Maurus Jokai - The Nameless Castle

“Then she must come with us to the manor to a well-deserved rest. I can send one of my servants over here to attend to the wants of the gentlemen.”

The two ladies now took leave of Count Vavel and his visitor. Marie led the way to her own apartments, where she introduced the cats and dogs to Katharina. Then she drew her into the alcove, and secretly pulled the cord at the head of the bed.

“Now you are my prisoner,” she said to the baroness, who was looking about her in a startled manner. “Were I your enemy—your rival—I should not need to do anything to gratify my enmity but refuse to reveal the secret of this screen, and you would have to die here alone with me.”

“Good heavens, Marie! How can you frighten me so?” exclaimed Katharina, in alarm.

“Ha, ha!” merrily laughed the young girl, “then I have really frightened you? But don’t be alarmed; directly some one will come who will not let you ‘perish miserably.’ ”

The baroness’s face grew suddenly pallid; but she quickly recovered herself as Count Vavel came hastily into the outer room.

“Did you summon me, Marie?” he called, when he saw that the screen was down.

“Yes, I summoned you,” replied Marie. “I want you to repeat the good-night wish you give me every night.”

“But it is not night.”

“No; but you will not see me again to-day, so you must wish me good night now.”

Ludwig came near to the screen, and said in a low, earnest tone:

“May God give you a good night, Marie! May angels watch over you! May Heaven receive your prayers, and may you dream of happiness and freedom. Good night!”

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

“That is his daily custom,” whispered Marie. Then she pressed her foot on the spring in the floor, and the screen was lifted.

Lisette had finished her tasks in the kitchen when the two ladies came to pay her a visit. She was sitting in a low, stoutly made chair which had been fashioned expressly for her huge frame, and was shuffling a pack of cards when the ladies entered.

She did not lay the cards to one side, nor did she rise from her chair when the baroness came toward her and said in a friendly tone:

“Well, Lisette, I dare say you do not know that I am your neighbor from the manor?”

“Oh, yes, I do. I used often to hear my poor old man talk about the beautiful lady over yonder, and of course you must be she.”

“And do you know that I expect to be Count Vavel’s wife?”

“I did not know it, your ladyship, but it is natural. A gallant gentleman and a beautiful lady—if they are thrown together then there follows either marriage or danger. A marriage is better than a danger.”

“This time, Lisette, marriage and danger go hand in hand. The count is preparing for the war.”

This announcement had no other effect on the impassive mountain of flesh than to make her shuffle her cards more rapidly.

“Then it is come at last!” she muttered, cutting the cards, and glancing at the under one. It was only a knave, not the queen!

“Yes,” continued the baroness; “the recruiting-flag already floats from the tower of the castle, and tomorrow volunteers will begin to enroll their names.”

“God help them!” again muttered the woman.

“I am going to take your young mistress home with me, Lisette,” again remarked the baroness. “It would not be well to leave her here, amid the turmoil of recruiting and the clashing of weapons, would it?”

“I can’t say. My business is in the kitchen; I don’t know anything about matters out of it,” replied Lisette, still shuffling her cards.

“But I intend to take you out of the kitchen, Lisette,” returned the baroness. “I don’t intend to let you work any more. You shall live with us over at the manor, in a room of your own, and, if you wish, have a little kitchen all to yourself, and a little maid to wait on you. You will come with us, will you not?”

“I thank your ladyship; but I had rather stay where I am.”

“But why?”

“Because I should be a trouble to everybody over yonder. I am a person that suits only herself. I don’t know how to win the good will of other people. I don’t keep a cat or a dog, because I don’t want to love anything. Besides, I have many disagreeable habits. I use snuff, and I can’t agree with anybody. I am best left to myself, your ladyship.”

“But what will become of you when both your master and mistress are gone from the castle?”

“I shall do what I have always done, your ladyship. The Herr Count promised that I should never want for anything to cook so long as I lived.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Lisette. I did not ask how you intended to live. What I meant was, how are you going to get on when you do not see or hear any one—when you are all alone here?”

“I am not afraid to be alone. I have no money, and I don’t think anybody would undertake to carry me off! I am never lonely. I can’t read,—for which I thank God!—so that never bothers me. I don’t like to knit; for ever since I saw those terrible women sitting around the guillotine and knitting, knitting, knitting all day long, I can’t bear to see the motion of five needles. So I just amuse myself with these cards; and I don’t need anything else.”

“But surely your heart will grow sore when you do not see your little mistress daily?”

“Daily—daily, your ladyship? This is the second time I have laid eyes on her face in six years! There was a time when I saw her daily, hourly—when she needed me all the time. Is not that so, my little mistress? Don’t you remember how I had a little son, and how he called me chère maman , and I called him mon petit garçon? ”

As she spoke, she laid the cards one by one on her snowy apron. She looked intently at them for several moments, then continued:

“No; I don’t need to know anything, only that she is safe. She will always be carefully guarded from all harm, and my cards will always tell me all I need know about mon petit garçon . No, your ladyship; I shall not go with you; I cannot leave the place where my poor Henry died.”

“Poor Lisette! what a tender heart is yours!”

“Mine?” suddenly and with unusual energy interrupted Lisette. “Mine a tender heart? Ask this little lady here—who cannot tell a lie—if I am not the woman who has the hardest, the most unfeeling heart in all the world. Ask her that, your ladyship. Tell her, mon petit garçon ,” she added, turning to Marie,—“tell the lady it is as I say.”

“Lisette—dear Lisette,” remonstrated Marie.

“Have you ever seen me weep?” demanded the woman.

“No, Lisette; but—”

“Did I ever sigh,” interrupted Lisette, “or moan, or grieve, that time when we spent many days and nights together in one room?”

“No, no; never, Lisette.”

The woman turned in her chair to a chest that stood by her side, opened it, and took out a package carefully wrapped first in paper, then in a linen cloth.

When she had removed the wrappings, she held up in her hands a child’s chemise and petticoat.

“What is needed to complete these, your ladyship?” she asked.

“A dear little child, I should say,” answered Katharina, indulgently.

“You are right—a dear little child.”

“Where is the child, Lisette?”

“That I don’t know—do you understand? I—don’t—know. And I don’t inquire, either. Now, will you still imagine that I have a tender heart? It is years since I looked on these little garments. What did I do with the child that wore them? Whose business is it what I did with her? She was my child, and I had a right to do as I pleased with her. I was paid enough for it—an enormous price! You don’t understand what I am talking about, your ladyship. Go; take mon petit garçon with you; and may God do so to you as you deal with him. Take care of him. My cards will tell me everything, and sometime, when I have turned into a hideous hobgoblin, those whom I shall haunt will remember me! And now, mon petit garçon ”—turning again to Marie,—“let me kiss your hand for the last time.”