Maurus Jokai - The Nameless Castle

“Danger?” repeated the count.

“Yes; danger threatens you—and some one else! Let us come farther into the park, that no one may by a possible chance overhear me.”

When they had reached a sheltered spot the lady again spoke:

“Do you know anything about Colonel Barthelmy?”

“I received the cards he left here when he called,” indifferently replied Count Vavel.

“You certainly have heard more about him,” returned the baroness, a trifle impatiently. “His domestic troubles were in all the newspapers—it was a cause célèbre . He was a major in the French army, under the Directory, but entered our service when the Empire was established. The domestic troubles I referred to occurred while he was still in France. His young and beautiful wife ran away with another man—a man who is unknown to Barthelmy, who is pursuing the fugitives over the whole world—”

“Ah! I remember now reading something about it. That is why his name seemed familiar to me.”

“I thought you must have heard something about him,” responded the baroness, in a peculiar tone. Then, with a sudden movement, she seized his hand and whispered:

“And you are the unknown who abducted Colonel Barthelmy’s wife.”

“I?” in boundless amazement ejaculated the count. Then he laughed heartily.

“Yes, you; and you are living here in seclusion with the lovely woman whose face no one is permitted to see.”

Ludwig ceased laughing, and replied very seriously; “Gracious baroness, were I the person you believe me to be, I should have been glad to meet the man who compelled me to live here in seclusion. A skilful sword-thrust or a well-aimed bullet would have released me from this prison.”

“And yet, everybody believes Count Vavel to be Ange Barthelmy’s lover,” responded the baroness.

“Do you believe it, baroness?”

“I? Perhaps—not. But Colonel Barthelmy believes it all the more firmly because you refused to see him.”

“And suppose he had seen me?”

“He would have asked you to introduce him to your—family.”

“Then he would have learned that I have no family.”

“But you could not have refused to tell him what relation you bear to the lady at the castle.”

“My answer would have been very brief had he asked the question,” was the count’s grim response.

“I know what men mean by a ‘brief’ answer; the result is usually fatal.”

“And does your ladyship imagine that I fear such a result?”

“So far as courage is concerned, I should not give any one precedence to Count Vavel. A regular duel, however, requires more than courage. Colonel Barthelmy is a soldier by profession; you are a philosopher who lives amid his studies, and whose right hand is unable to hold a pen, let alone a sword or a pistol!”

Count Vavel was touched on the spot where men are most susceptible.

“Who can tell whether I have always been a studious hermit?” he demanded proudly. “Besides, might it not be that my hand is unable only when I don’t want to use it?”

“That may be,” retorted the lady. “But Barthelmy, who is perfectly insane on the subject of his wife’s infamy, would have the advantage of you. He is suspicious of every stranger; and of all the gossip which environs you, the legend of that elopement is the mildest.”

“Indeed? This is very flattering! Probably I am also said to be a counterfeiter?”

“I am not jesting, Herr Count. While Colonel Barthelmy was my guest I was able to prevent him from taking any aggressive steps toward you; this is why you did not hear from him again after his last call on you—”

“I certainly am greatly indebted to you,” interrupted Count Vavel, with visible irony.

“You owe me no thanks, Herr Count. When a woman tries to prevent a quarrel between two men, she does so, believe me, out of pure self-love. The emotions which electrify your nerves torment ours. I could not have continued to live here had a tragic occurrence made the place memorable. That is why I prevented an encounter between you and the colonel; so you need not thank me. However, the evening before the regiment took its departure the colonel said to me: ‘I have kept my word to you, baroness; but tomorrow I cease to be your guest. I shall take steps then to learn if the mysterious lady at the Nameless Castle be Ange Barthelmy or some one else.’ ”

At these words a deep flush crimsoned Count Vavel’s face. “I should like to know how he proposes to settle that question?” he said, in a voice that trembled with suppressed rage.

“I will tell you. Just listen to the ridiculous plan which the man betrayed in his fury. He is quartered in the neighboring village to the edge of which you and a certain person drive every day. He is going to rise, with several friends, along the road; and when he meets your carriage, he is going to stop it, introduce himself, and demand if the lady by your side be Mme. Ange Barthelmy.”

Count Vavel clenched his hands and closed his lips tightly. After a brief struggle he regained command of himself, and said quietly:

“I shall, of course, reply: ‘On my word as a man of honor, this lady is not Ange Barthelmy.’ ”

“But if that does not satisfy him? Suppose he should insist on seeing the lady? Suppose he even attempts to lift the lady’s veil?”

“Then he dies!” The count gave utterance to these words in a tone that sounded more like the growl of a lion that has the neck of his prey between his teeth.

“He is capable, in his present mood, of doing anything rash,” murmured the baroness, with an expression of terror in her eyes.

“And I am capable of an equally rash act,” responded the count.

“I believe it; I have heard of such courage before. But you must not forget that you do not belong to yourself; there is some one else you must think of before you risk your life.”

Count Vavel started violently; he opened his lips as if to speak, but the baroness quickly raised her hand and interposed.

“I am not trying to pry into your secret, Herr Count; I am no spy—you must have seen that ere this. All I know is that there is under your protection a woman to whom you are everything, and who will have no one should she lose you.”

“But what can I do?” in desperation exclaimed Count Vavel. “I cannot hide in my castle until Colonel Barthelmy leaves the neighborhood. Would you have me confess to all the world that I am a coward?”

“Let me advise you, Herr Count,” with sudden resolution responded the baroness. “Turn this matter, which you look upon as a tragedy, into a capital jest. Take me to drive with you to-day instead of your—friend.”

Count Vavel suddenly burst into a loud laugh—from extreme anger to unrestrained merriment.

But the baroness did not laugh with him.

“I am in earnest, Count Vavel. Now you will understand why I came here this morning.” She drew her veil over her face, and asked: “Am I enough like her to take her place in the carriage?”

Count Vavel was astounded. The likeness to Marie was perfect. The gown, the hat, and veil were exactly like those Marie was wont to wear when she drove out with him. The daring suggestion, however, amazed him more than anything else.

“What! You, baroness? You would really venture to drive with me? Have you thought of the risk—the danger to yourself?”

“I have given it as much thought as did you when you risked coming to the manor with nothing but a walking-stick to battle with four thieves. One ought not stop to think of the risk when a danger is to be averted. This adventure may end as harmlessly as the other.”

“And suppose the colonel should by any chance see your face? No, no, baroness; there is no comparison between my venture and this plan you propose. If I had had an encounter with those thieves I might have received a wound that would soon have healed; but your pure reputation as a woman might receive a wound that would never heal.”