Jezebel's Daughter Page 9

"She is old enough to be my mother, sir," I whispered; "and this time, at

  any rare, she has told you the truth."

  Hardly a word passed between us on our way through the streets and over

  the bridge. Minna was sad and silent, thinking of Fritz; and whatever her

  mother might have to say to me, was evidently to be said in private.

  Arrived at the lodgings, Madame Fontaine requested me to wait for her in

  the shabby little sitting-room, and graciously gave me permission to

  smoke. "Say good night to David," she continued, turning to her daughter.

  "Your poor little heart is heavy to-night, and mamma means to put you to

  bed as if you were a child again. Ah! me, if those days could only come

  back!"

  After a short absence the widow returned to me, with a composed manner

  and a quiet smile. The meeting with Mr. Keller seemed to have been

  completely dismissed from her thoughts, in the brief interval since I had

  seen her last.

  "We often hear of parents improving their children," she said. "It is my

  belief that the children quite as often improve the parents. I have had

  some happy minutes with Minna--and (would you believe it?) I am already

  disposed to forgive Mr. Keller's brutality, and to write to him in a tone

  of moderation, which must surely have its effect. All Minna's doing--and

  my sweet girl doesn't in the least suspect it herself! If you ever have

  children of your own, David, you will understand me and feel for me. In

  the meantime, I must not detain you by idle talk--I must say plainly what

  I want of you." She opened her writing-desk and took up a pen. "If I

  write to Mr. Keller under your own eye, do you object to take charge of

  my letter?"

  I hesitated how to answer. To say the least of it, her request

  embarrassed me.

  "I don't expect you to give it to Mr. Keller personally," she explained.

  "It is of very serious importance to me" (she laid a marked emphasis on

  those words) "to be quite sure that my letter has reached him, and that

  he has really had the opportunity of reading it. If you will only place

  it on his desk in the office, with your own hand, that is all I ask you

  to do. For Minna's sake, mind; not for mine!"

  For Minna's sake, I consented. She rose directly, and signed to me to

  take her place at the desk.

  "It will save time," she said, "if you write the rough draft of the

  letter from my dictation. I am accustomed to dictate my letters, with

  Minna for secretary. Of course, you shall see the fair copy before I seal

  it."

  She began to walk up and down the little room, with her hands crossed

  behind her in the attitude made famous by the great Napoleon. After a

  minute of consideration, she dictated the draft as follows:

  "Sir,--I am well aware that scandalous reports at Wurzburg have

  prejudiced you against me. Those reports, so far as I know, may be summed

  up under three heads.

  "(First.) That my husband died in debt through my extravagance.

  "(Second.) That my respectable neighbors refuse to associate with me.

  "(Third.) That I entrapped your son Fritz into asking for my daughter's

  hand in marriage, because I knew his father to be a rich man.

  "To the first calumny I reply, that the debts are due to expensive

  chemical experiments in which my late husband engaged, and that I have

  satisfied the creditors to the last farthing. Grant me an audience, and I

  will refer you to the creditors themselves.

  "To the second calumny I reply, that I received invitations, on my

  arrival in Wurzburg after my marriage, from every lady of distinguished

  social position in the town. After experience of the society thus offered

  to me, I own to having courteously declined subsequent invitations, and

  having devoted myself in retirement to my husband, to my infant child,

  and to such studies in literature and art as I had time to pursue. Gossip

  and scandal, with an eternal accompaniment of knitting, are not to my

  taste; and, while I strictly attend to domestic duties, I do not consider

  them as constituting, in connection with tea-drinking, the one great

  interest of a woman's life. I plead guilty to having been foolish enough

  to openly acknowledge these sentiments, and to having made bitter enemies

  everywhere as the necessary consequence. If this plain defense of myself

  fails to satisfy you, grant me an audience, and I will answer your

  questions, whatever they may be.

  "To the third calumny, I reply, that if you had been a Prince instead of

  a merchant, I would still have done everything in my power to keep your

  son away from my daughter--for this simple reason, that the idea of

  parting with her to any man fills me with grief and dismay. I only

  yielded to the marriage engagement, when the conviction was forced upon

  me that my poor child's happiness depended on her union with your son. It

  is this consideration alone which induces me to write to you, and to

  humiliate myself by pleading for a hearing. As for the question of money,

  if through some unexpected misfortune you became a bankrupt to-morrow, I

  would entreat you to consent to the marriage exactly as I entreat you

  now. Poverty has no terrors for me while I have health to work. But I

  cannot face the idea of my child's life being blighted, because you

  choose to believe the slanders that are spoken of her mother. For the

  third time I ask you to grant me an audience, and to hear me in my own

  defense."

  There she paused, and looked over my shoulder.

  "I think that is enough," she said. "Do you see anything objectionable in

  my letter?"

  How could I object to the letter? From beginning to end, it was strongly,

  and yet moderately, expressed. I resigned my place at the desk, and the

  widow wrote the fair copy, with her own hand. She made no change

  whatever, except by adding these ominous lines as a postscript:

  "I implore you not to drive me to despair. A mother who is pleading for

  her child's life--it is nothing less, in this case--is a woman who surely

  asserts a sacred claim. Let no wise man deny it."

  "Do you think it quite discreet," I ventured to ask, "to add those

  words?"

  She looked at me with a moment's furtive scrutiny, and only answered

  after she had sealed the letter, and placed it in my hands.

  "I have my reasons," she replied. "Let the words remain."

  Returning to the house at rather a late hour for Frankfort, I was

  surprised to find Mr. Keller waiting to see me.

  "I have had a talk with my partner," he said. "It has left (for the time

  only, I hope), a painful impression on both sides--and I must ask you to

  do me a service, in the place of Mr. Engelman--who has an engagement

  to-morrow, which prevents him from leaving Frankfort."

  His tone indicated plainly enough that the "engagement" was with Madame

  Fontaine. Hard words must have passed between the two old friends on the

  subject of the widow. Even Mr. Engelman's placid temper had, no doubt,

  resented Mr. Keller's conduct at the meeting in the hall.

  "The service I ask of you," he resumed, "will be easily rendered. The

  proprietor of a commercial e
stablishment at Hanau is desirous of entering

  into business-relations with us, and has sent references to respectable

  persons in the town and neighborhood, which it is necessary to verify. We

  are so busy in the office that it is impossible for me to leave Frankfort

  myself, or to employ our clerks on this errand. I have drawn out the

  necessary instructions--and Hanau, as you are aware, is within an easy

  distance of Frankfort. Have you any objection to be the representative of

  the house in this matter?"

  It is needless to say that I was gratified by the confidence that had

  been placed in me, and eager to show that I really deserved it. We

  arranged that I should leave Frankfort by the earliest conveyance the

  next morning.

  On our way upstairs to our bed-chambers, Mr. Keller detained me for a

  moment more.

  "I have no claim to control you in the choice of your friends," he said;

  "but I am old enough to give you a word of advice. Don't associate

  yourself too readily, David, with the woman whom I found here to-night."

  He shook hands cordially, and left me. I thought of Madame Fontaine's

  letter in my pocket, and felt a strong conviction that he would persist

  in his refusal to read it.

  The servants were the only persons stirring in the house, when I rose the

  next morning. Unobserved by anyone, I placed the letter on the desk in

  Mr. Keller's private room. That done, I started on my journey to Hanau.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Thanks to the instructions confided to me, my errand presented no

  difficulties. There were certain persons to whom I was introduced, and

  certain information to be derived from them, which it was my duty to

  submit to Mr. Keller on my return. Fidelity was required of me, and

  discretion was required of me--and that was all.

  At the close of my day's work, the hospitable merchant, whose references

  I had been engaged in verifying, refused to permit me to return to the

  hotel. His dinner-hour had been put off expressly to suit my convenience.

  "You will only meet the members of my family," he said, "and a cousin of

  my wife's who is here with her daughter, on a visit to us--Frau Meyer, of

  Wurzburg."

  I accepted the invitation, feeling privately an Englishman's reluctance

  to confronting an assembly of strangers, and anticipating nothing

  remarkable in reference to Frau Meyer, although she did come from

  Wurzburg. Even when I was presented to the ladies in due form, as "the

  honored representative of Mr. Keller, of Frankfort," I was too stupid, or

  too much absorbed in the business on which I had been engaged, to be much

  struck by the sudden interest with which Frau Meyer regarded me. She was

  a fat florid old lady, who looked coarsely clever and resolute; and she

  had a daughter who promised to resemble her but too faithfully, in due

  course of time. It was a relief to me, at dinner, to find myself placed

  between the merchant's wife and her eldest son. They were far more

  attractive neighbors at table, to my thinking, than Frau Meyer.

  Dinner being over, we withdrew to another room to take our coffee. The

  merchant and his son, both ardent musicians in their leisure hours,

  played a sonata for pianoforte and violin. I was at the opposite

  extremity of the room, looking at some fine proof impressions of prints

  from the old masters, when a voice at my side startled me by an

  unexpected question.

  "May I ask, sir, if you are acquainted with Mr. Keller's son?"

  I looked round, and discovered Frau Meyer.

  "Have you seen him lately?" she proceeded, when I had acknowledged that I

  was acquainted with Fritz. "And can you tell me where he is now?"

  I answered both these questions. Frau Meyer looked thoroughly well

  satisfied with me. "Let us have a little talk," she said, and seated

  herself, and signed to me to take a chair near her.

  "I feel a true interest in Fritz," she resumed, lowering her voice so as

  not to be heard by the musicians at the other end of the room. "Until

  to-day, I have heard nothing of him since he left Wurzburg. I like to

  talk about him--he once did me a kindness a long time since. I suppose

  you are in his confidence? Has he told you why his father sent him away

  from the University?"

  My reply to this was, I am afraid, rather absently given. The truth is,

  my mind was running on some earlier words which had dropped from the old

  lady's lips. "He once did me a kindness a long time since." When had I

  last heard that commonplace phrase? and why did I remember it so readily

  when I now heard it again?

  "Ah, his father did a wise thing in separating him from that woman and

  her daughter!" Frau Meyer went on. "Madame Fontaine deliberately

  entrapped the poor boy into the engagement. But perhaps you are a friend

  of hers? In that case, I retract and apologize."

  "Quite needless," I said.

  "You are _not_ a friend of Madame Fontaine?" she persisted.

  This cool attempt to force an answer from me failed in its object. It was

  like being cross-examined in a court of law; and, in our common English

  phrase, "it set my back up." In the strict sense of the word, Madame

  Fontaine might be termed an acquaintance, but certainly not a friend, of

  mine. For once, I took the prudent course, and said, No.

  Frau Meyer's expansive bosom emitted a hearty sigh of relief. "Ah!" she

  said, "now I can talk freely--in Fritz's interest, mind. You are a young

  man like himself, he will be disposed to listen to you. Do all you can to

  back his father's influence, and cure him of his infatuation. I tell you

  plainly, his marriage would be his ruin!"

  "You speak very strongly, madam. Do you object to the young lady?"

  "Not I; a harmless insignificant creature--nothing more and nothing less.

  It's her vile mother that I object to."

  "As I have heard, Frau Meyer, there are two sides to that question. Fritz

  is persuaded that Madame Fontaine is an injured woman. He assures me, for

  instance, that she is the fondest of mothers."

  "Bah! What does _that_ amount to? It's as much a part of a woman's nature

  to take to her child when she has got one, as it is to take to her dinner

  when she is hungry. A fond mother? What stuff! Why, a cat is a fond

  mother!--What's the matter?"

  _A cat is a fond mother._ Another familiar phrase--and this time a phrase

  remarkable enough to lead my memory back in the right direction. In an

  instant I recollected the anonymous letter to Fritz. In an instant I felt

  the conviction that Frau Meyer, in her eagerness to persuade me, had

  unconsciously repeated two of the phrases which she had already used, in

  her eagerness to persuade Fritz. No wonder I started in my chair, when I

  felt that I was face to face with the writer of the anonymous letter!

  I made some excuse--I forget what--and hastened to resume the

  conversation. The opportunity of making discoveries which might be

  invaluable to Fritz (to say nothing of good Mr. Engelman) was not an

  opportunity to be neglected. I persisted in quoting Fritz's authority; I

  repeated his assertion relative to the love of scandal at Wurzburg, and


  the envy of Madame Fontaine's superior attractions felt among the ladies.

  Frau Meyer laughed disdainfully.

  "Poor Fritz!" she said. "An excellent disposition--but so easily

  persuaded, so much too amiable. Our being all envious of Widow Fontaine

  is too ridiculous. It is a mere waste of time to notice such nonsense.

  Wait a little, Mr. David, and you will see. If you and Mr. Keller can

  only keep Fritz out of the widow's way for a few months longer, his eyes

  will be opened in spite of himself. He may yet come back to us with a

  free heart, and he may choose his future wife more wisely next time."

  As she said this her eyes wandered away to her daughter, at the other end

  of the room. Unless her face betrayed her, she had evidently planned, at

  some past time, to possess herself of Fritz as a son-in-law, and she had

  not resigned the hope of securing him yet. Madame Fontaine might be a

  deceitful and dangerous woman. But what sort of witness against her was

  this abusive old lady, the unscrupulous writer of an anonymous letter?

  "You prophesy very confidently about what is to come in the future," I

  ventured to say.

  Frau Meyer's red face turned a shade redder. "Does that mean that you

  don't believe me?" she asked.

  "Certainly not, madam. It only means that you speak severely of Doctor

  Fontaine's widow--without mentioning any facts that justify you."

  "Oh! you want facts, do you? I'll soon show you whether I know what I am

  talking about or not. Has Fritz mentioned that among Madame Fontaine's

  other virtues, she has paid her debts? I'll tell you how she has paid

  them--as an example, young gentleman, that I am not talking at random.

  Your admirable widow, sir, is great at fascinating old men; they are

  always falling in love with her, the idiots! A certain old man at

  Wurzburg--close on eighty, mind--was one of her victims. I had a letter

  this morning which tells me that he was found dead in his bed, two days

  since, and that his nephew is the sole heir to all that he leaves behind

  him. Examination of his papers has shown that _he_ paid the widow's

  creditors, and that he took a promissory note from her--ha! ha! ha!--a

  promissory note from a woman without a farthing!--in payment of the sum

  that he had advanced. The poor old man would, no doubt, have destroyed

  the note if he had known that his end was so near. His sudden death has

  transferred it to the hands of his heir. In money-matters, the nephew is

  reported to be one of the hardest men living. When that note falls due,

  he will present it for payment. I don't know where Madame Fontaine is

  now. No matter! Sooner or later, she is sure to hear of what has

  happened--and she must find the money, or see the inside of a debtor's

  prison. Those are the facts that I had in my mind, Mr. David, when I

  spoke of events opening Fritz's eyes to the truth."

  I submitted with all possible humility to the lady's triumph over me. My

  thoughts were with Minna. What a prospect for the innocent, affectionate

  girl! Assuming the statement that I had just heard to be true, there was

  surely a chance that Madame Fontaine (with time before her) might find

  the money. I put this view of the case to Frau Meyer.

  "If I didn't know Mr. Keller to be a thoroughly resolute man," she

  answered, "I should say she might find the money too. She has only to

  succeed in marrying her daughter to Fritz, and Mr. Keller would be

  obliged to pay the money for the sake of the family credit. But he is one

  of the few men whom she can't twist round her finger. If you ever fall in

  with her, take care of yourself. She may find your influence with Fritz

  an obstacle in her way--and she may give you reason to remember that the

  mystery of her husband's lost chest of poisons is not cleared up yet. It