CHAPTER VI.
TO WHICH MORE THAN ONE CHARMER CHARMS

In the parlors, meanwhile, Cecilia formed the center of the group drawn up around the fireplace. She could be very amiable when she pleased, and her young sister-in-law was perfectly enchanted by her, while Eric who, to-day in general, had neither eyes nor ears for any one but his betrothed, hardly stirred from her side. Only Egbert Runeck took no part in the conversation. He looked out upon the terrace where those two gentlemen were engaged in such lively conversation, and then again his eyes rested upon the young Baroness; but in doing so his brow contracted almost threateningly.

"No, Eric, you need not try to persuade me that there ever is any spring here in your fatherland," exclaimed Cecilia laughing. "On the Riviera flowers have been blooming and diffusing sweet odors for months past; but since we have crossed the Alps, we have had nothing but storms and cold. And now, to crown all, this ride to Odensburg! Everywhere wintry wastes, nothing but the melancholy green of these everlasting fir-forests, besides mist and clouds and, for a change, sleety rain! Dear me! how I freeze in your cold, gray Germany."

She shivered, every movement she made, somehow adding charms to her naïve beauty, and then turned to the fire:

"In your Germany?" repeated Eric with tender reproach in his tone. "But, Cecilia, it is your Germany as well!"

"Of course it is, but I always have to put myself in mind, before I can realize that I am actually a child of this hateful North, where I am such a total stranger. I was hardly eight years old, when my father died, and two years later I lost my mother also. Then I was carried first to relations in Austria, and later to Lausanne, where I went to boarding-school. When I grew up, Oscar took me away, and since then we have lived mostly in the South. At Rome and Naples, the Riviera and Florence, in Switzerland, too, we have been a few times, and once in France. But Germany we have never come near!"

"Poor Cecilia! so you have never had a home!" cried Maia, compassionately.

Cecilia looked at her in great astonishment; such a life of vanity as she had led, continually changing both her society and surroundings seemed to her the only enviable one.

Home! That was quite a novel idea to her. Her eyes took a hasty survey of the parlor where they sat–yes, indeed, it wore an entirely different air from the gay and yet commonplace hotel-apartments, in which she had been living for years.

Those rich dark tapestries and curtains, that oaken furniture, every piece of which had an artistic value–the family portraits on the walls, and above all the breath of comfort that pervaded the whole! But, on the other hand, all this appeared so somber and dark, in the light of this gray, rainy day–as grave as all the people here, with the solitary exception of Maia–and the spoilt child of the world inwardly shuddered at the thought of her bridegroom's "home."

"Do you really and truly spend the largest part of the year here at Odensburg?" asked she. "It must be very monotonous. You have such a handsome residence in Berlin, as Eric has told me, and you hardly spend two months in the winter there. I do not understand it."

"My father think he has no time to move around the world," said Maia, in a wholly unembarrassed manner–"and I have only been a few times to the Baths with my aunt and governess. I like it here at Odensburg."

"Maia has not been introduced into society yet," explained Eric. "She is to come out next winter, for the first time, for she has completed her seventeenth year. Until now little sister has always had to stay up in the nursery, even when we had a large reception at home; and as to city life, she knows nothing of it whatever."

"I went into society when I was sixteen," remarked Cecilia. "Poor Maia, to think of their keeping you waiting so long–it is incomprehensible?"

The young girl laughed merrily at being the object of such genuine commiseration.

"Oh, I do not consider that as such a great misfortune, for then I must 'behave' myself as Miss Friedberg calls it, must be so dreadfully prim and staid, and no longer dance around with Puck–why, Puck! I do believe you have gone to sleep in broad daylight! Are you not ashamed? Will you wake up, I say!"

Therewith she rushed to one corner of the parlor, where Puck, greatly discontented at so little attention being paid him to-day, lay on a footstool, having yielded himself to the sweetest of slumbers. Cecilia's lip curled.

"Maia is nothing but a child, sure enough!" said she in an aside to Eric. "Well, Oscar, has the rain driven you in?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Wildenrod who had just come in. "We have been inspecting Odensburg, for the present, only from the terrace, but, Eric, your father has promised to introduce me into his realm within the next few days."

"Certainly, and Cecilia must get acquainted with it too," chimed in Eric. "Then we'll drive out, some day, to Radefeld, too, where the Buchberg is being tunneled." "Egbert," said he, turning to that young man, who had sat by, a silent listener, "you observe that we are inviting ourselves to pay you a visit some day."

"I am only afraid that our works will not interest Herr von Wildenrod," answered Egbert. "Externally they have very little of interest to show, and, as for the rest, we have not come to the tunneling yet."

Wildenrod turned to the young engineer, who had of course been presented to him upon his arrival. He knew through Eric that this friend of his youth occupied an anomalous position, but his presence here upon occasion of this exclusively family-party surprised him none the less, and he knew too how to give expression to this surprise. Through all the politeness, with which he treated Runeck, there was ever clearly transparent in his eyes the question: "What business have you here?"

"You sketched the plan for these works, did you not, Herr Runeck?" he asked. "Eric has spoken to me about it, and I am glad to make the acquaintance of so clever an engineer."

The words sounded very obliging, but the "engineer" was emphasized and thereby the barrier raised that separated the son of the worker in iron from the family of the millionaire, however much they might see fit to ignore this at Odensburg. Egbert bowed just as obligingly, while he replied:

"I have already had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Herr von Wildenrod."

"Mine? I do not remember that we ever met before."

"That is comprehensible, for it took place at a large party–three years ago in Berlin–at the house of Frau von Sarewski."

The Baron pricked up his ears, and fixed his keen eyes searchingly upon the young engineer, but at the same time a mocking smile played about his lips.

"And so you saw me there? Really, I would not have expected you to move in such circles."

"Nor do I, in fact. It was an exceptional case, and I was not there as a guest, either. Perhaps you may remember the circumstance if I recall the day to your mind–it was the twentieth of September."

The hand which rested on the back of Cecilia's chair trembled slightly, and at the same time there flashed from Wildenrod's eyes a glance of suspicion, that was threatening as well, but it produced no effect upon the perfectly unmoved features of Runeck. It lasted, indeed, only a second; then the Baron said carelessly:

"You really expect too much of my memory. I have really been introduced to so many people traveling about as much as I have done these last ten years, that I no longer distinguish individuals. What circumstance do you allude to?"

He spoke with perfect composure, not the slightest change being perceptible in his features, although those dark gray eyes of his were fastened fixedly upon Runeck, with an expression of threatening determination.

"If you have forgotten it, sir, it is hardly worth while to recur to it," said Egbert coolly. "But your features and individuality impressed themselves upon me in a manner that I have never forgotten."

"Very flattering to me!" Wildenrod bowed haughtily to the young engineer, and then turned his back upon him. He proceeded to the other end of the parlor, where Maia was tugging at the white coat of her pet, that had by no means taken in good part being suddenly disturbed in its siesta.

The game was at an end, though, when the Baron came up, and Fräulein Maia drew herself up, in a way that said plainly she was ready for battle, for she felt the urgent necessity for having an act of oblivion cast over her former childish timidity. No opportunity for this had been given at dinner because Frau von Ringstedt had absorbed the entire attention of the new family connection who was seated beside her: but now he was to see that nobody was in the least afraid of him; now she was fully determined to let him see that she could hold her own.

Alas! Oscar Wildenrod paid no attention whatever to this warlike mood, he began, in all innocence, to tease, first the little dog, and then its mistress, and, without any embarrassment whatever, took a place at her side.

Then he began to chat of all imaginable things, in a half playful, but uncommonly fascinating manner, that was quite new to the young girl. He quietly took it for granted that the connection which was so soon to exist between their families justified him in approaching her with the freedom of a relation, and he gently and naturally asserted this claim, and finally set himself seriously to work to gain Puck's friendship, and was fully successful in the effort.

All this was not without its influence upon Maia, who gradually gave up standing on the defensive, and became more sociable. She, too, began to talk now and tell about all sorts of things. The conversation was in full swing, when Wildenrod suddenly asked, quite irrelevantly:

"So, you are no longer afraid of me?"

"I?" The young lady was disposed to contradict what was said indignantly, and yet could not hinder the hot blood from mounting to her cheeks.

"Yes, you, Fräulein Dernburg! I plainly saw it when we exchanged our first greeting–or will you deny what I say?"

The blush upon Maia's face grew still deeper. He had only seen too clearly, but she was annoyed at this inconvenient sharp-sightedness on his part, and thought it very inconsiderate in him thus to take her to task.

"You are only making sport of me, Herr von Wildenrod!" said she indignantly.

He smiled, and it was remarkable what an improvement it wrought in his face. That dark fold between his eyes seemed to smooth down, all the sharp, stern lineaments softened, and his voice, too, sounded strangely soft, as he replied:

"Do I really look as if I would make sport of you? Can you really believe it?"

Maia looked up at him. No, those eyes were not mocking, at least not now, but again they exerted the same spell over her as they had done awhile ago, and she was helpless to resist it–and there again was that inexplicably oppressive sensation. No answer occurred to the young girl, and she only gently shook her head.

"No?" asked Wildenrod. "Well then, prove to me that the guest who has arrived to-day does not inspire you with fear by gratifying me in a request–will you?"

"I must first know what your request is," said Maia, taken captive, and with a vain attempt at resuming her old petulant tone. Wildenrod stooped down to her, and his voice sank into a low whisper.

"Everybody here calls you Maia, everybody in this circle has the right to address you simply by your name, which is the prettiest one in the world. Even that Herr Runeck has been granted that privilege–only I am left out in the cold. I am not so bold as to claim the same right as Cecilia, who uses the sisterly 'thee' when addressing you, but–may I, too, call you Maia?"

He had taken her hand, as though accidentally. His request was neither so very presumptuous nor so unusual, the elderly man might certainly be allowed this freedom in addressing a girl of seventeen, of whose brother he was soon to be the brother-in-law–nevertheless, Maia delayed her answer, delayed so long, that he asked reproachfully:

"Do you refuse me?"

"Oh, no, certainly not, you are Cecilia's brother, Herr von Wildenrod."

"Yes, indeed, and Cecilia's brother has another name, which he would also like to hear called by you, Maia,–my name is Oscar."

No answer followed, but the little hand quivered within his grasp and tried to free itself, but in vain, he held it fast.

"You will not?"

"I–I cannot!" There was an almost agonized repulse in these words. Oscar smiled again.

With a gentle pressure he released her hand. Maia! How strangely he pronounced the name, it was a sound that penetrated the young girl with a feeling never experienced before, at once sweet and torturing, but she breathed deeply, as though relieved, when Eric approached and said playfully:

"I do believe, Oscar, you are slyly paying court to our little Maia."

"For the present I am only paving my way to the intimacy of future relationship," was the cheerful reply. "Maia has just given me leave to give up addressing her formally as Miss Dernburg. You have no objection, I hope."

"Not the least," said Eric, laughing. "You will play the part of uncle to our little girl, with great dignity, I fancy. Only see to it that you treat her with all due deference!"

A singular expression flitted across Oscar's features at this harmless conception, but he made no response to it. Maia had not heard this last remark, for she had hurried to her father, who had joined the two older ladies. With an almost impetuous movement, she cuddled up to him, as though she sought shelter in his arms, shelter from some unknown peril, that still lay far away in the dim distance, and which, nevertheless, cast a shadow athwart the glowing present.