CHAPTER SIX

"Fancy a child of eleven reading such learned books!"

"I'm twelve," corrected Clemens, swinging his legs. "Don't you know that even now?"

"A thousand pardons," said Linnartz, bowing in mock reverence.

"And you? You must be at least a thousand," teased the child.

Gregor, who as usual after lunch had taken up the day's paper, drew the lad towards him.

"What makes you think the baron is a thousand years old?"

"Because he always treats me as if I were a kid. He's older than you, isn't he?"

"The other way about."

"How old are you, Papa?"

"Very old," answered Gregor evasively.

The boy continued to lean against his father's knee for a while, pensive and silent. Then, turning to Andreas, he asked:

"And you, Herr Seeland, how old are you?"

"Clemens, be quiet," said Olivia who had taken a seat in the background. "I told you only the other day that Herr Seeland is twenty-six years old."

Gregor, who had fallen into a brown study, roused himself at these words.

"Twenty-six," he repeated, and covered Andreas with his eyes.

"Yes, already, Excellency."

"Already? Then what is left for me to say, my dear Doctor?"

"I do not know. But when you were six-and-twenty did you not likewise say 'already'?"

"Never!"

"Were you so mature? Did your plans so satisfy you that you felt no uneasiness?"

"I was nothing but a junior barrister at the time. Yet such an idea would never have crossed my mind. Uneasiness as to my plans? As to a pretty wench, yes, but as to my plans? I hadn't any!"

"Strange," murmured Andreas.

"You are disappointed? Really, you take life too seriously."

"Can one take it too seriously?" interposed Olivia from her corner.

"I should like to say," Linnartz's strident voice was heard vociferating, "that he who always endeavours to..."

Gregor's eyes had passed over the baron to Olivia:

"It is well that we mortals should try to live our lives without exclamation marks. At least women, who are incapable of renouncing their dreams..."

"No," said Olivia coldly.

"... and can only find comfort in the poets," concluded Gregor, smiling at Andreas with a challenge in his eyes. "They have to live on dreams, unless they choose to scramble after the illusion of effective action. Had I adopted a poet's--beg pardon, a composer's--career, I should not have spent my time dreaming."

"What would you have done, Sir, if I may ask?" said Gregor's victim.

"Worked! Worked with feverish energy. Every day and all day. Yes. Perhaps then at six-and-twenty I might have felt uneasy lest I could not accomplish what I had set myself to do. Still, every man to his own temperament!"

He took leave of Olivia and the poet, and disappeared with Linnartz into his study.

Olivia sent the child away to its schoolroom. Then, turning to Andreas, she said:

"He has become your foe."

"And yours."

"He's been that these many years," she answered bitterly.

Ever since the baroness had learned what she wanted to know from Clemens, her husband, acting on her advice, had kept a note of the days when Andreas came to the house. His surveillance was an easy matter, for he had merely to ring and ask the servant how his mistress was, an act of ordinary courtesy. Then he would say:

"Is the countess at home?"

"The countess is upstairs reading with Herr Seeland."

He had noticed that the visits had mostly taken place during the count's absence from home, while Gregor was taking his afternoon ride, or away at Diana's. Today, the count had asked Linnartz to his study to run through some papers that had been accumulating, and the baron was determined not to let him escape this time. This "could not be postponed," that "could not be postponed"; he was untiring in finding important documents that needed discussion, needed Gregor's signature. An hour went by; half an hour more. Still the baron brought forward other important matters. At last Gregor lost patience.

"Just one thing more, Excellency, I must beg you to give me your decision. A moment," and he disappeared, apparently to fetch a document from his own office downstairs. But he had merely gone to make his usual inquiry, and, having received the hoped-for answer, he came jubilantly back again.

"It's the question of finding accommodation for the older archives. We're up to the ceiling with the stuff downstairs, and you once suggested, Excellency, that we might find room for them in your own apartments...."

"Certainly, certainly," said Gregor rising. "That will be all right. You can get to work on it as soon as you like."

"I could not do it entirely on my own responsibility. The dividing-up of the room which has hitherto been used for domestic purposes. I beg Your Excellency to show me just how you would like it arranged."

"Must it be done today?"

"As you like, Sir," said Linnartz, playing the faithful subordinate.

His chief thought: "What does the fellow mean by shrugging his shoulders like that?"

Aloud, he said:

"All right, come along. Which room had you in mind, the one where we used to put up guests, and perhaps the one with the balcony?"

"If the countess has no objection, it seems to me that they would be the most convenient."

Linnartz's heart was all of a flutter, for the count invariably went upstairs two at a time, and this pace was rather beyond the baron's capacities. Above all, however, he was excited at the expectation that his plans were about to be crowned with success--a success he had so long been hoping and longing for. He was thinking: "It's a sure thing, they can't escape now. Please God they will not simply be reading together on the balcony!" As he drew near the door he was on tenter-hooks. The count, who was blissfully unaware of his companion's agitation, thought: "How pleasantly these rooms are situated, so cut off from the rest of the house! If only Diana had come here as Olivia's guest...."

Linnartz opened the door and drew aside to allow his chief to pass in first. Thank God, the room was empty; they must be next door; and while he followed Gregor into the first room he glanced over at the door leading to the next. There, he knew, his victims must be. He wondered if they had locked themselves in. An unwise thing to do! His lascivious imagination conjured up what might be going on there, the disordered attire, rumpled hair. Would they hear steps approaching, voices speaking? Gregor was saying:

"The folios can be stacked up here ... tables as may be necessary... That will be all right...."

"And in the next room, Excellency?"

"Of course, the same arrangement as here."

Gregor went towards the door. Linnartz, with a remnant of decency, remained behind. Gregor opened the door. Linnartz trembled. Not a sound.

"Why, it's quite dark here," said Gregor. "The blinds are down. Where's the switch?" His hand travelled on the wall. He turned on the light.

One second of abysmal silence went by. Two seconds. Three. Linnartz peered in from behind. He saw Olivia on a divan, propping herself up on her hand, while Andreas stood opposite her, hard pressed against the wall. Both, blinded by the sudden light, had raised a hand to shield their eyes, stretching it out towards the electric globe thus all unconsciously assuming an attitude of shame. As if suddenly turned to stone, the count stood in the doorway, a black shadow against the staring lamp.

Andreas was the first to recover his wits; he had foreseen the disaster as soon as the voices came through the door and was therefore better prepared than the others. He now took two steps towards the count, and in a hoarse voice he began:

"Count..."

The spell was broken. All three moved. Olivia got up and stood behind Andreas, looking at her husband with haughty and hostile eyes whose expression was colder than he had ever seen before. At the same time Gregor marched upon Andreas with uplifted fist. Whilst almost simultaneously Linnartz sprang towards him from the rear, holding him back, and whispering in a warning voice: "Excellency!"

Another pause, not so long as the first, ensued. Then the count turned half round and said in a low voice, tense with wrath:

"Go!"

Andreas made an apology for a bow to the countess, and, passing Linnartz, moved towards the door. But the count, who by now had guessed the part Linnartz had played, was filled with so great a loathing for the intriguer, that even now he wished to shield Olivia against him. He, therefore, slowly left the room, closing the door after him as he went.

That same evening the major and the captain called upon Andreas at his hotel, and presented him with the count's challenge. As they turned to go away, Othello pushed open the bedroom door and sprang towards the strangers. His master seized him by the collar, and it was as much as Andreas could do to hold the door back while the two men made their exit.