The First Violin Part 35

We had far to go--from one end of the great Schwanenspiegel to the other. Despite the rapid motion, numbness overcame me; my eyes closed, my head sunk upon my hands, which were clasped over his shoulder. A sob rose to my throat. In the midst of the torpor that was stealing over me, there shot every now and then a s.h.i.+ver of ecstasy so keen as to almost terrify me. But then even that died away. Everything seemed to whirl round me--the meadows and trees, the stiff rushes and the great black sheet of ice, and the white moon in the inky heavens became only a confused dream. Was it sleep or faintness, or coma? What was it that seemed to make my senses as dull as my limbs, and as heavy? I scarcely felt the movement, as he lifted me from the ice to the ground. His shout did not waken me, though he sent the full power of his voice ringing out toward the pile of buildings to our left.

With the last echo of his voice I lost consciousness entirely; all failed and faded, and then vanished before me, until I opened my eyes again feebly, and found myself in a great stony-looking room, before a big black stove, the door of which was thrown open. I was lying upon a sofa, and a woman was bending over me. At the foot of the sofa, leaning against the wall, was Courvoisier, looking down at me, his arms folded, his face pensive.

"Oh, dear!" cried I, starting up. "What is the matter? I must go home."

"You shall--when you can," said Courvoisier, smiling as he had smiled when I first knew him, before all these miserable misunderstandings had come between us.

My apprehensions were stilled. It did me good, warmed me, sent the tears trembling to my eyes, when I found that his voice had not resumed the old accent of ice, nor his eyes that cool, unrecognizing stare which had frozen me so many a time in the last few weeks.

"_Trinken sie 'mal, Fraulein_," said the woman, holding a gla.s.s to my lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked.

"Bah!" replied I, gratefully, and turning away. "_Nie, nie!_" she repeated. "You must drink just a _Schnappschen_, Fraulein."

I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it from her hand and held it to me.

"Don't be so foolish and childish. Think of your voice after this," said he, smiling kindly; and I, with an odd sensation, choked down my tears and drank it. It was bad--despite my desire to please, I found it very bad.

"Yes, I know," said he, with a sympathetic look, as I made a horrible face after drinking it, and he took the gla.s.s. "And now this woman will lend you some dry things. Shall I go straight to Elberthal and send a drosky here for you, or will you try to walk home?"

"Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best--if--do you think it would?"

"Do you feel equal to it? is the question," he answered, and I was surprised to see that though I was looking hard at him he did not look at me, but only into the gla.s.s he held.

"Yes," said I. "And they say that people who have been nearly drowned should always walk; it does them good."

"In that case then," said he, repressing a smile, "I should say it would be better for you to try. But pray make haste and get your wet things off, or you will come to serious harm."

"I will be as quick as ever I can."

"Now hurry," he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of the woman's children toward him. "Come, _mein Junge_, tell me how old you are?"

I followed the woman to an inner room, where she divested me of my dripping things, and attired me in a costume consisting of a short full brown petticoat, a blue woolen jacket, thick blue knitted stockings, and a pair of wide low shoes, which habiliments const.i.tuted the uniform of the orphan asylum of which she was matron, and belonged to her niece.

She expatiated upon the warmth of the dress, and did not produce any outer wrap or shawl, and I, only anxious to go, said nothing, but twisted up my loose hair, and went back into the large stony room before spoken of, from which a great noise had been proceeding for some time.

I stood in the door-way and saw Eugen surrounded by other children, in addition to the one he had first called to him. There were likewise two dogs, and they--the children, the dogs, and Herr Concertmeister Courvoisier most of all--were making as much noise as they possibly could. I paused for a moment to have the small gratification of watching the scene. One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, a dancing light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home among all the little flaxen heads.

Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to me? My heart went out to him in this kinder moment. Why was he so genial with those children and so harsh to me, who was little better than a child myself?

His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking child high in the air, and his own face laughed all over in mirth and enjoyment.

"Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is Franz--a jolly trio; aren't they?"

He put the child into his mother's arms, who regarded him with an eye of approval, and told him that it was not every one who knew how to ingratiate himself with her children, who were uncommonly spirited.

"Ready?" he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. "Don't you feel a stranger in these garments?"

"No! Why?"

"I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and embroideries, were more in your style."

"You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently."

"Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room," he suggested.

"A mirror! Why?"

"Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of course wish to wear that which becomes them."

"Very becoming!" I sneered, grandly.

"Very," he replied, emphatically. "It makes me wish to be an orphan."

"Ah, _mein Herr_," said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken German. "Don't jest about that. If you have parents--"

"No, I haven't," he interposed, hastily.

"Or children either?"

"I should not else have understood yours so well," he laughed. "Come, my--Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready."

After arranging with the woman that she should dry my things and return them, receiving her own in exchange, we left the house.

It was quite moonlight now; the last faint streak of twilight had disappeared. The way that we must traverse to reach the town stretched before us, long, straight, and flat.

"Where is your shawl?" he asked, suddenly.

"I left it; it was wet through."

Before I knew what he was doing, he had stripped off his heavy overcoat, and I felt its warmth and thickness about my shoulders.

"Oh, don't!" I cried, in great distress, as I strove to remove it again, and looked imploringly into his face.

"Don't do that. You will get cold; you will--"

"Get cold!" he laughed, as if much amused, as he drew the coat around me and fastened it, making no more ado of my resisting hands than if they had been bits of straw.

"So!" said he, pus.h.i.+ng one of my arms through the sleeve. "Now," as he still held it fastened together, and looked half laughingly at me, "do you intend to keep it on or not?"

"I suppose I must."

"I call that grat.i.tude. Take my arm--so. You are weak yet."

We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for the first time since the night I had heard "Lohengrin" I was happy and at rest. True, no forgiveness had been asked or extended; but he had ceased to behave as if I were not forgiven.

"Am I not going too fast?" he inquired.

"N--no."