Now the little girl is a year old, and laughs and smiles at her mother gayly, and the physician said recently, "You may be proud of the child, Baroness. How you have raised her, G.o.d only knows. All doctors can learn from a mother. But now think of yourself a little."

And the physician shook his head as he looked at the young woman.

Yes, the air is full of perfume and sunshine, but, in the midst of the charming spring life, Elsa looks like a frail white flower.

She has bathed baby, put on her little embroidered shirt, and wrapped her in a flannel slumber-robe, and now, with a fine towel, wipes the last drops from the tender pink little feet, and the little neck on which the water drops down from the small golden head. The nurse is meanwhile busy removing the bathing utensils, while Litzi, who is now a big girl, wearing long stockings, stands near her little sister and holding perfectly still, allows her long hair to be pulled.

"Fie, you wild little thing, you will hurt her!" cries Elsa at last, as baby pulls harder and harder, and winds her tiny fist in Litzi's hair.

Then baby throws her head back, shows her four teeth, laughs with all her little body, and finally leans her cheek sleepily against mamma's shoulder.

"Go down-stairs, my Litzi, go to Miss Sidney; baby wishes to go to sleep," whispers Elsa to her big daughter, whereupon Litzi goes away on tip-toes.

Dreamily humming a lullaby, Elsa cradles the child in her arms, and then lays it down in its pretty white bed. But when she thinks it asleep, it opens its blue eyes, and stretching out its arms, murmurs something which, with a vivid imagination, one can declare to be "Papa."

"Did you hear him come sooner than I, baby?" says Elsa, while Garzin, sitting on the edge of the bed, strokes the child's head until she closes her eyes. There she lies, her hair full of golden lights, the unusually long, black lashes resting on the round cheeks, lengthened by their own shadow, the full little mouth half open, like the calyx of a red flower, one fat little arm thrown up over its head.

"She is pretty, my little one, is she not?" says Elsa proudly, as she sees the quiet smile with which her husband watches the child. "And the doctor thinks I need have no more anxiety about her."

"Yes, the little rogue is healthy enough," says Erwin, sighing, as he softly leaves the nursery with Elsa. "I wish I could say the same of her mamma. Poor Elsa, how thin you are."

"Do I not please you any longer?" she replies, half laughing.

"You are not very sensible!"

"Probably not," replies she seriously. "With such old married people as we are, there can be no more talk of 'pleasing.'"

"Do you think so?"

"And if I should have small-pox, would it make any difference to you?"

she asks him, looking at him curiously; the n.o.blest woman is not ashamed to be loved a little because of her beauty.

"Certainly," he replies, "I should love you just as much as before, but I would be bitterly sorry for your pretty face." Jestingly he pa.s.ses his finger over her cheeks.

They go into the garden; all is gay as if for a feast, the whole earth with her blooming mixture of white, blue and violet elder, golden rain and red acacias--a gay, shimmering picture under an endless blue sky.

Everything lives and breathes. The birds twitter, the insects hum, every blade of gra.s.s seems to have a voice, and join in the great triumphal chorus of the newly-risen nature.

There is a rustling, a murmuring, a whispering, a nodding, a quiver of life and pleasure, and in the enchanting music suddenly mingles a soft crackling, the crackling of dead leaves, which play at the foot of the trees.

Garzin has led his wife to a bench, over which an elder tree bends its branches of bushy white blossoms. Elsa gazes before her at the lovely nature, the mixture of luxuriant green and gay blossoms, of short black shadows amid dazzling light.

"How young the earth looks," says she dreamily.

Erwin draws her to him. I do not know whether he loves her even more now when she is pale and ill; at any rate he is more conscious of his feeling for her, and treats her more tenderly, is more thoughtful of her, and she leans on him like a sick child. Her whole being has become softer, less independent.

"I received a letter from Felix to-day," says Garzin after a pause.

"Ah!" murmurs Elsa somewhat bitterly. "Does he write for money again?"

"Yes, I am to raise some money for him," says Erwin looking troubled.

"Ah!"

"He has a fine property, but that cannot last," he remarks thoughtfully.

"If it makes him happy," Elsa shrugs her shoulders, and her voice sounds harsh.

"Hm! To ruin one's self is at the time a very pleasant occupation, but to be ruined--a very unpleasant condition, especially with a wife like Linda. I do not believe that Felix will be willing to live on the income of his wealthy wife."

During this remark Elsa continues silent.

"Do you believe that Felix is happy?" Erwin continues; "his letters give a desperately depressed impression. Did you ever hear a really happy man a.s.sure one in every letter: 'I am very happy'--'Everything goes well with us'--'I am very contented.' Happy people are silent about their happiness."

Elsa lowers her head, and remembers that in the first years of her marriage she had never written anything to her brother but: "I cannot express how I feel!"

"As I know him," continues Erwin, "his present frequent contact with the world must be a continual torment."'

Elsa frowns and grows very pale. "I do not understand Linda!" she cries. "How can she under--under the circ.u.mstances rush into society? I no longer try to understand Felix. Hm!--he is weak--could never refuse a woman anything; if one had asked him for his hand, he would have let it be cut off for her. As far as I am concerned he can give her his hand--but--but----"

A strange fire glows in Elsa's eyes, her face takes on a rigid expression and she grows stiff and clutches both elbows convulsively.

"Poor devil!" murmurs Erwin.

"You pity him for my sake!" cries Elsa, bitterly. "It is not necessary.

I know that you think his conduct unanswerable--that you must think so.

He has forfeited all the sympathy which his blameless conduct for years had won. I will never forget the tone in which Marie Dey said to me last spring, when she returned from Rome: 'I have often met your sister-in-law; she goes a great deal into society--one sees her everywhere. Your brother does not seem to find as much pleasure in society as his wife!' And Marie was always a friend to Felix. I know that in Parisian society Felix is called '_le revenant_,' for which name he has naturally to thank some kind Austrian. Evidently the whole story, which was forgotten, has been warmed up again."

"The world is very malicious," says Erwin, evasively.

"Certainly! But after one has pa.s.sed sixteen years, one knows it, and guards one's self!" cries Elsa, and adds with a bitter smile: "I suppose he is a great philosopher and thinks nothing of it."

"Elsa! Elsa!" admonished Erwin.

She shook her head. "See!" said she, dully, "to spare Felix a humiliation, I would give my life, but now I cannot think of him without anger. Heavens, when I think of his return I tremble! I know he will be very badly received, and as his wife's whole existence turns upon being received----"

Erwin bites his lips. "Felix writes me that his wife plans to return in the latter part of June or the first of July. He will come to Traunberg with his little son somewhat sooner."

"He will return?" murmurs Elsa, slowly.

"Well, he must sooner or later."

"Certainly!" cries Elsa, with a shudder. "Erwin, what will strangers think of his return, if I myself am not able to rejoice?"

"Strangers do not take the situation so tragically," says Erwin, hastily and precipitately, looking away.

"Well, to be sure!" sighs Elsa. "It is of no consequence to strangers whether he has acted without any tact, yes, unresponsibly. To think evil of one who is far from one is a pleasure to malicious people, and to the best is simply indifferent. But to be forced to think evil of one whom one loves is the most painful thing in the world."

For a moment she is silent. "If Felix insists upon coming," she then continues, "I will do my utmost to make life endurable for him and his wife. I cannot persuade him to return."