The Undying Past Part 56

And as she instinctively spread out those forgiving arms, she felt so much life and movement in her that the illusion of being dead vanished.

"What a pity!" she thought. "All that is beautiful pa.s.ses like a dream."

She set to work at once to remove the powder from her face. With a handkerchief rolled into a ball she rubbed and scrubbed cheeks, forehead, and nose; and the harder she rubbed, the greater became her fear that she might not be able to wipe off all traces of her misdoing.

Her heart beat loudly. She seemed to herself like a criminal on the verge of being discovered. At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, she let the handkerchief fall and retired to the most shadowy corner of the room behind the bed-curtains, where she pretended to be engrossed in the study of a picture.

"Mamma is asleep," said Meta, coming in, "and coffee is ready."

"Oh, is it?" replied Hertha, in confusion. She would have given worlds to be able to stay in that dark corner, but of course it was not possible.

On the way to the dining-room she gave her cheeks a few more vigorous rubs, and then gallantly faced the light. She fancied that the old mamselle, who greeted her with a smile as she brought in the coffee, was mocking at her secretly; and when Meta's glance rested on her for more than a second, she could hold out no longer, and burying her hotly blus.h.i.+ng face on her shoulder, she confessed her crime.

Meta smiled and kissed her, saying, "Never mind. We all do that some time in our lives."

"You too?" asked Hertha, daring to breathe freely again.

Meta nodded, and as mamma's going off to sleep had put her in a more cheerful humour, she added the confession that on the second morning of her wedded life, she had hardly had the patience to wait for Hans to go out of the room before flouring her face, so eager had she been to operate with the new powder-puff.

"But one soon gets over that sort of thing," she went on, with a thoughtful, hard look in her eyes.

Now the ice was really broken, and when the apple fritters arrived, frizzling crisply in their juice, Hertha thought the atmosphere was favourable for her great question. Still she struggled twice with herself before she was sure that she could combine the right moment with the right words. For she felt that her friend's new smile did not mean joking.

"There's one thing I want to ask you," she began, in a careless, casual sort of tone, though there was a choking sensation in her throat.

"Wives love their husbands ... that's taken for granted; but do you think it's possible that wives ... can be ... loved by men--men who are not their husbands?"

Her friend didn't smile this time, but laughed outright, and Hertha felt a stone fall from her heart. Here was some one who was not going to be shocked, she thought.

"How funny you are," Meta said. "No one can prevent people loving whom they choose."

"I know.... But a man, don't you see, ought not----"

"No; he _ought_ not, but often does."

"Does any one else love _you_, then?"

Meta coloured. She looked into s.p.a.ce. Perhaps she was thinking of the man who had first captured her maiden fancy.

"I don't ask," she said. "It is more than enough that I please Hans; and, of course, I shouldn't allow anything of the kind."

"Then it isn't allowed?"

"Of course not, when they tell you so straight out."

"What? Do they ever tell it?"

"Often. It happens if the man is a very bold lover."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Hertha, in horror. "If such a thing happened to me, I should show him the door pretty quick."

Then she became suddenly silent. She was asking herself the question, "What might _he_ have said to her? What might she have answered?"

"Would it be possible," she inquired again eagerly, "for there to be women ... who--who wouldn't mind?"

"Oh yes," replied Meta.

"Who in the end might return such a bold man's love?"

"Yes; even that."

The world seemed to spin round in Hertha's brain, and with all the energy of innocence she cried, "Meta, I won't believe it!"

"There is a good deal that you would not believe, that I now know to be facts."

"Tell me, tell me. What, please?"

"No; most of it can't be told," said her friend, guardedly. "Not to any one, at least, who is not married."

Hertha thought of the vow they had once exchanged, but an undefinable feeling of shyness stopped her from reminding the forgetful Meta of it.

"All I can tell you," she continued, "is that things are very different from what we girls think they are. Do you remember, for instance, how all our heads were turned once about your uncle?"

"Which uncle?" asked Hertha.

"Leo Sellenthin," replied Meta, glancing sideways.

Hertha sighed. She was only too willing to forget the relations.h.i.+p which gave him authority over her. And then, all at once, her heart seemed to stand still, for she understood that the next minute would be pregnant for her with revelation. She was to hear something terrible.

"Do you know what people said after that duel, when he shot Herr von Rhaden dead?"

"No," she murmured.

"They said that he and Felicitas were in love with each other, and that Rhaden found it out. Good Heavens! What is the matter?"

Hertha, with parted lips and dilated eyes, had raised her hands as if to ward off the blow that was about to fall on her.

"For goodness' sake, calm yourself!" cried Meta, stroking her face with both hands. "It was only gossip. Of course, it's not true, and no one believes it now."

"Why is it not true?"

"Because, if it were, Ulrich Kletzingk, who is his bosom friend and knows all about him, would not have married her."

"But if he hadn't known?"

"Then Leo would have confessed it to him before the marriage."

"But, suppose he had not confessed?"

"He would have been absolutely obliged to do it. If he hadn't, Leo would have behaved shabbily to his friend."