Caiaphas! An almost childlike dread and timidity a.s.sailed her--the sort of feeling she had had when a young girl at the time of her first presentation at court--she was well-nigh glad that he was no longer there and she had time to calm herself ere she confronted the mighty priest.

"It is too late, they have all gone!" said Ludwig, offering his companion his arm to lead her down the staircase.

Numerous groups of people were standing in front of the theatre and in the street leading to the village.

"What are they doing here?" asked the lady.

"Oh, they are waiting for Freyer! It is always so. He has slipped around again by a side path to avoid seeing anyone, and the poor people must stand and wait in vain. I have often told him that he ought not to be so austere! It would please them so much if he would but give them one friendly word--but he cannot conquer this shyness. He cannot suffer himself to be revered as the Christ, after the Play is over. He ought not to permit the feeling which the people have for the Christ to be transferred to his person--that is his view of the matter."

"It is a lofty and n.o.ble thought, but hard for us poor mortals, who so eagerly cling to what is visible. It is impossible not to transfer the impression produced by the character to its representative, especially with a personality like Freyer's!"

Ludwig Gross nodded a.s.sent. "Yes, we have had this experience of old.

Faith needs an earthly pledge, says our great poet, and Freyer's personation is such a pledge, a guarantee of whose blessed power everyone feels sure."

The countess eagerly pressed Ludwig's hands.

"I have seen people," Ludwig added, "who were happy, if they were only permitted to touch Freyer's garment, as though it could bring them healing like the actual robe of Christ! Would not Christ, also, if He beheld this pious delusion, exclaim: 'Woman, thy faith hath saved thee!'"

A deep flush crimsoned the countess' face, and the tears which she had so long struggled to repress flowed in streams. She leaned heavily on Ludwig's arm, and he felt the violent throbbing of her heart. It touched him and awakened his compa.s.sion. He perceived that hers, too, was a suffering soul seeking salvation here, and if she did not find it, would perish. "It shall be yours, poor woman; for rich as you may be, you are still poor--and we will give you what we can!" he thought.

The two companions pursued their way, without exchanging another word.

The countess now greeted the old house like a lost home which she had once more regained.

Andreas Gross met her at the door, took off her shawl, and carried it into the room for her.

Josepha had already returned and said that the countess was ill.

"I hope it is nothing serious?" he asked anxiously.

"No, Herr Gross, I am well--but I cannot go; I must make the acquaintance of these people--I cannot tear myself away from this impression!"

She sank into a chair, laid her head on the table and sobbed like a child. "Forgive me, Herr Gross, I cannot help it!" she said with difficulty, amid her tears.

The old man laid his hand upon her shoulder with a gesture of paternal kindness. "Weep your fill, we are accustomed to it, do not heed us!" He drew her gently into the sitting-room.

Ludwig had vanished.

Josepha entered to ask whether she should unpack the luggage which was up in her room.

"Yes," replied the countess, "and let the carriages return to Munich, until I need them again."

"His Highness the Prince has left his valet here for your service,"

Josepha reported.

"What can he do? Let him go home, too! Let them all go--I want no one except you!" said the countess sternly, hiding her face again in her handkerchief. Josepha went out to give the order. Where could Ludwig Gross be?--He had become a necessity to her now, thus left alone with her overflowing heart! He had been right in everything.--He had told her that she would learn to weep here, he had first made her understand the spirit of Ammergau. Honor and grat.i.tude were his due, he had promised nothing that had not been fulfilled. He was thoroughly genuine and reliable! But where had he gone, did not this man, usually so sympathetic, know that just now he might be of great help to her? Or did he look deeper _still_, and know that he was but a subst.i.tute for another, for whom her whole soul yearned? It was so lonely. A death-like stillness reigned in the house and in the street. All were resting after the heavy toil of the day.

Something outside darkened the window. Ludwig Gross was pa.s.sing on his way toward the door, bringing with him a tan, dark figure, towering far above the low window, a figure that moved shyly, swiftly along, followed by a throng of people, at a respectful distance. The countess felt paralyzed. Was _he_ coming? Was he coming in.

She could not rise and look--she sat with clasped hands, trembling in humble expectation, as Danae waited the moment when the shower of gold should fall. Then--steps echoed in the workshop--the footsteps of two--! They were an eternity in pa.s.sing down its length--but they were really approaching her room--they came nearer--some one knocked!

She scarcely had breath to call "come in." She would not believe it--from the fear of disappointment. She still sat motionless at the table--Ludwig Gross opened the door to allow the other to precede him--and _Freyer_ entered. He stooped slightly, that he might not strike his head, but that was needless, for--what miracle was this? The door expanded before the countess' eyes, the ceiling rose higher and higher above him. A wide lofty s.p.a.ce filled with dazzling light surrounded him. Colors glittered before her vision, figures floated to and fro; were they shadows or angels? She knew not, a mist veiled her eyes--for a moment she ceased to think. Then she felt as if she had awaked from a deep slumber, during which she had been walking in her sleep--for she suddenly found herself face to face with Freyer, he was holding her hands in his, while his eyes rested on hers--in speechless silence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _She suddenly found herself face to face with Freyer_. Page 102.]

Then she regained her self-control and the first words she uttered were addressed to Ludwig: "You have brought _him_--!" she said, releasing Freyer's hands to thank the man who had so wonderfully guessed her yearning.

Gift and grat.i.tude were equal--and here both were measureless! She scarcely knew at this moment which she valued more, the man who brought this donation or the gift itself. But from this hour Ludwig Gross was her benefactor.

"You have brought _him_"--she repeated, for she knew not what more to say--that one word contained _all_! Had she possessed the eloquence of the universe, it would not have been so much to Ludwig as that _one_ word and the look which accompanied it. Then, like a child at Christmas, which, after having expressed its thanks, goes back happily to its presents, she turned again to Freyer.

Yet, as the child stands timidly before the abundance of its gifts, and, in the first moments of surprise, does not venture to touch them, she now stood, shy and silent before him, her only language her eyes and the tears which streamed down her cheeks.

Freyer saw her deep emotion and, bending kindly toward her, again took her hands in his. Every nerve was still quivering--she could feel it--from the terrible exertion he had undergone--and as the moisture drips from the trees after the rain, his eyes still swam in tears, and his face was damp with perspiration.

"How shall I thank you for coming to me after this day of toil?" she began in a low tone.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _She suddenly found herself face to face with Freyer_.]

"Oh, Countess," he answered with untroubled truthfulness, "I did it for the sake of my friend Ludwig--he insisted upon it."

"So it was only on his friend's account," thought the countess, standing with bowed head before him.

He was now the king--and she, the queen of her brilliant sphere, was nothing save a poor, hoping, fearing woman!

At this moment all the vanity of her worldly splendor fell from her--for the first time in her life she stood in the presence of a man where _she_ was the supplicant, he the benefactor. What a feeling! At once humiliating and blissful, confusing and enthralling! She had recognized by that one sentence the real state of the case--what to this man was the halo surrounding the Reichscountess von Wildenau with her coronet and her millions? Joseph Freyer knew but one aristocracy--that of the saints in whose sphere he was accustomed to move--and if he left it for the sake of an earthly woman, he would stoop to her, no matter how far, according to worldly ideals, she might stand above him!

Yet poor and insignificant as she felt in his presence--while the l.u.s.tre of her coronet and the glitter of her gold paled and vanished in the misty distance--_one_ thing remained on which she could rely, her womanly charm, and this must wield its influence were she a queen or the child of a wood-cutter! "Then, for the earthly crown you have torn from my head, proud man, you shall give me your crown of thorns, and I will _still_ be queen!" she thought, as the spirit of Mother Eve stirred within her and an intoxicating breeze blew from the Garden of Paradise. Not for the sake of a base emotion of vanity and covetousness, nay, she wished to be loved, in order to _bless_. It is the nature of a n.o.ble woman to seek to use her power not to receive, but to give, to give without stint or measure. The brain thinks quickly--but the heart is swifter still! Ere the mind has time to grasp the thought, the heart has seized it. The countess had experienced all this in the brief s.p.a.ce during which Freyer's eyes rested on her.

Suddenly he lowered his lashes and said in a whisper: "I think we have met before, countess."

"On my arrival Friday evening. You were standing on the top of the mountain while I was driving at the foot. Was it not so?"

"Yes," he murmured almost inaudibly, and there was something like an understanding, a sweet familiarity in the soft a.s.sent. She felt it, and her hand clasped his more firmly with a gentle pressure.

He again raised his lashes, gazing at her with an earnest, questioning glance, and it seemed as if she felt a pulse throbbing in the part of the hand which bore the mark of the wound--the warning did not fail to produce its effect.

"Christus, my Christus!" she whispered repentantly. It seemed as if she had committed a sin in suffering an earthly wish to touch the envoy of G.o.d. He was crucified, dead, and buried. He only walked on earth like a spirit permitted to return from time to time and dwell for a brief s.p.a.ce among the living. Who could claim a spirit, clasp a shadow to the heart? Grief oppressed her, melancholy, akin to the grief we feel when we dream of the return of some beloved one who is dead, and throw ourselves sobbing on his breast, while we are aware that it is only a dream! But even if but a dream, should she not dream it with her whole soul? If she knew that he was given to her only a few moments, should she not crowd into them with all the sweeter, more sorrowful strength, the love of a whole life?

After us the deluge, says love to the moment--and that which does not say it is not love.

But in this _moment_, the countess felt, lay the germ of something imperishable, and when it was past there would begin for her--not annihilation, but _eternity_. To it she must answer for what she did with the moment!

Ludwig Gross was standing by the window, he did not wish to listen what was communicated by the mute language of those eyes. He had perceived, with subtle instinct, the existence of some mysterious connection, in which no third person had any part. They were alone--virtually alone, yet neither spoke, only their tearful eyes expressed the suffering which he endured and _she_ shared in beholding.

"Come, poor martyr!" cried her heart, and she released one of his hands to clasp the other more closely with both her own. She noticed a slight quiver. "Does your hand still ache--from the terrible nail which seemed to be driven into your flesh?"

"Oh, no, that would cause no pain; the nail pa.s.ses between the fingers and the large head extends toward the center of the palm. But to-day, by accident, Joseph of Arimathea in drawing out the nail took a piece of the flesh with it, so that I clenched my teeth with the pain!" he said, smiling, and showing her the wound. "Do you see? Now I am really stigmatized!"

"Good Heavens, there is a large piece of the flesh torn out, and you bore it without wincing?"

"Why, of course!" he said, simply.