Gertrude twisted herself round by a sudden movement, and laying her head upon the maternal bosom of the friend who bent over her, uttered the emphatic words, “Thank God!” and then closed her eyes, not as if she were about to faint, or to sleep either; but as if to indulge for a few delicious moments in some waking dream, that this strange news had suggested to her.
“It is a great delight to have you thus, and to see you thus looking the very beau ideal of heart-felt happiness!” said Madame Odenthal, gazing fondly in her beautiful face; “but I must not indulge myself in looking at you, Gertrude,” she added, “for I only obtained the baron’s permission to break this tremendous news to you, on condition of letting him know without delay how you bore it.”
“Poor, dear papa!” exclaimed Gertrude, with a more playful smile than had curled her lips for many a month. “Indeed, and indeed, I am sorry that he should have anything to vex him; but this, thank Heaven! comes by no fault of mine! Go to him, dearest, and tell him that I cannot lament the loss of a man so unworthy in every way of the honour of being allied to him. Say this, and say it very earnestly.... And then come hack to me, my own dear friend, and let us see whether we cannot once more enjoy a drive in the Bois de Boulogne!”
It was impossible that an embassy could have been more faithfully or more ably performed; and Madame Odenthal returned with the welcome assurance, that her report of the high-minded dignity which Gertrude had displayed, had so greatly delighted her anxious father, that he really seemed very cordially to agree with her, in thinking the rupture of her marriage a subject rather of joy than of sorrow; “and I rather think,” she added, “that my good brother Alaric will receive instructions for returning thanks in the chapel, for this new mark of the especial intervention of Providence in your favour.”
Gertrude shook her head, and tried to look demure; but, in truth, not only her own heart, but that of her dame de compagnie also, felt so wonderfully lightened by this unexpected rescue from the splendid marriage, which had been contemplated with almost equal aversion by both, that neither of them should be too severely censured, if they betrayed a little more gaiety on the occasion than befitted so solemn an affair.
Most true is the saying, “everything is comparative;” and what is felt to be happiness at one moment, might be justly held to be the reverse at another, where the circumstances in which it came upon us altered. How else can be explained the buoyant light-heartedness of Gertrude, while conscious that she had fixed a life-long attachment upon one who never did, and never would return it? Or how can we comprehend the measureless content of her companion, who believed, in her inmost heart (though she had never breathed her miserable conviction to any one), that her dear and only son was, and most probably ever would be, the victim of an attachment which never could, and never ought to be successful; and which would, in all probability, as far as his happiness was concerned, neutralize all the great and unhoped for success which his worth and talents had achieved?
Yet, in despite of all this, Madame Odenthal felt as light-hearted as if her age had been about one-fifth of its actual sum, and she had been setting forth upon an expedition to gather cowslips for the formation of cool, sweet-scented balls, wherewith to storm the eyes and noses of her vengeance-vowing companions. Whilst Gertrude, the long-struggling, yet hopeless victim of a passionate attachment as ill-requited as it it was imprudently placed, even more than shared the gay hilarity of her companion; for she not only felt as if she were once more at liberty to enjoy the bright sunshine, and the balmy air, but she felt also that she was relieved from a weight of hopeless and endless misery, which neither earth nor sky could have power to make her forget for a moment.
But in spite of all this giddy enjoyment, the two friends had wisdom enough left between them, to recollect before the end of their expedition, that the poor, dear, disappointed baron must be immediately relieved from his pecuniary scrape; and on this point, Madame Odenthal, notwithstanding her usual modesty of demeanour, presumed so far as to assure Gertrude, that to her very certain knowledge, there would not be the slightest difficulty in obtaining from among his wealthy tenants, enough to relieve him from the difficulty he had got into, half-a-dozen times over.
“And herein,” she added, with an involuntary sigh, “my poor Rupert may really be of some use, although removed, by his duty to his uncle, from his personal attendance upon his generous patron. My brother, and Rupert also, know much better than your noble father seems to do, that the tenants of Schwanberg are among the most wealthy individuals of the district; and, if I mistake not, the only objection to applying to any of them in this manner, arises from the danger of inspiring envy and jealousy in those not applied to.”
“Decidedly, my good friend,” said Gertrude, laughing, “you are a very agreeable companion, especially to a forsaken young woman, whose papa believes himself on the eve of a very disgraceful bankruptcy. “Were I to consult my own feelings only,” she added, “I think I should like to prolong our tête-à-tête in this delicious Bois de Boulogne till the sun was down, and the moon up. But let us be virtuous! Let us remember how very different our condition is from that of poor dear papa!”
“Well, then, we will return to the carriage, and drive home; and greatly as I have enjoyed our excursion, I approve the doing so, most sincerely,” returned her companion. “But what are we to do, dear Gertrude,” she added, “about the notice which must be immediately dispatched to the tenants? I wish Rupert were here! He might be secretary in this business to some purpose.”
Gertrude did not immediately answer; she even turned her head away for a moment, as if some distant object occupied her attention, and then her parasol fell to the ground, and she had to pick it up; but when this was accomplished, she said with very irreproachable composure and sedateness, “Notwithstanding the absence of Rupert, I think this business must be transacted by him. My father has never, since I was born, spoken to me on the subject of his domestic finances, though he has often alluded to the large extent of his property, and, therefore, I should not like, just now, to talk to him on the subject; but you may, dear friend, with the certainty of being listened to without any painful feeling on his part. If I were you, I should tell him that as his secretary is on the spot, the application for the money had better be made by him; and all my father need trouble himself to do, is to sign his name to the instructions which you must convey to your son. His signature, without his troubling himself to write a word more, will be quite sufficient, you know, to give authority to the document.”
Madame Odenthal not only nodded her head in token of approval, but pronounced the words, “Yes, that will be the best way,” with a decision of tone that left no room for further discussion. Not a word more, therefore, was said on the subject; they mounted the carriage and drove home in excellent spirits, discussing the beauties and deformities of the gay streets through which they drove, with a vivacity which pretty clearly proved that at that moment, at least, they were neither of them very unhappy.
CHAPTER XXX.
MADAME ODENTHAL wasted not a moment after her return before she waited upon the baron, whom she found seated exactly in the same place in which she had left him, and evidently not at all the better off for the various newspapers which had been placed on the table beside him.
She had scarcely entered the door, before he exclaimed in a plaintive voice, “How is she, Madame Odenthal? How does my insulted daughter endure this indignity?”
“Indeed, Sir, she bears it exactly as your daughter should do,” was her prompt and cheerful reply. “Her drive has done her much good, she is come back in excellent spirits; and though she is now lying down, to restore her strength after the shock of so very sudden a surprise, she bids me to say to you, that she hopes when you meet, you will both feel inclined most cordially to wish each other joy of the fortunate escape you have had.
“Madame de Odenthal!” returned the baron, with great solemnity, “you have expressed yourself with the greatest propriety, in
saying that your noble and high-minded young lady had conducted herself in a manner exactly and most admirably becoming my daughter. I own that I am proud of her. The manner in which she seems to have endured this almost incredible outrage, is the result, as I feel deeply convinced, of a further special interposition of Providence in her behalf. But although I am fully aware of this, my good friend, and (crossing himself) duly grateful for this renewed demonstration of the remarkable interposition of Heaven in her favour, yet still my heart is heavy when I think of the difficulties which lie before me! In what way am I to address myself to the unsuspecting individuals from whom I am to ask the FAVOUR of a loan? I protest to you, that I almost doubt whether I shall have sufficient command of my feelings to write the necessary document.”
“And why should you write it, Sir?” said Madame Odenthal, earnestly, but with an air of the very deepest respect. “My son,” she continued, “has still the honour of being your secretary, although the illness of his uncle has made it his duty to absent himself for a time. If you will permit me to write, from your dictation, the amount of money which you require for your accommodation at this moment, Rupert, on receiving this document, will immediately apply in person to the individuals you may be pleased to name; and, if this be done by this day’s post, I will venture to promise you, Sir, that an order to the amount will be transmitted to your Paris banker before the week is out.”
The baron’s eyes opened themselves to the very widest extent of their capacity, and he stared at the good widow in a manner that very nearly overset her gravity — nearly, but, very fortunately, not quite; for had she smiled at such a moment, the consequences might have been very serious indeed.
Having finished his astonished survey of her quiet face, he said, not without a little satirical bitterness, “May I take the liberty of asking you, Madame Odenthal, by what means you have made yourself so strangely familiar with the affairs of my tenants, as to enable you to say that such and such among them will, to a certainty, be able and willing to make this partial payment of their rents before they are due?”
“Indeed, Sir, I must be bold enough to say that I think I am able to answer your question without any risk of leading you into error. I have lived for many years among the worthy people who have the happiness of being your tenants, and so has my son, Rupert, also; and we both know, from our long familiarity with them, and with their prosperous agricultural concerns, both what they would wish to do under such circumstances, and what they are capable of doing, without the slightest inconvenience to themselves.”
The baron listened to her with a heavy countenance — poor man! — which at first expressed nothing but anxiety; but, ere she had finished her speech, some bright idea seemed to have suggested itself, and he replied, in a tone infinitely less gloomy than before, “What you say, Madame de Odenthal, certainly appears to have great probability in it. You must be likely to know more about these worthy people than I can do. And, moreover, Madame de Odenthal, a thought came into my head while you were speaking, which makes me feel a good deal less uneasy about it than I did before. It is quite certain, you know, that neither, the Baroness Gertrude nor myself can desire to remain any longer in this extremely dirty and disagreeable city, than may be absolutely necessary for the settling these troublesome bills; and if, as soon as we return to Schloss Schwanberg, I were to invite the tenants that your son, Rupert, may have applied to, as guests to dine at my own table, it strikes me that they may think themselves not badly requited for the service.”
The countenance of the worthy nobleman had become very radiantly red as he pronounced these words, partly, probably, from a really generous feeling of pleasure at having hit upon so satisfactory a mode of requiting the obligation to which he was obliged to submit, and partly from some little latent doubt whether such a remuneration might not exceed the bounds of propriety.
But the very cordial smile with which Madame Odenthal listened to this proposal, soothed and comforted him considerably more than he would have chosen to confess, even to himself; and, after the pause of a moment, he positively returned her smile, and said, “I am not quite sure, Madame de Odenthal, whether, under such very particular circumstances, I might not, with great propriety, shake hands with my guests.”
“And if you do, my lord baron,” she eagerly replied, “I will venture to say, they will consider the whole transaction as one of the most gratifying events that ever occurred to them.”
And here again the baron rewarded her with a very gracious smile, and said, in an accent as nearly approaching the jocose as it was possible for him to assume, “I shall begin to think, Madame de Odenthal, that you have been learning somewhat from my daughter, at the same time that she has been, doubtless, learning much from you; for you have expressed, during the present conversation, sentiments and opinions very much in accordance with those which she has, naturally, inherited from her ancestors. And now then, my good friend,” he added, with more condescension of manner and aspect than he had ever manifested to her before, “you had better return to your young lady. Give her to understand that I no longer feel any embarrassment about the debts I alluded to, and that I flatter myself we shall very speedily set off on our return to Schloss Schwanberg. I have little doubt, Madame de Odenthal, that she will agree with me in thinking that, when the ‘Almanack de Gotha’ records the name of a noble as honourable in character as in rank, the fittest residence for him must ever be on his own long-descended property. The busy cities of the earth, Madame de Odenthal, are only suited, as homes, for the dissolute and necessitous.”
Madame Odenthal listened most attentively to his words, then curtsied, and prepared to depart; but, before she reached the door, he recalled her, by saying, “Do not, in your statement of what has passed between us, to my daughter, mention my suggestion respecting the propriety of my shaking hands with such tenants as may have advanced my next rents for me. She is a person likely to be very greatly shocked at the idea of any unbecoming degree of familiarity between persons of different stations in life, and I should not wish her to know that I had entertained any such idea, till we have had an opportunity of talking the matter over together in private.”
Madame Odenthal repeated her reverence, and respectfully pledged her word that his having given utterance to this generous and most condescending idea should for ever remain in secret, till such time as it was his pleasure to refer to it himself.
The long interview having at length reached this satisfactory conclusion, Madame Odenthal, at length, made her escape, and returned to Gertrude, not without some slight expectation of being scolded for the length of her absence; but Gertrude was evidently in no humour to scold anybody. She playfully received her dame de compagnie with outstretched arms, and, in answer to her apology, said, with great naïveté, “Have you been very long, my dear, kind friend? I have taken a cup of chocolate, my dear Madame Odenthal, and there stands a cup ready for you. But I am not quite certain that I would advise you to take it. I suspect that it is drugged.”
“Drugged, my dear child!” exclaimed her friend. “What can you mean?”
“Do not look so frightened, dearest! I do not absolutely mean that it is poisoned. I do not even suspect my ci-devant lover, Monsieur le Comte de Hernwold, of having anything whatever to do with the beverage; but I cannot help having some slight suspicion that I am intoxicated. How do people feel when they are tipsy, Madame Odenthal? They feel inclined to laugh, and dance, and sing, don’t they?... Well! do you know, that is exactly what I feel now.”
Madame Odenthal behaved admirably. It can scarcely be doubted, that a woman possessed in no common degree both of deep feeling and acute intelligence, must, in the course of the weeks, months, and years, which she had lived in the closest intercourse with Gertrude, have discovered, or, at least, suspected, her secret; but neither on the present occasion, nor on any other, had she ever permitted the slightest symptom of this suspicion to appear. And now, when the bright laughing eyes of Gertrude evidently sought h
ers, as if to read there more of unreserved sympathy than she had yet expressed, her searching glance was only met by the cordial smile of affectionate pleasure at seeing her look so well and so happy.
When the certain and perfectly uncontrolled independence which must devolve on Gertrude, ere very long, (for the baron was an aged father for so young a daughter), and the splendid property which this independence would place at her disposal; when all this is considered, the conduct of Madame Odenthal may well be called admirable. For if she entertained any suspicion of the truth at all, and that she should not was, in fact, impossible, she must have been aware that one leading word from her would have sufficed to make poor Gertrude pour out every secret of her heart before her. But by uttering this word, Madame Odenthal would have betrayed her trust — and it was not uttered.
Madame Odenthal was, in truth, an excellent and high-principled woman; but, nevertheless, it is certainly possible that she would have found her task a more difficult one, had the judgment which she had formed respecting the feelings of her son, been as correct as that at which she had arrived respecting the young baroness.
But she did not believe that Rupert loved Gertrude.
“Whether it were that he had more power over himself, and was thereby enabled more effectually to conceal his feelings, or that the wish to do so was in him more earnest, it is certain that, in point of fact, his mother had been kept as completely in doubt, or rather, in ignorance, of his real feelings, as Gertrude herself; and this want of discernment was so far fortunate, that it made the strict performance of her duty not only more easy, but, in all probability, more effectual also; for if Madame Odenthal had known all that was struggling at his heart, and all that he was suffering from self-delusion respecting the real feelings of Gertrude, it would, indeed, have been a difficult task for his mother to have refrained from uttering one single word which might have turned all his sorrow into joy.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 454