The Nameless Castle Part 28

By this time the gnome began to understand that his antics amused the audience, and he, too, enjoyed them. For the first time an emotion was expressed on his stolid countenance; but it was not an agreeable transformation. The corners of his mouth widened until they reached his ears, which stood still farther out from his head; he closed one eye, and opened the other to its farthest extent; and pressing the stem of his pipe more firmly between his teeth, he blew the smoke and fire from the bowl like a miniature volcano. The thicker the smoke and sparks came from the pipe, the more furious became the strange creature's glee, while the entire company shouted and clasped their hands. Even the colonel himself was amazed at the performance of his dull pupil.

"Why have we not a Hogarth among us to perpetuate this caricature?" he exclaimed delightedly.

"Horrible! I cannot bear to look at him," said the baroness, holding her fan in front of her face. "Pray take him away, Herr Colonel--take him away."

"Presently. Ho, there, my little man! What does the militiaman do when he sees the enemy?"

The whip snapped, and the bagpipe set up a discordant shriek, upon which the actor sprang with one bound from the stage, and vanished behind the curtain, wooden sword and gun clattering after him, while the audience showered applause on the successful instructor.

"Herr Colonel," observed the baroness, when quiet had been restored, "I am very much afraid that your instructions will cause me some trouble in the future."

"Why, how so?" in surprise questioned the colonel.

"You have taught a wild creature to kindle a fire, and thus aroused in him a dangerous pa.s.sion. His desire to amuse himself with the dangerous element will develop into a mania, and he will end by setting fire to houses and other buildings."

"I will tell you what to do, baroness. In order that the little monster may not play his tricks about here, give him to me; I will take him with me."

"No; I had rather keep him here. I shall take good care, however, that he does not get hold of tinder and flint, and have him constantly watched. You have quite ruined my system of education. _I_ taught him to kneel and fold his hands to the music of the organ; _you_ taught him to dance and grimace to the drone of the bagpipe. You have even accustomed him to drink wine, which is unchristian."

The company laughed at this harmless anger.

Then came the fireworks.

When the Roman candles and the fire-wheels illumined the darkness, it became impossible to control the little monster. He rushed into the thickest of the rain of fire, and tried to catch the red and blue stars in his hands. The sparks burned holes in his clothes, and he would not have escaped a severe burning himself had not some one thrown a pail of water over him. It was impossible to restrain him. He struck out with hands and feet, and bit at any one who attempted to prevent him from running into the fire. Suddenly a rocket shot in an oblique direction, and dropped into the lake. When the human beast saw this he uttered a yell, and dashed into the water. He thought that the beautiful fire belonged to him because it had fallen into his lake, and he went to hunt for it. He did not return. The baroness had search made for him; but he knew so well how to escape his pursuers that he was not seen again at the manor.

The next morning, while yet the stars were glittering in the sky, the trumpets sounded the departure of the regiment.

The sounds were familiar to Count Vavel. Even yet, when the blare of trumpets roused him from sleep, he felt as if he must hasten to the stable, saddle his horse, and buckle on his sword. But those days were past. His trusty war-horse had become used to the carriage-pole, and the keen Toledo blades were drawn from their scabbards only when they were to be oiled to prevent the rust from corroding them.

The departure of the troops removed one care from Count Ludwig's mind: the noise and turmoil would cease, and peace would again return to the silent neighborhood.

One morning when Frau Schmidt brought her basket, as usual, to the castle, there was a letter in it for the count. He recognized the hand at once; it was from his fair neighbor at the manor.

"HERR COUNT: As I have something of the utmost importance to communicate to you, I beg that you will receive a call from me this morning before you take your usual drive. Answer when it will be convenient for you to see me."

What did it mean? Something of the utmost importance? Why could she not have asked him to come to the manor? The count was puzzled. And how was he to answer this most singular request? He could not write it himself; was it not said that he was unable to hold a pen? He could not dictate the letter to Marie appointing a meeting with the baroness. Henry was a very shrewd fellow, but he had never learned to write.

At last Count Vavel bethought him of an expedient. He marked on the back of his card the Roman numerals XI, and trusted that the baroness would understand that she was expected at eleven o'clock. When the appointed hour drew near, curiosity began to torture the count. He could not wait indoors, but hurried into the park, where he paced restlessly to and fro amid the fallen leaves.

He listened anxiously to every sound, and consulted his watch every few minutes. At last the gate bell rang. He hastened to admit the visitor, and found that the baroness had understood his reply. He recognized her figure, for the face was closely veiled. She wore a pale-blue silk gown with wide sleeves--Marie's favorite costume.

"It is I, Herr Count," she said in a low tone, looking anxiously about her.

"How did you come? I did not hear the carriage," said Count Vavel.

"I rowed across the cove--alone, because no one must know that I came.

Can any one see us here?"

"No one."

"We need not go into the house," she continued; "I can tell you here why I came."

Ludwig was more and more perplexed. He had believed the baroness wished to enter the Nameless Castle out of curiosity.

"My visit," pursued the lady, "has as little conventionality about it as had yours. The magnitude of the danger which prompted yours must also excuse mine; I am come to repay the debt I owe you."

"Danger?" repeated the count.

"Yes; danger threatens you--and some one else! Let us come farther into the park, that no one may by a possible chance overhear me."

When they had reached a sheltered spot the lady again spoke:

"Do you know anything about Colonel Barthelmy?"

"I received the cards he left here when he called," indifferently replied Count Vavel.

"You certainly have heard more about him," returned the baroness, a trifle impatiently. "His domestic troubles were in all the newspapers--it was a _cause celebre_. He was a major in the French army, under the Directory, but entered our service when the Empire was established. The domestic troubles I referred to occurred while he was still in France. His young and beautiful wife ran away with another man--a man who is unknown to Barthelmy, who is pursuing the fugitives over the whole world--"

"Ah! I remember now reading something about it. That is why his name seemed familiar to me."

"I thought you must have heard something about him," responded the baroness, in a peculiar tone. Then, with a sudden movement, she seized his hand and whispered:

"And you are the unknown who abducted Colonel Barthelmy's wife."

"I?" in boundless amazement e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the count. Then he laughed heartily.

"Yes, you; and you are living here in seclusion with the lovely woman whose face no one is permitted to see."

Ludwig ceased laughing, and replied very seriously; "Gracious baroness, were I the person you believe me to be, I should have been glad to meet the man who compelled me to live here in seclusion. A skilful sword-thrust or a well-aimed bullet would have released me from this prison."

"And yet, everybody believes Count Vavel to be Ange Barthelmy's lover,"

responded the baroness.

"Do _you_ believe it, baroness?"

"I? Perhaps--not. But Colonel Barthelmy believes it all the more firmly because you refused to see him."

"And suppose he had seen me?"

"He would have asked you to introduce him to your--family."

"Then he would have learned that I have no family."

"But you could not have refused to tell him what relation you bear to the lady at the castle."

"My answer would have been very brief had he asked the question," was the count's grim response.

"I know what men mean by a 'brief' answer; the result is usually fatal."