delusion that he has been poisoned. Has he ever betrayed it in your
presence?"
"I heard something of it," Mrs. Wagner answered, "from the superintendent
at the madhouse in London."
"Ah, indeed? The superintendent merely repeated, I suppose, what Jack had
told him?"
"Exactly. I was careful not to excite him, by referring to it myself,
when I took him under my charge. At the same time, it is impossible to
look at his hair and his complexion, without seeing that some serious
accident must have befallen him."
"Most unquestionably! He is the victim, poor creature--not of poison--but
of his own foolish curiosity, in my husband's surgery, and you see the
result. Alas! I cannot give you the scientific reasons for it."
"I shouldn't understand them, Madame Fontaine, if you could."
"Ah, dear lady, you kindly say so, because you are unwilling to humiliate
me. Is there anything Jack may have said to you about me, which seems to
require an explanation--if I can give it?"
She slipped in this question, concealing perfectly the anxiety that
suggested it, so far as her voice and her eyes were concerned. But the
inner agitation rose to the surface in a momentary trembling of her lips.
Slight as it was, that sign of self-betrayal did not escape Mrs. Wagner's
keen observation. She made a cautious reply. "On the contrary," she said,
"from what Jack has told me, the conclusion is plain that you have really
done him a service. You have succeeded in curing that delusion you spoke
of--and I applaud your good sense in refusing to trust him with the
medicine."
Madame Fontaine made a low curtsey. "I shall remember those kind words,
among the happy events of my life," she said, with her best grace.
"Permit me to take your hand." She pressed Mrs. Wagner's hand
gratefully--and made an exit which was a triumph of art. Even a French
actress might have envied the manner in which she left the room.
But, when she ascended the stairs, with no further necessity for keeping
up appearances, her step was as slow and as weary as the step of an old
woman. "Oh, my child," she thought sadly, with her mind dwelling again on
Minna, "shall I see the end of all these sacrifices, when your
wedding-day comes with the end of the year?" She sat down by the fire in
her room, and for the first time in her life, the harmless existence of
one of those domestic drudges whom she despised began to seem enviable to
her. There were merits visible now, in the narrow social horizon that is
bounded by gossip, knitting, and tea.
Left by herself in the dining-room, Mrs. Wagner took a turn up and down,
with her mind bent on penetrating Madame Fontaine's motives.
There were difficulties in her way. It was easy to arrive at the
conclusion that there was something under the surface; but the obstacles
to advancing beyond this point of discovery seemed to defy removal. To
distrust the graceful widow more resolutely than ever, and to lament that
she had not got wise David Glenney to consult with, were the principal
results of Mrs. Wagner's reflections when she returned to the office.
There was Jack--in the nursery phrase, as good as gold--still in his
place on the window seat, devoted to his keys. His first words related
entirely to himself.
"If this isn't good conduct," he said, "I should like to know what is.
Give me my other mark."
Mrs. Wagner took out her pocket-book and made the new mark.
"Thank you," said Jack. "Now I want something else. I want to know what
Mrs. Housekeeper has been saying. I have been seriously alarmed about
you."
"Why, Jack?"
"She hasn't bitten you, has she? Oh, they do it sometimes! What lies has
she been telling you of me? Oh, they lie in the most abominable manner!
What? She has been talking of me in the kindest terms? Then why did she
want to get out of my hearing? Ah, they're so infernally deceitful! I do
hate mad people."
Mrs. Wagner produced her pocket-book again. "I shall scratch out your
mark," she said sternly, "if I hear any more talk of that sort."
Jack gathered his keys together with a strong sense of injury, and put
them back in his leather bag. "You're a little hard on me," he said, when
I'm only warning you for your own good. I don't know why it is, you're
not as kind to me here, as you used to be in London. And I feel it, I
do!" He laid himself down on the window seat, and began to cry.
little man's feeling. In a moment she was at the window comforting him
and drying his eyes, as if he had been a child. And, like a child, Jack
took advantage of the impression that he had made. "Look at your desk,"
he said piteously; "there's another proof how hard you are on me. I used
to keep the key of your desk in London. You won't trust it to me here."
Mrs. Wagner went to the desk, locked it, and returned to Jack. Few people
know how immensely an act of kindness gains in effect, by being performed
in silence. Mrs. Wagner was one of the few. Without a word, she opened
the leather bag and dropped the key into it. Jack's gratitude rushed
innocently to an extreme which it had never reached yet. "Oh!" he cried,
"would you mind letting me kiss you?"
Mrs. Wagner drew back, and held up a warning hand. Before she could
express herself in words, Jack's quick ear caught the sound of footsteps
approaching the door. "Is she coming back?" he cried, still suspicious of
Madame Fontaine. Mrs. Wagner instantly opened the door, and found herself
face to face with Joseph the footman.
"Do you know, ma'am, when Mr. Keller will be back?" he asked.
"I didn't even know that he was out, Joseph. Who wants him?"
"A gentleman, ma'am, who says he comes from Munich."
CHAPTER VII
On further inquiry, it turned out that "the gentleman from Munich" had no
time to spare. In the absence of Mr. Keller, he had asked if he could see
"one of the other partners." This seemed to imply that commercial
interests were in some way connected with the stranger's visit--in which
case, Mrs. Wagner was perfectly competent to hear what he had to say.
"Where is the gentleman?" she asked.
"In the drawing-room," Joseph answered.
Mrs. Wagner at once left the office. She found herself in the presence of
a dignified elderly gentleman, dressed entirely in black, and having the
ribbon of some order of merit attached to the buttonhole of his long
frock-coat. His eyes opened wide in surprise, behind his gold spectacles,
when he found himself face to face with a lady. "I fear there is some
mistake," he said, in the smoothest of voices, and with the politest of
bows; "I asked to see one of the partners."
Mrs. Wagner added largely to his amazement, by informing him of the
position that she held in the firm. "If you come on a matter of
business," she proceeded, "you may trust me to understand you, sir,
though I am only a woman. If your visit relates to private affairs, I beg
to suggest that you should write to Mr. Keller--I will take care th
at he
receives your letter the moment he returns."
"There is not the least necessity for my troubling you," the stranger
replied. "I am a physician; and I have been summoned to Frankfort to
consult with my colleagues here, on a serious case of illness. Mr.
Keller's sister is one of my patients in Munich. I thought I would take
the present opportunity of speaking to him about the state of her
health."
He had just introduced himself in those words, when Mr. Keller entered
the room. The merchant and the physician shook hands like old friends.
"No alarming news of my sister, I hope?" said Mr. Keller.
"Only the old trouble, my good friend. Another attack of asthma."
Mrs. Wagner rose to leave the room. Mr. Keller stopped her. "There is not
the least necessity for you to leave us," he said. "Unless my
presentiments deceive me, we may even have occasion to ask your advice.
-- Is there any hope, doctor, of her being well enough to leave Munich,
towards the end of the month?"
"I am sorry to say it," answered the physician--"having heard of the
interesting occasion on which she had engaged to be one of your
guests--but, at her age, I must ask for a little more time."
"In other words, it is impossible for my sister to be with us, on the day
of my son's marriage?"
"Quite impossible. She has so few pleasures, poor soul, and she is so
bitterly disappointed, that I volunteered to take advantage of my
professional errand here, to make a very bold request. Let me first do
your excellent sister justice. She will not hear of the young people
being disappointed by any postponement of the wedding, on her account.
And here is the famous necklace, committed to my care, to prove that she
is sincere."
He took his little traveling-bag from the chair on which he had placed
head-partner in a great house of business--could have looked at those
pearls, and preserved her composure. Mrs. Wagner burst out with a cry of
admiration.
Mr. Keller passed the necklace over without notice; his sister was the
one object of interest to him. "Would she be fit to travel," he asked,
"if we put off the marriage for a month?"
"She shall be fit to travel, barring accidents," said the physician, "if
you can put off the marriage for a fortnight. I start this evening on my
return to Munich, and not a day shall pass without my seeing her."
Mr. Keller appealed to Mrs. Wagner. "Surely, we might make this trifling
sacrifice?" he said. "The pleasure of seeing her nephew married is likely
to be the last pleasure of my sister's life."
"In your place," said Mrs. Wagner, "I should not hesitate for an instant
to grant the fortnight's delay. But the bride and bridegroom must be
consulted, of course."
"And the bride's parents," suggested the discreet physician, "if they are
still living."
"There is only her mother living," said Mr. Keller. "She is too
high-minded a person to raise any objection, I am sure." He paused, and
reflected for awhile. "Fritz counts for nothing," he went on. "I think we
ought to put the question, in the first instance, to the bride?" He rang
the bell, and then took the necklace out of Mrs. Wagner's hands. "I have
a very high opinion of little Minna," he resumed. "We will see what the
child's own kind heart says--undisturbed by the influence of the pearls,
and without any prompting on the part of her mother."
He closed the jewel case, and put it into a cabinet that stood near him.
Joseph was sent upstairs, with the necessary message. "Don't make any
mistake," said his master; "I wish to see Miss Minna, alone."
The physician took a pinch of snuff while they were waiting. "The test is
hardly conclusive," he remarked slily; "women are always capable of
sacrificing themselves. What will the bridegroom say?"
"My good sir," Mr. Keller rejoined a little impatiently, "I have
mentioned already that Fritz counts for nothing."
Minna came in. Her color rose when she found herself unexpectedly in the
presence of a dignified and decorated stranger. The physician tapped his
snuff-box, with the air of a man who thoroughly understood young women.
"Charming indeed!" he said confidentially to Mrs. Wagner; "I am young
enough (at heart, madam) to wish I was Fritz."
Mr. Keller advanced to meet Minna, and took her hand.
"My dear," he said, "what would you think of me, if I requested you to
put off your marriage for two whole weeks--and all on account of an old
woman?"
"I should think you had surely some reason, sir, for asking me to do
that," Minna replied; "and I confess I should be curious to know who the
old woman was."
In the fewest and plainest words, Mr. Keller repeated what the physician
had told him. "Take your own time to think of it," he added; "and consult
your mother first, if you like."
Minna's sweet face looked lovelier than ever, glowing with the heavenly
light of true and generous feeling. "Oh, Mr. Keller!" she exclaimed, "do
you really suppose I am cold-hearted enough to want time to think of it?
I am sure I may speak for my mother, as well as for myself. Fraulein
Keller's time shall be our time. Please tell her so, with my duty--or,
may I be bold enough to say already, with my love?"
Mr. Keller kissed her forehead with a fervor of feeling that was rare
with him. "You are well worthy of my sister's bridal gift," he said--and
took the necklace out of the cabinet, and gave it to her.
For some moments Minna stood looking at the magnificent pearls, in a
state of speechless enchantment. When she did speak, her first delightful
ardor of admiration had cooled under the chilling perception of a want of
proper harmony between her pearls and herself. "They are too grand for
me," she said sadly; "I ought to be a great lady, with a wardrobe full of
magnificent dresses, to wear such pearls as these!" She looked at them
again, with the natural longing of her sex and age. "May I take the
necklace upstairs," she asked, with the most charming inconsistency, "and
see how it looks when I put it on?"
Mr. Keller smiled and waved his hand. "You can do what you like with your
own necklace, my dear," he said. "When I have written a line to my
sister, perhaps I may follow you, and admire my daughter-in-law in all
her grandeur."
The physician looked at his watch. "If you can write your letter in five
minutes," he suggested, "I can take it with me to Munich."
Mrs. Wagner and Minna left the room together. "Come and see how it
looks," said Minna; "I should so like to have your opinion."
"I will follow you directly, my dear. There is something I have forgotten
in the office."
The events of the day had ended in making Jack drowsy; he was half-asleep
on the window-seat. Mrs. Wagner effectually roused him.
"Mr. Keeper of the Keys," she said; "I want my desk opened."
Jack was on his legs in an instant. "Ha, Mistress, it's jolly to hear you
say that--it's like being in L
ondon again."
The desk was of the spacious commercial sort, with a heavy mahogany lid.
Everything inside was in the most perfect order. A row of "pigeon-holes"
at the back had their contents specified by printed tickets. "Abstracts
of correspondence, A to Z;" "Terms for commission agency;" "Key of the
iron safe." "Key of the private ledger"--and so on. The ledger--a stout
volume with a brass lock, like a private diary--was placed near the
pigeon-holes. On the top of it rested a smaller book, of the
pocket--size, entitled "Private Accounts." Mrs. Wagner laid both books
open before her, at the pages containing the most recent entries, and
compared them. "I felt sure I had forgotten it!" she said to herself--and
transferred an entry in the ledger to the private account-book. After
replacing the ledger, she locked the desk, and returned the key to Jack.
"Remember," she said, "the rule in London is the rule here. My desk is
never to be opened, except when I ask you to do it. And if you allow the
key to pass out of your own possession, you cease to be Keeper."
"Did I ever do either of those two things in London?" Jack asked.
"Never."
"Then don't be afraid of my doing them here. I say! you haven't put back
the little book." He produced the key again, and put it into the
lock--while Mrs. Wagner was occupied in placing her account-book in her
pocket.
"Its proper place is not in the desk," she explained; "I usually keep it
about me."
Jack's ready suspicion was excited. "Ah," he cried, with an outburst of
indignation, "you won't trust it to me!"
"Take care I don't set a bad-conduct mark against you!" said Mrs. Wagner.
"You foolish fellow, the little book is a copy of what is in the big
book--and I trust you with the big book."
She knew Jack thoroughly well. His irritable dignity was at once appeased
when he heard that the biggest of the duplicate books was in his keeping.
He took the key out of the lock again. At the same moment, Mr. Keller
entered the office. Jack possessed the dog's enviable faculty of
distinguishing correctly between the people who are, and the people who
are not, their true friends. Mr. Keller privately disliked the idea of
having a person about him who had come out of a madhouse. Jack's
instincts warned him to leave a room when Mr. Keller entered it. He left
the office now.
"Is it possible that you trust that crazy creature with the key of your
desk?" said Mr. Keller. "Even your bitterest enemy, Mrs. Wagner, would
not believe you could be guilty of such an act of rashness."
"Pardon me, sir, it is you who are guilty of an act of rashness in
forming your judgment. 'Fancy a woman in her senses trusting her keys to
a man who was once in Bedlam!' Everybody said that of me, when I put Jack
to the proof in my own house."
"Aha! there are other people then who agree with me?" said Mr. Keller.
"There are other people, sir (I say it with all needful respect), who
know no more of the subject than you do. The most certain curative
influence that can be exercised over the poor martyrs of the madhouse, is
to appeal to their self-respect. From first to last, Jack has never been
unworthy of the trust that I have placed in him. Do you think my friends
owned they had been mistaken? No more than you will own it! Make your
mind easy. I will be personally answerable for anything that is lost,
while I am rash enough to trust my crazy creature with my key."
Mr. Keller's opinion was not in the least shaken; he merely checked any
further expression of it, in deference to an angry lady. "I dare say you