A German Pompadour. Hon. Marie Hay
his guest, and turning his eyes towards the grimy ceiling, he folded his fat hands and recited a prayer over the victuals.
'O Lord, who hath brought this female into mine house, send a blessing, I pray thee, upon the food which I set before her!' He paused, then added: 'May this be the first of many meals she shall partake of here in Christian humility and dutiful affection.' Wilhelmine laughed. At another time the pastor would have been rebuked sharply for a speech of this kind; but she was hungry, and it did not suit her to postpone her meal to the uncertain date of Frau von Grävenitz's dinner. The pastor helped her liberally to meat, and cut a large slice from the white loaf—a luxury for Wilhelmine, used to the heavy, sour, black bread, which was provided in her mother's house. He poured out a copious draught from the black bottle, and the smell of corn brandy filled the air. Wilhelmine ate hungrily, and drank the liquor with relish, the strong spirits coursing through her with a grateful, tingling feeling, for she was really in need of food.
'Dear lady,' said Müller, pouring a large quantity of the brandy into his own glass, 'I give you of my best; this excellent liquor was a present to me from the noble Herr von Maltzan. He is a generous friend to me. But truly, this beverage is not for those whom the Lord has blessed with health and strength, and I keep it for the use of the sick, though my own delicate constitution demands, at rare intervals, a small amount to strengthen me. Dear Fräulein, I give it gladly to you this morning, for it is cruelly cold, and you, my dear one, were exposed to the rigours of the storm.'
'I thank you, Herr Pastor; I feel truly better for your breakfast, though my head is going round a little, I must confess,' said Wilhelmine.
Müller looked at her curiously, then, rising, he walked to the window, and watched the driving snow. After a few moments he returned, and drawing up his chair near the stove he spread out his fat fingers, warming them at the fire. There was silence between them, only broken by the wind outside, which had risen and was whistling and howling, and driving the snow in clouds down the street. Suddenly the pastor bent down and laid his hand on her stockinged foot. 'Still damp,' he said; 'it would be well if you took off your hose and dried them.' Wilhelmine smiled lazily.
'Good Herr Pastor,' she said, 'your plenteous meal has made me sleepy. I cannot take the trouble to take off my hose even though they may be a trifle wet.' She closed her eyes. The walk in the strong winter air, followed by the warmth of the room and the unaccustomed alcohol made her drowsy, and she wished to be undisturbed in her half dream. Müller's face flushed to a deep purple, then paled. He breathed heavily, and the veins stood out on his temples like cords.
'Wilhelmine,' he said in a hoarse, thick whisper, 'you shall indeed be my wife—I promise you—ah, you are fitted to adorn any position, Wilhelmine, my bride!' He bent and kissed her stockinged foot, and his coarse fingers pressed deep into her slight ankle.
'Your condescension amazes me, Herr Pastor,' she said mockingly, 'but I fear——'
'Nay, my dear, no maidenly modesty! Come, we are affianced now; let me give thee the lover's kiss!' He leaned over her. His breath was sour with the smell of corn brandy. His eyes were glassy, staring, and his fat face was livid, hideous. An overwhelming sense of repulsion came to her. She felt herself degraded by this man's admiration, smirched by his odious desire. The recollection flashed through her mind of a white flower she had seen—a gracious, delicate thing—and a huge, slimy, black slug had rested on the petals. She remembered how she had knocked the creature away, feeling that it defiled the flower.
'No, never! do you hear? Never! I will not marry you,' she broke out.
She struggled to remove Müller's hand from her ankle; but he gripped strongly, and her fingers seemed terribly impotent, childishly weak.
'How dare you! Let me go. I tell you I will never marry you,' she reiterated vehemently.
'Ah! you beautiful wild thing—but I will make you love me—you will see how you will love your husband. Come, no nonsense! I will soon show you how you love me.' He loosed his grip of her ankle and flung himself over her in the chair, endeavouring to press his thick lips to hers. She struggled against him but he kept her down; with one hand on her forehead he pushed her back into the chair, while with the other he wrenched open the neck of her bodice, tearing it downward to her breast. Always a strong man he seemed now transformed into some ruthless, degraded, maddened animal. Apparently she was entirely at his mercy, but she was strong and young, and angry disgust gave her unusual strength. She caught the man's throat in both her hands, working her knuckles inwards on his windpipe with such force that he was almost choked, and instinctively put up his hands to hers endeavouring to remove her grip. But she held him, and, half-throttled, he sank down sideways on the arm of the chair. In an instant she dragged herself from him and was able to raise herself on one knee, still keeping her hold on his throat. He wrenched away her hands, his iron grip on both her wrists, but she was now able to dominate her aggressor from above and could hold him down with the full force of her arms. Face to face with her enemy, she recalled the potency of her witch-gaze. She narrowed her eyelids and directed her steely glance into the bloodshot eyes of her tormentor. During a few seconds they were thus: the girl half-standing, half-kneeling, rigid, tense, holding the man from her with all her strength. The man sprawling on his side in the chair—a huge, ridiculous being, panting, gasping, helpless, for he could not regain his balance unless he let go the woman's wrists. To Wilhelmine, in spite of her dauntless nature, these few seconds seemed endless. Fortunately for her, no misgivings as to the compelling power of her eyes crossed her mind, or probably her force might thereby have been diminished. At length she felt a slackening of the muscles of Müller's hands—his gaze faltered. Again he struggled frantically. She resolved to hazard everything, trusting entirely in her strange power. She bent slowly downwards, all the force of her will focused in her eyes. She felt as though each eye held a dagger wherewith she could stab her enemy's very consciousness. Another moment and the man's hands relaxed entirely and fell limp and inert from her wrists. She sprang up, catching her cloak in her hand as she fled. She reached the study door before Müller moved. For the moment he seemed transfixed, but as she opened the door, to her horror she saw him rise, and as she rushed down the short passage she heard Müller's heavy step behind her. For the first time during the whole disgusting scene she felt afraid. Her knees seemed to fail, her feet to grow strangely heavy. She stumbled on till she gained the house door. She fumbled frantically at the latch; it was unfamiliar to her and she could not unfasten it. The pursuer was up to her now and his breath was on her cheek. Once more he threw his arms round her. She turned, like an animal at bay, and dealt Müller a blow full on the lips. He staggered for an instant, and she succeeded, at last, in wrenching open the door. He clutched at her skirt as she sprang out. It unbalanced her, and she fell forward on her face into the snow of the street.
The shock of the fall, following the excitement of her struggle with Müller, stunned Wilhelmine for a moment, and when she dragged herself up to a kneeling position and looked round, she found herself alone in the driving snow. Müller's door was shut, and the street absolutely deserted. She rubbed the clinging snow off her face and ruefully considered the distance which lay between her and her mother's house. The snow had soaked through her thin stockings. She rose wearily, and drawing her cloak round her, and over her head, she hid both her torn bodice and her thick unbound hair, which had fallen over her shoulders during her struggle with Müller.
Then she started homewards through the fast-falling snow. As she passed the market-place, many faces peered out at her from the venders' booths, and one friendly peasant woman called to her to take shelter, but Wilhelmine shook her head and hastened onwards. She feared that her shoeless feet would awaken curiosity, and she dared not let the people see her torn garments as they assuredly would did she tarry in the booth, for in their homely kindness they would insist on removing her wet cloak.
The Rathaus clock chimed the hour, and Wilhelmine realised with a strange, dream-like feeling that but three hours had gone by since she passed that way to visit Monsieur Gabriel. Yet it seemed to her as though days had elapsed since she sang the Ave Maria in the cathedral. At length she reached the door of her mother's house. She knocked loudly, wondering if Frau von Grävenitz had watched her from the windows of the upper story, which commanded a view of part of the market-place and the door of the Rathaus, where she had