Chapter 11

He could not but admit that the captain’s daughter was pretty, very pretty; she seemed to be both domestic and sensible, and it was clear that she devoted herself to her old father with touching tenderness. And yet Cousin Hans said to himself: “Poor thing, who would want to marry her?”

For she was entirely devoid of that charming helplessness which is so attractive in a young girl; when she spoke, it was with an almost odious repose and decision. She never came in with any of those fascinating half-finished sentences, such as “Oh, I don’t know if you understand me--there are so few people that understand me--I don’t know how to express what I mean; but I feel it so strongly.” In short, there was about Miss Schrappe nothing of that vagueness and mystery which is woman’s most exquisite charm.

Furthermore, he had a suspicion that she was “learned.” And everyone, surely, must agree with Cousin Hans that if a woman is to fulfil her mission in this life (that is to say, to be a man’s wife) she ought clearly to have no other acquirements than those her husband wishes her to have, or himself confers upon her. Any other fund of knowledge must always be a dowry of exceedingly doubtful value.

Cousin Hans was in the most miserable of moods. It was only eight o’clock, and he did not think it would do to take his departure before half-past nine. The captain had already settled himself at the table, prepared to begin the sham-fight. There was no chance of escape, and Hans took a seat at his side.

Opposite to him sat Miss Betty, with her sewing, and with a book in front of her. He leaned forward and discovered that it was a German novel of the modern school.

It was precisely one of those works which Hans was wont to praise loudly when he developed his advanced views, colored with a little dash of free-thought. But to find this book here, in a lady’s hands, and, what was more, in German (Hans had read it in a translation), was in the last degree unpleasing to him.

Accordingly, when Miss Betty asked if he liked the novel, he answered that it was one of the books which should only be read by men of ripened judgment and established principles, and that it was not at all suited for ladies.

He saw that the girl flushed, and he felt that he had been rude. But he was really feeling desperate, and, besides, there was something positively irritating in this superior little person.

He was intensely worried and bored; and, to fulfil the measure of his suffering, the captain began to make Battalion B advance “under cover of the night.”

Cousin Hans now watched the captain moving match-boxes, penknives, and other small objects about the table. He nodded now and then, but he did not pay the slightest attention. He thought of the lovely Miss Beck, whom he was, perhaps, never to see again; and now and then he stole a glance at Miss Schrappe, to whom he had been so rude.

He gave a sudden start as the captain slapped him on the shoulder, with the words, “And it was this point that I was to occupy. What do you think of that?”

Uncle Frederick’s words flashed across Cousin Hans’s mind, and, nodding vehemently, he said: “Of course, the only thing to be done--the key to the position?”

The captain started back and became quite serious. But when he saw Cousin Hans’s disconcerted expression, his good-nature got the upperhand, and he laughed and said:

“No, my dear sir! there you’re quite mistaken. However,” he added, with a quiet smile, “it’s a mistake which you share with several of our highest military authorities. No, now let me show you the key to the position.”

And then he began to demonstrate at large that the point which he had been ordered to occupy was quite without strategical importance; while, on the other hand, the movement which he made on his own responsibility placed the enemy in the direst embarrassment, and would have delayed the advance of Corps B by several hours.

Tired and dazed as Cousin Hans was, he could not help admiring the judicious course adopted by the military authorities towards Captain Schrappe, if, indeed, there was anything in Uncle Frederick’s story about the Order of the Sword.

For if the captain’s original manoeuvre was, strategically speaking, a stroke of genius, it was undoubtedly right that he should receive a decoration. But, on the other hand, it was no less clear that the man who could suppose that in a sham-fight it was in the least desirable to delay or embarass any one was quite out of place in an army like ours. He ought to have known that the true object of the manoeuvres was to let the opposing armies, with their baggage and commissariat wagons, meet at a given time and in a given place, there to have a general picnic.

While Hans was buried in these thoughts, the captain finished the sham-fight. He was by no means so pleased with his listener as he had been upon the esplanade; he seemed, somehow, to have become absent-minded.

It was now nine o’clock; but, as Cousin Hans had made up his mind that he would hold out till half-past nine, he dragged through one of the longest half-hours that had ever come within his experience. The captain grew sleepy, Miss Betty gave short and dry answers; Hans had himself to provide the conversation--weary, out of temper, unhappy and love-sick as he was.

At last the clock was close upon half-past nine; he rose, explaining that he was accustomed to go early to bed, because he could read best when he got up at six o’clock.

“Well, well,” said the captain, “do you call this going early to bed? I assure you I always turn in at nine o’clock.”

Vexation on vexation! Hans said good-night hastily, and rushed down-stairs.

The captain accompanied him to the landing, candle in hand, and called after him cordially, “Good-night--happy to see you again.”

“Thanks!” shouted Hans from below; but he vowed in his inmost soul that he would never set foot in that house again.----When the old man returned to the parlor, he found his daughter busy opening the windows.

“What are you doing that for?” asked the captain.

“I’m airing the room after him,” answered Miss Betty.

“Come, come, Betty, you are really too hard upon him. But I must admit that the young gentleman did not improve upon closer acquaintance. I don’t understand young people nowadays.”

Thereupon the captain retired to his bedroom, after giving his daughter the usual evening exhortation, “Now don’t sit up too long.”

When she was left alone, Miss Betty put out the lamp, moved the flowers away from the corner window, and seated herself on the window-sill with her feet upon a chair.

On clear moonlight evenings she could descry a little strip of the fiord between two high houses. It was not much; but it was a glimpse of the great highway that leads to the south, and to foreign lands.

And her desires and longings flew away, following the same course which has wearied the wings of so many a longing--down the narrow fiord to the south, where the horizon is wide, where the heart expands, and the thoughts grow great and daring.

And Miss Betty sighed as she gazed at the little strip of the fiord which she could see between the two high houses.--She gave no thought, as she sat there, to Cousin Hans; but he thought of Miss Schrappe as he passed with hasty steps up the street.

Never had he met a young lady who was less to his taste. The fact that he had been rude to her did not make him like her better. We are not inclined to find those people amiable who have been the occasion of misbehavior on our own part. It was a sort of comfort to him to repeat to himself, “Who would want to marry her?”

Then his thoughts wandered to the charmer who was to leave town to-morrow. He realized his fate in all its bitterness, and he felt a great longing to pour forth the sorrow of his soul to a friend who could understand him.

But it was not easy to find a sympathetic friend at that time of night.

After all, Uncle Frederick was his confidant in many matters; he would look him up.

As he knew that Uncle Frederick was at Aunt Maren’s, he betook himself towards the Palace in order to meet him on his way back from Homan’s Town. He chose one of the narrow avenues on the right, which he knew to be his uncle’s favorite route; and a little way up the hill he seated himself on a bench to wait.

It must be unusually lively at Aunt Maren’s to make Uncle Frederick stop there until after ten. At last he seemed to discern a small white object far up the avenue; it was Uncle Frederick’s white waistcoat approaching.

Hans rose from the bench and said very seriously, “Good-evening!”

Uncle Frederick was not at all fond of meeting solitary men in dark avenues; so it was a great relief to him to recognize his nephew.

“Oh, is it only you, Hans old fellow?” he said, cordially. “What are you lying in ambush here for?”

“I was waiting for you,” answered Hans, in a sombre tone of voice.

“Indeed? Is there anything wrong with you? Are you ill?”

“Don’t ask me,” answered Cousin Hans.

This would at any other time have been enough to call forth a hail-storm of questions from Uncle Frederick.

But this evening he was so much taken up with his own experiences that for the moment he put his nephew’s affairs aside.

“I can tell you, you were very foolish,” he said, “not to go with me to Aunt Maren’s. We have had such a jolly evening, I’m sure you would have enjoyed it. The fact is, it was a sort of farewell party in honor of a young lady who’s leaving town to-morrow.”

A horrible foreboding seized Cousin Hans.

“What washer name?” he shrieked, gripping his uncle by the arm.

“Ow!” cried his uncle, “Miss Beck.”

Then Hans collapsed upon the bench.

But scarcely had he sunk down before he sprang up again, with a loud cry, and drew out of his coat-tail pocket a knubbly little object, which he hurled away far down the avenue.

“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried Uncle Frederick, “What was that you threw away?”

“Oh, it was that confounded Blücher,” answered Cousin Hans, almost in tears.--Uncle Frederick scarcely found time to say, “Didn’t I tell you to beware of Blücher?” when he burst into an alarming fit of laughter, which lasted from the Palace Hill far along Upper Fort Street.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg’s Tales of Two Countries, by Alexander Kielland