The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

by P. Jones

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE "GIUSTIZIA DI DIO"

  Since his departure, Milenko had never received any letters from hisparents, for, in those times of sailing-ships, captains got news fromhome casually, by means of such fellow-countrymen as they chanced tomeet, rather than through the post. Lately they had happened to comeacross a Ragusian ship at Brindisi, but, as this ship had left Buduaonly a short time after Milenko himself had sailed, all theinformation the captain could give was rather stale. As for Vranic,nothing had been heard of him these many months.

  Peric (the youth sailing with Milenko) heard, however, that theforebodings he had had concerning his brother were but too wellfounded; the poor boy had been killed while taking care of hisfather's horse. Still, the man who told him the news did not know, orhad partly forgotten, all the details of the dreadful accident, forall he remembered was that the poor child had been brought home tohis mother a mangled, bleeding corpse.

  Milenko then seemed again to see the vision he had witnessed withinthe waters, and he could thus relate to the poor boy all theparticulars of the tragic event.

  Poor Peric cried bitterly, thinking of the poor boy he had been sofond of, and whom he would never see again; then, having somewhatrecovered from his grief:

  "It is very strange," said he, "that, on the very night on which yousaw my brother dragged by the horse, I heard a voice whispering in myear: 'Jurye is dead!' and then I fancied that the wind whistling inthe rigging repeated: 'Jurye is dead!' and that same phrase wasafterwards lisped by the rushing waters. Just then, to crown it all,I looked within the palm of my hand--why, I really do not know; butthat, as you are aware, brings about the death of the person we lovemost. At that same moment a cold shivering came over me, and I feltsure that my poor brother was dead. All this is very strange, is itnot?"

  "Not so very strange, either," replied Milenko; "the saints allow usto have an inkling of what is to happen, so that when misfortune doescome, we are not crushed by it."

  "Oh! we all knew that one of our family would die during the year;only, as I was going to sea, I thought that I might be the onewho----"

  "How did you know?" asked Milenko.

  "Because, when our grandmother died, her left eye remained open; and,although they tried to shut it, still, after a while, the lids partedagain, and that, you well know, is a sure sign that someone of thehouse would follow her during the year."

  The youth remained thoughtful for a little while, and then he added:

  "I wonder how my poor mother is, now that she has lost both hersons."

  "We shall soon have news from home, for, if the weather does notchange, to-morrow we shall be in Trieste, where letters are surelyawaiting us."

  "Do you ever have voices whispering in your ears?" asked Peric.

  "No, never; do you?"

  "Very often, especially when I keep very still and try to think ofnothing at all, just as if I were not my own self, but someone else."

  "Try and see if you can hear a voice now."

  The youth remained for some time perfectly still, looking as if hewere going off into a trance; when he came to himself again:

  "I did hear a voice," said he.

  "What did it say?"

  "That to-morrow you will meet the man you have been looking for."

  "Nothing else?"

  "Nothing."

  "Is it not imagination?"

  "Oh, no! besides, poets often hear the voice of the moon, who tellsthem all the stories they write in their books."

  "Do they?" quoth Milenko, smiling.

  "Yes; do you not know the story of 'The Snowdrop,' that Igo Kas heardwhilst he was seated by a newly-dug grave?"

  "No, I never heard it."

  "Then I'll read it to you, if you like."

  Milenko having nothing better to do, listened attentively to theyouth's tale.

  THE SNOWDROP.

  A Slav Story.

  The last feathery flakes of snow, fallen in the night, had not yetmelted away, when the first snowdrop, which had sprung up in thedark, glinted at the dawning sun. A drop of dew, glistening on theedge of its half-opened leaves, looked like a sparkling tear. Thatdainty little flower, as white as the surrounding snow, had sproutedup beside a newly-dug grave. As I stooped down to pick the littlesnowdrop, I saw the words inscribed on the white marble slab, andthen sorrow's heavy hand was laid upon my heart. The name was that ofthe Countess Anya Yarnova, a frail flower of early spring, asspotless as the little snowdrop.

  What had been the cause of her sudden death? Was it some secretsorrow? Was it her love for that handsome stranger whose flashingeyes revealed the hunger of his heart?

  At gloaming I was again beside the newly-opened grave. The sun hadset, the birds in the bushes were hushed; the breeze, that beforeseemed to be the mild breath of spring, began to blow in fitful, coldblasts.

  The round disc of the moon now rose beyond the verge of the horizon,and its mild, amber light fell upon the marble monument of theYarnova family, almost hidden under a mass of white roses, camelliasand daffodils, made up in huge wreaths.

  Mute and motionless, I sat for some time musing by the tomb; then atlast, looking up at

  "That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon,"

  I said:

  "Tell me, Moon, thou pale and grey Pilgrim of Heaven's homeless way,"

  didst thou know young Countess Yarnova, so full of life a few daysago, and now lying there in the cold bosom of the earth? Tell me whatbitter and unbearable grief broke that young heart; speak to me, andI shall listen to thy words as to the voice of my mother, when, inthe evening, she whispered weird tales to me while putting me tosleep.

  A loud moan seemed to arise from the tomb, and then I heard a voiceas silvery sweet as the music of the spheres, lisp softly in myear:--

  Passing by the Yarnova Castle three days ago, I peeped within itscasements, and, in a dimly-lighted hall, I saw Countess Yadviga, whohad just returned from Paris. She wore a black velvet dress, and herhead was muffled in a lace mantilla; although her features twitchedand she was sad and careworn, still she looked almost as young andeven handsomer than her fair daughter.

  Presently, as she sat in the dark room, the door was opened; a pagestepped in, drew aside the gilt morocco portiere emblazoned with theYarnova arms, and ushered in the handsome stranger, Aleksij Orsinski.

  The Baron looked round the dimly-lighted room for a while. At last heperceived the figure of the Countess as she sat in the shadow of thehuge fire-place; then he went up to her and bowed.

  "Thank you, Countess Yarnova, for snatching yourself away frombeautiful Paris and coming in this dismal place."

  The figure in the high-backed arm-chair bowed slightly, and withoututtering a single word, motioned the stranger to a seat at a shortdistance. The Baron sat down.

  "Thank you especially for at last giving your consent to my marriagewith the beautiful Anya."

  The Baron waited for a reply, but as none came, he went on:

  "Although her guardian hinted that Anya was somewhat too young forme, still I know she loves me; and as for myself, I swear thathenceforth the aim of my life will be that of making her happy."

  The Baron, though sixteen years older than his childlike bride, washimself barely thirty; he was, moreover, a most handsome man--tall,stalwart, with dark flashing eyes, a long flowing moustache, a massof black hair, and a remarkably youthful appearance. He waited againa little while for an answer, but the mother did not speak.

  The large and lofty hall in which they were, with its carved stallsjutting out of the wainscot, looked far more like a church than ahabitable room; the few fantastic oil lamps seemed like stars shiningin the darkness, while the mellow light of the moon, pouring in fromthe mullioned windows, fell on the Baron's manly figure, and left theCountess in the dark.

  As no answer came, the stranger, at a loss what to say, repeated hisown words:

  "Yes, all my days will be devoted to the happiness of our child."
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  "Our child?" said the Countess at last, with a slight tremor in hervoice.

  The Baron started like a man roused in the midst of a dream.

  "Your daughter I mean, Countess."

  Seized by a strange feeling of oppression, which he was unable tocontrol, the Baron, in his endeavour to overcome it, began to relateto the mother how he had met Anya by chance, how he had fallen inlove with her the very moment he had seen her, how from that day shehad engrossed all his thoughts, for, from their first meeting, herimage had haunted him day and night.

  "In fact," added he, "it was the first time I had loved, the veryfirst."

  "The first?" echoed the voice in the dark.

  The strong man trembled like an aspen leaf. Those two words comingfrom that dark, motionless figure, sitting at some distance, seemedto be a voice from the tomb, an echo from the past; that past whichnever buries its dead. To get over his increasing nervousness theBaron began to speak with greater volubility:

  "In my early youth, or rather in my childhood I should say," addedhe, "I did love once----"

  "Once?" repeated the voice.

  The Baron started again and stopped. Was it Anya's mother who spoke,or was there an echo in that room? Still, he went on:

  "Yes, once I loved, or, at least, thought myself in love."

  "Thought?" added the voice.

  That repetition was getting unbearable; anyhow, he tried not to heedit.

  "Well, Countess, it was only a childish fancy, a boy's infatuation;at sixteen, I was spoony on a girl two years younger than myself,just about the age my Anya is now. Fate parted us; I grieved a while;but, since I saw your daughter, I understood that I had never lovedbefore, no, never!"

  "Never before--no, never!" uttered the woman in the dark.

  The Baron almost started to his feet; that voice so silvery clear, somournfully sweet, actually seemed to come from the far-off regionsfrom where the dead do not return. After a short silence, onlyinterrupted by two sighs, he went on:

  "There were, of course, other loves between the first and the last--swift, evanescent shadows, leaving no traces behind them. And nowthat I have made a full confession of my sins, Countess, can I notsee my Anya?"

  "Your Anya?"

  This was carrying a joke rather too far.

  "Well, my fiancee?" said he, rather abruptly.

  "No, Aleksij Orsinski, not yet. You have spoken, and I have listenedto you; it is my turn to speak. I, too, have something to say aboutAnya's father."

  The Baron had always been considered as a brave man, but now eitherthe darkness oppressed him, or the past arose in front of himthreateningly, or else the strange and almost weird behaviour of hisfuture mother-in-law awed him; but, somehow or other, he had neverfelt so uncomfortable before. Not only a disagreeable feeling ofcreepiness had come over him, but even a slight perspiration hadgathered on his brow. He almost fancied that, instead of a woman, aghost was sitting there in front of him echoing his words. Who wasthat ghost? Perhaps, he would not--probably, he dared not recogniseit. He tried, however, to shake off his nervousness, and said, withforced lightness:

  "I have had the honour of knowing Count Yarnova personally; he wassomewhat eccentric, it is true; still, a more honourable mannever----"

  "He was simply mad," interrupted the Countess; "anyhow, it is not ofCount Yarnova, but of Anya'a father of whom I wish to speak." Then,after a slight pause, as if nerving herself to the painful task, thewoman in the dark added: "For you must know that not a drop of theCount's blood flows in my daughter's veins."

  There was another awkward pause; Aleksij's heart began to beat muchfaster, the perspiration was gathering on his brow in much biggerdrops.

  "Count Yarnova was not your daughter's father, you say?" He wouldhave liked to add: "Who was, then?" but he durst not.

  "No, Aleksij Orsinski, he was not."

  A feeling of sickness came over the Baron; he hardly knew whether hewas awake, or asleep and dreaming. Who was that woman in the dark?

  The Countess, after a while, resumed her story: "I was born in St.Petersburg, of a wealthy and honourable, but not of a noble family.I, too, was but a child when I fell in love, deeply in love, with aneighbour's son. Unlike yours, Baron, and I suppose all men's, awoman's first love is the only real one. I was then somewhat youngerthan my daughter now is, for I had barely reached my thirteenth year,and as for my lover, he was fifteen. We often met, unknown to ourparents, in our garden; I saw no harm in it--I was too young, tooguileless, not to trust him----"

  She stopped.

  "And he?" asked the Baron, as if called upon to say something.

  "He, like Romeo, whispered vows of love, of eternal fidelity. Hebelieved in his vows just then, as you did, Aleksij Orsinski; for Idaresay that with you, as with all men, the last love is the onlytrue one."

  "Then?" asked the Baron.

  "Once we stepped out of the garden together; a carriage was waitingfor us; we drove to a lonely chapel not far from our house; a priestthere blessed us and made us man and wife. Our marriage, however, wasto be kept a secret till we grew older, or, at least, till my husbandwas master of his actions, for he knew that his parents would neverconsent to our union."

  There was another pause; but now the Baron could not trust himself tospeak, his teeth were almost chattering as if with intense cold.

  "A time of sickness and sorrow reigned over our country; the peoplewere dying by hundreds and by thousands. The plague was raging in St.Petersburg. My husband's family were the first to flee from thecontagion. We remained. The scourge had just abated, when, to myhorror and dismay, I understood that I should in a few months becomea mother. I wrote to my husband, but I received no answer; still, Iknew he was alive and in good health. I wrote again, but with nobetter success. The day came when, at last, I had to disclose myterrible secret to my parents."

  The Countess stopped, passed her hands over her brow as if to driveaway the remembrance of those dreadful days.

  "It is useless to try and relate their anger and my shame. My parentswould not believe in my marriage; besides, the priest that hadmarried us, even the witnesses, had all been swept away by that weirdscavenger, the plague. I had no paper, no certificate, not even aring to show that I was married. Contumely was not enough; I was notonly treated by my parents with pitiless scorn, but I was, moreover,turned out of their house. When our own parents shut their doorsagainst us, is it a wonder if the world is ruthless?

  "What was I to do? where was I to go? With the few roubles I had Icould not travel very far or live very long. I wandered to the castlewhere my husband was living; I asked for him, but I was told that hewas ill."

  "But he was ill," said the Baron, "was he not?"

  "Perhaps his watery love had already flowed away, and he had givenorders not to receive me if I should present myself. For a moment Istood rooted on the doorstep, bewildered, not knowing what to do;then I asked to see his mother. This was only exposing myself to onehumiliation more. She came out in the hall; there she called mebitter names, and when I told her that I had not a bed whereon to liethat night, she replied that the Neva was always an available bed forgirls like me; then she ordered her servants to cast me out.

  "Houseless, homeless, almost penniless; my husband's mother wasright--the Neva was the only place where I could find rest. In itsfast-fleeting waters I might indeed find shelter.

  "With my thoughts all of suicide I directed myself towards the opencountry, hoping soon to reach the banks of the broad river, for I wasnot only tired out, but weak and faint for want of food. My legs atlast began to give way; weary, disheartened, I sank down by theroadside and began to sob aloud. All at once I heard a creaking noiseof wheels, the tramp of horses, and merry human voices singing inchorus. As I lifted up my head I saw two carts passing, wherein aband of gipsies were all huddled together. Seeing my grief andhearing my sobs, the driver stopped; a number of boys and young men,girls and women jumped, crawled or scrambled down from the carts, ascrabs do out of a basket; then t
hey all crowded around me to find outwhat had befallen me. I would not answer their questions, nor could Ihave done so even if I had wanted. I was almost too faint to speak.An elderly woman, the chief's wife, pushed all the others aside, cameup to me, took my hand and examined it carefully; then she began tospeak in a language I did not understand.

  "'Poor child!' said she at last, patting my hair and kissing me on myeyes; 'you are indeed in trouble; still, bright days are in store foryou; take courage, cheer up, live, for you will soon be a grand lady,and then you will trample over all your enemies--yes, over every oneof them. You have no home,' said she, as if answering my ownthoughts; 'What does it matter? Have we a home? Have the little birdsthat nestle in the leafy boughs a home? No, all the world is theirhome. Come with us. You have no family; well, you will be our child.'

  "Saying this she gave an order to the men around her, and almostbefore I was aware of it, half-a-dozen brawny arms lifted me tenderlyand placed me on a heap of clothes in one of the carts. Soon myprotectress was by my side whispering words of endearment in my ear;and as for myself, weak and starving, forlorn and dejected as I was,I cared very little what became of me.

  "The gipsy woman, who was versed in medicine, poured me out some kindof cordial or sleeping draught and made me drink it; a few minutesafterwards a pleasant drowsiness came over me, then I fell fastasleep. I only awoke some hours later, and I found myself lying on amattress in a tent. I remained for some time bewildered, unable tounderstand where and with whom I was; still, when I came to my sensesthe keen edge of my grief was blunted. The gipsy woman, myprotectress, kissed me in a fond, mother-like way; then she broughtme a plate of food.

  "'Eat,' said she, 'grief has a much greater hold on an empty stomachthan on a satiated one.'

  "I was young and hungry; the smell of the food was good; I did notwait to be asked twice. I never remembered to have tasted anything sodelicious. It was not soup, but a kind of savoury stew, containingvegetables and meat--an _olla-podrida_ of ham, beef and poultry.After that, they offered me some fragrant drink, which soon made mefeel drowsy, and then sent me off to sleep again. I woke early thenext morning, when they were about to start on their dailywanderings. With my head still muddled with sleep, I was helped intothe cart, and sat down between my new friend and her husband.

  "That life in the open air, the kindness and good-humour of thepeople amongst whom I lived, soothed and quieted me. All ideas ofsuicide vanished entirely from my mind. Self-murder is an unknownthing amongst gipsies. Besides, my friend assured me, again andagain, that I should soon become a very great lady, and then all myenemies would be at my mercy.

  "'But how shall I ever repay you for your kindness?' I asked.

  "'The day will come when the hand of persecution will be upliftedagainst us; then you alone will protect us.'

  "In the meanwhile I was treated like a queen by all of them.Moreover, they were a wealthy band, possessing not only horses, cartsand tents, but also money. They might have lived comfortably in sometown, or settled as farmers somewhere; but their life was by far toopleasant to give it up. Heedless, jovial, contented people, theironly care seemed to be where they were to have their next meal.

  "A few months afterwards, my daughter was born in a tent, not farfrom Warsaw."

  "She must have been a great comfort to you," quoth the Baron,thinking he ought to say something appropriate.

  "A comfort? The unwished-for child of a man that had blighted mylife, a comfort? No, indeed, Baron. In fact, I saw very little ofthis daughter of mine; a young gipsy nursed her and took care of her.My own parents had taught me what love was. My husband's mother--agrand lady--thought that the Neva was the best cradle for her unborngrandchild. Besides, other work was waiting for me than nursing andrearing Anya.

  "Count Yarnova one day met our band of gipsies on the road, and hestretched his ungloved hand to have his fate read and explained. Myfriend--no ordinary fortune-teller--was well versed in palmistry, anda most lucid thought-reader; she told him that before the year wasout he would be a married man.

  "'In a few days,' added she, 'on Christmas Eve, you will see youryoung bride in your own mirror; you will see her again after a fewdays, and she will tend upon you and cure you from a fever when thedoctor's help will be worse than useless. As soon as you get well youwill start on a journey; then you will stop for some days in twolarge towns, both of which begin with the same letter; there you willsee again that beautiful child you saw on Christmas Eve.'

  "'But when and where shall I meet her, not as a vision, but as a realperson?'

  "The Baron wore on the forefinger of his right hand a kind of magicring, in which a little crystal ball was set. The gipsy lifted theBaron's hand to her eyes and looked at the crystal ball for a fewseconds.

  "'It is spring,' said she; 'the trees are in bloom, and Nature wearsher festive garb. In a splendid saloon, where all the furniture is ofgold and the walls are covered with rich silks, I see a handsomeyoung girl dressed in spotless white, holding a guitar and singing;behind her there is a mass of flowers; around her gentlemen andladies are listening to the sound of her sweet voice.'

  "Count Yarnova was a Swedenborgian, and he not only believed in theoccult art, but had dabbled himself in magic, until his rather weakmind was somewhat unhinged. He, of course, did not doubt the truth ofwhat the gipsy had foretold him; moreover, he was right, becauseeverything happened exactly as she had predicted.

  "On Christmas Eve the Count was alone in his room sitting at a littletable reading, and glancing every now and then, first at a clock,afterwards at a huge cheval-glass opposite the alcove. All theservants of the house, except his valet--a young gipsy of our band--had gone to Mass, according to the custom of the place. At half-pasteleven my friends accompanied me to the Count's palace; the valetopened the door noiselessly and led me unseen, unheard, in thealcove. I was dressed in white and shrouded in a mass of silveryveils. On the stroke of twelve I appeared between the two drapedcolumns which formed the opening of the alcove; the light hanging inthe middle of the room was streaming on me, and my image, reflectedin the glass, looked, in fact, like a vision. The Count, seeing it,heaved a deep breath, started to his feet, drew back, stood still foran instant, uttered an exclamation of surprise, then made a steptowards the looking-glass. At that moment the valet opened the dooras if in answer to his master's summons. The Count looked round,thus giving me time to slip away; when he glanced again at the mirrorI had disappeared. Then the thought came to him that the image he hadseen within the glass was only the reflection of some one standing inthe alcove; he ordered the valet to look within the inner part of theroom, and when the servant man assured him that there was nobody, heventured to look in it himself. The valet swore that nobody had comein the house, and by the time the servants returned from midnightMass I was already far away.

  "The Count had not been well for some days, and the shock he receivedupset his nerves in such a way that he took to his bed with a kind ofbrain fever. I attended him during his illness whilst he wasdelirious, and when he recovered he had a slight remembrance of me,just as of a vision we happen to see in a dream. He asked if a younggirl had not tended him during his illness; his valet and the otherservants told him that a mysterious stranger had come to take care ofhim, and that she had soothed him much more by placing her hand uponhis brow, than all the doctor's stuff had done; still, no one hadever seen her before, or knew where she had come from.

  "As soon as the Count was strong enough to travel, he decided to goand visit some of the large towns of Europe, thus hoping to find me.

  "The vigilant eye of the police had long suspected Yarnova of beingan agitator; some letters addressed to him, and some of his ownwritings on occult lore, had been strangely misinterpreted, and fromthat time a constant watch had been held over him. No sooner had hestarted than information was sent to the police that he wasconspiring against the Government, and thus I managed to be sentafter him and watch over him. Money, passports, and letters ofintroduction to the ambassad
ors were handed to me.

  "Vienna was one of the towns where he stopped for a few days. Afollower of Cagliostro's was at that time showing there the phantomsof the living, and those of the dead--not for money, of course, butfor any slight donation the visitors were pleased to give. The gipsy,who accompanied Yarnova as valet, came to inform me that the Countintended to go to this spiritualistic seance. The medium was alsoacquainted of the fact, and for a slight consideration I was allowedto appear before the public as my own materialised spirit. How mostof the ghosts were shown to the public, I cannot tell; I only knowthat I appeared on a dimly-lighted stage, behind a thick gauzecurtain, wrapped up in a cloud of tulle, whilst harps and viols wereplaying some weird funereal dirges. The people--huddled all togetherin a dark corner--saw, I fancy, nothing but vague, dim forms passingor floating by; but they were so anxious to be deceived that theywould have taken the wizard at his word, even if he had shown them anape and told them it was their grandmother.

  "When Yarnova saw me, he got so excited that it was with the greatestdifficulty that he could be kept quiet.

  "On the morrow the Count started for Venice, this being the nearesttown the name of which began with the same letter as Vienna. We gotthere on the last days of the Carnival; an excellent time for thepurpose I had in hand, as the whole town seemed to have gone starkmad. The Piazza San Marco was like a vast pandemonium, where dominoesof every hue glided about, and masks of every kind walked, ran andcapered, or pushed their way through the dense crowd, chattering,laughing, shouting. Bands of music were playing in front of severalcoffee-houses, people were blowing horns; in fact, the uproar wasdeafening. Dressed up as a Russian gipsy, and masked, I met the Counton the square, and I told him all that had happened to him from theday he had met the gipsies on the road. I only managed to escape fromhim when he was stopped by a wizard--his own valet--who told him hewould see again that evening, at the masked ball of the Venicetheatre, the beautiful girl whose vision he had seen in his owncastle on Christmas Eve.

  "The Count, of course, went to the masked ball, followed by his valetand myself, both in dominoes. Seeing a box empty, I went in it,remained rather in the background, took off my hood and appeared inthe white veils, as he had already seen me twice. As soon as Iappeared, the valet, who was standing behind his master, laid hishand on the Count's shoulder and whispered to him: 'Yarnova, look atthat lady in that box on the second tier--the third from the stage.'The Count saw me, uttered an exclamation of surprise, turned round tofind out who had spoken to him; but the black domino had slipped awayamongst the crowd. I remained in the same position for a few moments,then I put on my domino and mask and left the box. I met the Countcoming up, but, in the crowd, he, of course, did not notice me.

  "A few days afterwards, we left Venice; even before the Carnival wasquite over."

  "I suppose you were sorry to leave that beautiful town of pleasure?"said the Baron.

  "Very sorry indeed; still, there was something to me sweeter thanpleasure, young as I was."

  "What was it, Countess?"

  "Revenge, so sweet to all Slavs."

  "And you revenged yourself?"

  "I have bided my time, Baron; every knot comes to the comb, theysay."

  "Did they all come?"

  "Sooner or later, all, to the very last; some of my enemies evenrotted in the mines of Siberia----"

  The Baron shivered, thinking of his father.

  "Others----" The Countess, for a moment, seemed to be thinking of thepast.

  "Well?"

  "But it is my own story I am telling you, not theirs. Count Yarnovaand I reached Paris almost at the same time. On my arrival, Ipresented myself at the Russian Embassy. As the Ambassadress happenedto be looking for a companion or reader, the place was offered to me;I accepted it most willingly. A few days afterwards, I was informedby the gipsy, that the Count was to call on the Ambassadress the nextday. I remembered the prediction; I did my best to bring it about.The room was exactly like the one described by my friend the gipsy;the furniture was gilt, the walls were covered over with old damask;as the Ambassadress was fond of flowers, the room looked like ahot-house. I had put on the same white dress in which he had alreadyseen me three times, and knowing the very moment the Count wouldcome, I spoke of Russian peasant songs; I mentioned the one I was tosing, and being requested to sing it, I did so. Before I ended it,the door was opened and Count Yarnova was announced.

  "I do not know whether his could be called love at first sight, butsurely everybody in the room thought that his sudden passion for mehad almost deprived him of his reason.

  "The Count called on the morrow, and asked if I could receive him; Idid so, and he at once confessed his love for me. He told me thatalthough he was old enough to be my father, still, he felt sure Ishould in time be fond of him, for marriages being made in heaven, Iwas ordained to be his wife.

  "I tried to explain the plight in which I found myself, but heinterrupted me at once, telling me that he knew everything.

  "'I am aware that you have been forsaken by a cruel-hearted man,'said he, 'but henceforth I shall be everything to you.'

  "I summoned my courage, I spoke to him of my child.

  "'The child that was born on Christmas night?'

  "'Yes,' I answered below my breath.

  "'It is my own spiritual child,' said he.

  "I looked at him astonished.

  "'I know all about it,' he continued. 'On that night I saw you in avision, just as it had been predicted to me; I saw you just as I seeyou now. That very night I had, moreover, a vision. I was married toyou, and---- but never mind about that dream. I have seen you afterthat--first in this magic ring; then I saw you materialised atVienna, and again in Venice. Of course, it was not you, but yourdouble, for you were at that time here in Paris, quite unconscious,quietly asleep, having, perhaps, a dream of what your other self wasseeing.'

  "Then he began to speak of materialisation, of the influence ofplanets, in fact, of many chaotic and uninteresting things to whichI, apparently at least, listened with the greatest attention. I waswell repaid for my trouble, for a few weeks afterwards we weremarried."

  "And your former husband?"

  "Was dead to me."

  "Did not the Government give you any trouble?"

  "The Russian Government knew that Countess Yarnova could be of greathelp."

  "And was she?"

  "Even more than had been expected."

  The Countess paused a moment. "It happened that my enemies, AleksijOrsinski, were also those of my country, so I crushed them."

  The Baron trembled perceptibly.

  "But that is their own tale, not mine. We came back to Russia, myhusband worshipping me as a superhuman creature."

  "And you loved him?"

  "I loved but once."

  "Then you still loved the man who----"

  "Love either flows away like water, or it rankles in a festeringheart and changes into gall. At St. Petersburg I saw again myparents. Their curse had fallen on their own heads; fortune's wheelhad turned--their wealth was all gone--they were paupers. Howdespicable people are who, having once been rich, cannot getreconciled to the idea of being poor! How mean all their littlemakeshifts are! how cringing they get to be! You can even make themswallow any amount of dirt for a dinner you give them. They are allloathsome parasites. I might have ignored my parents--left them totheir fate, or else helped them anonymously. I went to see them; itwas so pleasant to heap burning coals on their heads. I doled out apittance to them, received their thanks, allowed them to kiss myhands, knowing how they cursed me within their hearts. Gratitude isthe bitterest of all virtues; it sours the very milk of humankindness."

  The Countess laughed a harsh, bitter, shrill laugh, and her guestwiped the perspiration from his forehead.

  "I shall tell you all about them some other time, in the long winterevenings when the wind howls outside and the country is all coveredwith its pall of snow. It will be pleasant to sit by the fire andtell you all these old
family stories, Aleksij Orsinski."

  And the dark figure buried in the big arm-chair laughed again in amocking, discordant way.

  "After some years the Count died, and then I was left sole mistressof all his wealth."

  "And Anya?"

  "Why, I hardly ever saw her. She was brought up here, in this drearyold castle, like a sleeping beauty; you, like Prince Charming, cameto waken her up. You found her here by chance, did you not?"

  "Yes, Countess; I happened----"

  "Count Yarnova, likewise, found me by chance," said the woman in thedark, jeeringly, and interrupting him.

  "What do you mean?" asked the Baron, breathing hard.

  "I mean that the last knot has come to the comb." Aleksij Orsinskicovered his face with his hands.

  "Perhaps, after all," he thought, "this is nothing but a hideousdream."

  "Do you not find, Baron, that Anya, _your_ Anya as you call her,reminds you of another girl, the girl you----"

  "Countess, for mercy's sake, I can bear this no longer; who are you?"

  The Baron, trembling, panting, sprang to his feet and went up to theCountess. She thereupon threw off her mantilla, and appeared in thebright light of the full moon, which was streaming through themullioned windows.

  The Baron stretched out his arms.

  "Jadviga!" he said, in a low, muffled tone; then he again covered hisface with his hands.

  "And now, Aleksij Orsinski, now that my story is at an end," said theCountess, in a jeering tone; "now that, at last, you have wakenedfrom your day-dream, whom am I to call--Anya your fiancee, or Anyayour own daughter?"

  A low moan was the only answer.

  "Speak, man, speak!" said the Countess, sneeringly.

  Another moan was heard; not from the Baron, but from behind one ofthe thick Arras portieres. Then it moved, and Anya appeared withinthe room. She advanced a few steps, stretched out her arms, just asif she were walking in the dark; then, at last, she sank senselesson the floor. The father ran to her, caught her up in his arms,pressed her to his heart, tried to bring her back from herfainting-fit, called her by the most endearing names; but, alas! shewas already beyond hearing him.

  "You have killed your daughter!" cried Aleksij, beside himself withgrief.

  "I?" said the Countess.

  "Yes, and you have blasted my life!"

  "Have you not blasted mine?" replied the Countess, laughing, and yetlooking as scared as a ghost.

  The Baron was moaning over his daughter's lifeless body.

  "You are happy, my Anya; but what is to become of me?"

  "Aleksij, rest can always be found within the waters of the Neva; itsbed is as soft as down, whilst the breeze blowing in the sedges singssuch a soft lullaby."

  Orsinski looked up at his wife.

  "I think you are right, Jadviga," said he.

  "Oh! I know I am," replied the Countess, bursting into a loud,croaking, jarring fit of hysterical laughter. The Baron shuddered,but the Countess laughed louder and ever louder, until the lofty roomresounded with that horrible, untimely merriment.

  And now, if you pass by the dreary and deserted old Yarnova Castle,you will, perhaps, hear in the dead of the night those dreadful,discordant peals of laughter, whilst the belated peasant who passesby crosses himself devoutly on hearing that sound of fiendish mirth.

  The southerly wind which had accompanied the _Giustizia di Dio_ toCape Salvore suddenly shifted, and a smacking northeasterly breezebegan to blow. The whole of that night was a most stormy one; still,the ship bravely weathered the gale. At dawn the wind began to abate,still the sea was very heavy.

  At about eight o'clock they perceived a ship, not only in distress,but sinking fast. Milenko at once gave orders to reef the topsailsand tack about, so as to be able to approach the wreck, for the seawas by far too heavy to allow them to use their boats.

  When they managed to get near enough to hear the shouts of thestarving crew, they found out that the sinking ship was the _AveMaria_, an Austrian barque. After much manoeuvring they got as closeto the stern of the sinking ship as they possibly could. Ropes werethen thrown across, so that the sailors might catch and tie themaround their bodies and jump into the sea. The weakest were firsthelped to leap overboard, and then they were hauled into the_Giustizia di Dio_, where they received all the help their staterequired.

  Five men were thus saved, and then the two ships were driven apart bythe gale. A scene of despair at once ensued on board the _Ave Maria_,which was sinking lower and lower. By dint of tacking about, the_Giustizia di Dio_ was once more brought by the side of the wreck,and then the captain and boatswain were saved; one of the men, whowas drunk, when about to be tied, reeled back to the wine, which,apparently, was sweeter to him than life itself.

  Milenko, who had remained at the helm, now came to the prow. It wasjust then that Vranic caught the rope that had been flung to him, andtied it round his waist. He stood on the stern and was about to leapinto the foaming waves below. Milenko, who perceived him, uttered aloud cry, almost a raucous cry of joy, just as mews do as they pounceupon their prey.

  "Vranic at last!" said he.

  Vranic heard himself called; but, when he recognised his foe, it wastoo late to keep back--he had already sprung into the sea.

  Milenko had snatched the rope from the hands of the sailor who hadthrown it. His first impulse was to cut the rope and leave hisfriend's murderer to the mercy of the waves.

  Vranic, who had disappeared for an instant within the abyss of thewaters, was seen again, struggling in the midst of the whirling foam.He looked up, and saw one of the _pobratim_ holding the rope. Milenkoremained for a moment undecided as to what he was to do.

  "Let me help you to pull up," said the boatswain.

  The young captain almost mechanically heaved up the rope, and wasastonished to find it so light. The rope came home; evidently it hadgot undone, for Vranic was presently seen battling against the hugebillows, trying to regain the sinking ship.

  "What has happened?"

  "Did the rope get loose?"

  "Why did he not hold on?"

  "Why does he not try to catch it?"

  "Look, he is swimming back towards the wreck."

  "He must have cut the rope."

  These were the many exclamations of the astonished sailors.

  "Thank Heaven, he is guilty of his own blood," replied Milenko, "forthis is, after all, the justice of God."

  In fact, as soon as Vranic saw that it was Milenko himself who washolding the rope that was tied round his waist, he pulled out theblack dagger that he always carried about him, and freed himself;then he turned round and began to swim back towards the _Ave Maria_.At the same time, a big wave came rolling over him; it uplifted anddashed him against the sharp icicles hanging from the wrecked ship,and which looked so many _chevaux de frise_. He tried to catch hold,to cling to the frozen ropes, but they slipped from his grasp, andthe retreating surges carried him off and he disappeared for ever.

  The two vessels were parted once more, and Milenko, perceiving thatit was useless to remain there any longer and try and save the threedrunken sailors who had remained on board, thought it far moreadvisable to proceed on to Trieste and send them help from there.

  When the _Giustizia di Dio_ reached Trieste, the storm had abated,the wind had gone down, and the sea was almost calm. Help was at oncesent to the shipwrecked vessel, but, alas! all that could be seen ofthe _Ave Maria_ was the utmost tops of her masts.