The Europeans

  CHAPTER II

  The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter hadsuddenly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quicklyleaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl whocame out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about inthe spacious garden which separated it from a muddy road. The floweringshrubs and the neatly-disposed plants were basking in the abundantlight and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms--they weremagnificent trees--seemed to thicken by the hour; and the intenselyhabitual stillness offered a submissive medium to the sound of a distantchurch-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was notdressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist,with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of coloredmuslin. She was a young lady of some two or three and twenty yearsof age, and though a young person of her sex walking bare-headed ina garden, of a Sunday morning in spring-time, can, in the nature ofthings, never be a displeasing object, you would not have pronouncedthis innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale,thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; hereyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dulland restless--differing herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal "fineeyes," which we always imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. Thedoors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, to admitthe purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches upon the floorof a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion--apiazza on which several straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozenof those small cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, whichsuggest an affiliation between the residents and the Eastern trade, weresymmetrically disposed. It was an ancient house--ancient in the senseof being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear,faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat woodenpilasters, painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind ofclassic pediment, which was decorated in the middle by a large triplewindow in a boldly carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles bya glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with ahighly-polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural-lookingroad, with which it was connected by a spacious pathway, paved with wornand cracked, but very clean, bricks. Behind it there were meadows andorchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along theroad, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, withexternal shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and anorchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, throughwhich the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eyeas distinctly as the items of a "sum" in addition.

  A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza,descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I havespoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was olderthan the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes,unlike the other's, were quick and bright; but they were not at allrestless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red,India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. Inher hand she carried a little key.

  "Gertrude," she said, "are you very sure you had better not go tochurch?"

  Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from alilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away. "I am not very sure ofanything!" she answered.

  The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond,which lay shining between the long banks of fir-trees. Then she said ina very soft voice, "This is the key of the dining-room closet. I thinkyou had better have it, if any one should want anything."

  "Who is there to want anything?" Gertrude demanded. "I shall be allalone in the house."

  "Some one may come," said her companion.

  "Do you mean Mr. Brand?"

  "Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake."

  "I don't like men that are always eating cake!" Gertrude declared,giving a pull at the lilac-bush.

  Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. "Ithink father expected you would come to church," she said. "What shall Isay to him?"

  "Say I have a bad headache."

  "Would that be true?" asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pondagain.

  "No, Charlotte," said the younger one simply.

  Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion's face. "I amafraid you are feeling restless."

  "I am feeling as I always feel," Gertrude replied, in the same tone.

  Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently shelooked down at the front of her dress. "Does n't it seem to you,somehow, as if my scarf were too long?" she asked.

  Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf. "I don't think youwear it right," she said.

  "How should I wear it, dear?"

  "I don't know; differently from that. You should draw it differentlyover your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differentlybehind."

  "How should I look?" Charlotte inquired.

  "I don't think I can tell you," said Gertrude, plucking out the scarfa little behind. "I could do it myself, but I don't think I can explainit."

  Charlotte, by a movement of her elbows, corrected the laxity that hadcome from her companion's touch. "Well, some day you must do it for me.It does n't matter now. Indeed, I don't think it matters," she added,"how one looks behind."

  "I should say it mattered more," said Gertrude. "Then you don't know whomay be observing you. You are not on your guard. You can't try to lookpretty."

  Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. "I don't thinkone should ever try to look pretty," she rejoined, earnestly.

  Her companion was silent. Then she said, "Well, perhaps it 's not ofmuch use."

  Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. "I hope you willbe better when we come back."

  "My dear sister, I am very well!" said Gertrude.

  Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; hercompanion strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met ayoung man, who was coming in--a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hatand a pair of thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. Hehad a pleasant smile. "Oh, Mr. Brand!" exclaimed the young lady.

  "I came to see whether your sister was not going to church," said theyoung man.

  "She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think ifyou were to talk to her a little".... And Charlotte lowered her voice."It seems as if she were restless."

  Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. "I shallbe very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absentmyself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive."

  "Well, I suppose you know," said Charlotte, softly, as if positiveacceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. "But I am afraid Ishall be late."

  "I hope you will have a pleasant sermon," said the young man.

  "Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant," Charlotte answered. And she went onher way.

  Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate closebehind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched himcoming; then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected thismovement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped hisforehead as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out hishand. His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his foreheadwas very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless.His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but forall this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. Theexpression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentleand serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The younggirl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his threadgloves.

  "I hoped you were going to church," he said. "I wanted to walk withyou."

  "I am very much obliged to you," Gertrude answered. "I am not going tochurch."
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  She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. "Have you anyspecial reason for not going?"

  "Yes, Mr. Brand," said the young girl.

  "May I ask what it is?"

  She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, therewas a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was somethingsweet and suggestive. "Because the sky is so blue!" she said.

  He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too,"I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, butnever for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you aredepressed," he added.

  "Depressed? I am never depressed."

  "Oh, surely, sometimes," replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this aregrettable account of one's self.

  "I am never depressed," Gertrude repeated. "But I am sometimes wicked.When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to mysister."

  "What did you do to her?"

  "I said things that puzzled her--on purpose."

  "Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?" asked the young man.

  She began to smile again. "Because the sky is so blue!"

  "You say things that puzzle me," Mr. Brand declared.

  "I always know when I do it," proceeded Gertrude. "But people puzzle memore, I think. And they don't seem to know!"

  "This is very interesting," Mr. Brand observed, smiling.

  "You told me to tell you about my--my struggles," the young girl wenton.

  "Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say."

  Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, "You had bettergo to church," she said.

  "You know," the young man urged, "that I have always one thing to say."

  Gertrude looked at him a moment. "Please don't say it now!"

  "We are all alone," he continued, taking off his hat; "all alone in thisbeautiful Sunday stillness."

  Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shiningdistance, the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for herirregularities. "That 's the reason," she said, "why I don't want you tospeak. Do me a favor; go to church."

  "May I speak when I come back?" asked Mr. Brand.

  "If you are still disposed," she answered.

  "I don't know whether you are wicked," he said, "but you are certainlypuzzling."

  She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at hera moment, and then he slowly walked to church.

  She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose.The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. Thisyoung lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone--theabsence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. To-day,apparently, the servants had also gone to church; there was never afigure at the open windows; behind the house there was no stout negressin a red turban, lowering the bucket into the great shingle-hoodedwell. And the front door of the big, unguarded home stood open, withthe trustfulness of the golden age; or what is more to the purpose, withthat of New England's silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it,and went from one of the empty rooms to the other--large, clear-coloredrooms, with white wainscots, ornamented with thin-legged mahoganyfurniture, and, on the walls, with old-fashioned engravings, chiefly ofscriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable sense of solitude,of having the house to herself, of which I have spoken, always excitedGertrude's imagination; she could not have told you why, and neither canher humble historian. It always seemed to her that she must do somethingparticular--that she must honor the occasion; and while she roamedabout, wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end.To-day she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; therewas no library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. Noneof them were forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home forthe sake of a chance to climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessedherself of a very obvious volume--one of the series of the ArabianNights--and she brought it out into the portico and sat down with it inher lap. There, for a quarter of an hour, she read the history of theloves of the Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last,looking up, she beheld, as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaralzamanstanding before her. A beautiful young man was making her a very lowbow--a magnificent bow, such as she had never seen before. He appearedto have dropped from the clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; hesmiled--smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, for amoment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, without even keepingher finger in her book. The young man, with his hat in his hand, stilllooked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very strange.

  "Will you kindly tell me," said the mysterious visitor, at last,"whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Went-worth?"

  "My name is Gertrude Wentworth," murmured the young woman.

  "Then--then--I have the honor--the pleasure--of being your cousin."

  The young man had so much the character of an apparition that thisannouncement seemed to complete his unreality. "What cousin? Who areyou?" said Gertrude.

  He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glancedround him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst outlaughing. "I see it must seem to you very strange," he said. There was,after all, something substantial in his laughter. Gertrude looked at himfrom head to foot. Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile wasalmost a grimace. "It is very still," he went on, coming nearer again.And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, "Are you all alone?"

  "Every one has gone to church," said Gertrude.

  "I was afraid of that!" the young man exclaimed. "But I hope you are notafraid of me."

  "You ought to tell me who you are," Gertrude answered.

  "I am afraid of you!" said the young man. "I had a different plan. Iexpected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put yourheads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity."

  Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which broughtits result; and the result seemed an answer--a wondrous, delightfulanswer--to her vague wish that something would befall her. "I know--Iknow," she said. "You come from Europe."

  "We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then--you believe in us?"

  "We have known, vaguely," said Gertrude, "that we had relations inFrance."

  "And have you ever wanted to see us?" asked the young man.

  Gertrude was silent a moment. "I have wanted to see you."

  "I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so wecame."

  "On purpose?" asked Gertrude.

  The young man looked round him, smiling still. "Well, yes; on purpose.Does that sound as if we should bore you?" he added. "I don't think weshall--I really don't think we shall. We are rather fond of wandering,too; and we were glad of a pretext."

  "And you have just arrived?"

  "In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He mustbe your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed oftento have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, thislovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me towalk straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted tosee the country. I walked and walked, and here I am! It 's a good manymiles."

  "It is seven miles and a half," said Gertrude, softly. Now that thishandsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herselfvaguely trembling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her lifespoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightfulto do so. Here was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbathstillness for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smilingone! She found time and means to compose herself, however: to remindherself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality. "We arevery--very glad to see you," she said. "Won't you come into the house?"And she moved toward the open door.

  "You are not afraid of me, then?" asked the young man again, with hislight laugh.

  She wondered a moment, and
then, "We are not afraid--here," she said.

  "Ah, comme vous devez avoir raison!" cried the young man, looking allround him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heardso many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation.Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of hisown, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed in her clear, crispmuslin. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircasewith a white balustrade. "What a pleasant house!" he said. "It 'slighter inside than it is out."

  "It 's pleasanter here," said Gertrude, and she led the way into theparlor,--a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stoodlooking at each other,--the young man smiling more than ever; Gertrude,very serious, trying to smile.

  "I don't believe you know my name," he said. "I am called Felix Young.Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older thanhe."

  "Yes," said Gertrude, "and she turned Roman Catholic and married inEurope."

  "I see you know," said the young man. "She married and she died. Yourfather's family did n't like her husband. They called him a foreigner;but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents wereAmerican."

  "In Sicily?" Gertrude murmured.

  "It is true," said Felix Young, "that they had spent their lives inEurope. But they were very patriotic. And so are we."

  "And you are Sicilian," said Gertrude.

  "Sicilian, no! Let 's see. I was born at a little place--a dear littleplace--in France. My sister was born at Vienna."

  "So you are French," said Gertrude.

  "Heaven forbid!" cried the young man. Gertrude's eyes were fixed uponhim almost insistently. He began to laugh again. "I can easily beFrench, if that will please you."

  "You are a foreigner of some sort," said Gertrude.

  "Of some sort--yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I don'tthink we have ever had occasion to settle the question. You knowthere are people like that. About their country, their religion, theirprofession, they can't tell."

  Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. Shehad never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. "Where do youlive?" she asked.

  "They can't tell that, either!" said Felix. "I am afraid you willthink they are little better than vagabonds. I have livedanywhere--everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city inEurope." Gertrude gave a little long soft exhalation. It made the youngman smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To takerefuge from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was nothungry or thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with thelittle key that her sister had given her. "Ah, my dear young lady," hesaid, clasping his hands a little, "if you could give me, in charity, aglass of wine!"

  Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of theroom. Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one handand a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake witha frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had amoment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of whichher sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsmanfrom across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. Whenshe came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friendsmeeting after a separation. "You wait upon me yourself?" he asked. "I amserved like the gods!" She had waited upon a great many people, butnone of them had ever told her that. The observation added a certainlightness to the step with which she went to a little table where therewere some curious red glasses--glasses covered with little gold sprigs,which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. Gertrudethought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to her to knowthat the wine was good; it was her father's famous madeira. Felix Youngthought it excellent; he wondered why he had been told that there wasno wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, andagain she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass inone hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other--eating, drinking,smiling, talking. "I am very hungry," he said. "I am not at all tired; Iam never tired. But I am very hungry."

  "You must stay to dinner," said Gertrude. "At two o'clock. They will allhave come back from church; you will see the others."

  "Who are the others?" asked the young man. "Describe them all."

  "You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about yoursister."

  "My sister is the Baroness Munster," said Felix.

  On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walkedabout slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinkingof it. "Why did n't she come, too?" she asked.

  "She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel."

  "We will go and see her," said Gertrude, looking at him.

  "She begs you will not!" the young man replied. "She sends you her love;she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to yourfather."

  Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Munster, who sent abrilliant young man to "announce" her; who was coming, as the Queenof Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her "respects" to quiet Mr.Wentworth--such a personage presented herself to Gertrude's vision witha most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what tosay. "When will she come?" she asked at last.

  "As soon as you will allow her--to-morrow. She is very impatient,"answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable.

  "To-morrow, yes," said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; butshe hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Munster. "Isshe--is she--married?"

  Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon theyoung girl his bright, expressive eyes. "She is married to a Germanprince--Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not thereigning prince; he is a younger brother."

  Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. "Is shea--a Princess?" she asked at last.

  "Oh, no," said the young man; "her position is rather a singular one. It's a morganatic marriage."

  "Morganatic?" These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude.

  "That 's what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between ascion of a ruling house and--and a common mortal. They made Eugenia aBaroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want todissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; buthis brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturallyenough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she caresmuch--she 's a very clever woman; I 'm sure you 'll like her--but shewants to bother them. Just now everything is en l'air."

  The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darklyromantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also toconvey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom anddignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presentlythe one that was uppermost found words. "They want to dissolve hermarriage?" she asked.

  "So it appears."

  "And against her will?"

  "Against her right."

  "She must be very unhappy!" said Gertrude.

  Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back ofhis head and held it there a moment. "So she says," he answered. "That's her story. She told me to tell it you."

  "Tell me more," said Gertrude.

  "No, I will leave that to her; she does it better."

  Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. "Well, if she is unhappy,"she said, "I am glad she has come to us."

  She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of afootstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she alwaysrecognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of thewindow. They were all coming back from church--her father, her sisterand brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday.Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because,apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him tosay an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. Hehad two litt
le books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude's companion heslowly stopped, looking at him.

  "Is this a cousin?" asked Felix.

  Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, bysympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. "Thisis the Prince," she said, "the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!"

  Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others,who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open door-way.