Johanna, who was taken to table by a young and rather silent lieutenant, looked on in silence. The place on her other side was empty. At last a young man appeared, who, when greeted by Batti with reproaches for his tardiness, excused himself on the plea of urgent work for his newspaper.

Batti signed to him to take the vacant seat beside Johanna, and presented him to her as Dr. Edgar Stein.

"At last, Fraulein!" he said. "You have been invisible for so long, while our friend Batti has been unwearied in his wondrous tales of you, that I began to regard you as a mythical being 'veiled in lovely legend.'"

Johanna mutely inclined her head. The round, red face of the man, with its bold blue eyes and cynical smile, made a most disagreeable impression upon her.

Helena, who sat opposite, laughed in a constrained manner. "What has Batti been saying?" she asked. "We must certainly find out, Johanna."

"Why, he described the Fraulein half as one of the bold horsewomen,--Wodan's daughters,--half as a Saint Elizabeth,--cheering the sad, healing the sick, and so forth; then half as an aristocratic lady, half as an artiste. And from what I see I believe it all."

Whereupon Dr. Stein bowed, and laughed as if in derision of his own words.

"Johanna, you ought to be proud!" cried Helena. "Dr. Stein[1] is usually quite what his name signifies towards women."

[Footnote 1: Anglice, _stone_.]

"But not towards you, fairest dame!" he replied. "You never deigned to notice me, poor, pale moon among the stars that circle about your sunlike majesty."

As he spoke, his glance seemed to ridicule all present. Helena smiled contented; Johanna felt more and more disgusted. And although the young man, strong in his armour of self-conceit, never suspected the sensation he inspired, he could not but perceive that he was far from producing upon Johanna the impression he had intended, and he was not the man to forgive this.

The talk grew louder and freer. Even in her father's house this had sometimes occurred; but Johanna had never felt disturbed by the conversation there, where the refinement of the host had always restrained the mirth and frivolity of his guests within certain limits.

But who was there to do that here? At last she could bear it no longer, and, while a toast was being drunk standing, she contrived to withdraw unperceived; and the next morning she explained that she could not leave Lisbeth so late at night again. The child had discovered the absence of her beloved nurse, had cried bitterly, and had not slept until some time after Johanna's return. Henceforth Batti was obliged to content himself with the daily ride which the physician ordered for the young girl, and which she herself would have been sorry to omit.

She heard nothing further from Donninghausen, although she had entreated Aunt Thekla to write to her. Only a couple of large trunks, containing all her belongings, had arrived. She unpacked them, shaking out every article which they contained, in the hope of finding some sc.r.a.p of writing. In vain! Only a ring which Aunt Thekla had always worn had been added to Johanna's small store of trinkets. Evidently the Freiherr had, as he had warned her, forbidden all communication with her.

All the greater was her surprise, when one day a card was brought her, upon which beneath the name of 'Dr. Urban Wolf' was written in pencil, 'with a message from Donninghausen.'

For an instant she hesitated; but the longing to have some tidings of her grandfather and aunt was victorious. As she could not at the time leave Lisbeth, she placed the screen before the bed of the sleeping child, and requested to have the stranger shown up.

"Pardon me for my intrusion," he said. "I ought to have asked an introduction from Batti, but it was necessary that I should speak with you alone."

Johanna was agreeably impressed. There was something in the stranger's deep, full voice that reminded her of some tones of her father's. There, however, the resemblance ended. Dr. Wolf's figure was short and slender, and his pale, delicate face evidently Jewish.

"Pray be seated," she said, motioning him to a chair; and her breath came short and quick as she added, "You bring me tidings of my relatives; do you come from Donninghausen?"

"No, I do not," he said, without looking up. "My father, Lobel Wolf, the dealer in curiosities, is commissioned by the Freiherr von Donninghausen to make you a proposition, which I am to lay before you."

He paused, as if awaiting encouragement to proceed. Johanna, however, gave him none, not knowing what to say, and he went on: "I fear I must allude to matters which it is painful to you to----With regard to certain jewels, an heirloom in the family; an inheritance from your mother----"

"I make no claim to them!" Johanna interrupted him, and her voice trembled. Was it possible that her grandfather could think her mercenary?

"Permit me to conclude," the young man continued, and his tone and manner showed how disagreeable he found his task. "The Freiherr wishes to retain the jewels in the Donninghausen family; but, since they are undeniably yours, he can do so only by obtaining your consent that he should purchase them from you. My father has appraised them; here is his estimate in writing----" And he would have handed Johanna a folded piece of paper. She declined it.

"No, no; this is out of the question!" she exclaimed. "That the jewels are a family heirloom is quite enough to establish the fact that I can have no possible claim upon them. And if I had, one does not sell family jewels,--not even I, although I have no family!"

She arose and went to the window; the stranger must not perceive her emotion.

Dr. Wolf also arose. "I have another commission to fulfil. The old Freifraulein Thekla sent for my father, begged him to come himself to Hanover to transact this affair, to give you her affectionate greetings, and then to let her know how you are. What shall I write to him?"

"That I am well," she said.

"Well!" the young man repeated. "Pardon me, Fraulein, I cannot believe it."

Johanna turned to him. "Herr Doctor," she said, with some haughtiness.

"Pardon me," he said again, looking her sadly in the face. "I have scarcely seen you, but I know that this is no fitting home for you. How long can you endure it? For the present you do so, because you feel that you are needed here, but what will you do when that need no longer exists?"

Johanna blushed crimson. "Herr Doctor," she began, "these are questions----"

"Which you think I have no right to put," he completed her sentence; and then went on, in his gentle, persistent voice, "I knew that I should have to allude to what it would be most painful to you to have mentioned, but it is best to tell you frankly how matters stand. The old Freifraulein confided to my father that the purchase of the jewels is a mere pretence. The Freiherr has parted with you; but he cannot endure to think of you, without means, exposed to the vicissitudes of life. His pride will not allow him openly to offer you a helping hand, and yet he feels it his duty to support you. Meet him half-way."

"Impossible!" Johanna declared.

He was silent for a while. "Pray do not let this be your final decision," he entreated. "Reflect; think how long and sad the life has been that has made your grandfather so hard, and be you all the gentler.

The repentance is bitter that comes too late." He stroked back his hair from his forehead, and added, as if in self-reproach, "I pray you to forgive my presumption! You do not know; I may one day, perhaps, be able to explain----There is a certain community of suffering between us. I will call in a few days for your answer to the Freiherr."

And, without waiting for a reply, he took his leave.

CHAPTER XXV.

A WAGER AND AN ADVISER.

Johanna was much agitated. Again she felt bitterly her separation from Donninghausen, and she was also suddenly a.s.sailed by anxiety with regard to her future. The young man was right. When she should be no longer of use as Lisbeth's nurse she could not remain with her step-mother; and what then?

At times, when while sitting at her writing-table, she had felt some consciousness of power,--she had hoped to be able to maintain herself by literary labour. At other times she doubted. Now, when the question seemed to her more grave than ever before, she seemed to hear her father's words of discouragement, 'as devoid of talent as her mother.'

But why, then, was she so irresistibly impelled to give life to the creatures of her fancy? and how had she been able in all her misery to forget herself in so doing, if she were not called to avail herself of the talent which she possessed?

She stood at the window, with throbbing pulses, and gazed out into the twilight. Over in the garden a thrush was singing its evening song in the top of an old pear-tree. Ah, that song! Its ecstasy would always recall to the girl the most wretched hour of her existence. 'Called?'

Had she not also thought herself called to be a partaker in the bliss of love? How true the words of Holy Writ, 'Many are called, but few are chosen!'

The evening and a great part of the night were pa.s.sed by Johanna in a wild turmoil of thought. She began the new day with a weary head and a heavy heart. All the more cheerful was Batti during the morning ride; he shouted and laughed louder than ever. Suddenly he broke off, and, guiding his horse close to her side, he said, "I am tiring you with my nonsense, but you must excuse me to-day. I have just had a letter which puts me quite beside myself. If the devil does not put in his oar, we shall go to St. Petersburg this autumn."

Johanna was startled. How would Lisbeth bear the long journey and the severity of the Russian winter?

"Helena knows nothing about it yet. I shall not tell her until everything is ship-shape," Batti continued; "she makes such a row. But I tell you immediately, because we have no time to lose. Better go to work at once. St. Petersburg is the best place in the world for your debut."

"My debut!" Johanna exclaimed, in surprise.

"Pray let us have no fol-de-rol nonsense!" Batti quickly rejoined. "No need for us to play hide-and-seek with each other! I need you, you need me; let us confess this much at once. Your manners, rather haughty,--coolly distinguished, I might say,--will be a fine nut for the St. Petersburg gentlemen to crack. You will look like a queen beside my two laughing, coquettish blondes. Besides, you have talent, enthusiasm, energy, and look better on horseback than anywhere else. You have no family connection. Even without appearing as an equestrienne you have contrived to be exiled and repudiated. Nothing could be more admirably arranged. So be sensible; do not hesitate any longer. Mount the horse that an honest hand saddles and bridles for you, and then halloo! huzza!

for the brilliant future I promise you. Why the deuce should you hesitate? You'll find no better teacher than myself, and no better chance than in my circus. I should like to know what objections you can make?"

"None," Johanna replied. "I know that your intentions are the kindest, and I thank you cordially, but it cannot be!"

Batti laughed. "'Tis odd that no lady is without affectation!" he exclaimed. "Let it alone, however; it does not become you."