<h2><SPAN name="chap12"></SPAN>XII.<br/> A Petition</h2>
<p>“‘Then we are to lose Madame la Comtesse, but I hope only for a few
hours,’ I said, with a low bow.</p>
<p>“‘It may be that only, or it may be a few weeks. It was very
unlucky his speaking to me just now as he did. Do you now know me?’</p>
<p>“I assured her I did not.</p>
<p>“‘You shall know me,’ she said, ‘but not at present. We
are older and better friends than, perhaps, you suspect. I cannot yet declare
myself. I shall in three weeks pass your beautiful schloss, about which I have
been making enquiries. I shall then look in upon you for an hour or two, and
renew a friendship which I never think of without a thousand pleasant
recollections. This moment a piece of news has reached me like a thunderbolt. I
must set out now, and travel by a devious route, nearly a hundred miles, with
all the dispatch I can possibly make. My perplexities multiply. I am only
deterred by the compulsory reserve I practice as to my name from making a very
singular request of you. My poor child has not quite recovered her strength.
Her horse fell with her, at a hunt which she had ridden out to witness, her
nerves have not yet recovered the shock, and our physician says that she must
on no account exert herself for some time to come. We came here, in
consequence, by very easy stages—hardly six leagues a day. I must now
travel day and night, on a mission of life and death—a mission the
critical and momentous nature of which I shall be able to explain to you when
we meet, as I hope we shall, in a few weeks, without the necessity of any
concealment.’</p>
<p>“She went on to make her petition, and it was in the tone of a person
from whom such a request amounted to conferring, rather than seeking a favor.</p>
<p>This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the terms
in which it was expressed, nothing could be more deprecatory. It was simply
that I would consent to take charge of her daughter during her absence.</p>
<p>“This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say, an audacious
request. She in some sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting everything that
could be urged against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At
the same moment, by a fatality that seems to have predetermined all that
happened, my poor child came to my side, and, in an undertone, besought me to
invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay us a visit. She had just been sounding
her, and thought, if her mamma would allow her, she would like it extremely.</p>
<p>“At another time I should have told her to wait a little, until, at
least, we knew who they were. But I had not a moment to think in. The two
ladies assailed me together, and I must confess the refined and beautiful face
of the young lady, about which there was something extremely engaging, as well
as the elegance and fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered,
I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the care of the young lady, whom her
mother called Millarca.</p>
<p>“The Countess beckoned to her daughter, who listened with grave attention
while she told her, in general terms, how suddenly and peremptorily she had
been summoned, and also of the arrangement she had made for her under my care,
adding that I was one of her earliest and most valued friends.</p>
<p>“I made, of course, such speeches as the case seemed to call for, and
found myself, on reflection, in a position which I did not half like.</p>
<p>“The gentleman in black returned, and very ceremoniously conducted the
lady from the room.</p>
<p>“The demeanor of this gentleman was such as to impress me with the
conviction that the Countess was a lady of very much more importance than her
modest title alone might have led me to assume.</p>
<p>“Her last charge to me was that no attempt was to be made to learn more
about her than I might have already guessed, until her return. Our
distinguished host, whose guest she was, knew her reasons.</p>
<p>“‘But here,’ she said, ‘neither I nor my daughter could
safely remain for more than a day. I removed my mask imprudently for a moment,
about an hour ago, and, too late, I fancied you saw me. So I resolved to seek
an opportunity of talking a little to you. Had I found that you had seen me, I
would have thrown myself on your high sense of honor to keep my secret some
weeks. As it is, I am satisfied that you did not see me; but if you now
suspect, or, on reflection, should suspect, who I am, I commit myself, in like
manner, entirely to your honor. My daughter will observe the same secrecy, and
I well know that you will, from time to time, remind her, lest she should
thoughtlessly disclose it.’</p>
<p>“She whispered a few words to her daughter, kissed her hurriedly twice,
and went away, accompanied by the pale gentleman in black, and disappeared in
the crowd.</p>
<p>“‘In the next room,’ said Millarca, ‘there is a window
that looks upon the hall door. I should like to see the last of mamma, and to
kiss my hand to her.’</p>
<p>“We assented, of course, and accompanied her to the window. We looked
out, and saw a handsome old-fashioned carriage, with a troop of couriers and
footmen. We saw the slim figure of the pale gentleman in black, as he held a
thick velvet cloak, and placed it about her shoulders and threw the hood over
her head. She nodded to him, and just touched his hand with hers. He bowed low
repeatedly as the door closed, and the carriage began to move.</p>
<p>“‘She is gone,’ said Millarca, with a sigh.</p>
<p>“‘She is gone,’ I repeated to myself, for the first
time—in the hurried moments that had elapsed since my
consent—reflecting upon the folly of my act.</p>
<p>“‘She did not look up,’ said the young lady, plaintively.</p>
<p>“‘The Countess had taken off her mask, perhaps, and did not care to
show her face,’ I said; ‘and she could not know that you were in
the window.’</p>
<p>“She sighed, and looked in my face. She was so beautiful that I relented.
I was sorry I had for a moment repented of my hospitality, and I determined to
make her amends for the unavowed churlishness of my reception.</p>
<p>“The young lady, replacing her mask, joined my ward in persuading me to
return to the grounds, where the concert was soon to be renewed. We did so, and
walked up and down the terrace that lies under the castle windows.</p>
<p>Millarca became very intimate with us, and amused us with lively descriptions
and stories of most of the great people whom we saw upon the terrace. I liked
her more and more every minute. Her gossip without being ill-natured, was
extremely diverting to me, who had been so long out of the great world. I
thought what life she would give to our sometimes lonely evenings at home.</p>
<p>“This ball was not over until the morning sun had almost reached the
horizon. It pleased the Grand Duke to dance till then, so loyal people could
not go away, or think of bed.</p>
<p>“We had just got through a crowded saloon, when my ward asked me what had
become of Millarca. I thought she had been by her side, and she fancied she was
by mine. The fact was, we had lost her.</p>
<p>“All my efforts to find her were vain. I feared that she had mistaken, in
the confusion of a momentary separation from us, other people for her new
friends, and had, possibly, pursued and lost them in the extensive grounds
which were thrown open to us.</p>
<p>“Now, in its full force, I recognized a new folly in my having undertaken
the charge of a young lady without so much as knowing her name; and fettered as
I was by promises, of the reasons for imposing which I knew nothing, I could
not even point my inquiries by saying that the missing young lady was the
daughter of the Countess who had taken her departure a few hours before.</p>
<p>“Morning broke. It was clear daylight before I gave up my search. It was
not till near two o’clock next day that we heard anything of my missing
charge.</p>
<p>“At about that time a servant knocked at my niece’s door, to say
that he had been earnestly requested by a young lady, who appeared to be in
great distress, to make out where she could find the General Baron Spielsdorf
and the young lady his daughter, in whose charge she had been left by her
mother.</p>
<p>“There could be no doubt, notwithstanding the slight inaccuracy, that our
young friend had turned up; and so she had. Would to heaven we had lost her!</p>
<p>“She told my poor child a story to account for her having failed to
recover us for so long. Very late, she said, she had got to the
housekeeper’s bedroom in despair of finding us, and had then fallen into
a deep sleep which, long as it was, had hardly sufficed to recruit her strength
after the fatigues of the ball.</p>
<p>“That day Millarca came home with us. I was only too happy, after all, to
have secured so charming a companion for my dear girl.”</p>
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