Barlasch of the Guard | Page 7

"I have been sent for by the . . . I am wanted at head-quarters," he said
vaguely. "I shall not be long . . ."
He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate
cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street.
CHAPTER III.
FATE.

We pass; the path that each man trod Is dim; or will be dim, with
weeds.
When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests descending.
They were taking their leave as they came down, hurriedly, like persons
conscious of having outstayed their welcome.
Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people
recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going away.
Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most Germanic
manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who had
dispensed a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few minutes
earlier, seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and formal mask.

Desiree was glad to see them go. There was a sense of uneasiness, a
vague unrest in the air. There was something amiss. The wedding party
had been a failure. All had gone well and merrily up to a certain
point--at the corner of the Pfaffengasse, when the dusty travelling
carriage passed across their path. From that moment there had been a
change. A shadow seemed to have fallen across the sunny nature of the
proceedings; for never had bride and bridegroom set forth together with
lighter hearts than those carried by Charles and Desiree Darragon down
the steps of the Marienkirche.
During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage
had left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to stand
sleepless by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities had been kept
astir till morning by the mere rumour that its flying wheels would be
heard in the streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, fear and that
dread tightening of the heart-strings which is caused by the shadow of
the superhuman, had sprung into being at the mere sound of its
approach.
When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust
upon Desiree's wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling a mission. When it
broke in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly for their
happiness--as the heathen grope for an unknown God--and threw down
carefully constructed plans, swept aside the strongest will and crushed
the stoutest heart, it was only working out its destiny. The dust
sprinkled on Desiree's hair had fallen on the faces of thousands of dead.
The unrest that entered into the quiet little house on the left-hand side
of the Frauengasse had made its way across a thousand thresholds, of
Arab tent and imperial palace alike. The lives of millions were affected
by it, the secret hopes of thousands were undermined by it. It disturbed
the sleep of half the world, and made men old before their time.
"More troops must have arrived," said Desiree, already busying herself
to set the house in order, "since they have been forced to billet this man
with us. And now they have sent for Charles, though he is really on
leave of absence."
She glanced at the clock.

"I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at four o'clock. There
is still time for me to help you."
Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. He was
looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards by a
hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a sorrow or
a vengeance. There was something in his whole being suggestive of a
bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had once been
well-seeming.
"No!" said Desiree gaily, "we were a dull company. We need not
disguise it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his dusty
carriage."
"He is on his way to Russia," Sebastian said jerkily. "God spare me to
see him return!"
Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed that
their father was subject to certain humours which they had reason to
dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him, linking her arm in
his and standing beside him.
"Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day," she said. "God will
spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding- guest!"
He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her
with eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, which
met his glance must have awakened some memory that made his face a
marble mask again.
"Yes," he said grimly, "but I am an old man and he is a young one. And
I want to see