CHAPTER XII.

PROVING THE MAXIM, THAT ADVANTAGE MAY BE TAKEN IN LOVE AS WELL AS IN WAR.

It was some time before Gabrielle recovered from her astonishment and grief, or could fully realise all the terrors of her situation.

Merodé seated her in a chair, and closed the door. The apartment was very handsome, being completely hung with red Danish cloth, stamped over with rich silver flowers. A fire burned in an iron basket in the chimney, which was lined with gaudy Delft ware. In one corner stood a small bed, covered with green silk, brocaded with gold, and surmounted by plumes. The count's magnificently embossed helmet and cuirass hung on the knobs of one chair; his buff-coat, pistols, and rapier lay on another; and now, while the terrified Gabrielle is recovering her faculties, and surveying all these things by the light of a beautiful girandole, which occupied the centre of a small tripod table, let us take a view of the famous Ulrick.

He was about thirty-five years of age, above the middle height, and strongly made; handsome enough in face and figure to please any woman, but in his dark and devilish eye there was an expression which, while it fascinated with the fascination of fear, had that gloating expression, which the eye of an honest or honourable man never possesses.

His doublet of sky-blue velvet was completely covered with silver embroidery; his lace collar was a little awry, and stained with wine; his hair and mustaches were untrimmed, for he had just been awakened out of a sleep into which he had smoked himself two hours before, and his tasselled pipe still hung at a buttonhole of his doublet--the same honoured buttonhole at which he had suspended the diamond star of St. George of Carinthia. His cloak and breeches were also of sky-blue velvet, laced with silver; he wore white buff-boots and silver spurs; a white buff-belt and diamond hilted stiletto; a white satin scarf, with a cross and eagle embroidered at the ends of it. Having slept off his first drunken nap, there was a jaunty devil-may-care expression in his face, and he regarded the young girl with a smile full of desire and admiration.

"Count of Merodé," said she, abruptly; "is not my father with you here in Fredricksort?"

"No, Madame Gabrielle (you see I have not forgotten that name, nor the magic it once had for me), he is not. Thank Heaven! I am my own commanding-officer--at least none can have authority over me save your charming self; and I will consider it the duty and the glory of my life to obey you--to be your servant--your slave--your----"

As Merodé had all this kind of stuff off by rote, and by frequent repetition could have poured forth speeches which would fill three folio pages, Gabrielle cut him short by saying--

"I beseech you, sir, to tell me where my father is."

"I believe the old gentleman is with the Emperor at Vienna, where I hope they are both enjoying good health."

"Vienna! Impossible!"

"By the immortal Jove I swear to you that he is, unless--as report says--he is banished to his own castle of Giezar; for Ferdinand did not like the management of that piece of work at Oldenburg, and the escape of the count in the same ship with Bernard of Saxe-Weimar, whom he has sworn to hang (Duke and Elector though he be) over the gate of the Five Vowels at Vienna."*

* A gate of the palace, then inscribed A.E.I.O.U. meaning _Austria est imperare orbi universo_; i.e., "Austria is to govern the world."

"Ah, mercy! what will become of me? Oh, Ernestine, Ernestine! where are you? why are we separated? why am I here?"

"'Pon my soul, little one, by all this noise I could imagine that, like the old fellow Daniel, you had fallen into a den of lions, or among outrageous wolves, instead of a few lively young men, who can appreciate so well a pretty face. Adorable Gabrielle! I have never--never since we last saw each other at Vienna--had an opportunity of saying how much your beauty has taken possession of my whole thoughts. If I am stupid or timid just now, I pray attribute it to your presence here, which overwhelms me."

"Timidity!--I should think, my lord, you have very little of that, who have dared to entrap a daughter of Count Carlstein."

"Dared! Der Teufel! 'tis a word rarely addressed to a Merodista. (At that frightful word Gabrielle shuddered.) In love, as in war, we take all advantages; but, poor innocent! how can you be able to judge of a passion to which you must be a stranger? Yet be assured you will find love a more pleasant study than I found Latin at college; and, dearest Gabrielle, if I might be your preceptor----"

He placed both his hands on the fine figure of Gabrielle, and endeavoured to clasp her slender waist. The moment he touched her person, she drew herself up with loftiness and hauteur; her eye flashed and her cheek reddened, while a haughty indignation, which startled even Merodé, beamed on her beautiful brow.

"Der Teufel! but you are enchanting!" said Merodé, stepping back a space and surveying her with all the air of a profound connoisseur. "'Pon my soul, little one, I like you all the better for this display of temper; you shall see how friendly we shall be by and by. Believe me, I have not the least feeling of revenge for all the contempt with which you treated me at Vienna--not the least. Ah, by my life, what a charming pout!"

"I will leave this place, and go to my sister. Oh! Ernestine, where are you, and why are you not here to protect me?"

"She is in very good keeping by this time; and 'tis well, for she is a little bit of an Amazon," said Merodé, somewhat maliciously; for he knew right well that she was to become the prey of Bandolo.

"Count," said Gabrielle, clasping her poor little hands, and approaching with a trembling heart and imploring eyes; "by all the mercies of Heaven, I conjure you to tell me what you mean!"

"Delicious Gabrielle!" murmured the count, looking at her from side to side as one would do a fine horse; "why, I merely mean that she is safe among the Lutheran nuns of St. Kund at Kiel, where some of my fellows are very anxious to pay a visit."

"On your honour, count, you assure me of this?"

"On my soul I do!" replied Merodé, for _that_ he considered of infinitely less importance.

Though thankful for the imaginary safety of her sister, Gabrielle, being overcome by the desolation and dangers of her position, sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Without touching her, Merodé hung over the chair, and gazed at the beautiful and harmonious outline of her young bust and curved shoulder; and thought, that although there was every chance of old Carlstein putting a bullet through his head, _sans_ parley or ceremony, on the first opportunity, the pleasure he now experienced was well worth the risk to be run.

"Why so very sad?" said he, after a pause; "I don't comprehend it. Really I must have a rival, and that is the most troublesome animal a lover can have in his way. Now, pretty one, say--have I?"

"You have none here, at all events," sobbed Gabrielle, a little spitefully.

"Then I can have none any where else," replied the count, twirling his enormous Austrian mustache. "You charm me more and more! and has no man ever said that he loved you?"

Ian's stately figure seemed to rise at these words, and as the young maiden thought of her modest, her hopeless, and secret love, she could only weep.

Merodé uttered a deep sigh, which had its origin in art, rather than purity of passion; for that was a purity which the heart of Merodé never knew.

"Ah, Gabrielle, you do look seducing at this moment! Those dear white hands--and beautiful tears," he resumed, attempting to place an arm round her.

"For the love of Heaven, Count Merodé, do not touch me!" implored Gabrielle, in a voice so tender that he withdrew his arm, and stammered out--

"Der Teufel! Faith, I always thought that girls preferred a brisk and toying lover to a man who made long faces and long speeches. To-night I see that nothing can be achieved--not even the smallest caress. To-morrow we shall be better friends. 'Tis always thus with little ones like you. They make a devil of a fuss at first; and, from hating me alone, I have known twenty girls come at last to love the whole regiment, from right flank to left--positively! Pray, do not get into a passion with a poor Pickle like me, who fires off whatever ammunition comes first to hand; and so now I will leave you, and go to supper with my bon camarados in the hall. In these matter-of-fact days, my pretty one, love--however strong--cannot subsist without plenty to eat and drink," continued Merodé, rising and bowing, as he slowly retired towards the door. "We should grow sad if we did not drink; we should die if we did not eat. Now; were I a young damsel, I would always choose a lover who had a good appetite and loved his can of wine; for he that does so, is sure to be a strong and healthy fellow, with good sense, a good heart, and a good pair of sturdy legs; and what more would the most fastidious lady, even the Lady Margarethe of Skofgaard, or the Empress herself, require? What--you are still angry and perverse; and your father will have me broken alive upon the wheel, will he? No--no--I am sure he could never be such a hard-hearted old crocodile. But good-night, dearest Gabrielle; I will send you a companion--the best of many we have here in Fredricksort; but, until to-morrow, I will not trouble you again."

He retired, and closed the door.

For a time Gabrielle remained buried in the most tormenting thoughts, and shedding a torrent of tears.

Near the elegant couch already described, a door opened softly; but not so softly as to be unheard by Gabrielle. She turned with eyes expressive of alarm, and a lady stood before her.

It was the señora Prudentia--the Spanish dancer, whom Gabrielle had seen charming thousands in the theatre of Vienna; but whom, of course, she did not recognise in her Spanish costume, and with a face so pale--for excesses of many kinds had robbed the fair actress of many of her charms since she had made such a blockhead of me when in garrison at Glückstadt; but still she was beautiful, and her deep, dark, and magnificent eyes were fixed on Gabrielle, with a smile so lively and seducing that she was quite charmed. Rejoiced to see one of her own sex she sprang towards her, and said--

"Ah, madame, you will protect me, will you not?"

"Protect you from what--from whom? There is no danger here," said Prudentia, kissing the soft white cheek of Gabrielle, who threw herself into her arms. Her pretty foreign accent gave a girlish simplicity to all the señora said.

"Do not leave me, and I shall love you!" exclaimed Gabrielle.

"Upon my honour, child, you are beautiful!" said the dancer (who was her senior by a year or two), holding Gabrielle at arm's length, and surveying her timid face and fine figure;--"you are perfectly beautiful!"

"And so are you," said the poor little captive, with the most perfect innocence; "but you will be kind to me, will you not? Oh, yes I--for you have eyes just like my dear sister. And you will set me free?"

"Free--for what?" laughed the dancer; "is not one much better here?"

"In this frightful place! Are you the wife of Count Merodé? I hope you are not--I should be so sorry if one so pretty----"

"No, I am called the Señora Prudentia," replied the dancer with a loud laugh.

"Prudentia!" said Gabrielle, musing; "I have surely heard that name before. There was a dancer so called in Vienna--a Spaniard. Six months ago there was a brawl in her house, and an officer of Camargo's regiment was murdered. The woman had to fly."

"I have heard of it," replied Prudentia, who was the identical personage referred to, and had then around her graceful neck and tapered wrists the jewels given to her by the murdered man, who had fallen beneath her brother's poniard--a catastrophe which had banished her from Vienna for ever, though it was no blemish in the eyes of Merodé and his officers, to the female staff of whose regiment she had attached herself. "She was a countrywoman of mine--but a mere dancer," said Prudentia, with a toss of her pretty head; "we know that persons of that profession are all alike."

"It was very horrid--it was infamous!"

Prudentia gave the unconscious girl a spiteful glance from the corners of her dark eyes.

"Ah! madame, when shall I leave this place--when will you set me free?"

"Foolish child! it is for your own good you are brought here. The count is gallant, rich, generous, and will make up for the fortune your father is about to lose; for, although no one has been found murdered in his bedroom, he has fallen into disgrace with the Emperor. I am sure Merodé is very loveable. He will give you the most magnificent dresses--with flowers and diamonds for your hair, jewels and circlets for your neck and arms, a gilded caleche and six white horses with switching tails if you wish them, for in this place he has half the spoil of South Juteland."

"Oh, that I was out of it!" said Gabrielle, wringing her hands in bewilderment, and abandoning herself to the most violent grief. "Ernestine! Ernestine! why do you not come to me? I will be destroyed here. Madame, my father will give you all you have enumerated, and a thousand doubloons to boot, if you will set me free."

"I am not mistress here, any more than yourself," replied Prudentia, with a cold smile.

There was a pause, during which nothing was heard but the sobs of Gabrielle, and distant din of roistering in the hall, where Merodé and his officers were drinking and gambling like mad ruffians, as they were; and the roar of mingled laughter, with the clatter of drinking-horns, came on the currents of air through the long echoing corridors of the old Danish fortress.

"Oh!" moaned Gabrielle, covering her fine blue eyes with her hands; "I wish that some great illness would come and kill me."

"What a foolish wish!" retorted Prudentia; "upon my word, girl, I believe you are just what I was at your age--dying for a husband. But come with me to my room; by this time, Merodé, who with all his generosity is a mere sot at night--a regular borracho--will not trouble us until to-morrow----"

"But his comrades?"

"They dare not cast even an insolent glance upon the lady-friends of their commander--so come with me, and rest assured that, until morning at least, you are safe."

This was the truth. Gabrielle declined all refreshment, though offered every delicacy by Prudentia. She was permitted to pass that night unmolested; and, though she could not by any means be prevailed upon to undress, shared the sleeping-place of one from whose touch--had she known all--she would have shrunk as from contamination.

The Spanish danzador went through the ceremony (a somewhat useless one for her), of telling her beads before retiring to repose; but Gabrielle, who knelt by her side, clasped her little white hands, and, from her pure and virgin heart, addressed to Heaven one of those deep and voiceless prayers, which are all the more deep and fervent because the lips cannot utter them.