A Hungarian Nabob Part 28

"No, I didn't."

"You used to know Rezi Halm, didn't you?"

"Yes," faltered f.a.n.n.y, in a low voice, wondering what was coming next, and what fresh attack was going to be made upon her.

"What a proud girl she was, eh? The whole lot of them were so proud--you remember, surely?--they were neighbours, you know. There was no speaking to them at all. When that misfortune happened to your eldest sister, they would not even look at us. And now do you know what has happened to those girls? A rich country gentleman fell in love with Rezi and carried her off. At first they cursed her, they rejected her. Later on the gentleman gave the girl a nice little property, and then they were reconciled to her, and went to live with her--yes, the whole lot of them, those stuck-up things who were so quick to judge other folks! And now they say there's nothing to make a fuss about; the girl is happier than any lady, and her lover is more faithful to her than many a husband is to his wife--fulfils all her desires, and gives her whatever she wants. The servants call her 'my lady,' and they are glad to see her in polite society, and ask no questions."

Here Mrs. Meyer paused for a moment, to give f.a.n.n.y time to take it all in and think it all over. Then she went on again as follows: "I don't know how it is, but I don't feel a bit sleepy to-night. Perhaps it is because I am in a strange room. I am always fancying the window to be where the door is. I say, f.a.n.n.y," she added suddenly, "can you do embroidery?"

It seemed an innocent question enough, so f.a.n.n.y answered that she could.

"It has just occurred to me that the last piece of embroidery you did is at home--that sofa-cover, you know, with the kissing doves on it. It stands just below your portrait which that young artist--you remember--painted for nothing. Ah! since then he has become a famous artist; since then he has painted your portrait in at least three hundred different ways, and sent it to all the exhibitions, and there the greatest n.o.blemen pay him large sums of money for that very portrait. Yes, and bid against each other for it, too. I might say that that painter has founded his reputation on that one portrait, for since then his name is familiar in all first-cla.s.s houses. That picture did the whole thing."

Ah! now she is trying the door of vanity!

"The man himself would not believe it," pursued Mrs. Meyer. "A great n.o.bleman, a very great n.o.bleman, became so enamoured of the portrait--naturally he saw it abroad--that he came, post-haste, all the way to Pressburg, to convince himself that the subject of the portrait really lived in our city. He came to our house, and you should have seen his despair when he was told that you lived there no longer. At first he wanted to blow his brains out. He succeeded, subsequently, however, in finding out where you were--saw you, and since then he has been worse than ever. He would come to our house, sit down on the sofa which he knew you had embroidered, and stare at your portrait for hours at a stretch. Your sisters were angry with him because he had not a look for them; but I liked him, because I always used to hear something of you from him. He was always following you, and I could at least learn from him whether you were well or poorly off. Oh! that man was positively mad about you!"

So we've got as far as this, eh?

f.a.n.n.y now raised herself on her elbows, and listened to her mother's conversation with something of that shuddering curiosity with which Damiens regarded the wounds made in his body for the reception of the burning oil.

"Oh, what absurdities that gentleman perpetrated!" continued Mrs. Meyer, noisily s.h.i.+fting her pillows from one side to the other. "The man was not aware that they were laughing at and making fun of him. Not a day pa.s.sed without his coming to our house, and he said, over and over again, that if you had been there, he would have made you his wife on the spot. 'Go along with you, sir!' said I. Ah, my dear sweet girl, beware when a great n.o.bleman says he will marry you! It is all nonsense; he wants to make a fool of you!"

Here Mrs. Meyer rested a little, and thus gave f.a.n.n.y time to complete in her own mind the suggestion insinuated above as follows--

"But if he says, 'I won't marry you, but I'll give you money,' that's reason--listen to him. It is only little clerks and twopenny-halfpenny swells that deceive girls with promises of marriage, and these you must avoid; but a real gentleman always begins by giving something, and him you may listen to."

And the shame, the disgrace? Pooh, such is life!

f.a.n.n.y, horror-stricken, waited to see what else her mother was going to say. Presently she went on again--

"I didn't know whether to be sorry for or disgusted with the poor man when I saw him so far gone. Suddenly you disappeared from the town. Then he gave way to despair altogether, for he fancied that they had got you married somewhere or other. At any rate, he came to me like a madman and asked what had become of you. 'I don't know, sir,' said I; 'they took her away from me long ago. Possibly she is married.' I had no sooner uttered these words than the young man grew quite pale, and cast himself on the very sofa which you embroidered, on which is a couple of billing doves in the middle of a wreath of roses. I was sorry for the poor man, as he was a fine, handsome young fellow; in fact, I never saw a handsomer man in my life. What eyebrows! And his face, too, so pale and refined, a hand like velvet, a beautiful mouth, and a commanding figure.

I cannot get him out of my head. I asked him why he did not make haste about it if his intentions with regard to you were so serious. He said he was only waiting for the death of his uncle, who was greatly against the marriage. 'That's all very well, sir,' I replied, 'but you cannot expect the girl to wait till your uncle dies; she herself would be getting old by then. It is not a fair thing to expect any girl to do.'

Then he said he would swear fidelity to you in the mean time. 'Alas, sir!' I said, 'it is hard to believe in that; one cannot trust the men nowadays. You would only make the girl unhappy, and the marriage would remain an eternal secret.' Thereupon he said that if I did not believe his word of honour and his oath, he was ready to deposit with me sixty thousand florins, ready money, and if ever he should be such a scoundrel as to fall short of his word and desert you, he would forfeit the money.

Now, sixty thousand florins is a great sum of money. n.o.body would be such a fool as to lightly chuck it away. A man would think twice about breaking his word when all that was at stake, especially when he had given his word to such a wondrously lovely girl as my f.a.n.n.y."

"Good night; I want to go to sleep," stammered f.a.n.n.y, sinking back again between her pillows; and for a long time afterwards she tossed about in her bed, whilst hatred, horror, and disgust struggled together in her soul. Only the late dawn brought rest at last to her weary eyelids.

The sun was already s.h.i.+ning through the window-panes when f.a.n.n.y awoke.

Mrs. Meyer must have got up and gone out much earlier, for there was no sign of her. Her good humour returned, therefore, and she arose and dressed hastily, scarcely allowing herself time to arrange her hair in the simplest manner possible.

Breakfast was already awaiting her. Mrs. Meyer meanwhile was in the kitchen outside making the coffee and the toast. She would not hear of the servants helping her; such a sweet pretty daughter deserved that her mother should take a little trouble on her account.

f.a.n.n.y and her mother were alone over their coffee. f.a.n.n.y had wished her mother good morning and kissed her hand, whereupon Mrs. Meyer gave her back t.i.t for tat by kissing her hand also.

"Oh, what a pretty hand, what an elegant hand! Oh, my darling, my only girl! Ah, how blessed I am in living so near to you! Permit me to give you your coffee. I know exactly how you like it, don't I?--a little sugar and lots of milk, that's it, isn't it? I have forgotten nothing, you see."

The woman was quite loquacious. Whenever Teresa was present she hardly ventured to address the girl at all. Teresa's cold, perpetually watchful eyes, always had a disquieting effect upon her; now she was freed from that restraint.

f.a.n.n.y primly sipped her coffee, looking from time to time at her mother, who never once ceased praising her beauty and goodness, and would have compelled her to eat up every bit of breakfast if she could have had her way.

"Mamma," said the girl, taking her mother's hand (she was no longer afraid of her), "what was the name of that gentleman who was making inquiries about me?"

Mrs. Meyer's eyes began to sparkle villainously. Ah ha! the timid creature was approaching the snare!

If, however, she had regarded her daughter's face a little more attentively, she would have noticed that in putting the question she did not even blush, but remained cold and pale.

Looking round very mysteriously to make sure that n.o.body was within hearing distance, she drew her daughter's head down towards her, and whispered in her ear--

"Abellino Karpathy."

"Oh, 'tis he, then!" exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, with a peculiar, a very peculiar smile.

"Then you know him?"

"I have seen him once, a long way off."

"Oh, what a handsome, refined, pleasant man he is! Never in my life have I seen such a figure of a man!"

f.a.n.n.y began brus.h.i.+ng the crumbs off the table-cloth and playing with the coffee-spoon.

"Yes, mother; sixty thousand florins is a lot of money, isn't it?"

Ah, the hunted creature is already in the snare! Quick, quick!

"Yes, my darling, a lot of money indeed; the legal rate of interest upon it is three thousand six hundred florins. A poor man would have to put his nose to the grindstone for a long, long time before he could earn that."

"Tell me, mamma, was papa's income as much as that?"

"Alas! no, my daughter. It was much for him when it came to nine hundred florins, and that is only the fourth part of this. Fancy, four times nine hundred florins!"

"Now say, mamma, has Abellino really said that he would marry me?"

"He said he would give a solemn a.s.surance to that effect any moment you like."

f.a.n.n.y appeared to be considering. "Well, if he deceives me, so much the worse for him, the sixty thousand florins will be ours in any case."

"Ah, what a prudent girl it is! She is not a feather-brain like her sisters. She will not make a fool of her old mother. She is, indeed, my own true girl!" thought Mrs. Meyer to herself, and she rubbed her hands for joy.

Now the iron is hot, now is the time to strike!

"Ah, my daughter, romance is, no doubt, a very fine thing, but it will soon bring you to starvation if you have nothing else to depend upon.

Those poetic gentlemen love to scribble about ideals and such like rubbish, yet they themselves are always looking out for the trees on which money grows. Why, the whole world runs after money, nothing but money, and he who has money has honour into the bargain. A beggar may be as honourable as you like, but n.o.body takes any notice of him. You are young now, and handsome, and can get something on the strength of it; but how long will your beauty last? In ten years' time it will be gone.

Nay, more, your loveliness may not even last so long as ten years if you continue to live as you are living now, for those damsels who stint themselves of the joys of life, wither the quickest----"

"Hus.h.!.+ Mr. Boltay is coming."

The old man entered, wished them good morning, and inquired if they wanted anything brought from town, as the horses were already being put to, and he would be off at once.