Page:The International - Volume 7.djvu/238

 of her as a lady’s maid? I could begin her training immediately. What do you say to it?”

“Only that your caprices are manifold.”

And the baroness indulged her caprices with great energy. She went to the adjoining room, asked Marie if she would like to enter her service as a maid and go with her to the big city, and not waiting for the girl’s reply installed her as such, renamed her “Marietta,” painted to her in glowing colors the advantages of such a situation, and finally dismissed her with a pair of dainty slippers and a pretty housecap.

When Marie went back to her father with this news, he was almost numb with joy. Not even in his dreams would he have dared to think that his daughter was destined to become a brilliant pendant to the famous footman in the family history. Quickly was the drum episode forgotten; Foltyn’s bearing became more upright than ever, and his eyes shone like a young man’s.

Several days went by. The baroness was enthusiastic about the charms of rural life, and heartily devoted herself to the training of Marietta, who spent much time before the long mirrors, the coquettish cap on her head and in her small hands a huge duster of bright colored plumes which the baroness bought her. At other times she would sit gazing into the distance, her small head filled with visions of fine mansions, elegant gowns and grand carriages.

The baron lounged about the rooms, smoked fine cigars and occasionally yawned. The steward and stewardess lost all their fear of the noble visitors, while the assistant, BaruskaBeruska [sic], and the purple footman were soon on friendly terms with each other, and smoked pipes and played cards together behind the locked doors of the office.

One afternoon the baroness, carrying a beautifully bound volume of Burns, went off to the green bower in the park from which the view was especially picturesque and where she intended to wait until the nightingale, which had already been heard in the neighborhood for some nights past, should begin its sweet concert. The baron chided the footman for his superfluous flesh, and ordered him out into the fields for a walk. The steward and his wife behind locked doors were counting and sorting stores of preserved fruits.

In this idyllic, peaceful hour it happened to strike Foltyn’s old head that his Marie was tarrying rather unnecessarily in her ladyship’s rooms. He put the thought away, but it came back again and again, with greater force.

“What is she doing there so late?” he muttered under his moustaches. “Her ladyship is not there to be keeping her.”

Almost unconsciously he entered the lower hall, and eagerly harkened for some sound from the first floor. Then, driven on by an irresistible something, he ventured on the staircase, and on tiptoe reached the corridor. He stole to the door of the footman’s room and touched the knob; the door was locked. He went toward the salon. Suddenly he stood still; a voice was speaking within, the baron’s voice. Distinctly Foltyn heard the words.

“Don’t be childish,” the baron said. “Silly notions! The world, my child, is different from what your parents and the priest would have you believe. I will make you happy, you shall have everything you may desire, beautiful gowns, jewels, money—everything. So come, my pretty one, don’t be bashful. Raise your eyes, the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”

Foltyn felt as though lightning had struck him. Every drop of blood left his face, which was contorted with fear and alarm. He bent to the keyhole, and saw within the baron entirely transformed. There was no trace now of the usual sleepiness on the handsome face, and beneath the haughty brow the dark eyes glowed with awakened passion. Caressingly he put his finger under her chin and raised Marie’s face, blushing with shame. The eyes remained downcast, one hand held the precious statuette of the baroness, the other the bright colored duster, much disordered.

Poor Foltyn despairingly clutched his gray head, he felt as if he were strangling; a hundred terrible thoughts passed through his brain. Already his hand was on the knob; but he withdrew it quickly. No! Never! The baron should stand disgraced before him, his servant? No indeed, that must not happen; the inborn Foltyn loyalty would not allow it! But what could be done?

“Perhaps the footman is in the office. I’ll send him up for something,” he thought, and hastened downstairs. But the room was locked, gravelike silence