by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE SUITOR.
Richard entered the Plankenhorst house with the ease and freedom of aman visiting old friends. He did not note the expression of amazementand terror--as if at sight of a ghost--with which the mother anddaughter stared at him. He had eyes only for Edith, who, besideherself with joy, sprang to embrace him, stammering as she lay on hisbosom: "Richard, is it really you?"
The baroness was the first to regain her composure. "Edith," said sheseverely, turning to her niece, "I cannot understand your immodestbehaviour toward this gentleman. What do you wish, sir?" she askedcoldly of Richard.
The young man advanced to Alfonsine and addressed her in words ofsincere gratitude and friendliness. "First of all," he began, "it wasto pay a debt of heartfelt gratitude that I hastened hither thismorning. At daybreak I was to have been executed as a condemnedcriminal, but at the last moment I was pardoned. The governor, inremitting my sentence and setting me free, enjoined upon me as myfirst duty to pay you, my dear young lady, my sincere thanks for myfreedom. Without your intervention I should have been sentenced to atleast fifteen years' imprisonment. Accept, I beg you, my warmestthanks for your kind act."
Every one of his words was a crushing blow on the viper's head. Did hethank her, Alfonsine Plankenhorst, for his liberation, he whosedestruction had been the end and aim of all her strivings for weeksand months past, and the sweet vision of her nightly dreams?
Her mother, whose self-control was greater than her own, was forced tocome to her aid.
"My dear sir," said she to Richard, "there must be some mistake here.The service which you ascribe to my daughter cannot have been renderedby any member of my family, for the simple reason that we have notconcerned ourselves with your affairs in the slightest degree. We livein strict retirement, meet no one, never meddle in politics, and ourdrawing-rooms are closed to society. This last I beg leave toemphasise for your benefit."
"I understand you perfectly, madam, and I can assure you that this isthe last time I shall intrude upon you. A few words more and I havedone. You will remember that a year and a half ago I became engaged toyour niece--"
"An engagement which, of course, must now be considered as brokenoff," interrupted the baroness. "When you asked for my niece's handyou were an officer in the army, a man of property, and a nobleman.Now, however, you are neither."
"But I am still Richard Baradlay," returned the young man, withdignity.
"And free as a bird!" added the other, scornfully. "But it so happensthat the other party to the engagement is not equally free. Miss EdithLiedenwall is bound to comply with the wishes of her relatives on whomshe is dependent, and they consider it their duty to discountenanceher engagement to Mr. Richard Baradlay. She feels, too, that she has aperfect right to break the engagement and choose again more wisely."
"I beg to ask Miss Liedenwall whether that is so?"
Edith shook her head, but did not venture to speak.
Her aunt was bent on settling the matter once for all. "Edith will doas we think best for her," said she. "We are not only entitled, but induty bound, to make wise provision for her future. You, sir, are nowtoo late with your wooing. We provided for her while you were still inprison and little likely ever to see your freedom. My niece ispromised to another."
Edith started from her chair. "Your niece will give her hand only tothe man she loves," she declared, firmly.
"Edith," commanded her aunt, without losing her composure, "let us nothave a scene, if you please. You are my foster-daughter and I have alawful right to demand obedience of you."
"I will not be your foster-daughter any longer," cried the young lady,asserting herself resolutely; "I will go into service, for which Ihave been trained in your house. As chambermaid or kitchen girl I cangive my hand to whom I choose."
"You will not be allowed to execute your threat, my dear," returnedthe baroness calmly. "You are under very good care here, and thingswill take their orderly and proper course until you are called upon tokneel at the altar; and should you choose to weep while pledging yourvows there, your tears would be merely regarded as a fittingaccompaniment to the solemn ceremonial."
"But I should not weep," cried the girl, excitedly; "I should dosomething very different. If you really found a man who consented tomarry me to please you and against my will, I should say to him,before he led me to the altar, that I once ran away from aconvent,--ran away in the night and made my way to the camp where mylover was, in whose room I passed half the night. Some of hiscomrades, as well as the market-woman in Singer Street, saw me there,and all the nuns in the St. Bridget Convent know about it. SisterRemigia knows that I ran away and where I was. The marks of thepunishment I received the next day are still visible. And now, madam,do you wish another than the man for whom I bear those scars to seethem?"
Passionate scorn and maidenly indignation spoke in the girl's everylook and gesture. Richard was struck dumb with admiration. Thebaroness fairly choked with amazement and impotent wrath. Of what shehad just heard she had entertained not the slightest suspicion. Shefelt her self-control and will-power slipping away from her in thedetermined girl's presence; yet she made one last attempt to carry herpoint.
"You wretched girl!" she cried, clasping her hands and turning hereyes heavenward; "alas, that you should have so far forgottenyourself! Do you know that you have fallen a victim to an unprincipledseducer? This man here whom you claim to be your betrothed is alreadymarried to another woman, who, of course, has rights that takeprecedence of yours, and who will drive you from his side withreviling and insult."
"I--married already?" gasped Richard, in amazement.
"Yes, you!" retorted the baroness. "Or do you choose to deny that youhave a son in Pest over whom you watch with tender care, whoseeducation you pay for, and whom you sent to the hospital when he wasill? Deny that, sir, if you can!"
"So you drag a poor innocent child into our unfortunate quarrel," saidRichard.
"The child is innocent, but not its father," returned the accuser,pointing her finger at Richard.
"Very well, madam, I will tell you the story of this child. Ithappened not long ago that I mortally wounded a brave opponent inbattle. This man summoned me to him in his dying hour and told me hehad, somewhere in the world, a son whom he had long sought in vain,but traces of whom he had recently discovered. The mother hadabandoned the child. He begged me to promise that I would find theboy, and I did so, assuring him that I would care for the poor waif astenderly as if he were my own brother's child. Accordingly, Iprosecuted the search and was at last successful. I have in mypossession certain letters and other papers which establish thechild's identity and parentage."
Baroness Plankenhorst and her daughter were trembling in every limband seemed powerless to utter a word. Meanwhile the speaker went on,standing proudly erect as he proceeded:
"But I promised my dying adversary never to betray the mother's nameto any one, and you may rest assured I never shall."
Edith approached her lover and said, with great gentleness: "Whoeverthe mother may be of the child to which you have promised to be afather, I will be its mother." And she leaned fondly on his breast andrested her head on his shoulder.
Her aunt, vanquished and prostrate, raised her hand as if inmalediction and muttered hoarsely:
"Take her then and begone, in the devil's name!"