CHAPTER XXV
The little Georgiev was in trouble those days. The Balkan engine wasthreatening to explode, but continued to gather steam, with Bulgariasitting on the safety-valve. Austria was mobilizing troops, and therewere long conferences in the Burg between the Emperor and variousbearded gentlemen, while the military prayed in the churches for war.
The little Georgiev hardly ate or slept. Much hammering went on all dayin the small room below Harmony's on the Wollbadgasse. At night,when the man in the green velours hat took a little sleep, mysteriouspackages were carried down the whitewashed staircase and loaded intowagons waiting below. Once on her window-sill Harmony found among thepigeons a carrier pigeon with a brass tube fastened to its leg.
On the morning after Harmony's flight from the garden in the Streetof Seven Stars, she received a visit from Georgiev. She had put ina sleepless night, full of heart-searching. She charged herself withcowardice in running away from Peter and Jimmy when they needed her, andin going back like a thief the night before. The conviction that the boywas not so well brought with it additional introspection--her sacrificeseemed useless, almost childish. She had fled because two men thoughtit necessary, in order to save her reputation, to marry her; and shedid not wish to marry. Marriage was fatal to the career she had promisedherself, had been promised. But this career, for which she had given upeverything else--would she find it in the workroom of a dressmaker?
Ah, but there was more to it than that. Suppose--how her cheeks burnedwhen she thought of it!--suppose she had taken Peter at his word andmarried him? What about Peter's career? Was there any way by whichPeter's poverty for one would be comfort for two? Was there anyreason why Peter, with his splendid ability, should settle down to thehack-work of general practice, the very slough out of which he had sopainfully climbed?
Either of two things--go back to Peter, but not to marry him, or staywhere she was. How she longed to go back only Harmony knew. There inthe little room, with only the pigeons to see, she held out her armslongingly. "Peter!" she said. "Peter, dear!"
She decided, of course, to stay where she was, a burden to no one.The instinct of the young girl to preserve her good name at any costoutweighed the vision of Peter at the window, haggard and tired, lookingout. It was Harmony's chance, perhaps, to do a big thing; to proveherself bigger than her fears, stronger than convention. But she wasyoung, bewildered, afraid. And there was this element, stronger thanany of the others--Peter had never told her he loved her. To go back,throwing herself again on his mercy, was unthinkable. On his love--thatwas different. But what if he did not love her? He had been good to her;but then Peter was good to every one.
There was something else. If the boy was worse what about his mother?Whatever she was or had been, she was his mother. Suppose he were to dieand his mother not see him? Harmony's sense of fairness rebelled. In thesmall community at home mother was sacred, her claims insistent.
It was very early, hardly more than dawn. The pigeons cooed on the sill;over the ridge of the church roof, across, a luminous strip foretold thesun. An oxcart, laden with vegetables for the market, lumbered along thestreets. Puzzled and unhappy, Harmony rose and lighted her fire, drew onher slippers and the faded silk kimono with the pink butterflies.
In the next room the dressmaker still slept, dreaming early morningdreams of lazy apprentices, overdue bills, complaining customers.
Harmony moved lightly not to disturb her. She set her room in order, fedthe pigeons,--it was then she saw the carrier with its message,--madeher morning coffee by setting the tiny pot inside the stove. And all thetime, moving quietly through her morning routine, she was there in thatupper room in body only.
In soul she was again in the courtyard back of the old lodge, in theStreet of Seven Stars, with the rabbits stirring in the hutch, andPeter, with rapt eyes, gazing out over the city. Bed, toilet-table,coffee-pot, Peter; pigeons, rolls, Peter; sunrise over the church roof,and Peter again. Always Peter!
Monia Reiff was stirring in the next room. Harmony could hear her,muttering and putting coal on the stove and calling to the Hungarianmaid for breakfast. Harmony dressed hastily. It was one of her newduties to prepare the workroom for the day. The luminous streak abovethe church was rose now, time for the day to begin.
She was not certain at once that some one had knocked at the door, sofaint was the sound.
She hesitated, listened. The knob turned slightly. Harmony, expectingMonia, called "Come in."
It was the little Georgiev, very apologetic, rather gray of face. Hestood in the doorway with his finger on his lips, one ear toward thestairway. It was very silent. Monia was drinking her coffee in bed,whither she had retired for warmth.
"Pardon!" said the Bulgarian in a whisper. "I listened until I heard youmoving about. Ah, Fraulein, that I must disturb you!"
"Something has happened!" exclaimed Harmony, thinking of Peter, ofcourse.
"Not yet. I fear it is about to happen. Fraulein, do me the honor toopen your window. My pigeon comes now to you to be fed, and I fear--onthe sill, Fraulein."
Harmony opened the window. The wild pigeons scattered at once, but thecarrier, flying out a foot or two, came back promptly and set about itsbreakfast.
"Will he let me catch him?"
"Pardon, Fraulein, If I may enter--"
"Come in, of course."
Evidently the defection of the carrier had been serious. A handful ofgrain on a wrong window-sill, and kingdoms overthrown! Georgiev caughtthe pigeon and drew the message from the tube. Even Harmony grasped theseriousness of the situation. The little Bulgarian's face, from graybecame livid; tiny beads of cold sweat came out on his forehead.
"What have I done?" cried Harmony. "Oh, what have I done? If I had knownabout the pigeon--"
Georgiev recovered himself.
"The Fraulein can do nothing wrong," he said. "It is a matter of anhour's delay, that is all. It may not be too late."
Monia Reiff, from the next room, called loudly for more coffee. Thesulky Hungarian brought it without a glance in their direction.
"Too late for what?"
"Fraulein, if I may trouble you--but glance from the window to thestreet below. It is of an urgency, or I--Please, Fraulein!"
Harmony glanced down into the half-light of the street. Georgiev, behindher, watched her, breathless, expectant. Harmony drew in her head.
"Only a man in a green hat," she said. "And down the street a group ofsoldiers."
"Ah!"
The situation dawned on the girl then, at least partially.
"They are coming for you?"
"It is possible. But there are many soldiers in Vienna."
"And I with the pigeon--Oh, it's too horrible! Herr Georgiev, stay herein this room. Lock the door. Monia will say that it is mine--"
"Ah no, Fraulein! It is quite hopeless. Nor is it a matter of thepigeon. It is war, Fraulein. Do not distress yourself. It is but amatter of--imprisonment."
"There must be something I can do," desperately. "I hear them below. Isthere no way to the roof, no escape?"
"None, Fraulein. It was an oversight. War is not my game; I am a man ofpeace. You have been very kind to me, Fraulein. I thank you."
"You are not going down!"
"Pardon, but it is better so. Soldiers they are of the provinces mostly,and not for a lady to confront."
"They are coming up!"
He listened. The clank of scabbards against the stone stairs wasunmistakable. The little Georgiev straightened, threw out his chest,turned to descend, faltered, came back a step or two.
His small black eyes were fixed on Harmony's face.
"Fraulein," he said huskily, "you are very lovely. I carry always in myheart your image. Always so long as I live. Adieu."
He drew his heels together, gave a stiff little bow and was gone downthe staircase. Harmony was frightened, stricken. She collapsed in a heapon the floor of her room, her fingers in her ears. But she need not havefeared. The little Georgiev made no protest,
submitted to the inevitablelike a gentleman and a soldier, went out of her life, indeed, asunobtrusively as he had entered it.
The carrier pigeon preened itself comfortably on the edge of thewashstand. Harmony ceased her hysterical crying at last and ponderedwhat was best to do. Monia was still breakfasting so incredibly briefare great moments. After a little thought Harmony wrote a tiny message,English, German, and French, and inclosed it in the brass tube.
"The Herr Georgiev has been arrested," she wrote. An hour later thecarrier rose lazily from the window-sill, flapped its way overthe church roof and disappeared, like Georgiev, out of her life.Grim-visaged war had touched her and passed on.
The incident was not entirely closed, however. A search of the buildingfollowed the capture of the little spy. Protesting tenants were turnedout, beds were dismantled, closets searched, walls sounded for hiddenhollows. In one room on Harmony's floor was found stored a quantity ofammunition.
It was when the three men who had conducted the search had finished,when the boxes of ammunition had been gathered in the hall, and thechattering sewing-girls had gone back to work, that Harmony, on her wayto her dismantled room, passed through the upper passage.
She glanced down the staircase where little Georgiev had so manfullydescended.
"I carry always in my heart your image. Always so long as I live."
The clatter of soldiers on their way down to the street came to herears; the soft cooing of the pigeons, the whirr of sewing-machines fromthe workroom. The incident was closed, except for the heap of ammunitionboxes on the landing, guarded by an impassive soldier.
Harmony glanced at him. He was eying her steadily, thumbs in, heels in,toes out, chest out. Harmony put her hand to her heart.
"You!" she said.
The conversation of a sentry, save on a holiday is, "Yea, yea," and"Nay, nay."
"Yes, Fraulein."
Harmony put her hands together, a little gesture of appeal, infinitelytouching.
"You will not say that you have found, have seen me?"
"No, Fraulein."
It was in Harmony's mind to ask all her hungry heart craved to learn--ofPeter, of Jimmy, of the Portier, of anything that belonged to the oldlife in the Siebensternstrasse. But there was no time. The sentry'simpassive face became rigid; he looked through her, not at her. Harmonyturned.
The man in the green hat was coming up the staircase. There was nofurther chance to question. The sentry was set to carrying the boxesdown the staircase.
Full morning now, with the winter sun shining on the beggars in themarket, on the crowds in the parks, on the flower sellers in theStephansplatz; shining on Harmony's golden head as she bent over a bitof chiffon, on the old milkwoman carrying up the whitewashed staircaseher heavy cans of milk; on the carrier pigeon winging its way to thesouth; beating in through bars to the exalted face of Herr Georgiev;resting on Peter's drooping shoulders, on the neglected mice and thewooden soldier, on the closed eyes of a sick child--the worshiped sun,peering forth--the golden window of the East.
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