The Initials. Baroness Jemima Montgomery Tautphoeus
because I have heard so much of it from one of my school friends.”
“Perhaps, then, you can give me some information. I have not the least idea what sort of a place it is.”
“I believe it is a great old monastery, with long corridors, where one might expect to meet the ghosts of the monks stalking about—and the windows look into dark courts—and on a moonlight night it is quite romantic walking in the cloisters!”
“And did your friend wander about quite alone and by moonlight in such a place?”
“Oh, she was not alone,” said Crescenz, smiling, and shaking her head slyly.
“So I imagined—probably her mother or her sister walked with her.”
“Her mother was not there, and her brother-in-law would not allow her sister to walk by moonlight.”
“What a barbarian he must have been! Who, then, could have been her companion? It could hardly have been her father?”
Crescenz laughed outright. “Oh, no; had it been her father, Lina would not have been sent back to school again. They said she had done all sorts of wild things at home; that her head was full of nonsense, and she must be cured.”
“And was she cured?”
“I suppose so, for some time after she left us again she married an ugly old doctor. Oh, he is so ugly! His chin sticks out so!” In explanation she thrust out her full red underlip, forming thereby a better personification of a pretty naughty child than an ugly old doctor. “I was allowed to be her bridesmaid,” she continued, “and as I knew all about Theodor, I asked her if she really were as happy as she seemed to be. And—can you believe it?—she said that all the fine things she had told me of Seon and first love was stuff and nonsense—that she had invited Theodor to her wedding, and intended to dance with him in the evening!”
“In fact, the affair with Theodor was merely a flirtation,” observed Hamilton.
“I don’t know what that means,” she answered, looking inquiringly in his face; “it is an English word, I suppose.”
“Quite English,” said Hamilton, laughing; “but your friend seems to have understood the meaning perfectly.”
“And yet she did not take any lessons in English,” said Crescenz, thoughtfully; “but I remember her saying to me at school that, if she could not marry Theodor, she would go into a nunnery! And then to be satisfied with ugly old Dr. Berger?”
“You would not have acted so?” inquired Hamilton.
She was about to answer, when her eyes caught that of the servant opposite to them; she coloured and remained silent. Hamilton had long thought this personage a bore, although she had been too much occupied with little Master Peppy to have heard much of their conversation. It suddenly, however, occurred to him to repeat his question in French, and this removed all difficulties, for the young lady spoke so remarkably fluently that the conversation proceeded more flowingly than before. From the specimen given, it may be supposed that a sufficient quantity of nonsense was talked; however, they contrived to amuse themselves so well that they actually drove up to the ci-devant monastery without having seen a chimney to warn them that their journey was drawing to a close. Crescenz’s step-mother was waiting to receive them, and overwhelmed Hamilton with thanks, while he, taken completely by surprise, had only time to whisper hurriedly to his travelling companion—“I shall certainly see you again, even if I should decide on leaving Seon to-morrow;” and, as he assisted her out of the carriage, he added, “We positively must try the cloisters by moonlight.”
But no answering smile played round her coral lips. Crescenz seemed to be metamorphosed. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than one glided gently behind the other, and a profound curtsy, such as very young ladies are taught to make by a dancing-master, was performed to his infinite astonishment; a few neat and appropriate words of thanks were added, which, had they not been accompanied by a burning blush, he would have considered the most consummate piece of acting he had ever witnessed. Hamilton bit his lip, and coloured deeply, as he mechanically followed the landlady through a side-door into the monastery.
He was conducted up a back staircase to a long corridor, at the end of which was a small passage leading into a tolerably large, cheerful room, to his great disappointment not bearing any perceptible marks of antiquity. On expressing some surprise, he was told that the monastery had been twice almost burnt to the ground, and that only some parts of the original building remained. His room was the most modern of all, and had been the apartment of the abbot before the secularisation.
“Have you many people staying here at present?” asked Hamilton.
“Not many; several left this morning, but we expect others next week.”
“And the names of those who are still here?” asked Hamilton in considerable alarm.
“Still here,” repeated the landlady; but at this instant the sounds of wheels and horses’ hoofs made Hamilton rush to one of the windows. A small open carriage and its dust-covered occupant attracted his attention so completely that, without waiting for an answer to his former question, he added, “Who is that?”
“Ah, the Herr Baron!” cried the landlady, looking out of the window, and then quickly leaving the room.
The traveller started up in the carriage and looked around him. He was dressed in a sort of loose shooting-jacket of gray cloth, which completely concealed his figure; and his dark-green felt hat was slouched over his face, leaving little visible excepting the mustache, surmounted by a well-formed aquiline nose. “Is no one here?” he cried, exhibiting some very unequivocal signs of impatience; and a servant in plain livery came at full speed, followed by half a dozen men and women, who were soon all employed unpacking the carriage. Carpet-bag, meerschaum pipes of different forms and dimensions, newspapers, cigar-cases, boots, powder-horn, umbrella, double-barrelled gun, sketch-book, a very old pistol, a very new rifle, and some rolls of bread, followed each other in odd confusion. Some one at a window not distant from Hamilton laughed heartily; the traveller looked up, laughed also, and flourished his hat in the air. “What a dusty figure!” exclaimed the invisible. “Have you brought no trophy? No venison for our landlady?”
“The chamois hunt was unsuccessful, although I remained out all night; but my new rifle performed wonders at the Scheiben schiessen.”
Another laugh from the window made him seize his rifle, and jestingly point it upwards—it was, however, directly thrown aside, while he half-apologetically exclaimed, “It cannot go off, I assure you. Look here, it is not even loaded,” and he grasped the ramrod to prove his assertion; but some unexpected impediment in the barrel caused him to grow suddenly red—he raised the offending weapon as if with the intention of firing it off, but after a hasty glance towards the window, he gave it to one of the bystanders, requesting him to draw out the charge, and then ran quickly into the house.
In the meantime, Hamilton’s coachman had brought up his luggage, and a chambermaid waited to know whether or not he intended to sup below stairs. Supper would be in the little room through which he had passed on his entrance, as there were too few people for the saloon. Perhaps he wished to sup in his own room?
“By no means, I always prefer a table-d’hôte. Pray, can you tell me the names of some of the people here? I may, perhaps, have an acquaintance among them.”
“Major Stultz, from Munich. The family who have just arrived are the Rosenbergs, from——”
“I know—I know,” cried Hamilton, nodding his head.
“Then there is Mr. Schmearer, landscape-painter, and Count Zedwitz—his wife and daughter——”
“Who do you say?” said Hamilton, suddenly recollecting A. Z.
“Count Zedwitz and the Countess, and——”
“Can they speak English?”
“Oh, no doubt; and French,