<h2>XII</h2>
<br/>
<p><b>A Petition</b></p>
<p>"'Then we are to lose Madame la Comtesse, but I
hope only for a few hours,' I said, with a low bow.</p>
<p>"'It may be that only, or it may be a few weeks. It
was very unlucky his speaking to me just now as he
did. Do you now know me?'</p>
<p>"I assured her I did not.</p>
<p>"'You shall know me,' she said, 'but not at present.
We are older and better friends than, perhaps, you
suspect. I cannot yet declare myself. I shall in three
weeks pass your beautiful schloss, about which I have
been making enquiries. I shall then look in upon you
for an hour or two, and renew a friendship which I
never think of without a thousand pleasant recollections.
This moment a piece of news has reached me
like a thunderbolt. I must set out now, and travel by a
devious route, nearly a hundred miles, with all the
dispatch I can possibly make. My perplexities multiply.
I am only deterred by the compulsory reserve I practice
as to my name from making a very singular request of
you. My poor child has not quite recovered her
strength. Her horse fell with her, at a hunt which she
had ridden out to witness, her nerves have not yet
recovered the shock, and our physician says that she
must on no account exert herself for some time to
come. We came here, in consequence, by very easy
stages--hardly six leagues a day. I must now travel day
and night, on a mission of life and death--a mission
the critical and momentous nature of which I shall be
able to explain to you when we meet, as I hope we shall,
in a few weeks, without the necessity of any concealment.'</p>
<p>"She went on to make her petition, and it was in the
tone of a person from whom such a request amounted
to conferring, rather than seeking a favor.</p>
<p>This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite
unconsciously. Than the terms in which it was expressed,
nothing could be more deprecatory. It was
simply that I would consent to take charge of her
daughter during her absence.</p>
<p>"This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say,
an audacious request. She in some sort disarmed me,
by stating and admitting everything that could be
urged against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my
chivalry. At the same moment, by a fatality that seems
to have predetermined all that happened, my poor
child came to my side, and, in an undertone, besought
me to invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay us a visit.
She had just been sounding her, and thought, if her
mamma would allow her, she would like it extremely.</p>
<p>"At another time I should have told her to wait a
little, until, at least, we knew who they were. But I had
not a moment to think in. The two ladies assailed me
together, and I must confess the refined and beautiful
face of the young lady, about which there was something
extremely engaging, as well as the elegance and
fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered,
I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the care
of the young lady, whom her mother called Millarca.</p>
<p>"The Countess beckoned to her daughter, who listened
with grave attention while she told her, in general
terms, how suddenly and peremptorily she had been
summoned, and also of the arrangement she had made
for her under my care, adding that I was one of her
earliest and most valued friends.</p>
<p>"I made, of course, such speeches as the case seemed
to call for, and found myself, on reflection, in a position
which I did not half like.</p>
<p>"The gentleman in black returned, and very ceremoniously
conducted the lady from the room.</p>
<p>"The demeanor of this gentleman was such as to
impress me with the conviction that the Countess was
a lady of very much more importance than her modest
title alone might have led me to assume.</p>
<p>"Her last charge to me was that no attempt was to
be made to learn more about her than I might have
already guessed, until her return. Our distinguished
host, whose guest she was, knew her reasons.</p>
<p>"'But here,' she said, 'neither I nor my daughter
could safely remain for more than a day. I removed
my mask imprudently for a moment, about an hour
ago, and, too late, I fancied you saw me. So I resolved
to seek an opportunity of talking a little to you. Had
I found that you had seen me, I would have thrown
myself on your high sense of honor to keep my secret
some weeks. As it is, I am satisfied that you did not see
me; but if you now suspect, or, on reflection, should
suspect, who I am, I commit myself, in like manner,
entirely to your honor. My daughter will observe the
same secrecy, and I well know that you will, from time
to time, remind her, lest she should thoughtlessly
disclose it.'</p>
<p>"She whispered a few words to her daughter, kissed
her hurriedly twice, and went away, accompanied by
the pale gentleman in black, and disappeared in the
crowd.</p>
<p>"'In the next room,' said Millarca, 'there is a window
that looks upon the hall door. I should like to see the
last of mamma, and to kiss my hand to her.'</p>
<p>"We assented, of course, and accompanied her to the
window. We looked out, and saw a handsome old-fashioned
carriage, with a troop of couriers and footmen.
We saw the slim figure of the pale gentleman in black,
as he held a thick velvet cloak, and placed it about her
shoulders and threw the hood over her head. She
nodded to him, and just touched his hand with hers.
He bowed low repeatedly as the door closed, and the
carriage began to move.</p>
<p>"'She is gone,' said Millarca, with a sigh.</p>
<p>"'She is gone,' I repeated to myself, for the first time--in
the hurried moments that had elapsed since my
consent--reflecting upon the folly of my act.</p>
<p>"'She did not look up,' said the young lady, plaintively.</p>
<p>"'The Countess had taken off her mask, perhaps, and
did not care to show her face,' I said; 'and she could
not know that you were in the window.'</p>
<p>"She sighed, and looked in my face. She was so
beautiful that I relented. I was sorry I had for a moment
repented of my hospitality, and I determined to make
her amends for the unavowed churlishness of my reception.</p>
<p>"The young lady, replacing her mask, joined my
ward in persuading me to return to the grounds, where
the concert was soon to be renewed. We did so, and
walked up and down the terrace that lies under the
castle windows.</p>
<p>Millarca became very intimate with us, and amused
us with lively descriptions and stories of most of the
great people whom we saw upon the terrace. I liked her
more and more every minute. Her gossip without
being ill-natured, was extremely diverting to me, who
had been so long out of the great world. I thought what
life she would give to our sometimes lonely evenings
at home.</p>
<p>"This ball was not over until the morning sun had
almost reached the horizon. It pleased the Grand Duke
to dance till then, so loyal people could not go away,
or think of bed.</p>
<p>"We had just got through a crowded saloon, when
my ward asked me what had become of Millarca. I
thought she had been by her side, and she fancied she
was by mine. The fact was, we had lost her.</p>
<p>"All my efforts to find her were vain. I feared that
she had mistaken, in the confusion of a momentary
separation from us, other people for her new friends,
and had, possibly, pursued and lost them in the extensive
grounds which were thrown open to us.</p>
<p>"Now, in its full force, I recognized a new folly in
my having undertaken the charge of a young lady
without so much as knowing her name; and fettered
as I was by promises, of the reasons for imposing which
I knew nothing, I could not even point my inquiries
by saying that the missing young lady was the daughter
of the Countess who had taken her departure a few
hours before.</p>
<p>"Morning broke. It was clear daylight before I gave
up my search. It was not till near two o'clock next day
that we heard anything of my missing charge.</p>
<p>"At about that time a servant knocked at my niece's
door, to say that he had been earnestly requested by a
young lady, who appeared to be in great distress, to
make out where she could find the General Baron
Spielsdorf and the young lady his daughter, in whose
charge she had been left by her mother.</p>
<p>"There could be no doubt, notwithstanding the
slight inaccuracy, that our young friend had turned
up; and so she had. Would to heaven we had lost her!</p>
<p>"She told my poor child a story to account for her
having failed to recover us for so long. Very late, she
said, she had got to the housekeeper's bedroom in
despair of finding us, and had then fallen into a deep
sleep which, long as it was, had hardly sufficed to
recruit her strength after the fatigues of the ball.</p>
<p>"That day Millarca came home with us. I was only
too happy, after all, to have secured so charming a
companion for my dear girl."</p>
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