gladly have retired. But the circumstances of the case forbade this.
“My dear father,” said Odile, as if to evade any further discussion, “you will get better. Heaven will not take you from those who love you. If you but knew the fervour with which I pray for you!”
“That is not an answer,” said the count drily. “What objection can you make to my proposal? Is it not fair and natural? Am I to be deprived of the consolations vouchsafed to the neediest and most wretched? You know I have acted towards you openly and frankly.”
“You have, my father.”
“Then give me your reason for your refusal.”
“My resolution is formed—I have consecrated myself to God.”
So much firmness in so frail a being made me tremble. She stood like the sculptured Madonna in Hugh’s tower, calm and immovable, however weak in appearance.
The eyes of the count kindled with an ominous fire. I tried to make the young countess understand by signs how gladly I would hear her give the least hope, and calm his rising passion; but she seemed not to see me.
“So,” he cried in a smothered tone, as if he were strangling—“so you will look on and see your father perish? A word would restore him to life, and you refuse to speak that one word?”
“Life is not in the hand of man, for it is God’s gift; my word can be of no avail.”
“Those are nothing but pious maxims,” answered the count scornfully, “to release you from your plain duty. But has not God said, ‘Honour thy father and thy mother?’”
“I do honour you,” she replied gently. “But it is my duty not to marry.”
I could hear the grinding and gnashing of the man’s teeth. He lay apparently calm, but presently turned abruptly and cried—
“Leave me; the sight of you is offensive to me!”
And addressing me as I stood by agitated with conflicting feelings—
“Doctor,” he cried with a savage grin, “have you any violent malignant poison about you to give me—something that will destroy me like a thunderbolt? It would be a mercy to poison me like a dog, rather than let me suffer as I am doing.”
His features writhed convulsively, his colour became livid.
Odile rose and advanced to the door.
“Stay!” he howled furiously—“stay till I have cursed you!”
So far I had stood by without speaking, not venturing to interfere between Father and Daughter, but now I could refrain no longer.
“Monseigneur,” I cried, “for the sake of your own health, for the sake of mere justice and fairness, do calm yourself; your life is at stake.”
“What matters my life? what matters the future? Is there a knife here to put an end to me? Let me die!”
His excitement rose every minute. I seemed to dread lest in some frenzied moment he should spring from the bed and destroy his child’s life. But she, calm though deadly pale, knelt at the door, which was standing open, and outside I could see Sperver, whose features betrayed the deepest anxiety. He drew near without noise, and bending towards Odile—
“Oh, mademoiselle!” he whispered—“mademoiselle, the count is such a worthy, good man. If you would but just say only, ‘Perhaps—by-and-by—we will see.’”
She made no reply, and did not change her attitude.
At this moment I persuaded the Lord of Nideck to take a few drops of Laudanum; he sank back with a sigh, and soon his panting and irregular breathing became more measured under the influence of a deep and heavy slumber.
Odile arose, and her aged friend, who had not opened her lips, went out with her. Sperver and I watched their slowly retreating figures. There was a calm grandeur in the step of the young countess which seemed to express a consciousness of duty fulfilled.
When she had disappeared down the long corridor Gideon turned towards me.
“Well, Fritz,” he said gravely, “what is your opinion?”
I bent my head down without answering. This girl’s incredible firmness astonished and bewildered me.
CHAPTER VI
Sperver’s indignation was mounting.
“There’s the happiness and felicity of the rich! What is the good of being master of Nideck, with castles, forests, lakes, and all the best parts of the Black Forest, when an innocent looking damsel comes and says to you in her sweet soft voice, ‘Is that your will? Well, it is not mine. Do you say I must? Well, I say no, I won’t.’ Is it not awful? Would it not be better to be a woodcutter’s son and live quietly upon the wages of your day’s work? Come on, Fritz; let us be off. I am suffocating here; I want to get into the open air.”
And the good fellow, seizing my arm, dragged me down the corridor.
It was now about nine. The sky had been fair when we got up, but now the clouds had again covered the dreary earth, the north wind was raising the snow in ghostly eddies against the window-panes, and I could scarcely distinguish the summits of the neighbouring mountains.
We were going down the stairs which led into the hall, when, at a turn in the corridor, we found ourselves face to face with Tobias Offenloch, the worthy major-domo, in a great state of palpitation.
“Halloo!” he cried, closing our way with his stick right across the passage; “where are you off to in such a hurry? What about our breakfast?”
“Breakfast! which breakfast do you mean?” asked Sperver.
“What do you mean by pretending to forget what breakfast? Are not you and I to breakfast this very morning with Doctor Fritz?”
“Aha! so we are! I had forgotten all about it.”
And Offenloch burst into a great laugh which divided his jolly face from ear to ear.
“Ha, ha! this is rather beyond a joke. And I was afraid of being too late! Come, let us be moving. Kasper is upstairs waiting. I ordered him to lay the breakfast in your room; I thought we should be more comfortable there. Good-bye for the present, doctor.”
“Are you not coming up with us?” asked Sperver.
“No, I am going to tell the countess that the Baron de Zimmer-Bluderich begs the honour to thank her in person before he leaves the castle.”
“The Baron de Zimmer?”
“Yes, that stranger who came yesterday in the middle of the night.”
“Well, you must make haste.”
“Yes, I shall not be long. Before you have done uncorking the bottles I shall be with you again.”
And he hobbled away as fast as he could.
The
