The Baron's Sons Part 9

"Poor little _backfisch_!" murmured the other. "We'll give her a pleasant surprise, Betty. To-morrow she shall have a new gown. The dressmaker spoiled one of mine, and it will do nicely for her."

Mademoiselle Bettine laughed. "The pink tarlatan?" she inquired. "That is a ball-dress."

"Never mind. She shall have it and be happy. You make her believe that we have been rather slighting her hitherto because she was only a child, but that now she is to be regarded as a young lady. We will have her taught dancing, playing, and singing."

"Really?"

"Oh, well, let her think so, and that she is to be introduced to society and treated like one of the family."

"If I tell her that now, I sha'n't get a wink of sleep all night long; she will chatter about it till morning. She is fairly crazy to take singing lessons."

"Poor little _backfisch_! We'll gratify her for once."

Oh, the heartless Jezebel!

A few days later Richard received an invitation to take tea and play whist at the Plankenhorsts'--quite _en famille_. Alfonsine was to sing also.

The young hussar officer refused no invitation from the Plankenhorst ladies, nor was he ever tardy on such occasions, but was wont to set his watch ahead so as to have an excuse to offer if he was the first guest to arrive. Thus it occurred in this instance that he saw no signs of a previous arrival when he handed his cloak and sword to the footman in the anteroom.

"Am I the first one here?" he asked.

The footman smiled and replied in the affirmative as he opened the drawing-room door for the guest.

Entering, he came upon Betty, who seemed busy with something about the room.

"Am I too early, Miss Betty?" he asked.

The maid courtesied and smiled. "The baroness has not come in yet, but she will soon be at home. The young lady is in the music-room."

At this moment, indeed, he heard some one singing in the next room, but the voice sounded fuller and richer than Alfonsine's. He concluded, however, that it was with her as with so many others, who sing their best when alone.

He pa.s.sed into the music-room, but halted suddenly in surprise. At the piano sat, not Alfonsine, but another young lady whom at first he failed to recognise. It was Edith, in a new gown and with her hair arranged as he had never seen it before. She wore a low-necked pink dress which exposed to view her beautiful neck and shoulders, and she was singing a ballad, in an untrained voice, but with expression and feeling, picking out the air on the piano with one hand like a person unskilled in playing. She was quite alone in the room.

Richard feasted his eyes on the little white hand dancing over the keyboard, until Edith, glancing up from her music, caught sight of him. Her first impulse was to cover her bare neck with both hands, so new and strange did her costume still seem to her. But recognising that this was exactly the wrong thing to do, she let her hands fall and advanced to meet the young officer. Her face flushed a rosy red and her heart beat violently as, in a voice that nearly failed her, she announced that the baroness was not at home.

Richard pitied her embarra.s.sment. "And Miss Alfonsine?" he asked.

"They both went out together," she replied. "They were called to court and will not return until late."

"Has my brother been here?"

"Yes, but he went away again some time ago."

"And did not the baroness say that she expected company?"

"She said she had ordered the footman to go around to the houses of the invited guests and tell them that the whist party was postponed until to-morrow."

"Strange that he didn't say anything about it to me when he let me in.

Pardon me, Miss Edith, for disturbing you. Please present my compliments to the baroness."

So saying, he bowed with much formality and withdrew, purposing to call the footman to account for his negligence. But he failed to find him in the anteroom, and the front door, by which he had entered, proved to be locked and the key removed. He was forced to go back through the drawing-room and seek an exit by the servants' door; but this also was locked. One other door was known to him, leading into the kitchen, and he tried it. It would not open, however. In the dining-room was a bell-cord communicating with the servants' quarters; he pulled it sharply three times in succession, but no one answered his summons. Returning once more to the anteroom, he found it still empty. Evidently he and Edith were the only ones in the house. His heart beat tumultuously. He felt himself the victim of a curious plot whose outcome he could not foresee. Once more he returned to the music-room. At the sound of his step Edith came toward him. Her face was no longer flushed; she was very pale. But she met the young man's eyes calmly, with no sign of trembling or embarra.s.sment.

"Pardon me, Miss Edith," he began, "I have tried all the doors and found them locked, nor is there any one in the house to let me out."

A life-size portrait of Alfonsine hung on the wall. To Richard, at that moment, the fair face seemed to smile down upon the scene with a malicious triumph.

Edith, however, lost none of her composure. "The servants must have gone down into the courtyard," said she; "but I know where there is another key to the front door, and I will let you out."

Against the wall hung a wicker-work device for holding keys, and in order to reach it Edith was forced to pa.s.s by Richard. When she was very near him he suddenly stepped in front of her.

"One word, Edith," said he. "Do you know what is in my mind at this moment?"

In his fancy the fair lady on the wall seemed to be carrying on a diabolical dialogue with his loudly beating heart. The world was on fire around him. Yet the young girl whom he was confronting stood there calmly and answered him with great presence of mind:

"Yes; you are thinking: 'I once promised this girl never to offend her even with a look, and not to raise my eyes, when I stand before her, higher than her hands.'" Therewith she folded her hands and dropped them in front of her.

"That is it," nodded Richard, feeling as if a hundred-pound weight had been removed from his breast. "And one thing more I must ask of you, Miss Edith," he added. "I have an urgent message to write to the baroness. Can you furnish me with writing-materials?"

Edith opened her aunt's desk and, with a motion of her hand, invited him to be seated.

Richard sat down and wrote. His letter was brief and soon written. He enclosed it in an envelope and sealed it, Edith meanwhile standing quietly on the other side of the desk with her hands still folded and resting upon her lap. Then he rose and advanced with the sealed note to where she stood. n.o.bility spoke in his face and pride in his bearing. The girl's very soul was in her eyes as she met his gaze.

"Can you also tell me, Miss Edith," he asked, "what I have written in this letter which I hold sealed before you?"

The young girl slowly raised her hands and pressed them to her forehead, unmindful that in so doing she invited him to raise his eyes and look into hers, where he could not but read the mingled expression of pain and delight, of despair and rapture.

"In this letter," he continued, "I have written the following: 'My dear Baroness: I beg herewith to prefer my pet.i.tion for Miss Edith Liedenwall's hand in marriage. I shall be of age in a year's time, and will then come and claim her. Until then pray let her be regarded as my affianced bride.'" Therewith he handed the letter to Edith, who pressed its seal to her lips in a long kiss, after which she returned it to him. His lips also touched the seal, while it was still warm with the kiss of his beloved. That was their betrothal kiss.

"Will you deliver this letter to the baroness?" asked Richard.

Edith inclined her head without speaking, and stuck the note into her bodice.

"And now we shall not have another such interview for a year.

Good-bye." He withdrew and let himself out by aid of the key which Edith had given him.

When he had gone Edith sank down and pressed a kiss on the spot still marked by her lover's footprints in the soft carpet.

It was late when the baroness and her daughter returned, and Edith had already gone to her room,--that is, the room which she shared with the maid.

"Send the _backfisch_ to us," commanded Alfonsine, addressing Betty.

"Not gone to bed yet, Edith?" asked the baroness, as her niece entered the room.

"No, aunt."