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The Europeans. Henry Foss James
Читать онлайн.Название The Europeans
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4057664095732
Автор произведения Henry Foss James
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. Presently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of which her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman from across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends meeting after a separation. “You wait upon me yourself?” he asked. “I am served like the gods!” She had waited upon a great many people, but none of them had ever told her that. The observation added a certain lightness to the step with which she went to a little table where there were some curious red glasses—glasses covered with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very handsome, and it was a pleasure to her to know that the wine was good; it was her father’s famous madeira. Felix Young thought it excellent; he wondered why he had been told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other—eating, drinking, smiling, talking. “I am very hungry,” he said. “I am not at all tired; I am never tired. But I am very hungry.”
“You must stay to dinner,” said Gertrude. “At two o’clock. They will all have come back from church; you will see the others.”
“Who are the others?” asked the young man. “Describe them all.”
“You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your sister.”
“My sister is the Baroness Münster,” said Felix.
On hearing that his sister was a Baroness, Gertrude got up and walked about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking of it. “Why didn’t she come, too?” she asked.
“She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.”
“We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him.
“She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends you her love; she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your father.”
Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a brilliant young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. Wentworth—such a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision with a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. “When will she come?” she asked at last.
“As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very impatient,” answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable.
“Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is she—is she—married?”
Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young girl his bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German prince—Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is a younger brother.”
Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she a—a Princess?” she asked at last.
“Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a singular one. It’s a morganatic marriage.”
“Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude.
“That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares much—she’s a very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like her—but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is en l’air.”
The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently the one that was uppermost found words. “They want to dissolve her marriage?” she asked.
“So it appears.”
“And against her will?”
“Against her right.”
“She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude.
Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of his head and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. “That’s her story. She told me to tell it you.”
“Tell me more,” said Gertrude.
“No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.”
Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is unhappy,” she said, “I am glad she has come to us.”
She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always recognized. She heard it in the hall, and then she looked out of the window. They were all coming back from church—her father, her sister and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in advance of the others, because, apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Gertrude. He had two little books in his hand. On seeing Gertrude’s companion he slowly stopped, looking at him.
“Is this a cousin?” asked Felix.
Then Gertrude saw that she must introduce him; but her ears, and, by sympathy, her lips, were full of all that he had been telling her. “This is the Prince,” she said, “the Prince of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein!”
Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, who had passed into the house, appeared behind him in the open doorway.
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