VIII. More Mystery

by Louisa May Alcott

　　"Uncle, can I speak to you a moment?" said Helen, very gravely, asthey left the breakfast-room next morning."Not now, my dear, I'm busy," was the hasty reply, as the majorshawled Mrs. Cumberland for an early promenade.Helen knit her brows irefully, for this answer had been given her halfa dozen times lately when she asked for an interview. It was evidenthe wished to avoid all lectures, remonstrances, and explanations; andit was also evident that he was in love with the widow."Lovers are worse than lunatics to manage, so it is vain to try to getany help from him," sighed Helen, adding, as her uncle was gallantlyleading his stout divinity away into the garden: "Amy has a badheadache, and I shall stay to take care of her, so we can't joinyour party to Chillon, sir. We have been there once, so you needn'tpostpone it for us.""Very well, my dear," and the major walked away, looking muchrelieved.As Helen was about to leave the salon Casimer appeared. A singleglance at her face assured him that she knew all, and instantlyassuming a confiding, persuasive air that was irresistible, he said,meekly,--"Mademoiselle, I do not deserve a word from you, but it desolates meto know that I have grieved the little angel who is too dear to me.For her sake, pardon that I spoke my heart in spite of prudence, andpermit me to send her this."Helen glanced from the flowers he held to his beseeching face, and herown softened. He looked so penitent and anxious, she had not the heartto reproach him."I will forgive you and carry your gift to Amy on one condition," shesaid, gravely."Ah, you are kind! Name, then, the condition. I implore you, and Iwill agree.""Tell me, then, on your honor as a gentleman, are you not BaronPalsdorf?""On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you I am not.""Are you, in truth, what you profess to be?""I am, in truth, Amy's lover, your devoted servant, and a most unhappyman, with but a little while to live. Believe this and pity me,dearest Mademoiselle Helene."She did pity him, her eyes betrayed that, and her voice was very kind,as she said,--"Pardon my doubts. I trust you now, and wish with all my heart thatit was possible to make you happy. You know it is not, therefore I amsure you will be wise and generous, and spare Amy further grief byavoiding her for the little time we stay. Promise me this, Casimer.""I may see her if I am dumb? Do not deny me this. I will not speak,but I must look at my little and dear angel when she is near."He pleaded so ardently with lips and hands, and eager eyes, that Helencould not deny him, and when he had poured out his thanks she lefthim, feeling very tender toward the unhappy young lover, whose passionwas so hopeless, yet so warm.Amy was at breakfast in her room, sobbing and sipping, moaning andmunching, for, though her grief was great, her appetite was good, andshe was in no mood to see anything comical in cracking eggshellswhile she bewailed her broken heart, or in eating honey in the act oflamenting the bitterness of her fate.Casimer would have become desperate had he seen her in the little bluewrapper, with her bright hair loose on her shoulders, and herpretty face wet with tears, as she dropped her spoon to seize hisflowers,--three dewy roses, one a bud, one half and the other fullyblown, making a fragrant record and avowal of the love which she mustrenounce."Oh, my dear boy! how can I give him up, when he is so fond, and I amall he has? Helen, uncle must let me write or go to mamma. She shalldecide; I can't; and no one else has a right to part us," sobbed Amy,over her roses."Casimer will not marry, dear; he is too generous to ask such asacrifice," began Helen, but Amy cried indignantly,--"It is no sacrifice; I'm rich. What do I care for his poverty?""His religion!" hinted Helen, anxiously."It need not part us; we can believe what we will. He is good; whymind whether he is Catholic or Protestant?""But a Pole, Amy, so different in tastes, habits, character, andbeliefs. It is a great risk to marry a foreigner; races are sounlike.""I don't care if he is a Tartar, a Calmuck, or any of the other wildtribes; I love him, he loves me, and no one need object if I don't.""But, dear, the great and sad objection still remains--his health. Hejust said he had but a little while to live."Amy's angry eyes grew dim, but she answered, with soft earnestness,--"So much the more need of me to make that little while happy. Thinkhow much he has suffered and done for others; surely I may dosomething for him. Oh, Nell, can I let him die alone and in exile,when I have both heart and home to give him?"Helen could say no more; she kissed and comforted the faithful littlesoul, feeling all the while such sympathy and tenderness that shewondered at herself, for with this interest in the love of anothercame a sad sense of loneliness, as if she was denied the sweetexperience that every woman longs to know.Amy never could remain long under a cloud, and seeing Helen's tears,began to cheer both her cousin and herself."Hoffman said he might live with care, don't you remember? and Hoffmanknows the case better than we. Let us ask him if Casimer is worse. Youdo it; I can't without betraying myself.""I will," and Helen felt grateful for any pretext to address afriendly word to Karl, who had looked sad of late, and had been lesswith them since the major became absorbed in Mrs. Cumberland.Leaving Amy to compose herself, Helen went away to find Hoffman. Itwas never difficult, for he seemed to divine her wishes and appearuncalled the moment he was wanted. Hardly had she reached her favoritenook in the garden when he approached with letters, and asked withrespectful anxiety, as she glanced at and threw them by with animpatient sigh,--"Has mademoiselle any orders? Will the ladies drive, sail, or make alittle expedition? It is fine, and mademoiselle looks as if the airwould refresh her. Pardon that I make the suggestion.""No, Hoffman, I don't like the air of this place, and intend to leaveas soon as possible." And Helen knit her delicate dark brows withan expression of great determination. "Switzerland is the refuge ofpolitical exiles, and I hate plots and disguises; I feel oppressed bysome mystery, and mean to solve or break away from it at once."She stopped abruptly, longing to ask his help, yet withheld by asudden sense of shyness in approaching the subject, though she haddecided to speak to Karl of the Pole."Can I serve you, mademoiselle? If so, pray command me," he said,eagerly, coming a step nearer."You can, and I intend to ask your advice, for there can be nothingamiss in doing so, since you are a friend of Casimer's.""I am both friend and confidant, mademoiselle," he answered, asif anxious to let her understand that he knew all, without theembarrassment of words. She looked up quickly, relieved, yet troubled."He has told you, then?""Everything, mademoiselle. Pardon me if this afflicts you; I am hisonly friend here, and the poor lad sorely needed comfort.""He did. I am not annoyed; I am glad, for I know you will sustain him.Now I may speak freely, and be equally frank. Please tell me if he isindeed fatally ill?""It was thought so some months ago; now I hope. Happiness cures manyills, and since he has loved, he has improved. I always thought carewould save him; he is worth it."Hoffman paused, as if fearful of venturing too far; but Helen seemedto confide freely in him, and said, softly,--"Ah, if it were only wise to let him be happy. It is so bitter to denylove.""God knows it is!"The exclamation broke from Hoffman as if an irrepressible impulsewrung it from him.Helen started, and for a moment neither spoke. She collected herselfsoonest, and without turning, said, quietly,--"I have been troubled by a strong impression that Casimer is not whathe seems. Till he denied it on his honor I believed him to be BaronPalsdorf. Did he speak the truth when he said he was not?""Yes, mademoiselle.""Then, Casimer Teblinski is his real name?"No answer.She turned sharply, and added,--"For my cousin's sake, I must know the truth. Several curiouscoincidences make me strongly suspect that he is passing under anassumed name."Not a word said Hoffman, but looked on the ground, as motionless andexpressionless as a statue.Helen lost patience, and in order to show how much she had discovered,rapidly told the story of the gloves, ring, handkerchief, prayer-bookand collar, omitting all hint of the girlish romance they had wovenabout these things.As she ended, Hoffman looked up with a curious expression, in whichconfusion, amusement, admiration and annoyance seemed to contend."Mademoiselle," he said, gravely, "I am about to prove to you thatI feel honored by the confidence you place in me. I cannot break myword, but I will confess to you that Casimer does not bear his ownname.""I knew it!" said Helen, with a flash of triumph in her eyes. "He isthe baron, and no Pole. You Germans love masquerades and jokes. Thisis one, but I must spoil it before it is played out.""Pardon; mademoiselle is keen, but in this she is mistaken. Casimer isnot the baron; he did fight for Poland, and his name is known andhonored there. Of this I solemnly assure you."She stood up and looked him straight in the face. He met her eye toeye, and never wavered till her own fell.She mused a few minutes, entirely forgetful of herself in hereagerness to solve the mystery.Hoffman stood so near that her dress touched him, and the wind blewher scarf against his hand; and as she thought he watched her whilehis eyes kindled, his color rose, and once he opened his lips tospeak, but she moved at the instant, and exclaimed,--"I have it!""Now for it," he muttered, as if preparing for some new surprise orattack."When uncle used to talk about the Polish revolution, there was, Iremember a gallant young Pole who did something brave. The namejust flashed on me, and it clears up my doubts. StanislasPrakora--'S.P.'--and Casimer is the man."Helen spoke with an eager, bright face, as if sure of the truth now;but, to her surprise, Hoffman laughed, a short, irrepressible laugh,full of hearty but brief merriment. He sobered in a breath, and withan entire change of countenance said, in an embarrassed tone,--"Pardon my rudeness; mademoiselle's acuteness threw me off my guard.I can say nothing till released from my promise; but mademoiselle mayrest assured that Casimer Teblinski is as good and brave a man asStanislas Prakora."Helen's eyes sparkled, for in this reluctant reply she readconfirmation of her suspicion, and thought that Amy would rejoice tolearn that her lover was a hero."You are exiles, but still hope and plot, and never relinquish yourhearts' desire?""Never, mademoiselle!""You are in danger?""In daily peril of losing all we most love and long for," answeredKarl, with such passion that Helen found patriotism a lovely andinspiring thing."You have enemies?" she asked, unable to control her interest, andfeeling the charm of these confidences."Alas! yes," was the mournful reply, as Karl dropped his eyes to hidethe curious expression of mirth which he could not banish from them."Can you not conquer them, or escape the danger they place you in?""We hope to conquer, we cannot escape.""This accounts for your disguise and Casimer's false name?""Yes. We beg that mademoiselle will pardon us the anxiety andperplexity we have caused her, and hope that a time will soon arrivewhen we may be ourselves. I fear the romantic interest with whichthe ladies have honored us will be much lessened, but we shall stillremain their most humble and devoted servants."Something in his tone nettled Helen, and she said sharply,--"All this may be amusing to you, but it spoils my confidence in othersto know they wear masks. Is your name also false?""I am Karl Hoffman, as surely as the sun shines, mademoiselle. Do notwound me by a doubt," he said, eagerly."And nothing more?"She smiled as she spoke, and glanced at his darkened skin with a shakeof the head."I dare not answer that.""No matter; I hate titles, and value people for their own worth, notfor their rank."Helen spoke impulsively, and, as if carried away by her words andmanner, Hoffman caught her hand and pressed his lips to it ardently,dropped it, and was gone, as if fearing to trust himself a momentlonger.Helen stood where he left her, thinking, with a shy glance from herhand to the spot where he had stood,--"It is pleasant to have one's hand kissed, as Amy said. Poor Karl,his fate is almost as hard as Casimer's."Some subtile power seemed to make the four young people shun oneanother carefully, though all longed to be together. The majorappeared to share the secret disquiet that made the rest roamlistlessly about, till little Roserl came to invite them to a fetein honor of the vintage. All were glad to go, hoping in the noveltyand excitement to recover their composure.The vineyard sloped up from the chateau, and on the hillside was asmall plateau of level sward, shadowed by a venerable oak now hungwith garlands, while underneath danced the chateau servants with theirfamilies, to the music of a pipe played by little Friedel. As thegentlefolk approached, the revel stopped, but the major, who was in anantic mood and disposed to be gracious, bade Friedel play on, and asMrs. Cumberland refused his hand with a glance at her weeds, the majorturned to the Count's buxom housekeeper, and besought her to waltzwith him. She assented, and away they went as nimbly as the best. Amylaughed, but stopped to blush, as Casimer came up with an imploringglance, and whispered,--"Is it possible that I may enjoy one divine waltz with you before Igo?"Amy gave him her hand with a glad assent, and Helen was left alone.Every one was dancing but herself and Hoffman, who stood near by,apparently unconscious of the fact. He glanced covertly at her, andsaw that she was beating time with foot and hand, that her eyes shone,her lips smiled. He seemed to take courage at this, for, walkingstraight up to her, he said, as coolly as if a crown-prince,--"Mademoiselle, may I have the honor?"A flash of surprise passed over her face, but there was no anger,pride, or hesitation in her manner, as she leaned toward him with aquiet "Thanks, monsieur."A look of triumph was in his eyes as he swept her away to dance, asshe had never danced before, for a German waltz is full of life andspirit, wonderfully captivating to English girls, and German gentlemenmake it a memorable experience when they please. As they circled roundthe rustic ball-room, Hoffman never took his eyes off Helen's, and,as if fascinated, she looked up at him, half conscious that he wasreading her heart as she read his. He said not a word, but hisface grew very tender, very beautiful in her sight, as she forgoteverything except that he had saved her life and she loved him. Whenthey paused, she was breathless and pale; he also; and seating her hewent away to bring her a glass of wine. As her dizzy eyes grew clear,she saw a little case at her feet, and taking it up, opened it. A wornpaper, containing some faded forget-me-nots and these words, fellout,--"Gathered where Helen sat on the night of August 10th."There was just time to restore its contents to the case, when Hoffmanreturned, saw it, and looked intensely annoyed as he asked, quickly,--"Did you read the name on it?""I saw only the flowers;" and Helen colored beautifully as she spoke."And read them?" he asked, with a look she could not meet.She was spared an answer, for just then a lad came up, saying, as heoffered a note,--"Monsieur Hoffman, madame, at the hotel, sends you this, and begs youto come at once."As he impatiently opened it, the wind blew the paper into Helen's lap.She restored it, and in the act, her quick eye caught the signature,"Thine ever, Ludmilla."A slight shadow passed over her face, leaving it very cold and quiet.Hoffman saw the change, and smiled, as if well pleased, but assumingsuddenly his usual manner, said deferentially,--"Will mademoiselle permit me to visit my friend for an hour?--she isexpecting me.""Go, then, we do not need you," was the brief reply, in a carelesstone, as if his absence was a thing of no interest to any one."Thanks; I shall not be long away;" and giving her a glance that madeher turn scarlet with anger at its undisguised admiration, he walkedaway, humming gayly to himself Goethe's lines,--"Maiden's heart and city's wallWere made to yield, were made to fall;When we've held them each their day,Soldier-like we march away."