“Then may He take me to Himself!” interposed the young girl in a fervent tone, lifting a transfigured glance toward heaven. “And may He grant that there be not on earth one other Frenchwoman who is forced to pray for the defeat of her own nation! May He grant that there be not another woman in the world who is waiting until a pedestal is formed of her countrymen’s and kinsmen’s skeletons, that she may be elevated to it as an idol from which many, many of her brothers will turn with a curse! May God take me to Himself now—now, while yet my two hands are white, while yet I cherish toward my nation nothing but love and tenderness, now when I forgive and forget everything, and desire none of this world’s splendor for myself!”
Ludwig Vavel was filled with admiration by this outburst from the innocent girl heart.
“Your words, Marie, only increase the brilliancy of the halo which encircles your head. They legalize the rights of my sword. I, too, adore my native land—no one more than I! I, too, bow before the infinite judge and submit my case to His wise decision. O God, Thou who protecteth France, look down and behold him who rides yonder, his horse ankle-deep in the blood of his countrymen, who looks without pity on the dying legions and says, ‘It is well!’ Then, O God, look Thou upon this saint here, who prays for her persecutors, and pass judgment between the two: which of the two is Thy image on earth?”
“Oh, pray understand me,” in a pleading voice interposed Marie, passing her trembling fingers over Ludwig’s cheek. “Not one drop of heroic blood flows in my veins. I am not the offspring of those great women who crowned with their own hands their knights to send them into battle. I dread to lose you, Ludwig; I have no one in this wide world but you. On this whole earth there is not another orphan so desolate as I am! When you go to war, and I am left here all alone, what will become of me? Who will care for me and love me then?”
Vavel gently drew the young girl to his breast.
“Marie, you said once to me: ‘Give me a mother—a woman whom I can love, one that will love me.’ When I leave you, Marie, I shall not leave you here without some one to care for you. I will give you a mother—a woman you will love, and who will love you in return.”
A gleam of sunshine brightened the young girl’s face; she flung her arms around Ludwig’s neck, and laughed for very joy.
“You will really, really do this, Ludwig?” she cried happily. “You will really bring her here? or shall I go to her? Oh, I shall be so happy if you will do this for me!”
“I am in earnest,” returned Ludwig, seriously. “This is no time for jesting. My superior here”—turning toward the vice-palatine—“will see that I keep the promise I made in his presence.”
“That he will!” promptly assented Herr Bernat. “I am not only the vice-palatine of your county: I am also the colonel of your regiment.”
“And I want you to add still another office to the two you fill so admirably: that of matrimonial emissary!” added Count Vavel. “In this patriarchal land I find that the custom still obtains of sending an emissary to the lady one desires to marry. Will you, Herr Vice-palatine and Colonel, undertake this mission for me?”
“Of all my missions this will be the most agreeable!” heartily responded Herr Bernat.
“You know to whom I would have you go,” resumed the count. “It is not far from here. You know who the lady is without my repeating her name. Go to her, tell her what you have seen and heard here,—I send her my secret as a betrothal gift,—and then ask her to send me an answer to the words she heard me speak on a certain eventful occasion.”
“You may trust me!” with alacrity responded Herr Bernat. “Within half an hour I shall return with a reply: Veni, vidi, vici!”
After he had shaken hands with his client, the worthy emissary remembered that it was becoming for even so important a personage as a Hungarian vice-palatine to show some respect to the distinguished young lady under Count Vavel’s protection. He therefore turned toward her, brought his spurred heels together, and was on the point of making a suitable speech, accompanying it with a deep bow, when the young lady frustrated his ceremonious design by coming quickly toward him and saying in her frank, girlish manner:
“He who goes on a matrimonial mission must wear a nosegay.” With these words she drew the violets from her corsage, and fastened them in Herr Bernat’s buttonhole.
Hereupon the gallant vice-palatine forgot his ceremonious intentions. He seized the maid’s hand, pressed it against his stiffly waxed mustache, and muttered, with a wary glance toward Count Vaveclass="underline" “I am sorry this pretty little hand belongs to those messieurs Frenchmen!”
Then he quitted the room, and in descending the stairs had all he could do to transfer without dropping them the coins from his hat to the pockets of his dolman.
Marie skipped, singing joyously, into the dining-room, where the windows faced toward the neighboring manor. She did not ask if she might do so, but flung open the sash, leaned far out, and waved her handkerchief to the vice-palatine, who was driving swiftly across the causeway.
CHAPTER IV
When Herr Bernat Görömbölyi, in his character of emissary, arrived at the manor, he proceeded at once to state his errand:
“My lovely sister Katinka, I am come a-wooing—as this nosegay on my breast indicates. I ask your hand for a brave, handsome, and young cavalier.”
“Thank you very much for the honor, my dear Bernat bácsi, but I intend to remain faithful to my vow never to marry.”
“Then you send me out of your house with a mitten, Katinka hugom?”
“I should prefer to detain you as a welcome guest.”
“Thanks; but I cannot stop to-day. I am invited to a betrothal feast over at the Nameless Castle. The count intends to wed in a few weeks.”
He had been watching, while speaking, the effect of this announcement on the lovely face before him.
Baroness Katharina, however, acted as if nothing interested her so much as the letter she was embroidering with gold thread on a red streamer for a militia flag.
“The count is in a hurry,” continued Herr Bernat, “for he may have to ride at the head of a company of militia to the war in less than three weeks.”
Here the cruel needle thrust its point into the fair worker’s rosy finger.
Herr Bernat smiled roguishly; and said:
“Wouldn’t you like to hear the name of the bride, my pretty sister Katinka?”
“If it is no secret,” was the indifferent response.
“It is no secret for me, and I am allowed to repeat it. The charming lady Count Vavel intends to wed is—Katharina Landsknechtsschild!”
The baroness suddenly dropped her embroidery, sprang to her feet, and surveyed the smiling emissary with her brows drawn into a frown.
“It is quite true,” continued Herr Bernat. “Count Vavel sent me here to beg you to answer the words he spoke to you on an eventful occasion. Do you remember them?”
The lady’s countenance did not brighten as she replied:
“Yes, I remember the words; but between them and my reply there is a veil that separates the two.”
“The veil has been removed.”
“Ah! Then you saw the lady of the castle without her veil? Is she pretty?”
“More than pretty!”
“And who is she? What is she to Count Vavel?”
“She is not your rival, my pretty sister Katinka; she is neither wife nor betrothed to Count Vavel—nor yet his secret love.”
“Then she must be his sister—or daughter.”
“No; she is neither sister nor daughter.”
“Then what is she? Not a servant?”
“No; she is his mistress.”