The Galaxy, June 1877 Part 17

And then for half an hour the advocate poured into my ear the glories of the house of Dressdorf and stories of Austrian oppression that made me eager to serve his _protege_. Nay, I was so interested in his case that I believe I would have seen the youth home, if I had had to bear all the expenses of the journey myself.

"Have you a pa.s.sport?"

"It is here," I said, handing it to him--"a Foreign Office pa.s.sport that protects me all over the continent."

"Ah, I see. And this permit?"

"Ah, that belongs to my pupil, Nigel Fairleigh. We can cut that off.

Lady Milton should have had it with her, but they are not very strict at Ostend, and I suppose her rank proved an open sesame."

"Black eyes," he read, "black hair, sharp features, high forehead, height, five feet three. My dear Monsieur Mortimer," and he turned eagerly toward me, "you would do me a real service, you would lay the n.o.ble Dressdorf under the greatest obligation, if you would permit our young charge to use this pa.s.sport. It describes him to a T. The critical nature of events, the necessity for caution, the delicate health of the boy--nay, do not look shocked; such things are done every day--will excuse the trifling impropriety----"

"Impossible!"

Taking no notice of the interruption, he continued. "And to tell the truth, it was just this that bothered me. A Belgian pa.s.sport is looked upon with much suspicion, and is likely to lead to inquiry; but armed with this, you may go from here to the Oural mountains without a question."

At first I refused point-blank, but at last resigned myself to his sophistry, and the bargain was closed.

"When can I see the youth?" I asked.

"Now, monsieur. I will at once escort you to the _pension_ of the Porte de Schaerbeck, and introduce him to you."

Fifty boys of Belgian, French, American, and English extraction, seated at a long table enjoying their afternoon's "goute"--a post-meridian lunch of weak brandy-and-water and grapes; a bald _maitre d'ecole_ periodically crying, "Si-i-i-lence, messieurs. Restez-vous tranquilles!"

like a sheriff in a court of law. Such a scene met my view. I recognized my youth in a moment; there was no mistaking the clear, well-defined features, raven hair, and black eyes of the gentle lad who rose to greet my companion with a grace and a.s.surance that checked remonstrance on the part of the half-offended usher, who simply solaced himself with a shrug of the shoulders and a more than usually prolonged "Si-i-i-i-i-lence, messieurs. Restez-vous tranquilles!"

"This is the gentleman, Jules, who has kindly consented to take you home, and it is arranged that you start to-morrow," said the advocate.

The boy's big eyes looked into mine with an inquiring gaze, and then, taking my hand, he quaintly said:

"I like you."

There was nothing impertinent in the tone or manner; it was the hearty expression of his unsophisticated thought.

"He is an Englishman," continued M. Danneris, "and will be very kind to you. Remember that you owe him respect and implicit obedience."

"Then he hates the Austrians--he whose country is free knows how to give sympathy to a poor Hungarian. This good Englishman shall see for himself how our n.o.ble people suffer at the hands of tyrants."

"Hush, hush, Jules! You must not talk like this. Is it not extraordinary," said M. Danneris, turning to me, "that even the very children of this oppressed race fill their minds with a sense of wrong?"

"No wonder," I replied, "if but half you have told me is true."

"When I am a man," flashed Jules, "I will kill the Austrians--they are not worthy to live."

"Jules," I said soothingly, "I am just going for a stroll over the fields toward Louvain. Ask permission from monsieur, your professor, to join me."

Danneris smiled. "That was well done," he said. "You cannot too soon become acquainted. Call here for the boy to-morrow midday. I will see that he is prepared."

When I said adieu to Jules that evening, after a long ramble over the endless corn fields that bordered the "road to Waterloo," I saw with pleasure that I had awakened in him a generous confidence. He too had, by his artless manner, inspired in me no common interest.

We started. Six days' journey to reach Vienna, a hundred-mile trip up the Danube to Buda, seven leagues in a _caleche_, and we should be at Dressdorf Castle.

Uneventful the days were. Poor Jules, weary with travel, talked but little, for which I was appropriately thankful. It was painful to see how he shrank from the gaze of any official who might question us a little closely as to our destination, and to watch his quivering lips as he muttered in response to my a.s.surances of safety, "I trust all to the good Englishman."

As we neared the Austrian frontier he harped more on the subject of his Austrian wrongs, and I was frequently obliged to check him. A fire seemed consuming the boy, a burning vengeance toward the oppressor.

We reached Vienna at dusk on the sixth day, and put up at the Hotel d'Hollande, according to the suggestions of Danneris. Jules complained of sick headache, and I was somewhat relieved to hear him suggest bed.

It was not till I had seen him safely settled, and had extracted a promise from him not to leave his room, that I felt at liberty to call a few hours my own.

Having dined, I stood on the doorstep of the hotel smoking a cigar and revolving in my mind where I should spend my evening, when I was accosted by a police agent making some inquiry about my pa.s.sport.

"By the way," said I, "I never was in Austria before, but in France I have been accustomed to give a gensdarme a couple of francs to take my pa.s.sport to the bureau of the police to be _vise_."

"Herr Englander can pursue the same plan here," was the polite rejoinder. "I shall be happy to oblige him."

Glad to be relieved of the bother, I handed him the doc.u.ment. He briefly compared my person with the description, and then queried:

"And the boy?"

"He is sick and has retired; but if you desire it, you shall see him."

"No need--a boy is no great matter"; and the courteous official, with a bow that would have graced a D'Orsay, was gone.

To the Grand Opera House, the largest in the world, I bent my steps, and in an hour was revelling in Mme. Garcia's thrilling notes, when a hand was laid on my shoulder and a grim, moustached, soldier-like fellow whispered in my ear:

"Your pa.s.sport, Herr Englander."

"It is gone to the police bureau to be _vise_. I sent it from the Hotel d'Hollande by an officer."

For the moment he withdrew, and burning with shame, for every eye was upon me, I turned defiantly to the stage.

"Will the Herr ride or walk?" came again the voice in my ear.

"What do you mean?"

"The Herr must go immediately to the Hotel d'Hollande. That is all."

I expostulated, but a storm of hisses from those near enough to be interrupted in their enjoyment of the music decided me, and I angrily rose.

"I am at your service, sir."

We walked on without a word.

Never shall I forget the face of the fat little Dutch landlord as we entered--surprise, sympathy, fear alternately lighting his countenance as he poured forth a polyglot expression of his excited feelings. In French, English, Dutch, and German he a.s.sured us he was desolated, miserable, abandoned. Ah, but it was a good young Englander. It was true he had never seen the pa.s.sport; he knew he should have asked for it himself when his n.o.ble friend first came to the house; but, _bete brouillant_ that he was, he had forgotten it.

Then followed a conference between the landlord and the officer, resulting in my being called aside by the former and receiving the following valuable advice:

"My dear sir, you have made a most never-to-be-sufficiently deplored mistake. But see. Satisfy this zealous officer with a bottle of good Stein wine, and all will be well in the morning; only do not leave the house again to-night."