Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/196

190 see this contingency, which sooner or later must have come to pass. It was not his habit to foresee events, or to make plans for even the most immediate future. He suffered from a species of mental short-sightedness which made it impossible for him to see what was coming. A boundless trust in his luck, or his quickness of thought, in chance, or in anything, was all the provision he made against a disagreeable contingency. The pleasure of the hour, the excitement of the hour, the pain, the passion of the hour, these alone had value; for the present was everything, the future nothing. Like the lilies of the field, he took no thought of the morrow; like them, he did not spin, neither did he weave. Fate had made him a rich man; but even had he been born poor, most assuredly he would not have been given to ask himself what he should eat on the morrow, nor wherewith he should clothe himself. Beggary, disgrace, or death could never have preyed upon his mind in advance. They did not touch him as long as they were not there: a glass of red wine at the moment would be to him a more vital thing than the misfortune to be suffered next week; and a smile from a pretty woman to-day, consolation enough for the ruin of to-morrow. Yes; and even though the future were to unclose, and show him the spot where stands his grave, István Tolnay would go forward to meet his fate, as much István Tolnay as ever, whistling the air that pleases him best, with his boots polished to exactly the right degree, and his black moustache stiffened at exactly the most becoming angle.

He had found it pleasant to saunter along the path by the side of the dark-haired beauty; and now he was thinking that it would be still more pleasant to stand beside the fair-haired beauty down by the water's edge. It only wanted some faint shadow of an excuse to free him from his position on the bridge. Patience! his luck or his wit would come to his aid, he felt sure. That rock down there was coated with slippery weed, – supposing she should lose her balance —

And it seemed as though his unspoken wish were to be fulfilled on the instant; for a sharp cry pierced the air –

"Uitisce, uitisce! la kokona!" (See, see! the young lady!) Bujor was crying.

There was a slip below, and a momentary scramble: the green gauze net was swept down the current.

"She is falling!" cried István; and he precipitately left the bridge.

"No, worse than that!" the Contessa called after him, – "her hat is in! – her new black feather! Save it, Baron Tolnay!"

The hat would do quite as well, thought Baron Tolnay, as he made his way through the stones to the river-side. "Desolated to have to leave you in this way, Princess!" he had said, with a glance to match the words, as he hurriedly left her side; and now he was smiling to himself confidentially under his moustache, as he thought how safe he would be down here from the ears, if not from the eyes, of that woman on the bridge.

Gretchen was standing bareheaded by the water-edge, with a shower of water-drops sparkling in her hair, as she directed her two Roumanian assistants in the capture of the floating hat. From above, Belita, agitated spectator of the scene, called out unintelligible advice, and gazed at the sinking feather as if it had been a drowning child.