The next day, at eleven o'clock, AbbÉ Samuel came to fetch his followers, and conduct them to the house of the influential lady whose one word had more weight with his excellency than the most carefully arranged speeches of priests and orators.

The carriage stopped before a splendid palace; a porter in a magnificent scarlet livery, with a bear-skin cap, answered the bell, and between a double row of marble pillars they ascended the steps. The staircase was also of marble, covered with a soft, thick carpet. The school-master at home, if he had a bit of this stuff, would have made a fine coat of it. Up the staircase were such beautiful statues that the poor peasants would have liked to kneel to kiss their hands. The staircase was roofed in with glass and heated with hot air, so that the lovely hot-house plants and costly china groups suffered no injury from the cold air. In the anteroom servants wearing silver epaulettes conducted the visitors into the drawing-room. The sight almost took away their breath. There was no wall to be seen; it was panelled in the most sumptuous silk brocade; the curtains of the same texture had gold rods, and splendid pictures in rich frames hung on the silk panels. The upper portion of the windows was of stained glass, such as is seen in cathedrals, and opposite the windows was a large fireplace of white marble, upon whose mantelpiece stood a wonderful clock, with a beautiful figure which moved in time to the melodious tick. The furniture was all of mahogany. From the ceiling, upon which the arabesques in gold were a feast to the eye, there hung a lustre with a hundred lights, whose thousand glass drops sent out all the prismatic colors of the rainbow.

The good peasants of Bondathal had hardly time to take in the wonders of this fairy palace when a gentleman in a black coat and a spotless white tie came out of an adjoining room. This grand personage, whom they imagined to be the master of the house, turned out to be an equally important person—the groom of the chambers. He informed them that his mistress was in the next room, and ready to receive them.

There was no door to this inner apartment, only curtains of heavy damask, such as church banners are made of. This second drawing-room was still more wonderful than the first. The walls were panelled in dove-colored silk. From the ceiling to the floor there were enormous mirrors set in china frames, and between each mirror were consoles with marble statuettes representing dancing nymphs. The stone floor was covered with a soft carpet, into which the foot sank as into summer grass. The fireplace was of black marble, with a silver grating. The furniture was of the Versailles pattern; tables and chairs, arm-chairs and foot-stools, of delicate coloring; chairs of SÈvres, with feet and elbow rests ornamented with delicate flower-garlands and charming Watteau figures. Every piece of furniture was a masterpiece. Upon the centre-table and consoles were Japanese vases of different and most elegant shapes. In one of the windows an aquarium had been constructed full of gold-fish and sea-anemones.

The poor peasants did not notice all these beautiful objects; their attention was fixed upon their own reflections in the long glasses, and which in their ignorance they imagined were other deputations, headed by another abbÉ wearing a gold cross. But even this strange spectacle was lost sight of in their amazement at the beauty of the great lady who now came forward to receive them. She was a lovely vision. Her dress of violet silk was covered with the most costly lace, her black hair fell in curls over her shoulders; her face was so beautiful, so fascinating, so dignified, that every man in the deputation was ready to fall at her feet.

Peter Saffran was the only one who recognized her; it was Eveline, his promised bride.

Now the abbÉ, bowing low, addressed her in most respectful language, as he laid before her the desire of the deputation, that she would accord her powerful protection to the Bondathal population. The lady answered most graciously, and promised that, as far as possible, she would exert her influence. She was heart and soul in the matter, for she added, smiling:

"I am myself a child of Bondathal."

At these words the deputation exchanged glances, and every one thought she must be the daughter or wife of one of the Bondavara magnates. Only Saffran was gloomy.

"What is she?" he thought. "Only last night she was singing, dancing, and acting; her beauty was displayed to the eyes of a crowd, who looked at her through opera-glasses, while I had to cover my eyes with my hat so as not to look on her degradation, and here to-day she is a sort of queen, promising us her influence with cabinet ministers. What is the truth? Was last night a comedy, or is to-day a clever farce played by her and the priest?"

You see, Peter Saffran had been in the Fiji Islands, and he remembered how amazed the savages had been when the white man washed the black from his hands, and showed their natural color; only here it was the whole body that was in question.

The abbÉ, who seemed highly pleased with the success of his interview, now gave those behind him a sign to move on, and bowed respectfully to the lady, who whispered a few words in his ear.

The abbÉ stopped Peter Saffran as he was leaving the room, and said, in a low voice:

"You are to remain; this kind lady wishes to speak with you."

Saffran felt the blood rush to his head. He almost tottered, and as he returned to the room he could hardly move. But Eveline hastened to him, holding out both her hands. She had taken off her gloves, and he felt the soft, velvety clasp of her fingers as she pressed his horny hand in hers; he heard in his ear the sweet, fresh ring of her voice, to which he had often listened.

"Ah, Peter, say a word to me—a kind word;" and she patted him two or three times on the back. "Are you still angry with me? There, Peter, don't be vexed any more. Stay and dine with me, and we shall drink to our reconciliation."

And she put her arm into his, and stroked his cheek with her delicate little hand, which looked as if it had never known what hardship was.

Eveline had kept religiously to her promise of always informing Prince Theobald when she expected guests, and the prince reserved to himself the right of a veto if he did not approve of their reception, for there were among the dilettante, and even among apparently most respectable gentlemen, certain individuals who should not have the entrÉe to the drawing-room of a lady who is not living under her husband's roof.

The prince liked pleasant society, and, if he approved of the company, enjoyed himself all the more that Eveline did the honors for him.

On this particular day Eveline had told the prince she expected two visitors. One was Peter Saffran.

The prince laughed. "Poor fellow!" he said, "treat him well; it will do him good." But when he heard his excellency the minister was coming he frowned heavily. "What is this?" he asked. "What brings him to see you?"

"Why! Is he a woman-hater?"

"On the contrary, he is a scoundrel, only he wears a hypocrite's cloak. Great men who are at the helm and guide public affairs have their weaknesses, but they dare not sin openly. A man in his position might as soon become a member of the Jockey Club as visit a beautiful actress, unless he had some ostensible reason to give for so doing."

"But he has a reason, and a very good one. I asked him to make the appointment."

"You invited him here!" The prince's face grew more cloudy.

"That is to say, I asked him to give me a private audience, and his secretary wrote to say his excellency would prefer to come here."

"And for what purpose do you require an audience?"

"Felix desired me to ask for it."

"Ah, it was Kaulmann's doing! Wherefore?"

"He wants these documents to be signed."Eveline showed the prince a folded parchment.

The prince glanced at it and shook his head. "And does his excellency know that this is the reason why you asked for an audience?"

Eveline burst into a laugh. "Oh dear, no! When his secretary first wrote he asked why I required an audience; I answered it was about my engagement at the Opera, and then he said he would come. He knows nothing of this," she added, touching the papers in her hand.

"And Kaulmann told you to do this?"

"Yes."

"Then Kaulmann is a refined villain. Do as he has told you; but you may take my word that your husband deceives himself if he imagines you can snare a savage with a silken net. You can receive your guest, but I do not think you will succeed in your scheme."

Eveline put her hand upon Peter Saffran's, and led him into another room, where there was a wonderful display of silver, and thence, through a private door, into a fourth apartment, the walls of which were wainscoted with dark wood; the ceiling, too, was supported by cross-beams of wood, and finished with painted shell-work.

No one was in the room. Eveline sat down on the sofa, and made Peter sit beside her.

"Listen, Peter," she said, laying her hand on the rough sleeve of his Halina-cloth coat. "It was the will of God that I should separate from you. It grieved me very much to leave you, because, you know, we had been called in church three times. But, then, you could not bear my little brother; you were cruel to him, and you beat me. I don't bear you any malice now. I have forgotten and forgiven, but at the time I was very angry with you, not so much because you ill-treated me, but I followed you that night to the cottage in the wood. I was quite ready to forgive and forget, only I looked through the window, and I saw you dancing with Ezifra Mauczi. I saw you kiss her, and I was angry in downright earnest."

Peter gnashed his teeth. He felt the tables were turned against him, and he could say nothing. It would be very different if it were his wife who accused him of such things; he would know how to treat a jealous, scolding wife; but he couldn't take this beautiful lady by the hair, and drag her round the room, and beat her on the head until she begged for pardon.

"But, as I said," continued Eveline, smiling again, "we are not going to talk about bygones. It was all God's will, and for the best. We would have been a most unhappy couple, for I am passionate and jealous, and you would have given me cause. Now you can do as you like, and I have the happiness of doing good. I like to help as many people as possible, and every day twenty poor creatures are fed in my house. Oh, I do more than that; I get heaps of things done for the poor! I speak a good word for them, and get them helped by rich people. Also, I mean to be a benefactress to your valley; thousands and thousands of people will bless my name for what I shall do for them. Is it not a happiness to be able to help others?"

Eveline paused for an answer. Peter felt he ought to say something, if it was only to show that he had not become dumb.

"And does all this money come from the Bondavara Company?" he asked.

Eveline blushed scarlet. How was she to answer such a question?"Not altogether. I earn a good deal by my art; for every performance I receive five hundred gulden."

"Five hundred gulden!" thought Peter. "That explains a great deal. A good salary indeed! A woman might spare some of her clothing to earn so much money. It is money got by work, and not such hard work as carrying coals. She had to show her legs for that also. But all said and done, it was money honestly earned."

Peter's face began to clear.

"There, you look more like yourself. Don't look wicked again," pleaded Eveline; "and when you go back home tell every one that you have seen me, and that we had a great talk together, and are good friends again. If at any time you know of any one in want, send me a line, and, if it is in my power, I will gladly help them. You must marry, if you are not already married. No? Well, then, you must choose a good girl, Peter. There is Panna, she is just the wife for you, and she was always a friend of mine, or there is Amaza, she liked you, I know, and she is an excellent housekeeper; only, don't marry Mauczi; you would be very unhappy with her, she is a bad girl. And in case you do marry, Peter, here are my wedding-presents for your wife; and remember, I advise you to marry Panna. Here are a pair of ear-rings, a necklace, and a brooch; and to you I give, as a remembrance of myself, this gold watch. See, Peter, my likeness is on the back. Think of me sometimes when you are very happy."

When she said these words Eveline's eyes overflowed, and her lips trembled convulsively. Peter saw it, and drew the conclusion that with all her splendor she was not happy. One thought now took possession of him. He gave no heed to the bridal presents. Whether they were of gold or lead was all one to him, no one should ever see them; but what he thought was:

"She has a good heart, she is generous, she gives with an open hand; but I do not care for her gifts. If she will only kiss me once I will bless her. What is a kiss to her? An alms, one out of the numbers she gives to those fellows on the stage, with their smeared, painted faces."

Poor fool! he didn't know that stage kisses are only mock kisses, just as stage champagne is only lemonade or pure water. Peter believed that one kiss from Eveline would satisfy his thirst; it would assuage the pangs of regret, of jealousy, or rage that had consumed him since the previous night. All would vanish when he would touch her cold, fresh lips. And, after all, had they not been betrothed to one another—all but man and wife? Who could object? Only he didn't know how to express what was in his mind.

"And now let us eat together, Peter," said Eveline, kindly. "I am certain that you are tired of all the good things you get every day; you are satiated with the Vienna cookery. Wait, and I shall cook you something myself—your favorite dish, Peter, which you often said no one cooked so well as I did. I shall make you some porridge."

Peter was electrified. A smile broke out all over his face, either at the mention of his favorite dish, or at the thought that his hostess would herself prepare it. But how is she to cook? There is no hearth, no cooking-vessels.

"Everything will be here," said Eveline, laughing joyously. "I shall change my dress; I cannot cook in this."

She ran off as she spoke, and returned in two minutes. Actresses learn how to dress quickly. She now wore a white embroidered maid's frock, and a little cap on her head. She called no one to help her, but laid a cloth on the oak table, filled a silver kettle with water, set it to boil on a spirit-lamp. She turned up the sleeves of her dress to the elbows, and shook with a light hand the meal into the boiling water; then she turned the mixture deftly with a silver spoon round and round until it became thick. Then she took the kettle by the handle, emptied it on to a glazed clay plate—yes, actually a clay plate!—and poured some cream over the mixture. She fetched two wooden spoons, one for Peter, one for herself.

"Let us eat off the one plate, Peter."

And they ate this porridge off one plate. Peter felt a strange moisture fill his eyes; he had not wept since he was a child. The porridge was excellent; all the cooks in Vienna put together couldn't have given him a meal so much to his mind. There was wine on the table, but no glasses.

Peasants never drink during meals; but when they had finished Eveline fetched a clay jug and asked Peter to drink, after, as is the custom, she had taken a draught.

"Drink this, Peter; it is your old favorite."

There was mead in the jug—a very innocent sort of drink—and Peter thought it was his duty to empty the last drop. The hell that had been raging in his breast seemed all at once to be extinguished. He said to himself:

"Yes, I shall go back to the church, and to the spot where I made that awful vow; I shall implore the Holy Mother to allow me to take it back. I shall hurt no one; I shall take no revenge. Let the green grass grow again in the fields, and let her live in splendor in the smiles of the great ones. I shall not grudge her her happiness. This day, when she has received me so kindly, has banished from my memory the day upon which she left me. But I shall ask her for one kiss, so that I may remember nothing but that."

He delayed, however, too long in putting his desire into words. They were, indeed, hovering on his lips when the door suddenly opened, and a servant announced that his excellency was in the drawing-room.

(Now, Peter, God help you; you may go hence without your kiss!)

Eveline could hardly say good-bye; she had to change her dress. The footman showed him out at the secret door; there another footman led him down the back stairs, and, opening another door, left Peter in a narrow street, where he had never been before. While he made the best of his way to the hotel he had leisure to think over what he should say to Evila if he ever again had the chance of being alone with her in the round room. The recollection of how he had missed his opportunity roused the demon again in his mind. The burning lava of hell began once more to fill his veins, the stream of sulphur which the lost souls are ever drinking. He kept repeating to himself, "The grass shall not grow again!"

By the time he reached the inn he brought with him a goodly company—hatred, envy, rage at his own weakness, horror at his own wickedness, mixed with political fanaticism. A delightful gathering in one man's breast.