That day had never come, but the poor lady had suffered more and more.
Monsieur had nearly lost his senses when he heard of Marie's escape, and had sworn a fearful oath that he would not rest an hour till he had rescued Marie from her miserable seducer and personally avenged himself on the man. Monsieur was the man to keep his word. The little weakly body harbored an energetic soul. This became evident now, when a ruthless hand had cruelly destroyed the happiness of his life. For Mrs.
Black could now no longer doubt that the strange man had loved the lost one with all that intense passionateness which is so often found in such reserved, eccentric characters. He carried on his search with restless activity. Success crowned his efforts. He found traces. Where they led him? He said nothing about it, but observed the strictest silence upon the whole affair, even to his friend, Mrs. Black. He packed his trunks as if for a long journey, tore himself from her, promising to send her news in a week--and now twenty-five years had passed, and Mrs. Black was still waiting for a fulfilment of that promise....
The old lady had so completely abandoned herself to her own recollections that she had forgotten her first intention to inquire after Oswald's troubles. She was only reminded of this when she noticed how pale the young stranger's face had become during her recital.
"But you are really worse than I thought, dear sir," she said. "Your hand is burning hot, and--pardon an old lady--your forehead also is hot. Let me send for my physician!"
"I beg you will not do it," said Oswald, making a violent effort. "I must tell you: I have not slept a moment all last night, probably from over-fatigue during my long journey."
"Then you ought at least to lie down for a few hours," begged the old lady. "I know very well young people cannot do without sleep like us old people."
"I mean to do it," replied Oswald, as Mrs. Black rose. "You'll see a few hours' sleep will set it all right again."
"God grant it!" said the old lady, cordially pressing Oswald's hand once more. "Pray, pray, no ceremony! I will inquire again a few hours hence."
What had he been told just now? At the very first words of the old lady he had no longer doubted that this was the continuation of the story which mother Claus had told him in Grenwitz that evening when he and Timm had sought shelter in her hut. All the details agreed. Just as the old lady had described the strange gentleman, the portrait of Baron Harald looked now, put of its broad gold frame; and had not the beautiful poor girl, whom he had so sadly ill-treated, borne the name of Marie d'Estein, like the adopted daughter of Monsieur d'Estein?
But that was not the reason why his blood froze in his veins and his limbs shook as in violent fever. It was another terrible fear, which rose with demoniac power from the lowest depths of his soul. Was it the work of fever spirits--was it incipient insanity--which changed in his inflamed imagination Monsieur d'Estein, the eccentric teacher of languages, into his father, the strange old man? and the beautiful daughter of the French colonel into the lovely young woman with the sweet eyes, around whose knees he once used to play during bright summer mornings in the cosy garden behind the town wall, while the white butterflies were fluttering about the blue larkspur?
And mad thoughts chased each other once more in wild haste. Old, long forgotten thoughts awoke and answered clearly from long ago; strange doubts, that had troubled him as a boy and as a youth, came again, and said: There is the solution! So much that he had never been able to explain in his life became of a sudden quite clear to him. It had not been pure fancy, then, which made Mother Claus see in his face continually the features of Baron Oscar, "who fell with Wodan;" nor mere humor, when Timm declared, "You have the very face of the Grenwitz barons!"
Oswald darted up and went to the mirror. A deadly pale face with strange, wild eyes stared at him there. "See there! The evil spirit not laid yet! It has not had victims enough yet! Must there be many more sacrifices? Can a vampire die of his own venomous glance? A bullet? Eh!
a bullet, nicely driven in at the temples--that might make an end to the gruesome story! But what will bring death really--a death from which the soul can never awake again?"
Oswald uttered a fierce cry. A hand seized his arm, and over the shoulder of his image in the mirror he saw a distorted face grinning at him.
"Oho!" said Albert Timm. "Are you going on the stage, dottore, that you stand before the looking-glass and rehearse monologues which might frighten an honest man out of his wits? Let me look at you in the light? Upon my word, you have a strange look about you. Little Emily, eh? You ought to be glad she is gone, before she made you a mere shadow of your shadow! You see, I know everything; and I know a good deal more; and I am going to tell you something that will make you wish to live again, you melancholy Prince of Denmark! But before I tell you, send for a bottle of port wine or something; I am as dry as a salted cod this morning."
Mr. Timm, as usual, did not wait for Oswald's answer, but rang the bell and ordered port wine and caviare. "None in the house? Go to the Dismal Hole, just around the corner, my man, quite near by. Give Mr.
Albert Timm's respects to Mrs. Rose Pape, and come back in a trice, curly-headed youth!"
Mr. Timm's statement, that he had taken nothing that morning, was evidently untrue. He diffused a remarkable smell of liquor around him; his face was very red, and his eyes less bright than usual. Possibly he might have sat up all night; his whole appearance made it probable. His linen was less tidy than ordinarily, and the brown overcoat had evidently made the acquaintance of numerous whitewashed walls and stained tables. Mr. Timm's circumstances had not improved since Oswald had seen him last.
He did not deny it; on the contrary he raised, unasked, the veil from the unattractive picture of the last months.
"Ill-luck has pursued me step by step," he said, throwing himself on the sofa and stretching his legs. "At the very time when I made the discovery which I am going to tell you as soon as the wine comes, you disappeared from Grunwald, leaving not a trace. The next day the police caught us at faro, and--I was banker--confiscated all I had--several hundred dollars--which I needed sorely, since on the following day a bill of mine became due. I could not pay it, of course. The horrid manichean, to whom I owed the money, had me put in prison, and there I have been till about a week ago. How I got out? My landlord, the old scamp, at last bethought himself of going to Moses and threatening him with certain stories--well, never mind that! Here I am, a free man once more, and here comes the wine and the oysters. Come, Oswald, fill your glass! Hurrah for the brave! Man! I tell you I am beside myself at having found you out so soon. I was prepared for a long hunt. And now I am going to tell you a story that will make you jump out of your skin.
Yes, out of you skin! For you will have to lay aside the whole miserable creature you are now and put on an entirely new man, whom I have made ready for you, without any merit or claim of your own, but from pure friendship on my part. And now another glass and I'll begin!"
Mr. Timm pushed the plate with the oyster-shells, which he had quickly piled up, from him, and swallowed a full glass; filled it again, drew a bundle of papers from his pocket, laid them on the table before him, leaned his head on both arms, and with a loud hearty laugh at Oswald, he said:
"What will you give me, _mon cher_, if I change you from a poor fellow into the son and heir of a great baron, with a rental of ten or twelve thousand a year? But I see you are already nearly overcome. I do not mean to harass you any longer. Listen!"
There are moments in our soul's life when the overwrought brain looks upon the most extraordinary, the most fantastic events, as ordinary and quite natural occurrences. Thus it was now with Oswald. That Timm brought him the confirmation of his suspicions, that he proved to him in black and white that he had not dreamt, that he transformed a wild fancy into a legal, well-authenticated document--all this appeared quite natural to Oswald. There were Marie Montbert's family papers.
Her real name was that of her mother, Marie Herzog, who had found her way to Paris, there to meet Colonel Montbert. And Oswald knew that his mother's family name was Herzog. There was a copy of the church-register, obtained by Timm's indefatigable activity and mysterious connections, which proved the marriage performed at St.
Mary's between M. d'Estein _alias_ Stein, and Marie Elizabeth Herzog.
And then the baptismal certificate: On the 22 December, 1823, a son was born unto Amadeus Stein and his wedded wife, Marie Herzog, who in holy baptism received the name of Oswald. There were the letters which Baron Harald had written to Marie during his residence in town in the spring of 1823; there Marie's letters to the baron; a letter written by M.
d'Estein to Marie during the summer of the same year, in which he tells her that he has at last discovered her hiding-place at Grenwitz, and beseeches her by the salvation of her soul, to follow him when all shall be prepared for her flight, etc.
"You see," said Timm, "it is all right and complete, and you can trace every thread of this curiously complicated affair from beginning to end. The identity of the persons can be established by documents and by witnesses alike, for the evidence of Rose Pape alone would upset every argument on the adversary's side. She knew your mother and was present at your birth and at your baptism. The woman, it is true, is not willing just now to appear in court and to testify to facts which make her appear in an unfavorable light; but money makes the devil dance, and Mrs. Rose will speak out if she is well paid. That is no trouble, therefore. My only fear is that you have not energy enough for such a thing. I must tell you frankly, I thought at first it might not be wise to tell you anything at all about it, you have such very absurd notions about many things, and so I dropped the old baroness a hint or two, but she did not receive them very graciously, and----"
"In a word," said Oswald, and he turned still paler than he had been before, "you wished to sell your discovery to the baroness, and she did not pay you the price you demanded."
"Hear! hear!" said Albert, with sincere admiration. "You develop there a talent for business which I did not expect. Well, take it for granted it was as you guess; that will not prevent you from making proper use of your claims. But, dearest _periculum in mora_! if you wish to become not only the nephew of the baroness but also her son-in-law, you must make haste. Things have come about which I foretold you last winter.
Helen is engaged to Prince Waldenberg, and the engagement is to be made public in a few days here in town. Anna Maria arrived last night, and stays at Prince Waldenberg's house with the Princess Letbus, the mother of his highness. Now I have already dug a superb mine underground, in order to create a useful confusion in the enemy's camp, and we can begin the attack. I am as sure as of my own life that Helen has no fancy for the prince, and that she would say No! even at the last moment, if she knew that you are her cousin, and that she can recover the fortune she loses by the discovery, by marrying you. But she will not believe anybody who would tell her of the whole affair, except one man, and that man is--yourself. Oswald, consider the stake! One single bold step, and the girl whom you love--don't deny it!--whom you love madly, is yours. A fortune such as you never dreamt of is yours. You will have at once all that others spend a lifetime to gain; all that they would unhesitatingly risk their very life for! Surprise works wonders! Drive to the prince's house in William street; ask to see the young baroness; tell her, if it must be, in her mother's presence, not that you want to marry her--for that will come as a matter of course--but that you have made this discovery under such and such peculiar circumstances; and I will eat my own head if the girl does not fall upon your neck and let the prince go when he chooses."
Albert was prepared to see Oswald at first reject this adventurous plan altogether; for, suitable as it was for a man of Timm's character, and capable as he was of carrying it out boldly, he knew Oswald's hesitating disposition. His most sanguine hope was to find it accepted after a long discussion. Great therefore was his joyful surprise when Oswald, who had not said a word during the whole long explanation, now rose and said:
"You are right. There is but one way. I must go myself, and at once."
"Brother!" cried Timm, jumping up and enthusiastically embracing Oswald; "that is the most sensible word you ever spoke in your life."
Oswald shook himself free, with a shudder which Timm did not notice in his great excitement.
"Leave me alone now!" he said. "You see how very much I am surprised and shocked by your revelation. I must collect myself for the interview."
"For Heaven's sake; only no new scruples!" cried Timm. "Fresh fish is good fish! I am afraid, if I leave you, you will discover a thousand Buts!"
"I promise you upon my word I will go to her within an hour. I suppose you can leave me the papers? They might be necessary if the baroness makes opposition."
Timm cast a malignant, suspicious glance at Oswald. He did not like to give up the papers. If Oswald should play false; if--but there was not time to consider long; and there was something in Oswald's manner which made him shrink from making objections, a decisive firmness in the firmly-closed pale lips, a dismal fire in his large eyes. Timm had never seen him thus. It was no longer the old, fickle Oswald Stein; it was Baron Harald's son who was standing before him.
"Well," he said, "do as you please. I see you are determined to go the whole length! But, Oswald, if the enterprise succeeds, and I cannot doubt now but it must succeed, do not forget the man who has furnished you the means."
"You may be sure," said Oswald, with a strange smile, "that, as far as material advantages are concerned, you shall not fare worse in the matter than myself."
This promise moved the generous Timm so deeply that he was much inclined to embrace Oswald once more. But the latter made a gesture which looked not unlike disgust, but which failed to have any effect upon Timm. He only laughed, and said: "Well, I see you are learning your part. I will not detain you any longer. Good-by, Oswald! Play your part well. It is three o'clock now. At four I will come again and inquire how you have succeeded. Adieu till then."
Oswald paced the room slowly after Timm had left him. Then he went up to the engraving, and looked at it long and anxiously. "It is too late!" he murmured. "I cannot save her; I cannot set her free from the rock to which fate has chained her. But I will see her once more, and clear my memory of the disgrace with which this blackguard, no doubt, has loaded me. She shall not believe that I could use such unfair means. Who knows how far this man has used my name in order to attain his end."
He stepped to the table and arranged and folded up the papers. Then he began to dress himself for the proposed interview. It took him some time. He felt as if he were benumbed in all his limbs, and had to sit down more than once to let an attack of vertigo pass off. At last he was ready. He put the papers in his pocket and left the room.
CHAPTER XII.
At the same time a carriage drove rapidly through the deserted street in which Doctor Braun lived, and many faces appeared at the windows to see what it was. It was an elegant coach, with two high-bred horses, and a large coat-of-arms on the doors. On the box, by the side of the coachman, a servant in gorgeous livery was seated. The coach stopped before Doctor Braun's house, the servant jumped down to open the door, and a young lady stepped out. She walked rapidly through the little garden up to the door.
"Is Mrs. Braun at home?"
"I do not know," replied the maid, casting a shy glance at the velvet cloak and the charming white bonnet of the lady. "I will see."
"You need not go," said Sophie, who suddenly appeared, adorned with a long kitchen apron; "here I am."
With these words she hastened with open arms towards the lady, who, for her part, drew back the white veil and flew into her arms.
"Dearest Helen!"