The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II. Lever Charles James
you like. Meanwhile, try and unlearn all those gaucheries you picked up with that strange Lady Hester. It was a shocking school of manners, – all those eccentric, out-of-the-way people, who lounged in and lounged out, talking of nothing but each other, utterly ignorant of the great interests that are at stake in Europe at this moment Try, therefore, and forget that silly coterie altogether. When we arrive at Vienna, you will be presented to the Archduchess Louisa.”
“And I shall see dear – dear Frank!” burst out Kate, with an irrepressible delight.
“And who is Frank, Madame?” said the other, proudly drawing herself up.
“My brother, – my only brother, – who is in the Austrian service.”
“Is he on the Emperor’s staff?”
“I know nothing of his position, only that he is a cadet.”
“A cadet, child! Why, do you know that that means a common soldier, – a creature that mounts with a musket, or carries a bread-bag over its shoulder through the streets in a fatigue-jacket?”
“I care nothing for all that. He may be all you say, and twice as humble, but he is my brother Frank still, – the playfellow with whom I passed the day when – when I was happy – as I shall never be again! – the fond, kind brother, whom we were all so proud of.”
An expression of scornful compassion on Madame de Heidendorf ‘s features at once stopped Kate, and she covered her face with her hands to hide her shame.
“Madame la Princesse,” began the Countess, – for whenever she peculiarly desired to impress Kate with her duties, she always prefaced the lesson by her new title, – “the past must be forgotten, or you will find yourself totally unable to compete with the difficulties of your station. There is but one way to make the Prince’s mésalliance pardonable, which is by as seldom as possible parading its details. If, then, you insist upon seeing your brother during our stay at Vienna, it must be in secret you said something, I think, of an old field-marshal, – a connection?”
“My father’s uncle, Madame.”
“Very true. Well, your brother can come with some letter or message from him; or if Nina, your maid, has no objection, he might pass for a lover of hers.”
“Madame!” cried Kate, indignantly.
“I said, if Nina made no objection,” said Madame de Heidendorf, as though answering the indignant exclamation. “But these are matters of my consideration, Madame, – at least, if I understand the spirit of the Prince’s instructions.”
Some such scene as this, usually closing with a similar peroration, formed the conversation of the road; and hour by hour Kate’s courage fell lower, as she contemplated all that her elevation had cost her. And what a mockery was it, after all! It was true that she journeyed in a carriage with all the emblazonry of royalty; that a group of uncovered lackeys attended her as she descended; that she was ever addressed by a proud title; a respectful, submissive devotion surrounding her at every instant But, amid all this, there was not one look, one word of kindness; nothing of interest or sympathy with her solitary grandeur. It mattered little that the bars of her cell were of gold; it was a prison still.
With what eagerness did she turn from the present, with all its splendor, to think of her former life, when, wandering among the hills of Baden she had listened to little Hans, or watched dear Nelly, as the first gleams of her intentions began to manifest themselves on a sculptured group. With what rapture had she heard passages that seemed akin to something she had felt but could not express! How had she loved the changeful effects of light and shade on a landscape where every tree or rock or cliff was familiar to her! Oh, if she could but be back again, hopeful, ardent, and trusting, as she once was! Oh, if the brief past could be but a dream, and she were once more beside her father and Nelly, knowing nothing of that world which, in so short a space, had revealed so much before her! Even to those who so lately had supplied the place of family to her, all were gone, and she was utterly alone.
She did not dare to think of George Onslow. It seemed to her like a treason to recall his memory; and if his image did rise at times before her fancy, a burning blush would cover her cheek, and a sense of shame would send a throb like agony through her heart. The plans and projects for her future life she heard of without interest; a vague and confused impression of a long journey, halting here and there to be presented to certain great and distinguished persons, and finally of her arrival at St. Petersburg, were all that she knew. That the Prince was to join her there, and then, with the Emperor’s permission, return with her to the south of Europe, – such were the outlines of a career over which a sinking heart threw a gloomy shadow.
Madame de Heidendorf was too occupied with her own thoughts to notice this despondency; besides that, she was incessantly teaching Kate some one requisite or other of that rigid etiquette which prevailed in the society she was about to enter; the precise titles by which she was to address this or that personage; how many courtesies to give here, how many reverences there, – little educational exercises that were always accompanied by some warning admonition of their importance to one who, like herself, had never seen anything like good society, and whose breaches of good breeding would be certain of being severely commented on.
“Think of the Prince, Madame,” she would say; “think of what he will suffer when they repeat any of your transgressions. I am afraid there are many humiliations in store for him. And what a step to take at such a moment, with these horrible Socialist doctrines abroad, – these levelling theories of equality, and so forth. I hope his Majesty the Emperor will pardon him; I hope he will forgive you.”
This was a favorite speech of hers, and so often repeated that Kate at last began to look on herself as a great criminal, and even speculated on what destiny should befall her if the Emperor proved unmerciful.
These were sorry resources to shorten the weariness on a Journey, and Kate felt a throb of pleasure – the first she had experienced – when the towers of St. Stephen, in the far distance, announced the approach to Vienna.
CHAPTER VII. AT VIENNA
The gossiping world of Vienna had a new subject for speculation and interest, as a guard of honor was seen standing at a large palace near the “Hoff;” and the only information to explain the mystery was that some great diplomatist had arrived the evening before, and Heaven knew what wonderful events were in his charge and keeping. A gigantic “Chasseur,” in green and gold, who lounged about the portal, followed by a great dog, – a “fanghund,” whose silver collar was embossed with many a quartering, – had engaged the attention of a very considerable crowd, which opened from time to time to permit the passage of some royal or princely equipage. As they thus fell back, a chance look would be directed upwards to the windows of the first floor, and there, passingly, they caught glimpses of one whose beauty soon formed the theme of every tongue. This was Kate Dalton, who, now rested from the fatigue of her journey, and dressed in the most becoming fashion, walked up and down a splendid saloon, watching to catch every sound, or gazing earnestly from the window to catch any sight that might betoken her brother’s coming. At Madame de Heidendorf’s suggestion she had written a few lines that morning early to the Field-Marshal von Dalton, entreating, as a great favor, that he would procure leave for Frank to come to her, and pass as much of his time as possible with her during her stay in Vienna. The note, brief as it was, cost her some trouble; she felt that much explanation might be necessary to state her present position, – even who she was, – and yet this was a subject she had no heart to enter into. Some expressions of affectionate interest towards himself would also have been fitting, but she could not find time for them. Frank, and Frank alone, was in her thoughts, and she left everything to the old General’s ingenuity, as she concluded her note by subscribing herself, “Your affectionate niece, Kate Dal ton, Affianced Princesse de Midchekoff.”
It was the first time that she had written the words, – the first time that she had ever impressed that massive seal of many quarterings, so royal-looking as it seemed. It was, also, the first time she had ever given an order to one of her servants; and the obsequious bows of the groom of the chamber, as he withdrew, were all separate and distinct sensations, – low, but