
settled.' Elisabeth rose to her feet. 'I assure you', she said with
renewed confidence, 'I shall be doing the girl a service; and you, too,
perhaps. I see well enough that your disinterested heart is after all a
woman's! It is not too set on a pretty young girl making a good match.'
'No,' said Dr. Simmons without acrimony, 'I don't suppose that it is, if
you mean by a good match a marriage with that very unattractive little
man!' 'Very what?' asked Elisabeth incredulously. The light faded
suddenly out of her face, her lips closed. Was there anyone on earth so
blind, so lucky, that they could despise Otto Wolkenheimb? Dr. Simmons
rose a little awkwardly to her feet; and while she held out to Elisabeth
the snapped-off diamond, she hesitated over what she was about to say as
if she were ashamed. 'Please forgive my saying', she murmured
uncertainly, 'that for the future you should be careful not to mix your
charitable activities with your business arrangements. Austria needs all
her workers; it would be a pity for your services to have to stop!' Dr.
Jeiteles sprang quickly forward; for one awful instant he imagined that
Elisabeth was about to strike the head of the Relief Mission. It is
possible that Elisabeth thought so too. She drew herself up, bared all
her teeth, and dislodged the one word '_Fisch!_' full in the face of the
passive Dr. Simmons. 'I forbid you to speak further!' cried Dr.
Jeiteles, swinging open the door. 'Go out, or I shall put you out!'
Elisabeth jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Dr.
Simmons. 'Ah, ha! you show some spirit at last!' she cried, as she
passed the enraged Dr. Jeiteles. 'It seems I underestimated your
performances! You have _two_ mistresses! God! what a thing to love!' and
she banged the door exultantly after her. 'A thousand, thousand
pardons!' cried Dr. Jeiteles helplessly as he turned to confront the
insulted English lady. 'I really could not stop her, because how can one
stop what one cannot conceive!' The words died on his lips; that
inestimable but curious Englishwoman had at last melted--into
inextinguishable laughter!




CHAPTER XXX


Otto set out from Wien to Trauenstein with a light heart. He had got rid
of Elisabeth, he had got rid of a fortune for a purpose that was the
equivalent of a greater fortune. He had his future bride beside him, and
Eugnie sat in the back of the car with Eugen. A man likes to do what he
knows he can do well, and Otto knew that he could make love to two women
at the same time better than any man in Vienna.

His six months' engagement had lain lightly upon Otto's shoulders. He
had been in no hurry for the marriage, and it was better not to announce
his engagement until various little deals between himself and Elisabeth
had run their natural course. He had told Carol that he was not at all
platonic and that if she wanted a long engagement, they must meet in
public places and seldom if ever alone. He had taken the wind out of her
sails; she also it appeared wished for secrecy--for postponement--for an
absence of demonstration; but she was at first surprised, and eventually
a little piqued that Otto had the same inclinations.

But Otto knew better than to begin his engagement as an unwelcome lover.
He saw that as long as Carol was free from love-making she would enjoy
his presence. Her heart lay in her breast a stupid unused thing, leaving
her wits free to play with Otto. Otto played very tenderly with her
wits, but under the play he saw what had happened to her heart. It
belonged to somebody else; this was the last touch needed to charm him.
No really distinguished cracksman would care to be presented with a
pearl necklace, but if he knows that it is another's, every nerve in him
responds to the challenge. Otto watched Carol with ceaseless vigilance.
He saw that she believed Franz Salvator would come back to her, he saw
her hopes fade one by one as the time passed, he sustained her forced
spirit with admirable adroitness; and when they became a mere cynical
outpost to hide her heart, he took advantage of her new-born
recklessness. That was the moment to make love; and he made it with a
fierce ardour which was the more overwhelming from his long restraint.
Carol's pride was in the dust; her starved senses responded to his
sudden passion. She no longer cared what happened to her, provided that
she was saved from thinking or carrying on her life alone. 'I'll have
Otto, I'll have Trauenstein, I'll be a Countess!' she said to herself
defiantly. She would not look beyond these things. She had Otto's kisses
on her lips, his ring on her finger, and a curious hunted sense of not
being alone any more in her heart.

'She will feel better', Otto said to himself on their way to
Trauenstein, 'if she has laughed at Franz Salvator! At present she
doesn't dare think about him, and that prevents her thinking suitably
about me. But when she finds him a little ridiculous, she will return to
me with relief.' He glanced sympathetically at the face beside him; he
felt like a good physician who--without underestimating the pain he
inflicts sees beyond it--to his patient's ultimate relief.

Carol looked extremely charming with a blue felt cowboy hat crushed down
over her eyes and a long blue scarf floating around her. She was,
however, thinking her own thoughts; and they skirted Otto as if he had
been a precipice.

He was silent, but from time to time he made Carol meet his eyes, and
every time she caught his look it was as if he had laid his hand
suddenly upon her heart. 'It is strange', he said to her at last, 'that
I take you to my house for the first time, and that I have never been to
yours! We have never discussed your affairs or mine, and yet within two
weeks they are to be the same! I hope it seems as amusing to you as it
seems to me. We shall come fresh to our marriage--we have worn out
nothing in these six months--except my patience!' 'Yes, you've been very
good--till now,' Carol answered, looking away from him. 'As for myself
and my affairs, that's the least part of the business to me. I'll tell
you anything you like to ask.' Otto hesitated, he looked at her
carefully, and then away at the white interminable road, which had
already begun to zigzag upwards towards the foothills. There was a good
deal he would have liked to ask. 'To me also,' he said slowly, 'money is
not interesting. I leave all my affairs in the hands of my cousin Eugen,
he will talk to you about them to-morrow. As to asking you questions,
does one find out things from being told? That seems to me a clumsy way
of managing. I would rather go by something in the air--by your
smile--by your charming eyes which you keep so resolutely away from me
at this moment! You are young, and you have no family with you, I should
like to re-assure you a little, though I know you are brave and face
life for yourself! I can think of no better way of doing it than by
letting you share my family, and by being received by them as if they
were your own. Our dinner the other night was incomplete without my
cousin Franz--my cousin who is also, as I suppose you know, in certain
contingencies--which we will not contemplate--my heir? We pass by his
land settlement in a few minutes. It looks like a railway accident after
the bodies have been removed, but I believe that it already calls itself
a Garden City. I propose to stop there. Since Franz Salvator has not
come to us--we will go to him. It does not do to stand upon ceremony in
these matters.' 'Ah, but is it necessary?' asked Carol in sudden panic.
'You know, I know your cousin anyway----! I don't think----?' She bit
her lips and faltered. Otto's eyes rested keenly on hers. Dared she say
she would not meet Franz Salvator? What reason could she give for such a
refusal? But dared she meet him under those dancing ruthless eyes? She
flung her head up in defiance. No two men in the world should ever make
a coward of her. Let them do what they liked, she would outface them
both. She was a free woman out of a new world--they were the slaves of
an old one. She gazed sternly at the littered field. 'They don't seem to
me such bad-looking little houses,' she said defensively. 'Simply
charming for rabbits,' agreed Otto, smiling, 'idyllic little hutches, a
few scraggy lettuces, a goat and a tomato can--what a spot for a
determined hermit! And not one determined hermit--but dozens are to
inhabit it. And I am told they combine together to produce these
architectural masterpieces, and intend to share the disgusting habits of
each other's chickens. I never can understand the spirit of
co-operation; even the air one breathes is so much better if one can
persuade one's brother man to breathe it somewhere else!' 'Those
people', said Carol sternly, 'haven't anywhere to live except half of
somebody else's cellar or a railway car. Jane thinks this land scheme
the best kind of relief there is. Everybody gets what they put into it.
The little houses they build will be like a paradise to the men who
build them!' 'And Franz Salvator', said Otto reflectively, 'will of
course appear in the character of an angel. Wasn't there one in Jacob's
dream--ascending and descending a celestial ladder, no doubt with the
last type of concrete brick under his arm? What distresses me is that
Franz Salvator was once a human being like ourselves. One did not have
to go to sleep with a stone for a pillow in order to be able to think of
him appropriately. Look! there he is, lightly decorated with cement,
wheeling a barrow full of some loathsome substance across a plank! How
the mud-pie instinct clings to a certain type of character!' Otto
stopped the car at the verge of a sand pit and helped Carol more
elaborately than he need have done to descend. 'Franz!' he called
genially to his astonished cousin, checked in the middle of his plank by
the sight of the car. 'Mahomet has come to the mountain! Pray be as
genial as the occasion demands. We have come for your
congratulations--which are a little overdue!' Franz Salvator left his
wheelbarrow and advanced to meet them. 'I cannot shake hands,' he
explained, trying to smile, 'since mine are dirty. You have taken me
very much by surprise. Of course I congratulate you both. Eugnie, you
should have told me you were coming!' 'Eugnie', said Eugen, glancing
coldly at Otto, 'knew no more than you did what was in store for us;
this is one of those surprises of Otto's called "happy", because they
are sudden. I do not know if he has any more of them up his sleeve.'
Otto laid his hand upon Franz Salvator's shoulder. 'Eugen's manners
deteriorate daily,' he explained. 'It is the spread of democracy caused
by Eugnie's tea parties--he doesn't go to them--I don't think we've
either of us been invited!--but the spirit has passed into the family
and the infection spreads. It is always a pleasure to see you, my dear
boy, even surrounded by these very raw materials of your new vocation! I
suppose you feel like Michael Angelo? Do you go to bed like the historic
sculptor with sixteen apprentices and never wash? Please show us
everything. My bride has the curiosity of a Continent to satisfy; but as
for me I shall be content with the ground floor and my imagination.'

Otto let his fancy ride roughshod over the half-made settlement; he was
sometimes very funny, and Carol laughed and laughed. The look in Franz
Salvator's eyes hurt her so that she could not stop laughing. This was
how she meant to show them all how little she cared. She was the
youngest of them and the most afraid of ridicule. Eugnie never spoke at
all and seldom smiled. Eugen stalked beside her, saturnine and grim, his
heavy eyebrows dragged low over his sombre eyes. From time to time he
tried to break up Otto's flood of banter, but Otto turned his remarks
with fiendish agility into fresh occasions for mockery. He was making
his bride see what she had escaped and punishing Franz Salvator at the
same time for the image he had found in her eyes.

Franz Salvator took his punishment like a man. He parried Otto's jokes
and joined in Carol's laughter. As long as he was not alone with her he
knew that he could manage. But Otto knew this too; and he proposed to
leave them alone together. Eugnie went over several of the houses in
their different stages and then said she had had enough. Eugen turned
back to put her into the car. Otto insisted upon showing Carol Franz
Salvator's own house before joining them, but when he had reached it he
begged them to take his inspection for granted. 'I shall leave you in
the kitchen,' he said, 'and watch them making bricks. I do not know why,
but the earlier stages of this affair seem to me the more enchanting.
Pray don't imagine I am not an admirer of your work, my dear boy, but
the artist in me makes me prefer the "Victory of Samothrace"--headless.
Take Carol all over everything, and explain the kitchen taps. I will
come back for you shortly.' 'I cannot,' began Franz Salvator stiffly.
'But I don't want to see the kitchen taps!' cried Carol. Then they found
that they were alone. They were in a little empty room splashed with
whitewash and full of the western sun. Carol stood by the mantelpiece
and looked helplessly across at Franz Salvator. He stood rigidly with
his back against the wall as if he were facing a firing party. Only his
eyes moved, they seemed to be trying to get away. 'You're so thin,'
Carol said in a queer choked voice. 'Why are you so thin?' 'I am very
well,' stammered Franz Salvator; 'I did not expect--this room we are in
is meant for the kitchen!' His eyes stilled at last on her face and
found that they could not leave it. 'It is six months!' said Franz
Salvator helplessly. 'Well! why didn't you come to me!' cried Carol. The
words rushed out of her lips in spite of herself, her dignity collapsed
as completely as Franz Salvator's indifference. 'It is incredible you
should ask me such a question,' Franz Salvator answered violently. 'You
were not free!' 'Free!' cried Carol angrily. 'What do you mean by not
free? I'm a woman and not a stock or a stone--I can move as quick as
most things! It's you who tied me up--I _was_ free!' 'I cannot stay here
with you--I must go!' said Franz Salvator hoarsely. 'Go then!' replied
Carol angrily; but neither of them stirred. They could not take their
eyes away from each other. Otto came back and found them with the
breadth of the room between them; and they looked as if his coming were
a relief. 'No doubt,' said Otto, 'you have seen everything--and Franz
Salvator has explained where he intends to keep his pigs and where he
will wash his potential family? I suppose even in the most communistic
homes some little divisions are desirable? I would ask you to come with
us to tea at Waldberg, my dear boy, if you looked a trifle more
presentable! As it is we must say good-bye. You know Trauenstein is
always your home--I invite you--may I not, Carol?--in my bride's name as
well as in my own.' Carol said suddenly, 'For God's sake let's clear.'
She thought for an awful moment that somebody, she was not sure whether
it was Franz or herself, was going to break down. But nobody did. They
sauntered out, in an interminable manner, towards the car. Otto expected
Carol to take her former seat, but she refused bluntly. She said
something to Eugnie in an undertone, and Eugnie with obvious
reluctance took her place. Franz Salvator stood bareheaded on a pile of
planks and waved to them. Otto had forgotten how well a handsome man can
look when he is untidy. He had not intended to present Carol with a
picture of Franz Salvator like a Greek figure on a broken frieze; and he
had meant on their way to Trauenstein to drive the moral of the land
scheme home--but not home to Eugnie. He opened the throttle with a
petulant jerk, and did not dare to look at Eugnie until her silence
became more oppressive than speech. Her chin was lifted and her eyes
looked colder than he had ever seen them. It was unfortunate that his
lesson to his bride had reacted so sharply upon Eugnie. 'I suppose you
think I am a brute?' he said at last. 'A little of a brute,' said
Eugnie, without turning her head, 'and more of a fool.' 'And may I ask
why I am a fool!' Otto demanded as they shot back dangerously into the
main road. 'Certainly,' said Eugnie, 'because a malicious man is
invariably his own antidote. You wished to give a bad impression of
Franz Salvator, and you have given a singularly poor exhibition of
yourself.' 'And that is why you are so angry with me,' said Otto,
laughing under his breath. 'Your indirect compliments are not without a
certain charm, even when they take the form of insults. But I owe you an
apology. I had to teach my little bride a lesson. She does not like
cottages--especially not half-made ones--but she took an inconvenient
interest in the person who is making them. Our visit to Franz Salvator
this afternoon was a first lesson in arithmetic. I wanted Carol to see
that two and two make four. That I had to hurt you while I was doing it
distresses me; but that I had to hurt Franz Salvator leaves me a little
cold. It is not more than he deserves. Why does he let you be talked
about all over Wien? His place is beside you, and his duty is to kick
Jeiteles out of your house. Do you suppose I don't know that you receive
that Jew Doctor once a fortnight or oftener?' 'I shall receive him as
often as I choose,' said Eugnie quietly. 'And it matters very little to
me whether you know it or not.' 'Do you mean to marry him,' asked Otto,
lifting his eyebrows, 'or merely to throw away your reputation? As your
nearest male relative next to Franz I think that I have a right to ask.'
'Hitherto I have not considered marriage,' replied Eugnie carefully; 'I
have not felt I needed its protection; but I see that I may be driven to
it. I shall certainly not give up the friendship of the most
disinterested man I know because of a little gossip.' 'All I ask is that
he should confine his great gifts to the hospital,' said Otto suavely,
'and not display them to you in your drawing-room. You turned me out of
it once, do you not remember, when I was showing you mine?' 'Ah!' said
Eugnie, 'but there is this difference between you and Dr. Jeiteles. You
wished to break down my defences, and Dr. Jeiteles is in himself a
defence. You do not know how a woman loves to be respected!' 'It is
true,' agreed Otto, 'that the women I have known have generally liked
other things better. But I will respect you to your heart's content if
you will give up Jeiteles! Or at any rate give me your word not to marry
him? I am at your feet with contrition for suggesting anything else; but
I am jealous; and a lover who has no rights has no confidence.'
Eugnie's lips softened, her face ceased to look as if it were chiselled
out of marble. 'What can I say?' she answered. 'I do not want marriage.
Rudolf has been dead five years, and I have never spoken to anyone of my
life with him. But it was horrible--so horrible that the first bearable
day of it--was when he had proved himself so base that even the Church
told me not to live longer with him!' 'You bore all that,' said Otto
under his breath, 'knowing that I could have saved you from it--and yet
you told me that day at Demel's that if I were free you would still
marry me.' 'I suppose I would then,' agreed Eugnie hesitatingly. 'At
least, if you could have changed! But it is well we have not tried--we
think and feel too differently! And now you are not free even to talk of
such things to me! You have chosen a girl of wit and beauty, whom it is
easy to love. If you want my respect and my affection you must leave me
alone and play no more tricks on her like to-day. If you do not, I shall
have to give up, not only my friendship with you, but the friendship of
Carol herself. Then I shall be left to Eugen and to Dr. Jeiteles--to
Eugen, who does not share any of my new ideas or occupations; and to Dr.
Jeiteles, who does not share any of my old ones! The answer to your
question lies in your own hand, Otto! I will only marry Dr. Jeiteles if
you rob me of all my peace!' 'I am a beast,' said Otto with a flicker of
real contrition, 'a shabby beast to torment you. But I am a man haunted
by a passion he can never satisfy and frustrated by an ambition which he
must sacrifice love itself to gain. I want power--I am capable of using
it. I need money to obtain this power, and I have had to stoop so low to
gain it that I have lost my self-respect. At least let me gain that for
which I have made such hideous sacrifices. If I don't marry a fortune, I
go to the devil. But believe this of me, that I know what I am losing. I
was happy once at Trauenstein in our youth, when I held you in my arms.
I shall never be happy again. Don't marry Jeiteles! After my marriage I
wall leave you alone. As it is now--God! how hard it is to see your
lips! I should like to put on a little more speed and drop over the edge
of one of these corners and end it all! You would let me touch you then
perhaps--not otherwise?' 'Not otherwise,' said Eugnie, scarcely moving
her lips. Neither of them spoke again. The pines began--a black shadow
above the white road--as clear as the cut of a knife; between the shadow
and the road the sun filtered softly on the bare pink stems. The pungent
odour of the pines came to them in long fragrant puffs as if the
sunshine itself had turned into a scent. Otto stopped the car before the
door of a brown chalet. Fixed in a tree above their heads was a large
painted wooden eye, a reminder of the watchfulness of an unsophisticated
God. Tables with red and white checkered cloths were laid out under
chestnut trees. The girl who brought them their coffee was pretty. They
looked over an expanse of Alpine meadow brimming over with the first
Spring flowers. The March sun was hot as May. Far away in the fragrant
pine woods they heard the tinkle and check of wandering cow bells. There
was no other sound, only the continuous splash and hurry of a mountain
stream, clear as gold, tumbling and dashing over great stones, leaping
tiny precipices and subsiding into deep brown pools. A sense of
happiness, of fugitive but real companionship, stole over them all. Even
Eugen relaxed his rigidity. Otto was a little grave; but he looked at
his bride and smiled, and for the first time Carol saw in his eyes a
kindly gleam that had nothing to do with laughter or love-making. Her
taut nerves sank to rest. 'Well,' she said appreciatively, 'I don't
know, but if I'd got to choose, I'd rather be a cow on a mountain
pasture than anything else--to roam about and make music with a little
bell, to eat the loveliest flowers and get half a sunset on your
back--like that one over there--and to know that you're the only thing
anyone in your world thinks about except God--that's some kind of a
life!' 'Ah!' said Otto. 'How delicious are the illusions of others about
oneself! Of oneself too, no doubt, about others! Shall I tell you of
what the life of a cow on an Alpine pasture really consists? To begin
with, do you see those very stout fences which surround the meadow
opposite to us? The cows, you will observe, are not in that field, their
bells come from the distant woods. That companionable creature under the
trees has been allowed to return simply in order to be milked.
Remarkably dry unnutritious pine needles cover the floor of the woods.
The meadows full of sweet rich flowers and grass are certainly destined
for the cows, my dear Carol; but not until the grass has lost all its
succulence and become hay. The fences are to keep out the cows; their
tinkling bells are not the pleasure to them that they are to us; without
them the cows might perhaps find or make a weak place in the fence and
enter their paradise unseen and unobstructed; but the bells upon their
necks betray them. Small boys with sticks take the place of angels with
flaming swords, and are quite as efficient. The woods are full of flies.
A benevolent Deity provided the cows with a tail, but flies have wings;
and a tail is unfortunately fixed to one spot. They live, these poor
creatures, the restricted lives of nuns! Heaven, as we know, is to be
the reward of earthly dedication. I wonder if the analogy is complete,
and if those who have refrained from the bloom and freshness of the
pastures of life, will find preserved for them, in Eternity--in a state
of desiccated nourishment--the delicious little flowers of Time.' Otto's
eyes wandered from the amused ones of his bride and rested upon those of
Eugnie. Eugnie's eyes were amused too, but they were turned away from
him. 'Whenever', Otto went on reflectively, 'I wish to find a moral
reassurance for a peccadillo of my own, I shall not go to that officious
pedant, the bee, still less shall I seek the bourgeois activities of the
ant. I shall resort to the memory of a cow on an Alpine pasture, and say
to myself, "After all, my dear Otto, you won't very much care for that
dry hay later on! Perhaps your little excursions into the blossoms while
they are fresh and fragrant is really a more profitable method of
existence!" and I shall feel greatly reassured. My thoughts do not often
take these grateful turns, but I find myself thanking whatever gods
there be that mankind has not been provided with those little tinkling
bells!' 'Ah!' said Eugen, 'do not be too sure, the paths of mankind may
be wider, and the little fences not so stout, but that fatal instrument,
the tongue, draws a good deal of attention to our movements!' 'It is
time that we go,' said Eugnie softly, 'the hour of our freedom is
over.'

Once more Carol found herself beside Otto, but it was a different Otto;
she found him an altogether more friendly and approachable person. She
thought to herself that it was because they were nearing Trauenstein,
and Trauenstein was his home. The sun was sinking, far below them the
blue plain lay like a distant jewel. The mountains stood in front of
them clear and cold in the last light. The moon, a tiny hoop of silver,
floated above a sea of pines. They passed a small white church above a
water-fall--a little thinned-out mountain village--and then suddenly
Trauenstein rose over them, a massive shadow. They crossed a drawbridge,
and the great gates rolled back. In a moment they were in a wide dark
courtyard full of figures with lanterns, dogs barked in a fury of
welcome, and the Grfin herself stood under the arch of the doorway to
greet her son's future bride. Otto sprang out, his face in the
flickering light was strangely expressionless, but he moved quickly
forward and gave Carol his arm. 'They have a saying in the East,' he
murmured, 'my house is your home. I hope that you will make it true.'




CHAPTER XXXI


Carol felt that she had known Trauenstein always in her dreams, and then
she remembered that she had actually seen it in one of those
unforgettable moments in life when something structural takes place in
the heart. It was Trauenstein she had looked at on the walls of Franz
Salvator's room. He loved it too then, this vast Schloss, this home like
a city; and he belonged to it, even as Otto belonged; that backward
stretch of years was part of the fabric of both their lives. They spoke
of their heritage very seldom, but they never forgot it; Trauenstein was
as necessary to them as the air they breathed. The Schloss was very old,
and broken by many wars; it had a look as if the outdoor world had been
driven into it; the pines that hung in a black fringe around the massive
walls sent their shadows and the echo of their perpetual reverberation
through the dim empty rooms. On the walls were antlers, big and little;
spiral horns like twisted sea-monsters, stuffed heads of wistful stags,
with great Auerhhne and golden eagles balanced on imitation
branches--all melting off into shadows; but there was very little
furniture, and that was either old and worn or made from the larch and
pine at the castle doors. A great fire burned in the hall in a fireplace
as large as a room; whole roots of trees fed it, and bay leaves, flung
on it, filled the air with scent. After dinner they all sat there while
Otto sang to them. He had a light baritone voice, flexible and dramatic,
through which emotion ran delicately like a secret flame. Eugnie played
for him. Their music joined the shadows in the room until it became a
part of them. The Grfin sat bolt upright in a high carved chair
knitting a pair of very thick woollen socks. From time to time she
looked at Carol, and Carol felt a chill run down her spine. It was an
inscrutable, quite impersonal vivisection. Carol wondered if, before the
evening ended, the Grfin had left a shred of her being--mind or
body--unexplored. For the first time in her life she felt that to be
young was a disadvantage. But the Grfin could do nothing more than look
at her. Otto was the person that she feared. To-night for the first time
Carol knew that she feared Otto. She felt that if he kissed her she
could not bear it; but Otto did not kiss her. He barely let his lips
touch her hand when he gave her her candle and left her with laughing
wishes at the foot of the shadowy staircase. It was as if he had known
whose presence stood between them. This presence was only a shadow,
Carol told herself impatiently. She would get rid of it now that she was
alone with the quiet night. She would stop those deep blue eyes fixing
her so piteously and so indomitably and making her heart cry out. Franz
had done worse than wrong her by his absurd pretentious code, he had
wronged himself. All his life he would be starved for love of her, and
all her life the sense of his hunger would move in her like a living
thing. It was this she could not forgive him--not that she suffered--but
that she could not staunch his wounds. She leaned from her window over
the wall, which sprang downwards like a precipice into a glade of pines.
The wind in the trees was the only sound she heard. Far off and
tremulous it stirred in distant branches; mysteriously gathering force
upon its way, it broke in a series of crashes under her window,
withdrawing itself as waves withdraw themselves, a melancholy,
reverberating sound without the weight of water. Life flickered in her
like a candle in a draught; in spite of her youth she felt suddenly its
deep impermanence. All her activities and emotions, her stalwart sense
of equipment for the battle of time--left her. She felt herself as easy
to break as the wing of an insect. The lives of a thousand years had
crushed into the darkness around her, an accumulation of vitality--yet
the lives themselves had gone; only walls and whispers and this strange
feeling of invasion remained. This feeling of gathered invisible
vitality had something menacing in it, something expressionless but
powerful like the small lidless eyes of the Grfin pressing in upon her
mind; or like Otto's eyes, when they caught at her heart as a hawk's
eyes fix a bird. It was as if his very ardour was an indifferent
feeling, a mere instinct to strike and glance aside without respect for
personality. She belonged to herself, she said passionately into the
night. She was not a possession, a mere thread for these Wolkenheimbs to
grasp and weave into the web of their history. The pines mocked her with
a long procession of sound, without beginning or end. 'What is a self?'
they murmured continuously. 'Wind in the trees--wind in the trees! There
is no self!' All night long she fought with shadows and with silence;
but when she woke into brilliant March sunshine, clear and shining, full
of the songs of innumerable birds, she felt her buoyancy return.
Yesterday--Franz Salvator--the night and the pines--were quickly buried
out of sight. This was a new day, and she was going to be glad in it.
The sunshine moved in her blood. The old centuries were like dead
cobwebs high up, out of sight; and Otto was only a man to be kept and
held in his place.

After breakfast Otto took her for hours wandering over the Schloss. They
stood in the sunny courtyard looking up at the famous terra-cotta
reliefs while Otto told her the humorous and tragic stories of his line.
He explained the fables pictured above their heads. The solid sword of
Damocles hanging over the round pink crown of a serenely unconscious
monarch, while Hercules just below him brandished terra-cotta clubs to
break the backs of rose-coloured dragons. They finished at last by
lingering in a small roof garden under the soaring Hunger tower. From
the little garden, ruinous and grass grown, Carol could see the whole of
Trauenstein. The land dropped gently into the Danube plain; far away the
broad silvery river stretched under the yellow walls of Melk. The
mountains rose behind them, a deep delphinium blue. Between the long
undulating ranges were gaps of meadowland and shining air. Down in the
garden below the tower lay a thirteenth-century jousting court with the
ruins of a banqueting hall, and over the hillside, breaking in and out
of the pines, was a Roman wall, with bricks as old as time and as thin
as biscuits. From the centre of a second courtyard rose a tall Italian
campanile. 'The dungeons are down there,' said Otto, pointing beneath
the tower, 'oubliettes and little hints to undesirable enemies or
troublesome friends! They say that one of my ancestors led his wife
there with the utmost courtesy, after a pleasant dinner, and walled her
up alive. She had looked a little too long and a little too pleasantly
at a visiting Knight. We have never taken the walls down; and I suppose
she stands there to this day, regretting that her glances went astray.'
'I think you ought to take all those bricks down and get her comfortably
buried,' said Carol seriously. 'I hate to think of her standing up there
like that, hundreds of years!' 'She must be used to it by now,' said
Otto, smiling, 'but I'm not vindictive; she can be buried whenever you
like!' Otto stood with his hand laid lightly on Carol's shoulder. She
looked like the Spring itself, as she sat on the low wall, her head
flung back and the sun shining on her maize-coloured hair. He felt as if
some spirit from the distant years had drawn near and touched him. Otto
loved the bloom of youth. This child--so like a fairy, dainty and
delicious in the light Spring sunshine--gave him a moment of pure
gratitude; and he used it to draw her to him with a tenderness he had
never yet displayed. He felt her draw back from his caress with a quick
pained movement of her whole body, and in an instant his tenderness
died. He pulled her roughly into his arms, holding her closely against
him, and covered her face and neck with kisses. She struggled fiercely,
and then held herself rigid and cold under his passionate pressure. Her
eyes closed, and her face whitened; she had not yet learned her lesson.
He released her at last with a half-apologetic laugh. 'I'm sorry!' he
said. 'I love the Spring. You look too like it! Have I hurt you?'
'You've made me very angry,' Carol said in a low choked voice. 'You knew
I did not want you to do that!' 'But how am I to make you want me,' Otto
protested ruefully, 'if you won't let me try? Making love is half the
business!' 'But force isn't!' said Carol quietly. 'I'll never forgive
you if you touch me again against my will!' 'That is a terrible
punishment,' said Otto, 'and how am I to know what I may do? Shall I be
told?' 'You don't need telling!' said Carol. 'You knew before! You know
now, only you don't care!' 'Ah! but I care too much! You're so sweet!'
protested Otto, slipping his hand over hers. 'Tell me I am forgiven?'
Carol nodded; a curious languor spread over her, she wondered at the
fierce hate she had felt in Otto's arms a moment before. His voice, low
and close to her, was like a spell; she felt a vague pleasure at the
touch of his fine strong fingers. It was foolish to be so angry with
him. She lifted her eyes to meet his, smiling down at her, and when he
leaned forward and touched her cheek with his lips she did not draw away
from him. 'You make me nervous!' Otto said laughingly. 'A timid lover
always bungles his job! I shall feel as if I were kissing with a sword
hanging over my head, like my terra-cotta friend in the courtyard! When
do you intend to fix our marriage day? I suppose the sword will be
dropped then? I wish you would cable for your solicitor at once. Eugen
can't draw up settlements with you alone! The legal mind never talks in
words under four syllables and has to be matched with champions of its
own calibre.' 'But I haven't got a solicitor,' said Carol in surprise.
'What would I want a solicitor for?' Otto stared down at her. 'But, my
child,' he exclaimed, 'your fortune? Somebody presumably cares for it.
You have a man of business?' Carol laughed. 'Give me another cigarette,'
she said. 'How beautifully you light them! and I love your motto on the
case, "What I will I win!" Well! I daresay I'd have a man of business if
I'd got any business! As to my fortune--I have enough to buy a trousseau
with, and I can earn more. It isn't every girl that gets fifty dollars a
week out of her wits and the back chat of Europe!' For a moment the eyes
so close to her own flickered and went black; they looked as wicked as
murder; then they became inscrutable again. 'What do you mean,' Otto
asked imperturbably, 'that you have no fortune? Is it a joke? You know I
have not yet been broken in to all the forms of American humour.' 'Why,
do you mean to say you've heard it too?' Carol asked incredulously.
'Eugnie has got hold of a story that I had flocks of almighty dollars
at my heels! I suppose it's because I've got a millionaire cousin's
name; but the name's all. They don't give me anything to keep it up
with.' 'Then you have no money at all except what you earn?' Otto asked
carefully. 'Nothing,' said Carol, looking straight at him. 'Does it
matter awfully? If it does, we'll call this engagement business off. I
wouldn't have you tied to me against your will for worlds!' Something
vivid and happy shot into her heart. She turned her eyes away from Otto
lest he should see the sudden joy that had invaded her; and yet it was
not only joy. She felt pleased and humiliated, freed and disappointed.
Was she in love with both men at once? She was in love with Franz
Salvator clumsily and irretrievably, she had no doubt of that; but she
was half in love with the man beside her too, and with what he stood
for--those queer roots hidden in the ages! He had made her laugh so
often. Would he never make her laugh again? Those smiling shining eyes
had taught her so many things. She had believed in his love; it was true
she had seen that some tie, deeper perhaps than his feeling for herself,
bound him to Eugnie; but she had trusted him because she thought he was
disinterested. He could not have Eugnie, so he wanted Carol. Well! she
could not blame him for that. She too could not have Franz Salvator, so
she wanted Otto. But what if he had never wanted her at all except to
use her money--and worse, if he had only felt for her that light desire
without respect, as momentary as the instinct of an animal? The hand
that held her cigarette shook a little. Well! she would let him go--but
something went with him--something that she was ashamed to have given
him; and he should not get clear away, a piece of her very lucid mind
should accompany him. 'How goes it, Otto?' she asked, lifting her chin a
little higher and looking at him steadily through half-closed eyes. 'I'm
waiting to be told whether I'm the future Grfin Wolkenheimb or the
future Carol Hunter. I'm willing to back either, but I can't back both,
can I? The position is a little undignified for each of us--suppose you
just for once light out with the truth?' 'My dear child,' Otto said
quickly, 'this is a shocking business, and I'm more sorry--more sorry
for it than I can say! Will you believe me, I wonder, that although
money is a sheer necessity to me--I had a large fortune and I am capable
perhaps of making another, but for the moment I have nothing at all,
except these quite impracticable ruins--I wasn't marrying you for it. I
have _le bon motif_--any man who knows you would have! I should have
been tempted to make love to you if I'd always known that you had
nothing at all. You say that you will set me free, but with us a broken
engagement is as serious as death, and I am a little anxious as to how
we can either keep it on or break it off without difficulties it would
be foolish not to foresee.' 'Fortunately,' said Carol lightly, turning
her head away from him and back towards the shining fields which were no
longer to be her own, 'you're saved by my being an American. With us an
engagement is only final when we've left the altar steps; up till then
it's a mere legitimate practice. I don't shut a door till I'm through
it--and I never have felt on the other side of this one. Just publish
that the marriage won't take place. I'll never let anyone know the
reason why we've given it up. All the same, Otto, I am going to speak
plain to you before we part. You deceived me. You never told me you were
in love with Eugnie!' 'What the deuce do you mean?' Otto asked her
angrily, dropping his hand from her shoulder as if it had been stung.
'Who told you any such tale?' 'You,' said Carol. 'You're very clever,
Otto, and I suppose you think I'm a good deal more ignorant of life than
a European. But I know a lover when I see one, and I know when a man's
another woman's lover, even if he's paying the prettiest kind of court
to me at the same time; and that cow in the Alpine pasture business
didn't get past me! I've done you a wrong--I didn't mean to, but you've
done me one, and I think you meant it all along!' Otto hesitated, then
he said, 'In a sense what you say is true. I have always loved my cousin
Eugnie, but all idea of a marriage between us was over many years ago.
As you know Eugnie, you will readily understand that any other idea on
my part was destined to be useless. Therefore I was free. Eugnie
herself would tell you I was free if you asked her.' 'She did tell me
so,' said Carol composedly, lighting a fresh cigarette and fixing Otto
with her clear young candour, 'and your eyes, and your voice, and the
way you hit out at her told me exactly the opposite. I don't say I
wouldn't have forgiven you for loving Eugnie the best. I think I would.
She's the only woman I know I should never feel ashamed to be beaten by;
and she would have played fair, and be damned to you--whether you made
love to her or not! But I'm pretty glad you found out I was penniless,
for on the whole, Otto Wolkenheimb, I consider you rather a poor piece
of goods!' Otto flushed; but he was not angry with Carol's description
of himself. He knew that he had moved her, and could move her again; he
knew it better than she did for all her shrewdness. He did not want to
give her up; and it shot through his mind that there was a way to escape
this disagreeable necessity. He would have to marry Elisabeth because he
was in instant need of a sum of money he could not otherwise procure,
but after this extraordinarily painful step had been taken, might he not
return to his original idea, and with Elisabeth for a wife make this
charming child his mistress? Life forced one to do prosaic things, but
if one was clever with it and yielded at the right moments, one could
generally go about with a little romance up one's sleeve. And then
something spoke to Otto; it was not any kind of compunction or remorse;
it was his sense of beauty to which he had always paid a tribute of
respect. He decided, against the pull of a strong desire, that he would
not--even if he could--do any such thing; and he decided it while he
still looked down at Carol and felt to the full her delicate charm. He
would not use his deadly skill on her half-roused senses. She was
straight, straighter than he had supposed women ever were, and he would
be straight with her. She had let him go without a stain upon his
honour, and in this way, clean and free, he would let her leave him--as
you let a bird which has flown into the dark interior of a mysterious
human room fly back through an open window into the light, 'I do not
wonder', he said gently, 'that you think little of me. I assure you I
think very little of myself. But men are queer mixtures. I do love you.
I do--what is from me rather more of a compliment--respect you. Try to
see things from my point of view. King Cophetua was very well off when
he indulged his fancy by making a beggar maid his queen. If he had had
the misfortune to lose his wealth and, instead of a beggar maid, to have
fancied a successful and brilliant, but still not opulent, American
journalist, I think he would have had to kiss her hand regretfully as I
do now, and do the best he could for his ruined kingdom without her! I
am afraid that I must go off immediately to Wien. My affairs are in a
bad way, and I must try to get them out of it. Please stay here as long
as you like. I will not inform my mother of what has taken place until
you have left. And now we must say good-bye I suppose? Not that I have
any grudge against you, chre amie, but because I like you a great deal
too much to wish to meet you again.' 'You're a sport, Otto,' said Carol
cordially; 'I've lost you a fortune and cut you out of a wife; but I
haven't done it purposely or without getting rather hit myself. I'd kind
of figured out that I was to have a medieval Schloss and one of those
husbands who always keep a woman guessing! And I suppose if I'd been the
heiress I should have liked them both!' Otto looked at her and bit his
lips. 'It's a damned bore--money,' he said in a low voice. 'My only
excuse is that I've got to keep this place. My life is horribly
complicated, and it isn't all my fault, as most women would suppose,
that I can't follow my heart or keep my word or behave like the very
fine fellow I'd like you to believe I am! I was going to ask you for
that kiss you didn't give me, but I won't now; you seem to me rather too
good for it! Let's shake hands and part friends. Good-bye, young
America!'

It is improbable that Otto ever paid a woman a finer compliment by
making love to her than he paid Carol by refraining from it; and Carol
realized the compliment. She gave him a quick firm pressure of the hand,
and watched him go, with a curious, half-regretful smile. It was
characteristic of Otto that he had not told her she had not only cost
him the fortune she did not possess, but the fortune she had innocently
caused him to lose. Nor had he, when she accused him of his divided
allegiance, as much as hinted to her of his knowledge of her own divided
heart. Otto had sacrificed most of his virtues, but he still kept an
uneasy hold upon his courage and his good taste. As he hurried down the
long stone staircase which led to the terrace below, no one could have
told by looking at him that he had just lost a wife and a fortune; nor
that he was about to undertake the most unpleasant piece of business he
had ever had to perform, without even the certainty of its being a
success.




CHAPTER XXXII


They had moved about the Castle all the morning like conspirators who
knew that an infernal machine is timed to explode, but are uncertain of
the actual moment, until Eugnie felt that even her unmitigated fears
would be easier to bear than Eugen's elaborate reassurances. 'I will go
to the lake,' she said at last; 'it will be easier to wait there, I
think, and when you know what has happened to Otto you will come quickly
and tell me?' Eugen agreed; but he could have told her then. He knew
what would happen to Otto. 'My dear Eugnie,' he said, 'try to remember
what I have been telling you, that if you let Otto know you had a hand,
however light, however innocent, in depriving him of a fortune, he will
not only punish you, he will punish himself for the rest of his life.
You will deprive him of an ideal, and it is important for Otto to retain
the only ideal he has. I claim your word in this matter! You will not,
however tempted by the irritant of a most unreasonable remorse, violate
a confidence?' Eugnie did not think her remorse unreasonable, but she
agreed that she would at least not tell Otto that she had consciously
withheld her knowledge from him. It seemed to her as she walked slowly
through the scented pines and breathed the sweet clearness of the
mountain air as if she had betrayed the beauty of the world. Why had she
not let Otto judge for himself what it was right for him to do? She who
believed so passionately in human liberty had deprived Otto of it at the
crisis of his career. She had not let him choose, and she was to blame
if the choice made for him had injured him. It was all very well for
Eugen to say that one man's ruin (even Otto's ruin) was as nothing
compared to the salvation of their country by the restoration of Karl.
Eugen believed that Austria could only be saved by the return of the
Emperor; Eugnie had come to believe that Austria could save herself.
She still had her loyalty to her Kaiser, but was it anything like so
deep as her loyalty to Otto? Had not she sacrificed that loyalty out of
a craven maternal fear that Otto would sink beneath his chance? If she
had not interfered he might have triumphantly proved that he was equal
to his hour, instead of being hustled into sacrifice, like a child
over-persuaded to part with a toy by a couple of sentimental nurses. It
was not only ruin into which her moral intensity had plunged him (the
lack of money never could seem to Eugnie of primary importance), she
associated the fear she felt with the angry, unhappy eyes of Elisabeth
Bleileben. When Otto had said to her the night before that he would go
to the devil if he failed to obtain a fortune the devil his words evoked
for her had been the woman at the Opera.

The lake of Trauenstein was a green, deep pool; it lay under a circle of
pines, holding them tree by tree, stem by stem in a solid, unshaken
mirror. Eugnie sat down at its edge. The day was still and hot; every
now and then--into the silence--a pine cone fell on the russet floor
with a mild crash. The sun flickered through the dark boughs and set
small golden patterns on the fallen needles. Eugnie felt as if the
sunshine had cut off time. She was held in a suspended element, that had
neither an end nor a beginning; only her heart, beating heavily with
fear, told her that she was still alive. At last she heard quick
footsteps coming through the wood; the path filled suddenly, and her
eyes met Otto's. It was an unfortunate moment for Otto to find Eugnie,
because he was suffering very sharply from reaction, and upon no one
could he vent it with such thoroughness as upon the woman who loved him.
'Oh!' cried Eugnie, pressing her hands against her heart. 'I thought--I
thought Eugen was coming!' 'I am sorry to disappoint you,' said Otto,
with a smile which moved his lips but seemed to increase the dangerous
light in his hard eyes. 'I preferred to tell you my news myself, I was
so grateful to you for being so charming as to wish to hear it. I am
ruined. May I ask how long you were aware that this interesting surprise
was in store for me?' 'Not very long, Otto,' Eugnie faltered. 'It was
to me too a surprise.' 'It seems that Franz Salvator was more
fortunate,' said Otto, sitting down at the other end of the bench and
fixing his mocking eyes on Eugnie. 'He was warned in time that the
train would not carry him to his station; so he very wisely got off. I
do not blame him--but our old fraternal feeling for each other, backed
by what the English so happily call "fair play", was, alas! not
sufficient for either of you to warn me to do the same.' 'Oh, Otto,'
Eugnie murmured, 'you know--you know Franz did not seek Carol's
fortune! He left us thinking her rich--I myself knew nothing till just
before you went to Budapest.' 'Ah,' said Otto, 'you ask a good deal of
my credulity, and you present me with an interesting fact. If you had
told me, dearest friend, before I made that journey, I should not have
gone to Budapest--nor should I now be contemplating that other little
excursion to the devil which comes next on my programme. I do not blame
your pretty little friend for having nothing but her very charming self;
if she deceived me it was at any rate unconsciously; but that _you_
should have known what would have altered my whole future, and not told
me----! Dear Eugnie, pray explain what part of your moral code this
particular reticence supported?' 'Surely,' said Eugnie, raising her
beautiful sad eyes to his, 'it was not for me to tell you? It was for
her! Otto, when she told me that she was not rich I did not even know
that you were ignorant of what she told me! Forgive me. Tell me, what do
you mean to do? I am grieved beyond words that you are disappointed, but
I do not understand why such a terrible fate awaits you?' 'Women seldom
retain each other's confidences,' said Otto bitterly, 'and when they do,
blunders of some kind are the result. No, of course you did not know the
purpose of my going to Budapest! If you wish to be forgiven, pray accept
my forgiveness; the facts remain precisely the same. I let a fortune go
in Budapest--a very large secure fortune--because I believed that what
your little friend had would amply compensate me for the sacrifice. If I
had known she was penniless, I should have retained this fortune; I
should still be safe, and, free from this entanglement--I found your
little friend quite eager to release me!--I should have been at liberty
for the first time in my life to marry the woman I love! Now I am
penniless, bound hand and foot by various little arrangements which deal
with money, and flung to the mercy of my enemies. There is no escape
possible. On the one hand I lose Trauenstein; Wien is closed to me; my
life is over; I doubt if I should have enough to buy bread. On the
other, I am under the thumb of a rascal I detest, and I marry a woman
whom it very nearly makes me sick to think of. Put a trifle more
succinctly--I marry Elisabeth Bleileben or I shoot myself. Forgiveness
may be personally gratifying to you, but it will not do away with either
of these facts.' Otto ceased speaking. His arm lay along the bench on
which they were both sitting, but he was so far from wishing to touch
Eugnie that she felt as if he would rather have drowned her. His
hostility wrapped itself about them both like ice. Eugnie's love and
pity were powerless against it; they only made her feel bewildered and
dumb. 'Otto,' she said at last after a long silence, 'I am so stupid.
What can I say? I have done you a great wrong by remaining silent, and
it seems that I cannot put it right! You speak as if money mattered more
than anything else; but need it matter quite so much? I have a little;
it is not much, but I can live on it. I should not be an expense. It is
true what I said yesterday, we think so differently that we might give
each other pain, but at least we like to be together. If you married me
and we had children, could we not live very simply in the country? Even
if Trauenstein goes you could keep a farm. It is not so dreadful to be
poor, and I have learned to be practical--I can cook and I make all my
own clothes. I know how hard it is for you to give up your ambitions,
but you are so clever that wherever you were, or whatever you did,
something would come of it!' Otto laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh,
and it made Eugnie flinch as if he had struck her. 'My dear Eugnie,'
he said mockingly, 'do you really imagine me as a country farmer? In
leather breeches and a green plush hat, with a tuft of chamois' beard at
the side? And you think that I should enjoy watching you lose your
figure and spoiling your complexion over a kitchen stove? Domesticity
has never made a striking appeal to me. On very short commons in the
depths of the country, what appeal it has is considerably lessened. I am
afraid your little picture must fade into the region of dreams. My
grateful thanks, nevertheless! I recommend you to reconstruct it for Dr.
Jeiteles! It would be more suitable!' 'Ah, Otto! Otto!' murmured
Eugnie. 'Refuse me if you will, but never say what I offered you was
not the deepest thing I have!' His eyes flickered with an angry light.
'You don't know perhaps how you torture me,' he exclaimed fiercely, 'Why
do you thrust at me my heart's desire in the one form in which I cannot
take it? No--take back your hand. If I made love to you now it would not
be pretty love! Listen a moment. You love me enough to be my wife--to
give me children. But I cannot afford these luxuries, nor, to tell you
the truth, do I greatly desire so much felicity. I should, even under
easier circumstances, be afraid of marrying you; I should be afraid of
being unfaithful to you. Does it sound amusing to speak as if up till
now I had kept an inviolable constancy? After all these years in which
you know I have had so many experiences with other women? Nevertheless,
Eugnie, it is true. I _have_ been faithful to you. No other woman has
ever touched my heart. I have seemed cruel, base, neglectful, but only
because you would not let me be your lover. I have no genius for
platonics. I had to avoid you or possess you. Even now, with this
disgusting future, you could change all my anger, all my bitterness,
into joy. You little know what you could produce in me, what you could
set free in me! I should care for nothing in all the world but you! If
you would yield me your love, you could do what you liked with me,
except make me a model husband! That, unfortunately, is beyond the limit
of your power. I shouldn't mind being a bad husband to any other woman.
But to you--when I want to be--what I know that I could be--an ideal
lover----! As for money, I should only care to have enough to spread
flowers under your feet. Dearest, Eugnie, my beloved, will you not come
into my arms, into my heart forever? This time I shall not fail you. I
love you as men love air when they are held down under a weight of
water!' 'Ah, Otto, how can I answer you!' Eugnie whispered. 'It is too
late! I no longer love like that. I have for you all the tenderness of
my heart. I would be your companion, your wife, I would give you
children, and all day long would be full of thoughts of you; but I am no
longer a passionate woman. Long ago desire faded out of me--what passion
I had was beaten down by life. To be a man's mistress--even yours--is a
horrible thought to me. I could not bear the intrigues, the
concealments, I could not love behind closed doors, nor make a secret
life seem honourable. I have no word now to break or keep to my
husband--I have no loyalty which is outraged by what you suggest--but
such a life does not appeal to me; it does not please me, and yet, oh,
my dearest--I love you! I cannot bear your pain--the thought of your
degradation is darkening my life!' Otto caught her to him passionately;
his hands trembled, as they had not trembled when he touched Carol, but
he used no force against Eugnie's will; his eyes sought first the
consent of her eyes. They met his, tragic in their intensity, but empty
of all desire. She made no attempt to escape him; she yielded herself to
his arms; but the spirit, which could never yield to him, controlled
him. He held her as tenderly as if she was a child. It was too late, and
Otto knew it was too late. Once she could have given him all he longed
for. Her heart was his, and what she had had for him had never been
given to anyone else. It had only been wasted. He kissed her lips very
gently before he released her. 'There, my darling,' he said, 'that is my
forgiveness. Take it--it seems the best thing I have to offer you. I
wonder which of us has done the other the most mortal hurt? Think of me
at any rate as dead now--and remember that dying I loved you, and took
the thought of you away with me into a world of shadows.' Eugnie could
not speak; her eyes closed, she felt his arm slacken about her and knew
that he was leaving her forever; with him went the last of her youth and
the last of her resistance to life. She was free now, free to live and
love again--if she had the will to love again--free as the dead are
free.




CHAPTER XXXIII


The sunshine sparkled like wine upon the yellow walls of Schloss
Trauenstein. Pigeons in the courtyard, poising self-consciously upon
rose-coloured claws, carried on their ancient ceremonies, breaking every
now and then through the depths of their etiquette to take short sudden
flights into the blue air. Twelve struck from the chapel bell, a
deep-toned tranquil sound, telling of the ordered centuries stored in
the bronze clapper, and hour by hour setting loose its unregarded hint
of Time.

Eugen walked up and down, below the terra-cotta heads of a procession of
Wolkenheimbs in great uneasiness of mind. It might be that nothing had
happened; but it might be that everything had. Otto had hurried through
the courtyard more than an hour ago, with curious uneasy eyes; he had
asked Eugen abruptly where Eugnie was, and, as soon as he had received
his answer, he had disappeared without a word of explanation. A little
later Carol Hunter had leaned over the balcony, and with an air of
cheerful serenity demanded to be put in touch with the telephone. Eugen
had conducted her to it, secretly hoping that her ready speech might
throw some light upon the situation; but she contented herself with
exclamations on the beauties of Trauenstein, and refused to allow him
even the faintest indication of what number she wanted by explaining
that he need not help her because she knew how to telephone in any
language. Eugen recognized his defeat with a faint amusement. This very
young person was capable of retaining a secret with greater ease than
the more mature; her transatlantic candour was more difficult to plumb
than oceans of experience. Something had happened to her and to Otto
Wolkenheimb, but Carol Hunter showed no trace of the storm that must
have passed over them both.

The last note of the chapel bell held the air with a tighter grip,
squeezing out of it the very core of the great noon silence. Otto's
Mercds passed with a shriek of warning over the drawbridge and drew up
in the courtyard; a moment later Otto himself appeared.

Otto was no longer in a hurry; he put his hand on Eugen's shoulder with
an unfamiliar gesture as if he needed something to lean on. 'I have been
saying good-bye', he said in a low flat voice, 'to
Eugnie--good-bye--forever!' Eugen started. 'But, my dear old fellow,'
he exclaimed, 'why was that necessary? Why cannot we keep our best, our
oldest possessions, whatever happens? This friendship with Eugnie and
Franz is an affair of a lifetime, and one has only one lifetime!'
'Between a man and woman', replied Otto gravely, 'there come these
moments--when it must be everything--or nothing. No loyalty survives the
acuteness of passion! You are right--it was the best thing in our
life--but for me it is over! Let us have half an hour's talk together
before I seek my too brilliant future in Wien. I feel like an old man.'

Eugen said nothing, but it must be confessed that his heart, hot with
sympathy for the two beings he loved best in the world, was critical of
Eugnie. He said to himself, 'Was this the moment for her to let him
go?' Aloud he said, 'Is this parting a preface, my dear Otto, to your
marriage with Miss Hunter?' 'That too is finished,' said Otto more
lightly. 'I have gone rather more quickly than usual. In less than an
hour I have put an end to both these relationships. The little one has
no money. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I blame no one; and
she has behaved very well. The child must have good blood--she let me go
very prettily. There was regret without reproachfulness, a very rare
trait in women. I shared her regret; apart from the fact that since she
has no fortune I am ruined.' 'But, Otto--why ruined?' Eugen asked
slowly. 'You have lost the chance of a great fortune--yes--but surely
you have enough to live on and the wits to find other methods of
procuring money? Naturally all that I have is at your service, and it is
enough to tide you over a crisis. You know my little carpets? We can
sell them for the present, and for the future----' 'I tell you there is
no future!' said Otto harshly. 'Either I marry Elisabeth--we must work
now to secure the divorce--or she and Mandelbaum break me! They have it
in their power, and their inclination is as great as their opportunity.
I was so sure, so idiotically sure of this child's fortune! It was
spoken of at the Club, it was vouched for by her Minister, Mandelbaum
and his set joked over it! My mother always said, "Where are her maid,
her motor and her diamonds?" but I believed her a dear little
sentimentalist, stripping herself of luxury out of regard for our
feelings--there have been many such picturesque war workers! And she has
good taste--but nothing else, Eugen!' Eugen nodded sympathetically. 'We
have lost all our landmarks,' he said gently. 'Is it any wonder that we
have lost our way? I regret your disappointment deeply.'
'Disappointment!' exclaimed Otto bitterly. 'You use very insufficient
language! Say my destruction! Have you forgotten who holds the second
mortgage on Trauenstein, and this Steinz, who holds the first? What do I
know of him--except that he is a Jew? Before the break with Elisabeth I
was safe--but without the child's fortune--not an hour afterwards! That
was why I hurried her a little! You thought me a cad, I know, for that
scene with Franz Salvator! But what could I do? It made her fix the date
of the marriage. She was ashamed to hold back after that--as I knew she
would be! Where, in all my calculations, have I been wrong--answer me
that? And yet the Bleileben and Mandelbaum are at my heels--and my only
chance is to marry Elisabeth and live on what she retains of the
shipping deal. I am being broken like a nut caught in a pair of
crackers! If I had been outwitted I could bear it, but I find myself at
the mercy of a stupid lie--not even an intentional lie! Do you see no
way out for me, Eugen--nothing that I have by any chance overlooked?'
'But surely,' objected Eugen, 'we can immediately let the Kaiser know,
and he will return you enough--from the great sum you put at his
disposal--to keep Trauenstein? Then when the Austrian Restoration comes
your return to fortune is assured!' Otto leaned his hand more heavily
upon Eugen's shoulder. 'The Restoration, my dear boy, doesn't come!
Perhaps I misled you a little; there was no time for an explanation on
my return from Budapest, and my mind was on hot bricks. In a sense what
I told you was true, I used this money for Karl--for his best
interests--but not as you supposed. I used it to keep him back.' Eugen
withdrew himself from the pressure of Otto's hand, but it was so slight
a movement, and Otto was so absorbed in his explanation, that he
overlooked its significance. 'One moment,' said Eugen resolutely;
'conceal nothing more, Otto! Why did you go to Budapest, and how did you
use this money?' 'I went to Budapest on information,' Otto continued
hurriedly, 'to find out for myself what were the chances of the
Restoration. The Monarchists were boiling over with zeal. Not one of
them had the brains to keep still. I went to the Club for lunch. All
were talking of the Return. They were discussing their new places in
Court; the women what clothes they should wear; Fanni, as usual, what
husband lurked in her imagination! If a British officer in uniform
smiled at them they considered it a final proof that England and her
Navy would act for the Emperor. Both the Allies and the Government were
represented at lunch; there was no need for spies--the only finesse
required to learn all their plans was to possess a tide or to be ready
for a love affair. I went immediately to Horthy and after him to three
of the Ministers. I learned that the Little Entente was actually fully
prepared and ready on its frontiers; at the first word from Budapest of
Karl's return they would march in. The peasants are ninety per cent
against the Restoration, the intelligentsia--Jews of course--silent and
persecuted, are no better off with than without a King. The Army is
divided. Of the Allies, the French Mission are willing, even anxious,
for Karl, but they dare not say so nor lend themselves visibly to his
cause, for if they consented even semi-officially, the Little Entente
would promptly accuse them of breaking the Peace Treaty, and that might
shake their stranglehold upon Germany. The English are as usual on the
fence, whatever happens they will do nothing--but profit by it. Horthy
feels very well where he is, and his efforts are concentrated upon
keeping his hares at a safe distance from his hounds. I saw at a glance
that the Return was impossible. It was worse than impossible, for it
might be seriously attempted; and if seriously attempted it would end in
tragedy. Money was wanted to hold back the half of the Army which would
otherwise have supported Karl, and to assist in keeping everything
still. I gave that money. The future belongs for the moment to those who
will maintain the present Government. You may ask what I gained by it,'
Otto continued, after a pause in which Eugen made no attempt at comment.
'Not anything very tangible perhaps. But I prevented a danger, and I
left behind me--in Budapest--substantial friends. Any scheme--and I have
an admirable one in mind--is sure now of receiving backing in the most
influential quarters, and the Little Entente will look upon me as an
ally. It seems that Karl has been gravely prejudiced against me by his
new advisers, and that I had nothing to expect in that quarter; I have
now at any rate nothing to fear. But I maintain nevertheless that I have
served the Kaiser by my action. I may even, in a sense, be said to have
saved him!' Eugen's silence broke as if a stone had shattered it. 'You
have betrayed him,' he said hoarsely; 'make no mistake, Otto. You have
betrayed him! I, like Eugnie, must now say good-bye to you forever!'
Otto stared at him for a moment without speaking; he literally did not
believe his ears. To lose Eugen was incredible. All their lives Otto had
been worshipped by Eugen; his will was Eugen's law; his profit Eugen's
pleasure. Panic seized him. 'I don't understand you,' he said
passionately, 'forever? Forever? That is a word one uses only to women!
It is impossible for us to separate. What have I done that you should
leave me? In this affair I have acted with wisdom, with discretion. You
yourself would never have joined such a group as the Budapest
Monarchists! That tango set, making love out of conspiracies, and
conspiracies out of their love affairs! Bah! my good Eugen, they talk of
restoring the Kaiser as if he were a chocolate to pop back into their
mouths!' 'I do not say they are wise,' replied Eugen, without taking his
eyes from Otto's face. 'I say only that you are base! You wrecked a
hope--even if it was a forlorn hope. You did not do this thing to save
the Kaiser, but because it suited your own purposes. You found he had
accepted younger men as his guides, and that his chances were poor, so
you threw in your lot with those in power and made his chances poorer.
This is the parting of our ways, Otto. We have gone far together, and I
had believed we would go further. Nothing but this betrayal could have
put an end to our companionship. All that I had was yours, all that I am
was at your disposal, but not for this! I believed that you, like
myself, put our cause first. Our cause was our Kaiser. I do not wish to
reproach you. I say now simply--go! Go to Excellenz Bleileben, to
Mandelbaum, to those who believe only in personal success, to those who
have no scruples and whose vulgarity is pure. In this good company I do
not belong; permit me to withdraw.' 'But, Eugen,' cried Otto, plunging
suddenly out of the irony which was second nature to him into the
reality of his helpless need, 'you do not understand! I--I--you are all
I have! Franz Salvator has gone out of my life--Eugnie has gone--and
you?' Otto felt horribly afraid. The future was like an unknown desert
in which he might find himself trapped by savage tribes; his wit
useless; his courage overwhelmed; his needs disregarded. He looked at
Eugen with piteous anxiety, but Eugen was unshakable; he stood in front
of Otto, hard as the rocks upon which Trauenstein was built. It was this
sense of a fortress behind him which had always given to Otto the
freedom of his audacity; and now that the fortress was in front of him,
his audacity suddenly wavered and fell flat. 'You leave me', he said
falteringly, 'to live my life alone?' 'You have chosen', said Eugen
inexorably, 'a life I cannot lead with you.' 'But you, what will you do
with yourself?' demanded Otto with renewed hope. 'You have no life but
mine!' 'I will make my own little arrangements,' said Eugen
indifferently; 'pray do not concern yourself with them.' 'I don't know
what to say,' exclaimed Otto helplessly; 'how am I to account for what
has come between us to my mother? To everybody we know? This separation
is without precedent, it requires an explanation!' 'Leave the
explanation to me,' said Eugen impassively; 'I will do you no discredit.
Your honour is safe in my hands.' Otto flinched; from now on there would
be no hands in which his honour was safe, least of all perhaps in his
own. He made one more appeal. 'Eugen,' he said hurriedly, 'one does not
speak of these things! But you are--you have always been my nearest
friend. I have had for you an affection which it seemed to me
unnecessary to express, and I believed that this deep affection was
mutual.' Still Eugen's eyes looked back at him without faltering, as if
they had gazed on the head of the Medusa, and, gazing, turned to stone.
'It is finished,' said Eugen softly, almost under his breath. 'That
which was between us exists no more.' Otto drew a long breath. 'Good,'
he said, trying to smile with shaking lips; 'now at last I know illusion
for what it is! A woman's love--a man's friendship--they depend, do they
not, entirely upon interest? The interest is withdrawn, the affection is
over, or it is ready to transplant itself elsewhere. I congratulate
myself that the day on which I find myself ruined I am deserted by my
best friend and the woman whom I have always respected----' 'Enough,
Otto,' said Eugen firmly. 'Even to me, do not disgrace yourself by abuse
of Eugnie!' Otto turned quickly away. The Mercds was drawn up, ready,
at the courtyard gate; he jumped into it, started the engine with a
jerk, and drove recklessly down the road to Vienna. Otto asked for death
a hundred times upon that desperate drive; but death was on the side of
Otto's friends--it had decided to leave him alone.




CHAPTER XXXIV


Eugen paced up and down the cell of his thoughts hour after hour. The
solitary compulsion of his will held him fast; no stone walls, no locks
or bars could have confined him more inexorably. He was without hurry or
anxiety, but he knew that from his self-imprisonment there would be no
release.

It had been a difficult day; the Grfin was uneasy and had probed Eugen
with the deadly persistency of a tireless insect. Eugnie was invisible.
She had assured both the Grfin and Carol through a locked door that she
had a sun headache too bad for speech, and not sufficiently serious for
attention. Eugen had been unable to supply himself with so convenient an
evasion; and he had had to give his company and guidance to Carol, who
continued to explore the Schloss with an avidity undiminished by her
knowledge that she would never possess it. She referred frequently to
Otto with affection but without precision; and what she seemed most to
wish, as she leaned from tower windows and bent low to enter the nearly
submerged entrances to dungeons, was information from Eugen for a series
of articles on Viennese Court life. These efforts of the day were over
now; even the Grfin had gone to bed at last, defrauded of grounds for
her uneasiness.

Eugen was alone in the library of the Schloss, a bare bleak room given
up to dusty memories and unopened books. No one ever came there except
himself, or pored over the old manuscripts, or cared for the century-old
secrets of the Wolkenheimbs. A fire burned dimly on the hearth. Eugen
flung himself down beside it and buried his face in his hands. There was
no sound at all except the sifting of the soft wood ash, and from an
open window the stealthy whispering of a little wind in the pines,
moving furtively to and fro as if it knew it was a trespasser. Suddenly
the door opened, and he heard Eugnie's voice breathe his name. They
were neither of them people who violated social customs without a cause,
but now it seemed natural to Eugen that Eugnie should come down at
midnight to sit with him till dawn. When a man's mind is fixed beyond
hope, he no longer observes the artificial barriers of life. Her voice
sounded as if it came from within him and was a summons from his own
soul. Eugnie moved swiftly to his side, and sat down by the dying fire
within reach of his hand. Neither of them could see each other's face.
'I thought that I should find you here,' said Eugnie; 'I could not
sleep. I had wanted to be alone all day, but the night seemed so long I
felt as if I must come down and share my loneliness with you.' 'Surely,'
said Eugen very gently, 'for me too it is better. I stayed on in fact
with the hope of seeing you. Otherwise I should have followed Otto to
Wien.' 'You would not have gone with him?' Eugnie asked timidly. 'No,'
replied Eugen, 'I do not think that I should have gone with him.' 'I
have been so unhappy,' whispered Eugnie, 'because I have done him so
great a wrong! Oh, Eugen, how did I dare to interfere with his will? To
force him into a position where he could not escape from ruin? Ruin
would have been bearable if I had let him choose it. But I didn't let
him choose; I wilfully kept him in ignorance so that I could pride
myself on his "beau geste". I didn't have the sense to see that it
wasn't a "beau geste", unless he did it himself!' 'You speak always of
Otto,' replied Eugen wearily; 'that was not our point; we acted to save
the Kaiser, nor did we expect of Otto what we should not have done, as a
matter of course, ourselves.' 'But have we saved him?' Eugnie demanded.
'If we had--if all that dreadful money had secured Karl's return, would
Otto be ruined? Surely in that case something could have been done to
help Otto? The Kaiser himself would have done it.' 'His Majesty is
powerless to act until his return,' said Eugen after a pause, 'and money
cannot do everything. It may very well be that in spite of Otto's
action, Karl will not return.' It seemed to Eugen that he heard a slight
movement from his companion as if he were rousing an anxiety she would
not willingly admit. He waited for her to speak, but Eugnie said
nothing; she only listened as if her whole being had passed into the
intensity of her silence. 'I even think', Eugen continued steadily,
'that the lack of money cannot ruin a man, unless he has attached to
this lack a false value--something stronger than money--his honour, for
instance, or his wits.' 'All, you are hard on him!' exclaimed Eugnie
impetuously. 'I was afraid of that! Afraid I mean that, just when I had
failed him, you who have been his perfect friend all his life might--for
some foolish reason--cease to stand by him now! But you will not, you
must not, whatever happens you must remain the same!' Eugen appeared to
accept Eugnie's reproach; he asked more gently still, 'And for what
reason, my dear, did you fail him?' Eugnie was silent. She couldn't
quite tell Eugen everything; she couldn't, for instance, tell him what
Otto had offered her--that would make him angry. What she had offered
Otto was another matter, only _her_ pride was concerned in that. Eugnie
wanted the reassurance of anger, but what she wanted most was for Eugen
to be angry with _her_. It would have been a wonderful consolation to
Eugnie to feel that she was at the root of all Otto's lapses. 'I failed
him', she said after a pause, 'because I was selfish, because I was
stupid and dishonest and mean--that's how I suppose most people fail
each other!' Eugen remained motionless beside her in the dark. She could
not tell whether her passionate self-accusations had impressed him or
not, but she felt the tension of his being. He wanted to take the most
out of what she said to him, and in order to receive it he had emptied
himself of everything else. 'Do people fail each other for so many
reasons?' he said at last. 'I could understand better what precisely
happened if you accused yourself of one act. We confuse ourselves with
our feelings, but an action is a clarifying event. Can you not tell me
what you did to fail Otto?' 'I tricked him,' said Eugnie swiftly. 'I
can only call it a trick, that secrecy about Carol's fortune, and having
done it--although I had promised you I would not reveal to him that I
had purposely concealed my knowledge--I was too weak, too stupid to help
him! If my conscience had been clear my wits would have acted better--I
could have found a way to help him. Instead, I could only think of one
thing to do and it wasn't--the thing I thought of--what he really wanted
most!' 'And may I ask what it was, this thing you thought of doing to
help Otto?' Eugen said after a pause. 'It was just', said Eugnie
tentatively, 'that if he had got to be poor, and since his engagement
with Carol was broken, he might--I thought--have liked to marry me. Otto
has always cared for me!' 'That I have understood,' replied Eugen in a
controlled impassive voice, 'and this offer that you, a proud woman,
made is what you call failing Otto? Oh, Eugnie!' 'Please, please don't
excuse me,' cried Eugnie. 'I did it so badly! If I had done it better,
he might have liked it more. But it wasn't, you see, what he wanted, and
I can understand that; Otto is very ambitious, and, like you, he is a
true Viennese. Life is not life for him without the race-course and the
opera. Men of thirty-nine cannot become boys again and make fresh
pleasures for themselves. My offer was a mistake, and, since Otto cares
for me, it was a cruel mistake. Worse still, it makes it impossible for
us to meet again. I wanted to give him a life in return for what I had
tricked him out of; but all I succeeded in doing was in taking away from
him a friendship which he had prized. So you see why I want you more
than ever to be good to him.' 'Eugnie,' asked Eugen abruptly, 'do you
trust me?' 'With all my heart,' said Eugnie instantly; 'my dear, the
earth under my feet is not so solid as my trust in you!' 'Then if I tell
you', said Eugen quietly, 'that I too have a reason, not a foolish
reason, for letting Otto go his way--the way he has chosen, knowing well
that I could not go with him if he so chose it--will you forgive me--as
I forgive you--for leaving him alone?' 'Oh, must you! must you!' cried
Eugnie imploringly. 'Don't you see it's only because I'm a woman that I
let him go! I couldn't have deserted him now in his great trouble if I
hadn't known that it would only hurt him more to see me again.' 'I think
that it would also hurt him more to see me again,' said Eugen gravely.
'One can patch an ordinary friendship, but if the friendship of a
lifetime breaks, the rent is too large, no patch will hold. A man puts
too much of his own weight upon a great friendship.' Eugnie sat quite
still, turning Eugen's words over in her mind. 'Eugen,' she said at
last, 'if you cannot tell me what it is that has made this dreadful
break between you and Otto, can you tell me what it is not? When I said
just now that you might have quarrelled for a foolish reason, I meant a
reason that concerned me. That, you know, would be foolish, for Otto has
never done me any grave wrong.' 'No grave wrong, Eugnie?' Eugen asked
under his breath. 'To rob you of all the joys of life--is not that a
wrong!' 'No, no!' cried Eugnie, 'no one can take away from anyone all
joy who does not take away the power of loving. I have had from Otto
both sorrow and joy; but I have had something deeper than either! And,
Eugen, all the pain has gone now. I am like a ghost, but like a ghost
that knows he is cured of the disease of life. There is no pain in me,
no feeling even, but the one pain that Otto has to go unhelped, alone,
into this ruin! If you will swear to me that you have not left him for
any reason that concerns me, I will accept your leaving him--I will not
ask you why. But if it is for my sake I will never accept it!' 'Rest
assured then,' replied Eugen gently, 'my separation from Otto is a
different count. It has nothing to do with you. Nor need it surprise you
that no matter what he has done to you, or how utterly he has robbed
you, I have not made it a cause for quarrelling with him. I happen to
know that Otto loves you profoundly, and that the very springs of his
being are darkened by the pain he has caused you. If he has not loved
you as well as he has loved himself, he has at least loved you better
than anything else.' 'Then don't judge him hardly,' said Eugnie in a
low moved voice, 'don't judge him hardly for my sake, Eugen, for what
you judge would be a part of me!' 'Men are not judged by other men, I
think,' replied Eugen; 'they are judged by their own acts. What others
say of us influences our feelings and sometimes we think that we are
judged by it, because the opinion of others changes our thoughts of
ourselves; but what we do is our real judgement and in that judgement
there is no mercy to be found.' Eugnie sank once more into silence. An
infinite fatigue stole over her spirit. She hesitated to speak again;
there was still no light in the sky, but the darkness had become
thinner, she could see the outline of Eugen's head bent low. 'Tell me,'
she said, leaning forward, 'this lady--Elisabeth Bleileben--will she
make life very horrible for Otto?' 'You wish to know about her?' Eugen
asked, rousing himself from his own thoughts. 'Well, she is like the
rest of us--this Jewish lady--a mixture of bad motives, strong emotions,
and a certain confused sense of justice and duty. I know her better than
I did and I dislike her less. Otto, on the other hand, knows her better
than he did and dislikes her more. She also knows Otto. I should think
that his life with her would present many interesting problems. You know
that game children play--see-saw, is it not?--when they try which has
most weight to make a board move up or down? They cannot change their
weight of course, but they vary it as much as possible by brisk and
stealthy movements, and the shifting of the board under them gives them
a certain pleasure. Otto and Elisabeth Bleileben will not bore each
other, I think; on the other hand they will not put much strain upon the
affections since the affections will not be there.' 'Why does she marry
him if she doesn't like him?' objected Eugnie. 'Did I say she didn't
like him?' asked Eugen dryly. 'You do not know much about passion,
Eugnie. The lady of whom we speak has passions--not affections--also
she is to be divorced, and her position requires Otto as a husband as
much as his pecuniary difficulty requires her as a wife. Their interest
in the marriage is therefore mutual. I think that they will marry, and
that Otto will not get as much money as he wishes, nor will Excellenz
Bleileben get quite so much of the commodity she prefers, but each of
them will have to yield a little to the other in order to get anything
at all. One might call the situation ideal--for the game we have just
mentioned--and I should hesitate to say which on the whole will succeed
in tipping the other up.' Eugnie sighed deeply. Eugen put out his hand
and laid it over hers. 'You would have given him too much,' he said
softly, 'and she will give him perhaps too little! But Otto will take
what is necessary for his comfort and his ambition. Let this pain go
also. Turn your eyes back to life without tears in them, for you are
still young and life has many surprises.' Eugnie returned the pressure
of his hand; they sat for a long while in silence, listening to the
fugitive tune of the dawn wind in the trees, and watching the shadows of
the night darken and give to each object they were going to leave a
sharper outline. At last Eugnie said in a low voice, 'Eugen, have you
ever wanted children? Wanted them so that your life without them was
like an empty shell? You see that is what I must give up now--Otto's
children. I have had them always in my heart, only they have never been
safe, as my Rudi is safe--who came to me in life; and is dead. I shall
never lose him. But these children who have never been born must leave
me now; and it is very hard to let them go. I thought they had gone when
Otto was to marry Carol, but they had only hidden. Now I know that I see
their faces for the last time.' 'You will be free when they have gone,'
said Eugen under his breath, 'free perhaps to think of other children
who may still be yours. Do you not think that you may marry again?
Forgive me if I hurt you, but would it not be possible? Not now, but
when the weight of this parting is over--you know, don't you, that no
matter how heavy a parting is, time robs it of its weight? If I may do
so, I should urge you when your vitality returns, to give yourself
afresh to life.' 'Yes,' said Eugnie slowly, 'it might be possible I
suppose for me to marry again. If I met someone who had nothing to do
with my past life, who would never remind me by a word or thought of
Otto. It is conceivable, although I am too tired to think of it now. I
want to feel safe from the return of feelings. I shall ask Dr. Jeiteles
to let me go back immediately to the hospital. But you have not answered
my question, Eugen, about yourself?' Eugen withdrew his hand, and rather
elaborately relit a cigar, which he had--perhaps for the first time in
his life--allowed to go out. 'The idea of continuing the race', he said
without replacing his hand, 'appeals to all men I believe. One wishes
the life that one has--to go on. I do not know why, since one does not
particularly value it! You have shivered twice in the last five minutes,
Eugnie, and there is enough light to show us just how dark the dawn can
be. Will you not go upstairs now and try to sleep?' Eugnie rose to her
feet. 'I can't see you yet,' she said; 'I suppose it's why I have been
able to talk to you like this, and yet I have a curious feeling that I
wish I could see you, now we have finished talking.' Eugen rose also,
but he stood with his back to her, as if he was afraid in spite of the
darkness that she should see his face. 'To-morrow will be time enough,'
he replied. 'To-morrow,' said Eugnie resolutely, 'I go back to Wien,
and you stay here, Eugen--and I am afraid of your staying here alone!
There is something in your voice that makes me afraid. For me to give up
Otto is only to continue what has been my life for the last ten
years--but for you to give him up is to give up all you have had since
you were children together. Have you thought well what you sacrifice?'
'It has occurred to me--before now,' said Eugen after a pause. 'You
remember when I got drunk and stayed drunk some time ago? I was facing
the possibility of this separation then; but I postponed it. You are
naturally afraid that I shall get drunk again? Very possibly I might, if
I had not thought of something to do which requires sobriety. No! do not
be afraid to leave me. I am not a man to make rash promises, but I have
given up that particular sedative; it was insufficient. I shall try
something else another time.' 'Perhaps', said Eugnie wistfully, 'there
is something left for you to do to help the Emperor's return? I will of
course ask no questions. But we need not give up that hope. After all
Otto did something for Austria. You were right and I was wrong. He would
not have done it willingly; but it is done--and the consequences may be
the return of our old life; and then if we are not comforted we shall at
least feel justified! We shall not have sacrificed Otto for nothing!' 'I
do not see that you need make yourself too uneasy about this great
sacrifice of Otto!' replied Eugen with sudden bitterness. 'Otto is safe
enough! He will always get something out of life--it is we, who set our
hopes higher, who will find ourselves left with empty hands!' 'But there
is not a single thing that Otto has which we either of us envy him!'
Eugnie protested, with her hand upon the door. 'No,' said Eugen, 'you
are right; there is only something that Otto has thrown away--for that I
envy him! No man knows better than I how uselessly!' Eugnie moved
towards him. 'Can I not help you to gain it?' she asked urgently. 'Will
nothing make up for what you have lost?' 'No,' said Eugen harshly; 'if
there is one thing upon which I congratulate myself, Eugnie, it is that
I am not a man for whom sacrifices need be made!' Eugnie drew back.
'You are too proud,' she murmured; 'you will not even say what it is for
which you envy Otto?' 'Forgive me,' said Eugen with renewed gentleness.
'If you could give it to me I would ask for it. But it is not in your
power to give it. The dawn is breaking, Eugnie--good-bye!' 'But I shall
see you to-morrow,' Eugnie said, 'it is only good night!' 'True,'
agreed Eugen, 'and since it is day already, there is no need even for
that, but I will keep your good wish--for the night!'

After Eugnie had left him, Eugen knew that the cell of his thoughts had
become perceptibly smaller; he no longer walked up and down in it. He
stood quite still.




CHAPTER XXXV


Frau Mandelbaum sat in her husband's library pouring out coffee. It was
called a library because there were books behind glass doors, gorgeously
bound and never read. She looked and felt disapproving. She thought it
improper for ladies to have coffee in a room where men habitually talked
business and smoked. Downstairs in one of the reception rooms was the
place for coffee--downstairs was the place for ladies; and, if in all
the universe there was a place for Elisabeth Bleileben, downstairs--as
near as possible to the front door--was that place. Elisabeth Bleileben
was staying at the Mandelbaums' indefinitely. Elisabeth was not an easy
visitor; and the fact that her heart was broken and her fortune at its
lowest ebb did not make her any easier. Frau Mandelbaum had always
disliked Elisabeth in a passive, lukewarm, feminine way, even when
Elisabeth had been a faithful wife; but now that she was under the
shadow of a divorce she felt for her all the fierce hatred and scorn of
an unhappy woman who knows that however unhappy she is, she will never
get rid of her own husband. So intense had been Frau Mandelbaum's
emotion that she openly rebelled against Julius' commands. She had used
the time-honoured threat of all outraged wives, 'If this woman enters my
house I go!' And Julius had grinned and replied, 'Very well then, go!'
And as she had not really known where to go, and did not want to leave
her home, Frau Mandelbaum had remained; but she had stiffened. She might
be forced to receive Elisabeth, but at least she would show her that an
outcast woman _is_ an outcast woman; and every time that Elisabeth had a
lump of sugar in her coffee, it was as an outcast woman that she had it.
No smile ever touched Frau Mandelbaum's heavy features when she looked
at Elisabeth, nor did she ever say anything to her except '_Doch!_'
'_Nein!_' '_Ich danke_' and an icy '_Allerdings_'. Unfortunately
Elisabeth barely noticed these massive hints. She felt like stone; and
stones do not observe the finer shades of other heavy objects. She knew
that Frau Mandelbaum took up so much cubic space in a room, and that
when she left the room that cubic space was vacant; there consciousness
of her hostess ended. Elisabeth liked being with Julius because Julius
neither knew nor cared what she suffered. Sometimes she could talk to
him as if she did not suffer at all; and sometimes she talked to him as
if she could make Otto suffer. This made her feel a little more alive.

Julius clasped two sandwiches together and swallowed them in one brief
spasm. It was his leisure hour, and he liked to spend it eating,
smoking, and gently chewing the cud of one or other of his little
affairs. 'That mortgage on Trauenstein, now!' he said contentedly. 'I
shall form a company with American capital and run the place as a hotel.
Would you believe it, our friend the Graf thinks he is safe because I
hold only a second mortgage? In matters of business he is like a baby--a
greedy baby that thinks the world was made to please it! Steinz holds
the first mortgage. I need not tell you that I hold Steinz. When I lift
my finger--out goes your little manikin--naked into the world as when
his mother bore him!' 'Wait a little,' said Elisabeth with a gleam in
her sunken eyes. 'To-morrow that dried tobacco plant of the Relief
Mission is to give me the girl's address! Let him lose the heiress
first--then Trauenstein, then the coat off his back! Before I have done
with him he shall stand in the rain at a street corner selling matches!'
Julius chuckled and closed two more sandwiches together. 'What a woman
you are, Elisabeth!' he said appreciatively. 'And what a fool he is to
think we'd let him off between us! I would have wiped my doorsteps with
him long ago if it hadn't been for you and that stuffed doll of his with
the eyeglass! Fortunately Erddy can't protect him from the mortgage.
But do you think you can make the girl let go? If he's got her fortune
he's safe. I can't foreclose before the legal period.' 'After I have
told the girl what I know she would rather marry you!' said Elisabeth
with unintentional irony.

Frau Mandelbaum cleared her throat. It was all disgustingly wicked, but
it was very interesting, and what made it more interesting still was
that she could see from where she was sitting the figure of Otto
Wolkenheimb himself strolling up the drive. He did not look like a
beggar at a street corner, he was dressed in the newest shape of morning
coat and the most impeccable trousers. Frau Mandelbaum did not warn her
companions of his approach. From the moment she saw Otto she was on his
side. She had that instinct common to many respectable ladies, whose
temptations have been limited, of promptly forgiving any man who has
wronged another woman; and she remembered the marmalade.

She waited, fingering a large slab of chocolate _Torte_, with her eyes
fixed upon Elisabeth, until the servant announced Otto. '_Mein Gott!_'
gasped Elisabeth. If Otto had been a supernatural visitant she could not
have been more horrified to see him; in fact she would have been less
horrified, because the other world was unsubstantial to her. 'Give him a
cup of coffee and then go away!' said Julius in a loud whisper to his
wife. 'Don't weaken!' he added in a slightly hoarser whisper to
Elisabeth. Elisabeth made no direct answer, her lips moved back and
bared her teeth. It was the look a cat gives a bird under its claws. It
seemed to re-assure Julius. 'Well! Graf!' he said, rising very slowly
from his chair, 'it is a long time since you gave us the pleasure of
your company!' Otto bent low over Frau Mandelbaum's hand and pressed it
gently. He turned to Elisabeth, and bowed gravely in her direction.
Elisabeth's hands were fastened in her lap; she neither moved nor spoke;
only her eyes travelled over him with a curious hard glitter as if she
was looking for a place to strike. 'The pleasure is of course mine,'
Otto murmured, 'and as for the infrequency--these miserable times
deprive us of all our greatest pleasures. I assure you I have no social
life left; that odious little creature the busy bee has become my daily
example!' 'And business I suppose brings you here now!' Julius replied,
sitting down again. 'Well, I like business. I don't pretend to like
anything else much, and I am always ready for it--my own, or another
man's.' 'I fear', said Otto, accepting his coffee from Frau Mandelbaum's
hand with graceful agility, 'that I haven't any business to discuss; I
simply came to call on my old friends. How enchantingly you have
arranged this room; one sees traces of your intellectual activity, my
dear Mandelbaum, softened by feminine presences! Does he read aloud to
you while you knit?' Otto asked sympathetically, meeting the fascinated
eyes of his hostess. Julius interrupted his wife's response. 'I hear you
are going to have a domestic idyll of your own,' he mumbled with a leer.
'That pretty little piece you didn't want me to chip in with, at
Cobenzl? You've put it off a long time, Graf, I'd have got to the point
sooner with that little girl if I'd been you!' A faint shadow of a frown
passed over Otto's brows. 'No,' he said quietly, 'I am not about to be
married to Miss Hunter. It is true I believe that an announcement to
that effect took place a week ago, but I understand that it is to be
contradicted to-morrow.' 'Dear me!' said Frau Mandelbaum, divided
between sympathy and excitement. 'Well, you know best, I'm sure! And I
must say once and for all--that to sit on a sofa uninvited--and showing
so much stocking--is enough to break any engagement! These foreigners
think they can do anything with us now the _Krone_ has fallen!' Julius
made an expressive movement of his thumb in the direction of the door.
Frau Mandelbaum rose hurriedly. 'If you will excuse me,' she said to
Otto, 'I must go and give an order in the kitchen.' Otto sprang to his
feet, and while he was opening the door for her, Elisabeth leaned
forward and said to Julius, 'Go also--I will deal with him!' Julius
nodded, and a moment later departed.

When they were alone Elisabeth raised her eyes slowly to Otto's face. He
was astonished and even a little appalled by the change in her. Her
cheeks were sunken and drawn, her clothes hung on her, as if she had
been melted in a fire, thick lines ran from her nose to her lips, her
eyes looked swollen and set further back in her head. 'What are you
doing here,' she asked hoarsely, 'dressed like a bridegroom and without
a bride? Do you like the feeling of being jilted? _I_ did that, my
friend! I did it that we might compare notes--alone or apart. What she
knows of you--came from me!' 'But she knows nothing, my dear Elisabeth,'
said Otto, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. 'You tell me
more than you need. There have been no disclosures. Don't be so
truculent, it doesn't suit you. You must have caught it from the good
Julius. It is true my engagement is broken off. It was, as I told you,
to be a marriage of reason, and the reasons were found to be
insufficient. You are quite guiltless of any hand in it, my dear
Elisabeth, as I am sure you must be relieved to feel!' Elisabeth bared
her teeth again. 'And you are ruined,' she said, 'if the marriage does
not take place?' 'I am inconvenienced by the insufficiency of the
reasons for the marriage taking place,' agreed Otto gently. 'That is
very true.' 'So you come to me,' said Elisabeth, 'to me--and to
Mandelbaum, whom you have insulted as deeply as a man can insult a
man--less deeply than he can insult a woman!--it is to us you come when
you are ruined to seek for a way of escape? My God, I thought you had a
finer wit!' 'Incidentally, of course, I wish both mortgages cleared
off,' said Otto pleasantly, 'but that is not my full purpose in coming
here. Elisabeth, when you made your appeal to me the other night, I was
not free--I am free now.' 'Free for what?' asked Elisabeth, drawing
back, although Otto had not moved towards her. 'Free for more
philandering? You have come to the wrong place, my good friend! I don't
philander any more; I do business.' 'All the better for me then,' said
Otto cheerfully. 'You have an interesting mind, Elisabeth; use it a
little to overcome your natural annoyance with me. Let us put it like
this. If I do not marry a rich woman I am ruined financially; if you do
not marry me you are ruined socially. Your reputation and my stability
stand or fall together. Life is not pleasant when one is ruined.
Personally, I shall not in that event continue it; but life--the life of
reasonable and successful people spent under the same roof, each free to
lead their own lives in their own way--is not unpleasant. This is what I
have come here to-day to offer you.' 'Ah!' said Elisabeth in a deep
voice. For a time she said nothing further; she seemed to have sunk into
a world of her own. Otto was not certain if he had any business there.
She was calculating, but he had no key to her calculations, for she
neither looked at him nor showed any awareness of his presence. At last
she said indifferently, 'And you mean to die if I refuse? It is not
merely an appeal to my pity? If it is, it is amusing--for I have none. I
should prefer you to live--because the living suffer; but dead or alive
you are the same to me now, you are nothing!' Otto blinked; no woman had
ever told him before that he was nothing; at least if she had she had
not meant it, but Elisabeth meant it. It was grossly humiliating to have
to hear in one day, from the little American that he was a poor piece of
goods, and from this middle-aged Jewess that he was nothing at all;
fortunately Eugnie--who had more cause than either of them for a poor
opinion of him--was not given to definitions. But he must not think of
Eugnie now or he could not carry this intensely disagreeable business
through. 'But you are not nothing to yourself, my dear Elisabeth,' he
pointed out blandly; 'certainly I shall kill myself if you refuse to
marry me. What a rclame for you! But not, I think, sufficient to
restore your reputation.' 'That is true,' agreed Elisabeth tauntingly,
'and if I marry you--mark that "_if_"--I am to be received by all your
friends? I shall go when I like to Trauenstein? Your mother will accept
me as a daughter-in-law? Your cousin Eugnie will be like a sister to
me!--I have heard so often that you have been a brother to her that I
look forward to that relationship! And you yourself will be--what to me,
Otto Wolkenheimb? You, who ask to be my husband, to save yourself from
ruin?' 'I have said', replied Otto incisively, 'that of course we will
lead our own lives. You will naturally be received at Trauenstein where
my mother resides for her lifetime. You will bear my name, and what
friends I have left will call on you. My cousin, the Princess Felsr,
does not receive me, and therefore she will not receive my wife.' 'Yet
she stays with you?' said Elisabeth, with a sharp glance. 'She visits my
mother occasionally,' said Otto quietly. 'I think, Elisabeth, you have
reached the limits of my offer.' 'And you ask in return', Elisabeth
demanded scornfully, 'only another fortune to squander, God knows how!
You are very modest! and you think a woman you have sucked dry like an
orange more modest still! You misunderstand me, Otto. I gave you my
reputation, not my brains! Such as they are I keep them to crush you
with!' 'Perhaps you would like to know what I spent that fortune on?'
asked Otto after a reflective pause. Elisabeth leaned forward; curiosity
sparkled in her hard, narrowed eyes. 'You can tell me,' she said. 'It
commits me to nothing to know your secrets; and I know enough already to
get you hanged!' 'I think that you exaggerate,' said Otto, smiling, 'but
since I believe our interests are to be the same, in spite of the thorns
you rather unwisely strew upon the path, I will tell you how I spent it.
The Kaiser will shortly make an attempt to return to Budapest; and I
have stopped any possibility of his remaining there. I did this for two
reasons; I found that I was out of favour with the old rgime. I should
have no career even if I helped the Kaiser to return, and my help would
not make his return secure; whereas I could make his failure certain;
and if I did this I had at least the new rgime open to me. If Karl's
return were permanent, we should make no more money, Elisabeth.' 'You
really did this?' Elisabeth asked with animation. 'Then it was not for
nothing the money went? You did well. To tell you the truth I thought I
had wasted myself on a sieve. A creature that could hold nothing, except
a looking-glass!' Otto looked at the toes of his patent-leather shoes;
his nostrils dilated a little. He had a curious sensation as if
something inside him were going to take out a pistol, shoot Elisabeth,
and then shoot himself, but the sensation passed. Violence would be
final, but it would not be so interesting as a victory over Elisabeth.
'I keep what I earn,' Otto said at last. 'My conditions for such a
marriage would be very simple. I should ask the entire control of your
share in the shipping deal; this I should place as my own share was to
be placed in a leading bank. I should become its chief director on a
sufficient salary. You would keep the rest of your fortune intact. I
should run my household as I am accustomed to run it. Your rooms would
be in the upper flat. As my household is accustomed to a bachelor
superintendence, I should suggest that you either had your own servants
for your apartments or permitted me to manage mine. Your very
interesting philanthropic career would be open to you more
satisfactorily by our marriage, and if you cared to carry on any
commercial affairs with Mandelbaum I should have no objections. I
should, of course, free Trauenstein with part of the fortune you made
over to me. On my part I have nothing further to suggest.' 'Nothing?'
said Elisabeth, under her breath. 'Nothing further to suggest to me,
Otto?' Otto rose to his feet; he had a moment's amused reflection. Was
this--he asked himself--what women felt like when pressed for an
affection they had not got? For a woman to express repugnance is not
undignified, but a man who expresses it to a woman looks a fool. Otto
disliked this appearance, and he thought that he could escape it. 'We
seem at one upon a good many points,' he said, looking down at
Elisabeth. 'Your indifference is matched by my indifference--your
convenience by my convenience. The absence of emotion seems to me rather
an advantage for experienced people like ourselves. Come--we are both
ambitious creatures, let us cultivate our ambitions together! You shall
never ask me in vain for a helping hand in that direction; and I shall
count upon your help in mine; and as for love, all I ask of you is a
little discretion--you have learned how to play the game--stick to the
rules and play it with whom you like--and in return, I fear I can only
offer you--a little discretion of my own! I also know how to play the
game, and I have never yet broken any of its rules!'

Elisabeth got up too, but she moved away from Otto and stood with her
back to him. 'If you had squandered that money', she said, 'I should
have laughed in your face. I do not laugh now; but I hesitate. You have
cost me more than you have to offer me.' 'You too have cost me
something, Elisabeth,' said Otto softly. 'You--and my attempt to stop
the Kaiser. None of my dearest friends will have anything more to do
with me. My return to you is the final cleavage. You know that Eugen has
been more to me than a brother. I shall not see him again.' 'Erddy,
too?' cried Elisabeth, turning round and facing him. 'Then I will
certainly marry you. What fools! what fools the old lot are! They
deserved to lose an Empire!'

This was Otto's worst moment; he had won and because he had won he had
to take Elisabeth's outstretched hands. This was to be his new Empire.




CHAPTER XXXVI


Eugen leaned over the balustrade and gazed down at the terra-cottas
beneath. They shone out with a singular clearness in the last light of
the March sun. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes rested
on the delicate work with the deliberate attention of a connoisseur. He
looked as if nothing more important than their execution had happened,
or could conceivably take place. Carol appeared like a whirlwind from
her room, which opened upon the outside corridor, and flung her news at
him in a sentence. Eugen neither moved nor changed his brooding
saturnine expression. 'Doesn't it get you, to hear your Kaiser is in
Hungary?' Carol demanded. 'I thought you were all to pieces because you
couldn't have a Kaiser, and now he's on the spot you act like a log of
wood! I should have thought you'd have beat it to Budapest before the
words were out of my mouth! I never shall understand you, Eugen Erddy;
you must have seen those terra-cottas any time these thirty years--but
countries don't turn upside down under your feet more than once or twice
in a lifetime!' 'Let us trust not,' replied Eugen, without turning his
head, 'but do you not confuse the importance of what is taking place
with the unimportance of my being there? No! I shall not go to Budapest.
History will, I imagine, construct itself without my assistance nor do I
find any immediate occasion for rejoicing. That the Emperor should at
this moment be in Hungary strikes me rather as an anxiety than as a
pleasure. One sees there is an opportunity, but one does not see what is
to become of the opportunity.' 'Well, I hope Franz won't feel the way
you do,' said Carol with pronounced disapproval in her voice. 'I've
succeeded in digging him up on the telephone, though I might have got
him quicker if I'd walked. He's agreed to come here anyhow. The
frontiers are closed, but I have a Red Cross pass for the two of us, and
Eugnie's a Hungarian subject and can get through on her own. We must
catch the boat at Melk. I suppose we can use Otto's horses?' 'Everything
in the castle is at your disposal,' replied Eugen courteously. 'The
horses can drive you to Melk in two hours. The weather is good, and the
road no worse than anything else in Austria. Budapest is a delightful
town. One eats well at the Ritz, and there are one or two cafs where
the music is still tolerable. I hope that you will enjoy your little
visit.' Carol looked at him curiously. 'They say you know everything,'
she said abruptly. 'Did Otto tell you, before he beat it, that he had
called our engagement off?' 'I have been led to understand that the
marriage will not take place,' agreed Eugen, after a pause. 'Forgive me
for saying that I find it rather a matter for congratulation than for
regret. You are too young and attractive to let any man marry you for
your money. Now that you are free, you will, I hope, make a better
marriage!' 'I wouldn't have married Otto for worlds!' said Carol
hastily. 'I surely don't know what got me to say I would. But there are
some people that make you fall for them when you don't really want to. I
don't know why I'm letting out to you like this, but I don't want to
hurt Eugnie's feelings, and I've got to get some of it off my chest.
What I mind about the whole thing is that I feel as if I hadn't had a
square deal. I don't mean from Otto--Otto acted according to his makeup!
But you and Eugnie and Franz Salvator aren't like Otto! Couldn't one of
you have told me, before I'd got in so deep, what Otto stood for?' Eugen
considered this question carefully before he answered it. 'I think we
were under no such obligation,' he said at last. 'We owed Otto a loyalty
which forbade us interfering with his plans, however little we approved
of them. It is true that I did try to interfere with them up to a
certain point because of a conflicting loyalty; but I failed. Obviously
Franz Salvator and Eugnie could say nothing to warn you since they were
interested parties. When Otto was young, he shared all that he possessed
with us. This castle has been our home; we have played here as children
together, and as young people we dreamed together our gay and idle
dreams. Otto was not the same man that he is now. He was our leader, and
had, as well as his great talents, an open and a generous heart. Defeat
changed and hardened him; our world broke. You love your country, do you
not, Miss Hunter? And you know perhaps how secure and permanent its
civilization and comfort seem? But it is a mistake; they are no more
secure than ice over a frozen sea; and when they melt, morality melts
with them. No one is safe who goes too near a drowning man. Do not judge
Otto harshly, and do not blame us for not intervening to save your
pride. We had to think of our own. You do not know how these old walls
speak to those whose blood is part of them! It is impossible that you
should understand us, but you are of a generous nature, so that I ask
you to judge us generously.' Carol hung her head like an embarrassed
schoolboy. 'Give me a cigarette,' she said quickly. 'I'm not out to
judge any of you! Only if I don't understand you--I'd like to! I'd like
to understand pretty quick too--before Franz Salvator blows in! Look
here, Eugen Erddy--I've always felt you were a kind man, if one could
get past your manner; and I know you're burglar proof as to secrets, so
I'll tell you all there is to this business. Franz liked me a good deal
better than Otto did--and I liked Franz! I don't say I was downright
foolish about him--but I was well on the road that leads there. But
Franz held back; he was too damned slow in the up-take. If there is any
light to be got on why he held back, I'd like to have it before he
comes!' 'Franz Salvator has not the reputation', said Eugen
reflectively, 'of being slow either in his affections or in his actions.
He was perhaps one of the most dashing cavalry officers we possessed.
The delay you speak of was probably caused by this mistake as to your
fortune. He will, I think, act quickly enough when he knows that you
have no money. He does not own a limousine so that he cannot drive
towards you as quickly as Otto could drive away. But he will not lose
time.' Carol gave a little sigh, and flung the end of her cigarette into
the courtyard beneath them with an impatient movement. 'Well,' she said,
'I suppose I'll risk it! But Franz doesn't carry much along with him,
does he? I feel as if I could forgive Otto for being mercenary; I like
the world myself, and you can't have it without paying for it, can you?
I'm pretty keen on old castles too, and I stand for a good time as much
as any Wolkenheimb!' Eugen was silent for a moment, then he said slowly,
'While I was walking on the terrace early this morning I had a vision. I
saw Trauenstein in young hands. I heard the voices of children--not
Otto's children. I thought that the instincts which form old races and
linger in them yet were once more freed from the lust of money and the
breakdown of honour. I recall that on the occasion when we drank to your
happiness and Otto's--you remember perhaps our drinking to it in my not
wholly negligible Tokay?--before I broke my glass I said to myself, "To
the health of the race!" If you marry Franz Salvator the race will be
the same. I am not a man given to visions, and the modesty of my
imagination is so great that I am prepared to believe what occasionally
takes place there as if it had the solidity of fact.'

Carol was silent for a moment, then she laid her hand on Eugen's arm.
'Do you remember', she asked him in a low voice, 'the first time I met
you? I asked you what Otto was like, but you wouldn't tell me. Will you
tell me now?' The arm under her hand stiffened suddenly and then
relaxed. Eugen bent his round head lower. 'In my rooms', he said
gravely, 'I have a little bowl. It is of a good period, made out of one
very fine crystal resting on claws of gold. It has been admired by
many--connoisseurs have praised it--I myself prize it; but I do not show
it very often. It is one of my few mistakes, for there is a flaw in it.
The bowl was not worth what I paid for it. I am not a moralist, but when
you said just now, with a regret I can well share, that Franz Salvator
carried nothing with him, I thought of my little bowl. I can at least
assure you that Franz Salvator has a value of his own and that he is a
piece without a flaw.' Carol withdrew her hand from Eugen's arm; she
hesitated a moment before she left him, then she said, 'Well--I've made
up my mind about you anyway! I don't think you're unkind any more!'
Eugen took her to the door of her room, and kissed her hand before he
left her; then he returned to his former post.

He continued his prolonged and indolent scrutiny of the courtyard until
the last light faded and the pines drew in towards the castle. Darkness
covered Trauenstein; and for some time longer Eugen remained, looking
into the darkness.




CHAPTER XXXVII


Night was falling; the Danube, spectral and vague, rolled silently
beneath them; the banks were lost in a white river mist. It was the
first moment in the day that Franz Salvator and Carol found themselves
alone. The walls of the fog shut them in upon each other as if they were
the only inhabitants of a dead world. All day long Carol had watched
Franz Salvator plan and execute their expedition with a swift authority
and skill which made her wonder what had happened to the laughing,
easy-natured young man of Eugnie's flat and the tortured mechanic of
the land-scheme. The Franz Salvator she had known was swallowed up in
the grim and vigilant young soldier who stood like a stranger by her
side. Franz Salvator was intent upon carrying their purpose through; but
he was not excited. Whatever happened he would give all he had towards
it, but he had lived too long with defeat and despair to count on any
reward from the thoroughness of sacrifice. The Kaiser's return was the
crisis of Carol's career; but it was more than this to Franz Salvator;
it was the purpose, brought back into possibility, of the four years of
danger and the dull misery of war. To give the Kaiser his throne would
not be victory, but it would take the bitterness out of their defeat. It
would be their old life restored. 'I have taken Eugnie downstairs,'
Franz said, at last. 'She is tired, and there may be work before her. I
thought perhaps you would like to stay on deck a little, so I have
brought your cloak up. It is cold.' Carol submitted to be wrapped in fur
and made comfortable on a deck chair; but there her spirit of submission
ended. The more formidable this stranger was, the more determined she
felt to resist any claim he might make upon her. She could have granted
Franz Salvator a favour, but nothing in the world would induce her to
admit that he had a right. 'It was kind of you to send me that telephone
message,' Franz Salvator observed in a tone of courteous formality. 'I
have not yet thanked you for it. This is the chance of a lifetime.' 'It
is the chance of my lifetime,' Carol admitted; 'whether it comes off or
not, if I see Karl, I get my scoop. You only get yours if he can stay on
top.' 'If one has had no hope for a long time,' replied Franz Salvator
steadily, 'even a forlorn hope feels like something solid. The Hungarian
Army fights well when it wants to fight. I think we are a match for the
Czechs in spite of their fine new guns, if the Entente lets us--and the
people are agreed.' 'You've got a good many "ifs" against you!' said
Carol. 'Yes,' said Franz Salvator, 'but in war and love, uncertainty is
an incentive to action.' Carol was silent. Franz Salvator bent nearer to
her so that he could see her eyes; he measured her powers, and held his
own in reserve. 'Before I received your telephone message,' he said,
after a pause, 'Otto had called upon me on his way to Wien. He gave me
rather an astonishing piece of news.' Carol bit her lips nervously. One
thing was very sure, Otto would not have gone to see Franz Salvator to
display his own defeat. Had he gone to exhibit hers? 'He told me', Franz
Salvator continued, 'that your engagement was broken off on what
appeared to be a very insufficient--and on Otto's part a
dishonourable--ground. I took the pleasure of telling him so in such a
manner that I hoped he would require satisfaction from me. My cousin
Otto has faults, but want of physical courage is not one of them. The
reason he gave me for refusing my suggestion was that you had no
complaint to make. He told me that you were much more pleased than he at
the termination of your engagement?' 'Did he?' said Carol dryly. 'Well,
the men of your country seem very ready to give women away behind their
backs. I suppose since he no longer wanted me himself he handed me over
to you? I am much obliged to him; but as I never belonged to him I don't
find myself as disposed of as you seem to think. I told you the other
day that I was a free agent; and I am no less so now that my engagement
is broken off than I was before.' 'I had not thought of you as disposed
of,' said Franz Salvator softly, 'and I knew that you considered
yourself free. Please do not be angry with Otto, for I think, when he
told me you were not distressed, he meant kindly by us. It is contrary
to a woman's pride, is it not, to be considered in need of consolation?
And it is certainly an incentive to a man who wishes to win her to know
that she is not inconsolable.' 'I can look after my own pride, thanks!'
said Carol coldly, 'and when I want men to have incentives to win me, I
hope to be able to raise them!' Franz Salvator was silent for a moment,
then he said in a voice which had lost its softness, 'I was not afraid
you could not protect your own pride; but I have sometimes wondered if
you gave much consideration to the pride of others. There are certain
situations in which a man's pride is more defenceless than a girl's.
Some women have the generosity to spare men when they see this; but
others take an advantage of it which it is not easy to forgive.' Carol
was silent for a moment; she felt bitterly the justice of what Franz
Salvator had implied, but she would have accepted his reproof more
readily if he had spoken with less justice and more anger. 'It is not
very easy', she said, at last, 'to be generous to anyone who won't share
things with you!--either their emotions or their handsome moral code;
and who leave you, though they say they love you, to fight your battles
by yourself.' 'What would I not share with you,' asked Franz Salvator,
moving closer to her, 'if I had it? Did I seem stupid--backward--cold?
You might have guessed why, I think! Even if you had not been, as I
believed, burdened with a fortune which must have made any man seem base
who pursued you, how dared I ask you to share my penury? A man gets used
to many things, Carol, to danger, to cold, and last of all to hunger,
but when a man longs to give all the treasures in the world to the woman
he loves, he does not get used to giving her nothing!' 'A man has always
himself to give,' said Carol shakily. 'I think', said Franz Salvator
scornfully, 'that he must think very well of himself to offer the woman
he adores--so little! He must be a clever man like Otto perhaps--a man
who can make a woman laugh!' 'Isn't it enough', Carol said, bending her
head low down over the rail, 'if he can make her cry?' Franz Salvator
bent quickly towards her in the sheltering fog, and drew her into his
arms. 'Never! never!' he whispered, passionately kissing her eyes, and
her hair, 'that never! Don't you know I would die for you gladly, a
hundred times a day? I love you! I love you! I would not touch your hand
without your leave! I care for nothing but your wishes. You speak of
your freedom! Will you be less free that I shall be near you always to
do what you want? You have only to tell me what it is! Now that you are
in my arms, close to my heart, do you not feel sure you are safe? Tell
me to go, and I go forever; tell me to stay, and I serve you forever! I
can do anything in the world for you except change! I loved you from the
first moment you stood with your little hands in your pockets and cursed
like a man because our babies suffered! You see you were not so very
like a man in spite of your fine curses! And I shall love you when I
crumble into dust, and have no other memory but that I once held you in
my arms!' 'Well! let me breathe a moment!' whispered Carol. 'I can't
think properly like this! And though it's foggy, there might be a
lookout that could get through to us! You needn't take your hand away
too! I've got something to say now, and I want you to believe it. I like
Otto; but I never, never for one moment wanted to marry him! And what
made me so mad was your letting me! I would have broken off my
engagement the day after Cobenzl if you hadn't gone on about people
keeping their words--a pack of nonsense if the words have been silly
ones--anyway! Between your cast-iron principles and Otto's under-cut in
morals, you as near as possible had me married to the wrong man; and
then I suppose you'd have been too strait-laced to run away with me?' 'I
am glad that you did not put me to the proof,' said Franz Salvator,
laughing. 'It is much simpler to run away with you now! But even this I
cannot do immediately! Try to believe that I am not a poor lover,
because I am first a soldier! I must serve my Kaiser before I can serve
you but with how different a heart! If we fail now--I have still this
great joy that changes all the world to me; and if we succeed I add to
my joy because I can once more offer to you a life that is not bare or
ugly! But I have more to ask you! You will not make this a long
engagement, and before we get to Budapest you will tell me that you love
me? So far you have only said that you do not love Otto!' 'Well,' said
Carol, 'I don't know what more you want! You know Otto? Wouldn't I have
loved him if I didn't love you? As to getting married I suppose we can
get married in Budapest as well as anywhere else. I can't stay there
long anyway. Once I've fixed up the Kaiser, I've got to go back and sit
on Wien. This is going to be the time of my life, Franz Salvator--as a
journalist, I mean!' 'No! it is not!' said Franz Salvator, drawing her
back into his arms. 'I'm damned if I don't make you forget that you were
ever a journalist!' They were too engrossed in each other to notice a
shadowy figure which came towards them--and then drew back suddenly into
the mist. Eugnie could not rest. She had come up on deck to see the
approach to Vienna, but Vienna was as hidden from her as the uncertain
future. In her heart there lingered the dreadful image of Otto and
Elisabeth Bleileben balancing against each other upon their precarious
see-saw. If Karl succeeded would not Otto be released from this
approaching nightmare? 'Bad actions bear fruit,' she said to herself.
'Cannot good actions?' Then she saw the lovers. She turned from them;
but their happiness lingered triumphantly with her. There was faith
which was worth faith, love that was worth love, after all! Eugnie felt
no longer like a ghost in a world of ghosts--but like the moon
uninhabited and lonely, suddenly flooded with the warm light of a
reflected sun.




CHAPTER XXXVIII


It was dawn before they reached Budapest. The river lay a pink path
under a golden cliff. Pest, blue and shadowy, a mere smudge of night,
slept on the left side of the stream; upon the right Buda flashed out at
them under a mantle of gold. The terraced gardens swept up the hill to
the long line of the Palace. The spire of the Stephans Kirche shone like
the sacred crown which marks forever the rights of the Hapsburg race. In
spite of the earliness of the hour, the little quay was crowded.
Soldiers were everywhere; patrols were trotting briskly up and down the
broad thoroughfare beside the river; troops were crossing the Gelert
bridge, their short, grey cloaks tossing in the wind. Fanni Wilchek was
there upon the landing stage and splashed her welcome at them like a
breaking wave. 'Thank God, you've come!' she exclaimed, kissing first
Eugnie and then Carol, and gazing at Franz Salvator, who barely knew
her, as if there had long been between them an intimacy too deep for
words. 'Hush! we must not speak here! Later!' and with a confusion of
bustle and menace she delayed the simple process of their passports
until they were the last to leave the quay. 'It's all too terrible,' she
assured them breathlessly, as they turned towards the Ritz. 'He's been!
He's gone! It's all over! I suppose you heard nothing in Wien? Nobody
ever does, that's why I came--so that you should hear everything!
everything from the fountain head at once! Oh, Carol, why didn't you
come sooner? and you, Herr Kapitn, without a uniform! But it is
better--far better as it is. Of course if you had worn a uniform you
wouldn't have been allowed to land! The brutes! Even our swords are
denied us! I expect to be arrested immediately. God knows where Father
is--everybody else is in prison--but perhaps we can have breakfast first
over here under the trees--I have reserved a table. Dear Eugnie, it's a
thousand years since you have been here--not since--no--we won't uncover
the old wounds, the old tragedies! The new ones are too many for that.
It is of them we must speak--but not before the waiters, of course--all
of them are spies! There! one has one's coffee as usual--mine is
probably poisoned--but I am used to that. They are not likely to have
tampered with yours as they don't know who you are. Well then--our
Emperor is here! No! no! I don't mean at the Ritz--how could I? He
arrived yesterday in an Englishman's car. You ask me who the Englishman
is? A long while ago he meant more to me than he does now--but we
needn't go into that! He is over six foot tall, fair hair, blue eyes, a
remarkable manner! I have never heard him speak--he is not the Prince of
Wales--that was a rumour yesterday, but I myself can prove it false--for
I have never met Wales. What was I saying? Yes! at 6
o'clock--famished--he arrived--driving through his own city while it
slept. He went immediately to Horthy. Can you imagine it?--such a scene!
The car at the Palace--my Englishman impassive, grave, capable at such a
moment of sitting perfectly still without moving a muscle of his face.
Karl entered--they say he announced himself--he fell on Horthy's neck.
Then the awful thing happened. Horthy received him with courtesy of
course, but with nothing else. All that he had been promised had
collapsed. Some say that Horthy is a traitor--others that he was
powerless! The Army had melted away from under our fingers. They say our
beloved Emperor fainted dead away on the sofa in Horthy's room. Who can
wonder? He had been so sure--so happy. He had felt the whole City turn
in the beauty of Spring to greet him, and in a moment it was over--his
hope was over--his crown vanished--his faith in us all shaken to the
core!' 'But, for God's sake, tell us what happened!' cried Carol
impatiently. 'Who shook his faith--who took his crown--where in Hades is
he?' 'Shuffled', said Fanni dramatically, 'into the car of my
Englishman--more dead than alive--he was carried from the city! He is
now of course with friends. No names can be mentioned. Everybody knows
where he is; but if it is published they will all be cast into prison.
They are full of confusion and rage--waiting on him hand and foot; and
telephoning to us every few minutes. I must go back immediately to the
house as at any moment I may be needed, and, as I say, I have no idea
whether Father is dead or alive.' 'He's almost certainly alive,' Carol
said decisively. 'What's dead anywhere in the vicinity of your father,
Fanni, isn't himself. Don't you worry, but before you go--here's Franz
Salvator bursting to get in a question--now, Franz--take your time--I'll
hold her down while you speak!' 'What has taken place with the Army?'
demanded Franz, freed from his courteous refusal to interrupt. 'If, as
you state, it was all prepared for the Emperor's return, why on earth
didn't it, when the time came, fight?' Fanni, with her elbows on the
table, her fair hair waving wildly in the breeze, bounded in her chair
with excitement. 'Because we were betrayed,' she said, her voice rising
to a piercing whisper; 'that's why--at the last moment we were betrayed!
God punish the miscreant! Everything was prepared; we knew each one of
us what we were to do. The Army was solidly with us, the Allies--inert
and as usual suspicious of each other--were on the whole not
unfavourable to our plans. The Czechs were out upon the border, but who
cares for the Czechs? A turn of our cavalry would have whipped them
across the Carpathians! And then--we failed! At the last moment, a week
ago, half the Army on which our plan rested were bought over!' 'But
who--apart from the Allies--has money enough for such a deed?' Franz
Salvator cried. 'To buy over an Army devoted to Monarchy, whose officers
have shown and would always show loyalty to the last drop of their
blood? Who has the money or the wit to reach the soldiers?' 'You are
right to say wit!' said Fanni slowly, enjoying the significance of each
word she used. 'It was not an enemy who did this thing. It was one of
ourselves. He brought a fortune--a colossal fortune--but he knew us. He
knew us, as people say, by heart. He alone could have picked out
waverers--have missed the loyal--have corrupted the unsound. He came
from Wien, this friend, with his money in his pocket, his lies on his
lips, perfidy in his heart!' Fanni paused dramatically; never had she
had such an audience or such a tale to tell. They had long ago stopped
eating, and their eyes were fixed upon her in a terror as great as she
had hoped to inspire. It might even have struck her, if she had paused
to think, that their terror was greater than the occasion warranted. It
was the terror of those who wait to hear a personal doom. 'His name?'
asked Franz Salvator in a dry voice. 'No! no! not his name!' cried Carol
urgently, as if she were pleading with herself. Eugnie said nothing at
all. It did not seem to her that she listened--she felt as if words fell
upon her like the blows of some heavy instrument. 'Otto Wolkenheimb!'
cried Fanni at last, with infinite relish. It was the most satisfactory
moment of her life. Carol said again, 'No! no!' and covered her face
with her hands. Franz Salvator swore as if no women were sitting there
at all; but as if he were alone with a man who was his enemy. Eugnie
looked for a time straight down at her plate. The terrace of the Ritz
was empty except for themselves. They sat among a waste of white
prepared tables. The waiters yawned and looked into the roadway. A
handful of soldiers clattered by. Eugnie gave a little sigh, and
slipped quietly from her chair to the ground. She was conscious (while
the world turned black and faded rapidly away from her) that Eugen had
known the truth--known it and sheltered her from it. Her last thought
was that for Eugen, as well as for her, the solid earth had opened. 'How
the dear thing feels it!' exclaimed Fanni, with satisfaction. 'She
also--like the Emperor himself--has fainted dead away!' Carol was on her
knees beside Eugnie, but she looked up fiercely to say, 'Fanni, I guess
you forget, among other little things, that Otto Wolkenheimb is their
cousin! I wish to God they'd had you arrested before breakfast!'




CHAPTER XXXIX


Eugnie was glad to be alone at last, even though Franz Salvator and
Carol took with them all that was left of youth and security. Whatever
had been saved from the wreck of their old lives was in Franz Salvator's
unbowed spirit. His dreams were gone, but his courage was alive. He went
to see the last of the defeated Emperor; but he did not take defeat with
him. Eugnie, sitting alone in the crowded, brilliant hotel overlooking
the river, smelling the piercing sweetness of the flowering acacias,
drenched with the light of Spring, kept this defeat. At first she was
stunned and incredulous with horror. She knew what Fanni Wilchek had
told them was true, but all her senses rebelled against it. Over and
over again she heard Eugen say, 'Men are judged by their acts', and yet
she would not judge Otto by this act. The ugliness of his treachery
invaded her slowly, driving away one by one the safeguards of her
confidence. Her own sorrow, her own defeat, receded from her, and she
saw instead the more final loneliness of Eugen.

The spirit has its mortal wounds as well as the flesh, and men sicken
and die of them. The thought of Eugen took entire possession of Eugnie,
and drove a new fear into her heart. What would Eugen do? What could he
do with the rest of his life? Was it even sure that he would keep it? If
she started at once, she could catch the express to Wien. She could not
reach Trauenstein that night, but she could see Otto. She could make him
tell her the truth. It could not fail to be bad, but there might be
extenuations, reasons which would make it possible for Eugen to bear it,
or at least to bear his life.

Men never told each other everything, even in their moments of deepest
confidence with each other; they wore armour. If she took Otto in her
arms and said, 'Tell me, Otto--tell me everything!' he would be suddenly
very simple, like a child, and lay bare his heart to her.

For the first time Eugnie wished that she had yielded to Otto. 'I could
have saved the worst from happening,' she said to herself bitterly. 'If
I had given up this little thing--this stupid little thing I thought was
chastity! What is the use of my body to me now? It will go on living
when Eugen will die--when Otto gives himself to a Jewess for gold! If I
had been less proud, I could have given Otto something to lose. Then he
would not have done these great wrongs. And yet I could not give myself!
My chastity was all I had. It was part of my faith. Ah! but I made my
offers in the wrong place! It was to Eugen I should have said, "Marry me
then--since everything else is gone!" There is nothing clear in me any
more. I am fighting in the dark; and though I fight against something, I
cannot tell how big it is, nor even against what I am fighting! Ah,
Otto! Otto! you who loved our old order best of all, is it you who have
destroyed it? But what can be destroyed by mere men has no virtue in
itself! Dr. Jeiteles is right. The feudal system has not been torn down
alive! It died first, and its ruins fall on us! The new generation will
clear them away. I would like to be alive. I would like to belong to
what is new, to the Austria that cannot die, but too much of me will be
buried in the ruins!'

Eugnie rose slowly and looked out at the river. The brilliant March
sunshine flashed on the water and broke over the new-born leaves. Her
eyes rested on the Palace and the great church of the Kings, poised like
a lifted sword upon its terrace against the blue of the sky. She saw the
Margaretten Island at rest upon the wide river like the leaves of a
water-lily. Her eyes fastened upon a heavy group of buildings by the
riverside which were vaguely familiar to her. She realized suddenly that
it was the prison where Bauer the Jew had been beaten into a pool of
blood.

The sunshine turned to darkness around her. She groped her way blindly
out of the room, down the broad staircase, through a hall peopled with
shadows.

Eugnie was not conscious of herself again until she found herself being
roughly jolted towards Vienna in a third-class railway carriage. Her
mind fixed itself on the coming interview with Otto. Words maddened her
by their senseless reiteration, they moved in her thoughts with the
deadly regularity of a piston rod in an engine: 'Otto, is it true? is it
true? Otto, is it true what they told me in Budapest?'

When Eugnie reached Wien she was penniless and it was evening.

She walked for dusty, chilly miles through narrow, interminable streets.
The grey-green houses rose up around her like rocks covered with dead
seaweed. She felt as if she moved under the weight of water.

She passed the square of the Hof Bibliothek, but she dared not go in to
find if Eugen was there; she must not come to him empty-handed, without
a word in defence of Otto.

Conrad opened the big gate of the Palace to her. Eugnie was too tired
to notice the change in him; his splendid six foot of manhood was bowed,
his old face had lost its weathered calm, his eyes were like the eyes of
a lost dog.

'Princess--you!' he exclaimed in amazement; 'and so late! But I fear it
is useless. The Herr Graf will see no one.'

'He must see me,' said Eugnie steadily.

'But you do not know, Gracious One, what has happened!' Conrad explained
with trembling, outstretched hands. 'It is indeed impossible! All is
impossible! To-day the Frau Bleileben came here. She came here to live.
They had lawyers all the morning, and papers everywhere. My Herr Graf
was terribly angry, he was white and his nostrils shook; but he signed
the papers. The Herr Baron was not here--that will show you how terrible
it is. The Frau Bleileben gives orders. I beg you not to ask me,
Gracious One, to let you in!'

'Conrad,' said Eugnie, laying her hand on the old man's arm, 'all this
does not matter now. Do only as I tell you. Go to the Herr Graf and say,
"The Princess is here, she is in great trouble, she asks you as the Head
of her House to receive her." The Herr Graf will not refuse. I will see
him anywhere--in your lodge here or on the stairs if he wishes.'

'No! no! Princess, it has not yet come to that,' said the old man
brokenly. 'The Jewish lady is in the flat above. I will leave you in the
library. The Herr Graf has gone to his room alone. He gave orders that
he was not to be disturbed. But it shall be as you say. Only the
responsibility I cannot take. I am glad that you are here. I am an old
man--I understand nothing, but I obey my orders.'

'It is I who make you disobey,' said Eugnie tenderly. 'The Herr Graf
shall understand it is my fault, and he will not be angry.' She felt the
old man's tears fall on her hand as he kissed it; but his sorrow seemed
a long way off, as if it were part of a day that was already over.

She followed Conrad up the familiar broad stone steps above the
courtyard, from which the faint smell of horses rose in the air, as it
had done long ago in her childhood. The heavy door above swung open and
they were in the warm, noiseless hall, their feet sinking deep into the
thick carpet. The great reception rooms stretched before them, solemn
and empty. They felt like a heart that has ceased to beat.

Eugnie sank into an armchair by the library window. The twin towers of
the Votiv Kirche leaned out of the gloom, as if they might at any moment
crash down upon the house of Wolkenheimb and scatter it to atoms.

Conrad turned on a shaded lamp behind her, and left her to the pitiless
silence of her memories. A door opened and closed in the distance.

Eugnie did not turn her head to meet Otto, so that she failed at first
to see the Power--stronger than the Votiv Kirche and far more
destructive--which had fallen upon the House of Wolkenheimb.

Elisabeth had hoped to take Otto by surprise in the library. These
large, silent rooms, which she had so longed to make part of her life,
had a quality that she found baffling. No one was ever in the place
where you last saw them. Space lessened the impact of personality, it
even diluted the strength of passion. But if Elisabeth had not found
Otto, she had at last come on one of his secrets.

She stood and looked down at her beaten enemy.

This, then, was the Princess Felsr: this shabby, tired woman, half
ghost, half tramp, with huge eyes and pale lips, who crouched in Otto's
big chair like a brittle leaf blown into a corner by the wind.

Elisabeth's sensitiveness to moral beauty was slight, though it had
existed. It was bound up with her love for Otto, and with the loss of
her confidence in him, she had lost also this sense of higher things.

The beauty of the material life remained, but it had no spiritual
counterpart. Otto's semblance of passion had given way under Elisabeth's
heavy tread. Elisabeth herself had survived the accident; but all light
from another world had gone forever.

She looked down at Eugnie with untroubled contempt. 'You are the
Princess Felsr?' she said in her deep guttural voice. 'I am
Elisabeth--Wolkenheimb. Allow me to remind you the Graf Wolkenheimb does
not _now_ receive his cast-off mistresses under his roof!'

Eugnie's beautiful curved eyebrows rose slowly, her eyes fixed
themselves with incredulity upon Elisabeth's face. She spoke
involuntarily, half under her breath:

'My God, what a punishment!' she murmured.

Elisabeth heard what Eugnie said; but she was too secure for anger. She
merely shrugged her massive shoulders and continued to look at Eugnie
derisively. It was not true that she was yet the Countess Wolkenheimb,
but the contract which bound Otto to her was signed; and Elisabeth
believed in contracts.

'You speak of Otto,' she said, 'or of yourself? It is true that you
deserve punishment; and you look as if you had got it. You must excuse
my saying that if you could afford no better appearance than you present
this evening, it would have been wiser to stay away. You are perhaps
hungry? Unfortunately we have already dined. But if you wish a cup of
coffee, I will order it for you.'

'I require nothing,' said Eugnie simply. She turned her eyes away from
Elisabeth as if she had spoken to a servant.

Elisabeth drew a step nearer to her.

'You are foolish', she said, 'not to try to make friends with me. I
might do you a good turn. You know who I am, do you not? I am very rich.
I spoke sharply to you just now, when I first saw you. I was taken by
surprise I confess. Conrad should have announced you; but we are after
all relatives. I might do something for you and your brother if I were
so disposed! I suppose Otto keeps you? It depends on me, you know, if
that is to go on. Come: speak? Let us be frank with one another!'

Eugnie lifted her head when Elisabeth's voice sharpened into finality.
She looked at her vaguely, as if she were unable to respond either to
Elisabeth's insults or to her good nature.

'I don't know what you mean,' she said after a pause--'but I thank
you--I want nothing.' Her eyes wandered past Elisabeth, and all their
vagueness was suddenly driven out of them.

The door of the _salon_ which led to Otto's apartments was flung open,
and Otto came quickly into the room.

'Eugnie,' he said bitterly, 'you do us too much honour!'

Elisabeth moved forward and stood between them.

'You have not yet introduced me to your cousin,' she said, eyeing him
intently. 'It is so kind of her to pay us this informal call so early. I
feel indeed that I am taken into the bosom of your family; but it would
be perhaps as well for you to present me to its members, lest I make
some mistake. This person, for instance, has hardly the air of a
Wolkenheimb.'

'The Princess has not suggested an introduction yet,' said Otto gravely;
'and I fear I must remind you, Elisabeth, that it is for her to suggest
it.'

Eugnie stood up; she laid her hands on the table to support herself,
and fixed her eyes on Otto's face.

'Is it true,' she asked faintly, 'what they told me in Budapest?'

'Yes,' said Otto, 'it is true.'

'And you have no excuse?' Eugnie persisted. 'I mean no excuse but--but
this----?' She turned blind eyes towards Elisabeth and her diamonds.

'I need not trouble you with my reasons,' said Otto stiffly; 'they would
appear insufficient to you. For me they were--- just sufficient.'

Eugnie leaned more heavily against the table. 'It meant nothing to you,
then,' she said, with a pause between each word, 'the old order--what
you stood for--it was not worth suffering for? I am free to think it
does not matter any more? Nothing but your personal comfort
counted?--neither love, nor honour, nor your loyalty to a cause? You
preferred to triumph with what you hated than to lose with what you
loved?'

'You are free to think what you choose,' said Otto curtly. 'The worst of
me--of course--as usual.'

'I do not think of you any more,' said Eugnie, between her white,
shaking lips. 'I think of the Head of my House--and my House has
fallen!'

Otto flinched. He had stood quite still at first, with his back to the
door he had come in by, facing the two women, his head erect, his eyes
hard and dull as stones. But now he turned impatiently away; his hands
trembled, something in him which kept him together, his untamed
insolence, was for a moment broken. Elisabeth with amazement saw it
break; and for the first time she recognized a power in the woman she
had derided.

Was there then a power to wound which she had not got? The power to
please, even the desire to please, had left Elisabeth; but her revenge
was her life. Was it possible that the power to please and the power to
wound were the same thing? And that this defenceless broken woman was
hurting Otto by some hidden charm which had nothing to do with force?
Otto was under Elisabeth's thumb, this woman was in the dust at her
feet; yet something in them both had after all escaped her?

'You speak of your house!' she said fiercely to Eugnie. 'This is not
your house! Your husband, if he could afford it, should have left you
one! Go to that if it exists! And if it exists no longer--go into the
streets--where you belong!'

'Pray be silent, Elisabeth,' said Otto, between his teeth. He wondered
for an idle moment which was worse, to be attacked by Eugnie or to be
defended by Elisabeth.

The door opened again and Conrad came in slowly. He ignored the sharp
reproof on Otto's lips. 'The Frulein Lisa is here,' he said very
solemnly. 'She brings bad news. Frulein Lisa, it is permitted for you
to enter!'

The old man stood to one side; but he did not leave the room. At moments
of crisis he belonged to his family. Their sorrows were his sorrows, and
their shame bowed his proud old head.

Lisa moved quietly into the centre of the library. She walked up to the
big table against which Eugnie still leaned. She looked from Eugnie's
stern, drawn face to Otto, who stood, once more composed and
indifferent, between the two women.

Neither Lisa nor Conrad took any notice of the presence of Elisabeth.

'My Herr Baron is dead,' said Lisa in a hard, toneless voice. 'He has
shot himself in a wood at Trauenstein. The Frau Grfin thought first of
me. She sent me this telegram; in it she says, "Tell my son".'

Eugnie moved swiftly towards her, but Lisa backed away from her
outstretched arms.

'No, Princess!' she said firmly. 'No! You killed him between you! you
and the Herr Graf! The Herr Graf took his honour. And you--you were too
proud, too grand to touch him! You are a fine lady, and fine ladies do
not feel like us. They do nothing for the men who love them. I cooked
for him, I mended his clothes, I lay in his bed. All I had was his. Do I
not know, then, what was in his heart? I came to tell you both, before I
go back to my mountains.'

Otto's eyes turned to Lisa with entreaty, but against her implacable
slow judgement entreaty was as futile as the struggle of water against
ice.

'Herr Graf,' she went on steadily, 'one night I found my Herr Baron
crying. It was very late, he was in the room of the carpets, where the
great china bowls are, and I said, "Tell me, then, what is it?" and he
said, "Little one, I have lost something." I said, "Tell me what you
have lost, that I may look for it." I thought it was one of his
treasures: and he said, "No _Liebling_, you cannot find it, for it is my
honour that I have lost, and it can never be found again." Princess, I
thought, "Peasant girls do not understand about honour, but great ladies
must: she will surely comfort him!" And you did not! You found nothing
to help him. You left him alone with his grief. So between you you have
killed him, my Herr Baron!'

'Lisa! Lisa! forgive us!' Eugnie cried, stretching out her hands. 'I
know we did not love him enough. It was he who loved us! But I _was_
afraid! I came here to find out if we could not save him! It was too
late: but, ah, Lisa, I tried--forgive me, for I tried!'

Lisa hesitated: something in Eugnie's voice pierced her heart; she knew
it for what it was, a real sorrow: not as great as her own, perhaps, but
deep. The ice of her grief melted, she shook suddenly and with a
helpless murmur stumbled towards Eugnie's arms.

Otto turned savagely towards Conrad. 'Take these ladies downstairs!' he
said. 'Neither they nor you have any further business here. Is there
anything I can do for you, Eugnie? I may no longer be the Head of your
House, but I am still presumably one of your family. Shall I notify
Franz Salvator to return from chasing retiring Kings, or shall I drive
you and this poor child myself to Trauenstein to-morrow? I cannot leave
my mother alone in these exceedingly trying circumstances.'

'Lisa,' said Eugnie, bending over the sobbing girl, 'you would like to
go to him? to see Eugen once more? Yes, and I also. He has left you
money, and you can buy many candles and have masses said for his soul!'

'Every day,' sobbed Lisa; 'every day a mass, and candles burning always,
so that he may not be alone in the dark? And I may do it all myself? And
in the end, if the masses are all mine, and the candles, he will be mine
also?'

'Yes, yes,' said Eugnie. 'He is already yours; and he will be yours
always. We have no right in him, Otto and I.' Eugnie, with her arm
round Lisa, moved towards the door. Otto, without looking at her, opened
and closed it after them. Elisabeth cleared her throat. 'I too am
sorry,----' she began, but her voice checked itself against the mournful
silence of the room. Otto stood with his back to her, staring at the
closed door as if his life had passed out of it. Elisabeth's sharp
restless eyes lit on Conrad. He too seemed not to have heard her speak
nor to be aware of her emphatic presence. He moved slowly forward and
groped for his master's hand. Otto patted him gently on the shoulder
and, passing Elisabeth with unseeing eyes, sank into a chair by the
window and covered his face with his hands.

Elisabeth had longed to see Otto broken; but as she stood and looked at
him she was conscious of a vague discomfort, as if a power, that was her
enemy as well as his, had accomplished her purpose for her and lowered
her triumph.

'Gndige,' said the old servant quietly. 'It will be well to leave the
Herr Graf now. He has had enough.'

A stifled sound that was half laugh and half sob escaped from Otto.

Conrad's immense form towered over Elisabeth. He stood between her and
Otto. He was immovable as stone, yet Elisabeth was conscious of a silent
pressure which drove her towards the door. The room was full of shadows;
they seemed vaguely inimical to Elisabeth. Nothing stirred; there came
no faintest murmur from the street below.

Elisabeth tried once more to speak; once more her voice fell flat
against the silence. The door opened in front of her; she found herself
outside upon the marble stairs.

Otto knew when Elisabeth had gone. His head sank lower into his hands.
He was alone at last--with his defeated ghosts.


THE END






[End of Old Wine, by Phyllis Bottome]
