Free The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories by Émile Erckmann, Alexandre Chatrian Page B

seemed to be indeed. A grey head, covered with short, close hair, strangely full behind the ears, and drawn out in the face to a portentous length, the narrowness of his forehead up to its summit widening over the eyebrows, which were shaggy and met, pointing downwards over the bridge of the nose, imperfectly shading with their sable outline the cold and inexpressive eyes; the short, rough beard, irregularly spread over the angular and bony outline of the mouth—every feature of this man’s dreadful countenance made me shudder, and strange notions crossed my mind about the mysterious affinities between man and the lower creation.
    But I resisted my first impressions and took the sick man’s hand. It was dry and wiry, yet small and strong; I found the pulse quick, feverish, and denoting great irritability.
    What was I to do?
    I stood considering; on the one side stood the young lady, anxiously trying to read a little hope in my face; on the other Sperver, equally anxious and watching my every movement. A painful constraint lay, therefore, upon me, yet I saw that there was nothing definite that could be attempted yet.
    I dropped the arm and listened to the breathing. From time to time a convulsive sob heaved the sick man’s heart, after which followed a succession of quick, short respirations. A kind of nightmare was evidently weighing him down—epilepsy, perhaps, or tetanus. But what could be the cause or origin?
    I turned round full of painful thoughts.
    “Is there any hope, sir?” asked the young countess.
    “Yesterday’s crisis is drawing to its close,” I answered; “we must see if we can prevent its recurrence.”
    “Is there any possibility of it, sir?”
    I was about to answer in general medical terms, not daring to venture any positive assertions, when the distant sound of the bell at the gate fell upon our ears.
    “Visitors,” said Sperver.
    There was a moment’s silence.
    “Go and see who it is,” said Odile, whose brow was for a minute shaded with anxiety. “How can one be hospitable to strangers at such a time? It is hardly possible!”
    But the door opened, and a rosy face, with golden hair, appeared in the shadow, and said in a whisper—
    “It is the Baron of Zimmer-Bluderich, with a servant, and he asks for shelter in the Nideck. He has lost his way among the mountains.”
    “Very well, Gretchen,” answered the young countess, kindly; “go and tell the steward to attend to the Baron de Zimmer. Inform him that the count is very ill, and that this alone prevents him from doing the honours as he would wish. Wake up some of our people to wait on him, and let everything be done properly.”
    Nothing could exceed the sweet and noble simplicity of the young châtelaine in giving her orders. If an air of distinction seems hereditary in some families it is surely because the exercise of the duties conferred by the possession of wealth has a natural tendency to ennoble the whole character and bearing.
    These thoughts passed through my mind whilst admiring the grace and gentleness in every movement of Odile of Nideck, and that clearness and purity of outline which is only found marked in the features of the higher aristocracy, and I could recall nothing to my recollection equal to this ideal beauty.
    “Go now, Gretchen,” said the young countess, “and make haste.”
    The attendant went out, and I stood a few seconds under the influence of the charm of her manner.
    Odile turned round, and addressing me, “You see, sir,” said she with a sad smile, “one may not indulge in grief without a pause; we must divide ourselves between our affection within and the world without.”
    “True, madam,” I replied; “souls of the highest order are for the common property and advantage of the unhappy—the lost wayfarer, the sick, the hungry poor—each has his claim for a share, for God has made them like the stars of heaven to give light and pleasure to all.”
    The deep-fringed eyelids veiled the blue