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seven-o'clock dinners and dressing of an evening man. These, with a smattering, perhaps, of Latin during their visit. Salute the child for me, and and Euclid, are the accomplishments in which I believe in the devotion of yours,
SALOME. desire that Miss Dempster should be finished.” ““POSTSCRIPT.—It might not be amiss to get
"Together with proficiency in the manufacup a ball or festivity of some kind to celebrate ture of currant cakes and raspberry vinegar," Paul's return. You would have his authority, I
adds Wolfgang. “The Fräulein's education will know, to invite the neighborhood, and cooks and be perfect—an admixture of solidity and ornafiddlers could be got over from Baden-Baden.'
ment that would have charmed Jean Jacques
himself.” • Madness! Yes, for once in her life, Salome is right,” cries Mamselle Ange, throwing down It is already night when the master leaves the letter on the table. “A reigning London Schloss Egmont-one of those mystic, moonless beauty, and of a very doubtful kind, to be enter- nights on which, say the Wald-folk, the good tained here at Schloss Egmont, by me! I just and evil spirits of the forest walk abroad; Dutch look upon it all as a sign of the Von Egmont lu- Michael, in his seven-league boots, a ship's mast nacy...”
for his staff, and chanting, in a terrible voice, his “Or of Count Paul's approaching marriage- litany of temptation : which ?” cries little Jeanne, bending down her “Gold for him who will buyface as she speaks, above her plate.
Who will buy? “Of both," replies Ange, with a kindling
Gold at a trifling cost: only your souls to be lostcheek. " This beauty, this doll of a London Who will buy?”season, will suit him vastly worse than Malva would have done. Malva had red hands and the friendly Glassman, with burnished hair and rough ways, and spoke the peasant's dialect. beard, with clothing of spun glass, ready to beBut she had a modest woman's heart within her stow good gifts on all such human children (probreast. She could love. Time for me and you vided they were born between three and four of to pack up, child," adds Ange hotly. We shall a Sunday afternoon) as shall cross his path. be wanted for the wedding-feast, perhaps, wanted It is already night; but Jeanne and Wolfgang to set the house in order! Meantime,” linger over their farewells beside the outer gate
“Meantime,” interrupts Wolfgang, with an of the courtyard. A roll of exercise-books, to be air of deference, “ I trust, mamselle, that my pu- corrected, is under the master's arm; his pockets pil's studies will not be interrupted ? It is need- are weighted with the bottles of raspberry vineful that I go to the Leipsic book-fair for the rest gar which Ange, in the fullness of her pity for of this week, but I have left Fräulein Jeanne suffi- his needs, has insisted upon his carrying away. cient work to do in my absence. Count Paul's “Good night and good-by, Fräulein Jeanne." marriage,” he adds, not without a certain awk- As he speaks, Wolfgang takes his pupil's slender wardness, “would naturally break up all present hand between his own. “I shall be away five relations, and, as you think there is a chance of days. Such things have been known as people it, we had best extend our studies while we may. forgetting each other in less than five days. Don't Now, a little popular science,"
take example by your fine, do-nothing London “ Never !” exclaims Mamselle Ange with en- visitors. Get as much Euclid as you can into ergy; “I hear enough of popular science. Ma- your head before my return." terialism made easy at the Herr Pastor's tea- “Euclid-always Euclid!" murmurs the child, table. Our thoughts are movements of matter,' drawing her hand away with a movement of says Popular Science, and our souls a pinch petulance. of phosphorus'"
“Yes, always Euclid, as Mamselle Ange has “Mamselle Ange!"
laid an embargo on popular science. By the way, “Yes, yes, Mr. Wolfgang, I have heard the Pas- how many weeks is it since Mamselle Ange first tor read aloud his letters from Jena. I know the engaged me to give you lessons ? Seven-eight, jargon of the school. We inhabit an accidental is it not?” world, in which everything that is is for the worst, “ Eight weeks exactly, sir. Hans had been more miserable, because more intelligent, than carrying our first hay the evening you came to an oyster; respecting nothing but the ancestral speak to Ange. I was in the cart-do you reapes from which we spring, and looking upon member?” Belief as a crutch fit only for sickly minds to lean “And you threw me a wild rose-you gave upon. No science, I thank you, sir, for Jeanne. me a smile as I passed. Yes, I remember, An elegant handwriting, a cursory knowledge of Jeanne; the last eight weeks have been the happolite literature, an aptness at quotation, used to piest of my life!” be held the fitting accomplishments for a gentle- Well for Jeanne that her hand is in her own
keeping; well for her that the darkness hides her forth, lantern in hand, to make her last rounds changing color from the master's sight.
for the night. “I never listen to their supersti“You have the gift of teaching, I should say, tions, as you know, child” (our good Ange has Mr. Wolfgang." If a whole jury of impaneled every ghostly legend of the district at her fingers' matrons were present to give her moral support, ends), “still, there is no falsehood without a Jeanne's tone could not be more correctly frigid. grain of truth at bottom, and the Tannenbühl “Whatever one does well, one likes. Still,” she firs look blacker than I care to see to-night. adds shyly, “ happiness is a strong word to use What in the world has that man Wolfgang been in connection with Latin declensions, English saying to you?” parsing, and a stupid pupil.”
What, indeed! Jeanne's heart beats thick “That depends upon one's power of tolerat- and fast. She glances, in a tremor half delight ing stupid pupils, Jeanne" (after a pause. With half fear, across the starlit courtyard toward the youth in one's veins a pause, on a summer night forest. All is silent. If the spirits of the Wald like this, comes dangerously near a caress). “Do are abroad, and have listened, they keep her you know that I am going back to my stifling secret well. Freiburg garret a rich man?” “Rich in the possession of some cloudy rasp
CHAPTER III. berry vinegar and a pile of blotted copy-books," says the girl, with a somewhat forced laugh.
A HYDE PARK GODDESS. “Rich in the possession of a secret from which I would not part for all the money of all the Jews DURING the next five days, Schloss Egmont in Freiburg.”
undergoes, from roof to basement, the process “Knowledge-"
horribly familiar to all thrifty Marthas through“That has come to me to-night at Schloss out the Fatherland of “Hausputzen.” Cobwebs, Egmont, through the agency, did she but know thick with the dust of ages, are swept down; it, of our good Mamselle Ange. Wish me joy, tapestries, moth-eaten into lace-work, are hung little Jeanne," he whispers, ere the girl can up; mirrors and candelabra are unswathed from collect herself, taking possession of her hand the brown Holland surtouts beneath which, duragain, and this time not relinquishing it. “Saying the damps of more than a dozen winters, only those four words, 'I wish you joy.' I ask they have been growing gradually lusterless. nothing more.”
The blue, or best, bedchamber, untenanted since “But I am ignorant. What do I know of the death of the last Countess, has been set your life—your hopes ?" she stammers.
ready for Miss Vivash. An enchantress, whose “Repeat the words,” he persists, in the tone smile has turned the wisest heads in Europe, a Jeanne has never found it possible to disobey. goddess whom artists rush to paint and poets to " It does not matter in the slightest degree sing, will infallibly, so Ange theorizes, turn out whether you understand their import."
a rose-water divinity, a vaporous, artificial doll, For a moment or two longer Jeanne hesitates. to whom faded azure hangings, spindle-legged Wolfgang lifts her hand within a couple of inches tables, and last-century cabinets will form a fitof his lips.
ting background, Jeanne's pretty little school“Take my advice. Be quick,” he tells her, room (the scene of many a too happy lesson with meaning, “or you will have yourself to thank during the past eight weeks) has been given up, for the consequences."
in order that Beauty may have a boudoir. The “I wish—it is the most foolish thing I ever village has been rifled to furnish her balcony with said in my life, Mr. Wolfgang, but you force me flowers. Fräu Pastor Myer has lent a chevalinto saying it, I wish you joy."
glass, brought from Paris at the time of the He looks, by such light as the stars afford, Pastor's marriage, wherein Beauty may survey into the girl's transparently truthful face; then her charms. And then a room must be organquietly loosens his hold on her hand and turns ized within ringing-distance—no easy matter at from her without another word. Away above the Schloss Egmont-for Beauty's maid; and there vineyards, along the straight white road that must be an apartment on the same floor for leads from Egmont to the outer world, Jeanne Beauty's chaperon ; and another apartment for watches him-away until his figure is lost to sight Sir Christopher Marlowe, the tame Baronet who among the purple darkness of the surrounding usually follows in Beauty's wake. Wald. 'The clock of St. Ulrich village church Salome talks about fiddlers and cooks from is striking as she turns, lingeringly, reluctantly, Baden-Baden,” remarks Mamselle Ange, with in the direction of the Schloss.
temper. “Much good fiddlers and cooks would “Eleven o'clock-Dutch Michael's hour," cries have been in such upholsterer's work as ours ! Mamselle Ange, who at this moment is sallying But that is just the airy Von Egmont manner.
'Get ready a dinner for to-day, my best mam- Malva's history serving as warning, what girl, selle,' the old Count used to say. 'A dozen within a dozen miles of St. Ulrich, would lend friends are coming unexpectedly from Freiburg. her face as a model for the Holy Mother? Her What shall you provide for us? Anything. Im- skin is palely clear, varying with every varying provise as you like, so long as you give us our feeling of the quickest, most emotional of nawine cool. This in August, perhaps; not a tures; her unformed figure inclines to lankness; pound of ice to be got in the whole country her shoulders stoop at times; the bridge of her round. • And let each course be of the best, and nose is not innocent of a freckle or two; and her well served.' It is the same story still. “Inau- smile is a gleam of pure sunshine ! She has atgurate late dinners; dressing of an evening; in- tired herself on the present occasion in the best vite the neighborhood; get cooks and fiddlers frock — second, of course, to her confirmation from Baden-Baden !' I hope,” adds Ange, with muslin—that her scanty wardrobe owns—a kind staccatoed emphasis—“I hope sincerely that Paul of serviceable white dimity much affected for will marry his Beauty and be happy with her. I Sunday wear by the young women of the dishope my reign is over. I hope Schloss Egmont trict, shrunk by repeated washings, and showing is going to have a lawful mistress at last." more wrist and ankle than ever entered into the
The five-days' Hausputzen has come to an original intention of the village dressmaker. Her end; the last touch is given to expectant prepara- hair, in all its plenitude of red, is set forth in a tion; and in the big bare guest-room Ange and multitude of the towering plaits dear to the proJeanne, full-dressed according to Schwarzwald vincial Teutonic mind. A coral necklace, dating notions, and with their hands folded in unnatural from Mamselle Ange's infancy, is round her idleness, await their London visitors. Oh, the throat. She wears a white cambric apron, doublediscomfort of the high-backed chairs, the faded soled shoes of honest, Schwarzwald manufacmeagerness of the yellow satin curtains! Oh, ture, and a pair of open-work stockings, knitted the Chinese monsters on the stove! Oh, the by the Frau Pastor as a birthday present, and long-dead court-goddesses, who simper in pastel, never put on save for the high and solemn cerewith arched eyebrows, cushioned hair, and im- monial days of life. possible waists, from the gilt-and-white panels So much for little Jeanne; now for Ange, our of this stateliest, chilliest, least habitable apart- “best mamselle," elaborately dressed for company, ment of the Schloss !
and as well satisfied with the result of her labors In vain have Ange and her handmaid dusted; as though the prince of man-milliners had conin vain has Jeanne decked every available shelf, sented, for some two or three thousand francs, to bracket, and table with flowers. The most dili- make her his “study.” A tall, spare maiden the gent Hausputzen can not displace the moral cob- wrong side of fifty-Mamselle Ange has been webs; the sweetest rose-odor can not dispel the the wrong side of fifty as far back as Jeanne's intangible sense of mildew that haunts the walls, memory can stretch—indistinct of feature, with the belongings, the very aristocratic atmosphere yellow hair arranged in curls on either side a of the Von Egmont guest-room.
cannon-ball forehead, with a reddish complexion ; “Except the Baden-Baden Tanzsaal, I sup- with laces, lappets, garnitures, all arranged upon pose there is nothing like it in the duchy,” lit- a dozen different conflicting models, and all tle Jeanne says, glancing round her with pride. crooked. (In writing this word I would not hint “The only doubt is—do we go well with yellow that Mamselle Ange is disfigured, morally or satin ? The Beauty and her friends will scarcely physically, by any actual twist. She is, on the trouble themselves to look at us, I dare say. contrary, upright of structure as an ostrich, a Still, one would not like to disgrace Count Paul bird at which I can never look without being rein the sight of his London guests."
minded of her. Neither, scrutinizing her appearAnd, crossing the room, the girl sets herself ance in detail, could you state, specifically, in to the contemplation of Ange's figure and her which particular garment the want of balance own, reflected back, as they are, by an ancient resides. And still, notably on this evening when and proportionably unflattering mirror, crookedly the London guests are to arrive, does the whole hung (everything at Schloss Egmont, from pew- voluminous structure seem to totter to its fall.) ter inkstands up to Venetian glass, has touch Her cap-ribbon is blue-when does an ancient of obliquity about it) between the central win- blonde forsake her standard ?-her dress a sagedows.
green silk, dating from some epoch when our Little Jeanne has the true Raphael-red hair, race it would seem affected “patterns,” woven in the deep, dark eyes of the Madonna del San vari-color, along a multitude of flounces. She is Sisto. More than one painter traveling through redolent of lavender-water confectioned in the the Wald in search of “sacred" coloring has Egmont still-room, and all unlike the foreignsought her as a sitter. Sought her in vain. With flavored essences of London or Paris; is adorned
by a Japanese fan, never before known to emerge plainly drawn from a brow that with all its from silver paper into the light of day, by a mu- snows, with all its handsome carvings, is soulseum of hair-rings, and on her breast by the por- less. The nose is common—if it were not for trait of a Macgregor, with high cheek-bones and the verdict of St. James's Street, one would be an upper lip, in a kilt.
tempted to call it broad. The jawbone is square; " I hope,” says little Jeanne, with solemn ea- the lips are full as the lips of an octoroon. Miss gerness—“I hope we don't look dreadfully like Vivash has strong, white teeth, eyebrows carethe dancing ladies in the booths at Freiburg Fair? fully selected to match her hair, a pair of unaIt may be only the effect of the window-curtains, bashed, steel-colored eyes, an excruciating waist, of course, but we are not in tune.” Although she a throat, and shoulders. She wears a tight-fithas never heard of South Kensington, Jeanne is ting, pearl-gray traveling-dress, a tiny, pearl-gray instinct to the very finger-tips with artistic feeling. hat, with a solitary tuft of gilt feathers, pearl-gray
a " Ought we to be paler about the hair and skin, gloves and boots, and a necklet of dead gold. do you suppose? Or ought they not to be yel- Not a discordant tint, not a superabundant gathlow satin?"
er or fold-indeed, the Beauty's dress would “Salmon-color and yellow are death to a fine seem not so much to belong to her as to be hercomplexion,” Mamselle Ange enunciates with self. In little Jeanne's attire, as in Mamselle authority. “I said so to Dolores when first she Ange's, buttons and hooks are not unfrequently chose the hangings. But we know what these notable by their deficiency. Mortal eye can not Spanish women are ! Coquetry or devotion, a discern the means whereby Miss Vivash divests mantilla or a priest, all the poor dear thought of herself of that shimmering, foldless dress of hers was her own sallow cheeks. I have been killed, unless it be by some mysterious snake-like promurdered by yellow satin during a quarter of a cess of sloughing. There is, indeed, an indecentury, and but for my pious bringing up should scribable look about her whole person—the small infallibly have been driven into rouge. There head thrown back upon the thick throat, the was the difference in our position. Up to the gleam of gold, the pale, chill eyes—that causes day of her death Dolores used to put on her er- Jeanne, in this first moment of meeting, to recall mine with no more scruple than she did her the gliding, deadly inhabitants of the Schloss rosary, and I have no doubt Paul's goddess, Miss moat with a shudder. The impression, like most Vivian Vivash, will have the same elastic con- of little Jeanne's “ fancies,” is destined to stand science. Miss Vivian Vivash !" repeats Ange in the test of time. stinging accents. “There is a straining after And so this is Schloss Egmont! I didn't effect in the alliteration, an impertinence in the think such a hideous place was possible out of a juxtaposition of the letters. To think, after pre-Raphaelite nightmare. What a paper, what thirty years' fidelity, that I should be displaced curtains ! I feel a moral indigestion already. by such a successor, the vapid beauty of a Lon- And you” (she produces a pair of double glasses don season, the idol of tobacconists and photog- and gives Jeanne a cruel stare—a stare such as raphers, a milliner's block, a setter of fashions, high-born dames, not beauties, are in the habit, a Vivian Vivash!"
doubtless, of bestowing upon herself)—“you, I Scarcely has the name left Mamselle Ange's suppose, are the Mamselle Ange of whom our lips when the crunch of wheels, the cracking of dear Princess spoke?” whips, resound from the courtyard. There comes (For Beauty is on so equal a footing with a minute of keen expectancy; little Jeanne, like titled personages that she talks of them ever one under the influence of hasheesh, feels as if in such terms as “ dear” and “sweet " ! Unless, these intense sixty seconds equaled a year of indeed, titled personages chance to have offered common life! The tones of a woman's voice, her a rebuff—when hey, presto! Aow expresloud, drawling, uneducated, are heard in the en- sions the reverse of pearls and diamonds from trance-hall; and then the salon-door is thrown those roseate but plebeian lips.) open, and Vivian the Beauty stands there.
Mamselle Ange rises, with stiff politeness, And the first thought of Ange and Jeanne and prepares to do the honors. She has stood alike-the first thought of those poor uncultivated too much on her own dignity to meet the travelheathen is, that the great London beauty pos- ers at the house-door. Miss Vivash may be the sesses no beauty at all. So much is training most beautiful woman in Europe-may be the needed for appreciation of really high art on or off future mistress of Schloss Egmont-Mamselle canvas in our day!
Ange is a Macgregor and a gentlewoman, bound A sandy blonde by nature, with the phleg- to show hospitable courtesy to Paul von Egmatic temperament, the dense, bloodless com- mont's guests; but as an equal, not a dependent. plexion of the type, Vivian's hair is deepened ar- “Miss Vivash and her friends,” she remarks, tificially to a lusterless, inky black. She wears it with a courtesy of thirty years ago, “are welcome
to the Black Forest. Being uncertain whether categorically. You see before you, ladies, Miss you would take refreshment on the road, 12" Vivian Vivash, of cosmopolitan celebrity " (with
“Refreshment!” interrupts Vivian with the a showman-like wave of the hand indicating point-blank rudeness that sits so naturally on her. Beauty-poor Beauty, whose head, like that of “We were present at a cannibal repast, some- Lamb's Scotchman, must go through an anatomwhere, at some unearthly hour of the morning. ical operation ere a joke could enter it). “Miss Every conceivable variety of nastiness-raw ham, Vivash has had the honor of appearing, ladies, sour cabbage, sausages, and upward of a hun- before half the crowned heads in Europe, has dred natives—you are one of them, doubtless ? been photographed for the public in thirty-five -devouring, fearfully and wonderfully, with their different attitudes, and is commonly supposed to knives!"
be the most marvelous specimen of our race ever Ange draws up her spare figure to its fullest beheld since the days of Solomon! Secondly, height.
Lady Pamela Lawless ” (accompanying the men“Every nation has its own manners, as every tion of her own name with a bob-courtesy like class in life has its ideas of breeding,” she re- a charity schoolgirl's). And, thirdly, Sir Chrismarks sententiously.
topher Marlowe, of whom Shakespeare wrote, The Beauty condescends not to reply: she prophetically, in divers texts: 'He capers, he continues to stare at the faded yellow curtains, dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, the tasteless hangings, the high-backed chairs, he speaks an infinite deal of nothing, he smells the figures of the housekeeper and little Jeanne of April and May. From the crown of his head --continues to stare steadily through that double to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth. He hath eye-glass familiar to every idle apprentice of the twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the London streets, with an air of mock criticism at little hangman dare not shoot at him more.'” once languid and aggressive.
Sir Christopher Marlowe is a very small, “I declare it is all quite too deliciously hor- scrupulously dandified man of seven- or eightrid," she drawls at length. “ Lady Pamela—Sir and-twenty. In the present free-and-easy genChristopher ') turning to two new personages eration of wideawakes and shooting-jackets, who, at this moment, make their appearance in many men lie open to the charge of bringing the the doorway), “come and see what is to be country into Pall Mall. Sir Christopher carries
I have agreed to spend a fortnight here- Pall Mall about with him like an atmosphere. two weeks, fourteen days—hours that it would He is as pink-complexioned as any lovely wax require a Babbage machine to calculate -and I Adonis in a barber's window, regular of feature, look to you, between you, to hinder me from com- with dark mustache, and inch-long regulation mitting suicide.”
whiskers; wears a tall hat and frock-coat, even Lady Pamela Lawless is about as plain as it when he travels; wears guillotine collars, pointed is possible for a woman possessing youth and boots, a crutch, and a bracelet-and, withal, health to be; and still, go where she will, Lady is one of the finest-hearted little English genPamela's fresh, frank, irregular face is a popular tlemen in the world! As a leader of cotillions, one. Needless to speak of defect of feature a singer of after-dinner songs, an amateur actor, where all is defect. Lady Pamela has a com- a stout rider across country, who does not know plexion honestly white-and-red as a Lancashire “Kit Marlowe"? Who (among his own set, at rose, a pair of humorously twinkling greenish least) did not rejoice when, at the close of last seaeyes, fifteen hundred a year absolutely under her son, Vivian the Beauty-stalking bigger game just own control, and dimples. She is dressed in a then-thought fit to jilt him? Sir Christopher white serge short enough to allow you to do is Beauty's slave to this hour,” says the section more than guess at a pair of pretty ankles, scare of the world who believe that there can be no let stockings, and a cap to match-a cap of the kernel in this light nut; that the soul of the man form known, I believe, in the trade, as the “Vivi- is his clothes. “See how Quixotically he makes an toquet."
himself the champion of her fame! How he If Mamselle Ange and Jeanne gazed, awe- stood by her—when so many fell away-after struck, at Beauty's sheeny, snake-like graceful- that affair at the Orleans! How constantly he ness, you may imagine how their eyes widen at remains her shadow, go where she will! The the ankle-short skirt, the head-dress, the scarlet Beauty has but to lift a finger, and she can bestockings of Lady Pamela Lawless!
come Lady Marlowe to-morrow.” Kit Mar“ It seems that we shall have to introduce lowe's friends — those, more especially, who ourselves.” And, stepping forward, Lady Pame- watched him recover from the first shock of Vivla bestows a hearty hand-shake, first on Mam- ian's infidelity—think otherwise. selle Ange, then on Jeanne. “As I am chaperon “The Princess ought to have warned one of the party, suppose I go through the ceremony positively of the treat that was in store," re