Count Bunker [26]
a bottle of whisky unfinished. This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover something of their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.
"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured. "Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!"
He was making for the door when the Baron seized his arm.
"Vait!" he cried. "Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"
"I'll not swear I heard just exactly what passed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful feared!"
"Tuts! tuts!" said the Baron kindly. "Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze ghost."
"I will that!" said Mr. Gallosh.
By the time they reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral spirit.
"Bot vere is Bonker?" he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.
A moment later the Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.
"Vat a strange smell you have!" he exclaimed.
"Peat smoke, probably. This fire wouldn't draw."
"Strange!" mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night."
"Yes; one notices it all through the house with an east wind."
This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence.
CHAPTER XIII
At the house in Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg, an event of considerable importance had occurred. This was nothing less than the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon a visit both of affection and state. So important was she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that the preparations for her reception would have served for a reigning sovereign. But the Countess had an eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting as Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced the Baroness and kissed her ceremoniously upon either cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something that she deemed should have been there also.
"And where is Rudolph?" she demanded. "Is he so very busy that he cannot spare a moment even to welcome me?"
The Baroness changed color, but with as easy an air as she could assume she answered that Rudolph had most unfortunately been summoned from England.
"Indeed?" observed the Countess, and the observation was made in a tone that suggested the advisability of a satisfactory explanation.
This paragon among mothers and peeresses was a lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression and commanding voice were commonly held to typify all that is best in the feudal system; or, in other words, to indicate that her opinions had never been contradicted in her life. When one of these is a firm belief in the holder's divine rights and semi-divine origin, the effect is undoubtedly impressive. And the Countess impressed.
"My dear Alicia," said she, when they had settled down to tea and confidential talk, "you have not yet told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so soon."
On nothing had the Baron laid more stress than on the necessity of maintaining the most profound secrecy respecting his mission. "No, not even to your mozzer most you say. My love, you vill remember?" had been almost his very last words before departing for St. Petersburg. His devoted wife had promised this not once, but many times, while his finger was
"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured. "Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!"
He was making for the door when the Baron seized his arm.
"Vait!" he cried. "Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"
"I'll not swear I heard just exactly what passed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful feared!"
"Tuts! tuts!" said the Baron kindly. "Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze ghost."
"I will that!" said Mr. Gallosh.
By the time they reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral spirit.
"Bot vere is Bonker?" he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.
A moment later the Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.
"Vat a strange smell you have!" he exclaimed.
"Peat smoke, probably. This fire wouldn't draw."
"Strange!" mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night."
"Yes; one notices it all through the house with an east wind."
This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence.
CHAPTER XIII
At the house in Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg, an event of considerable importance had occurred. This was nothing less than the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon a visit both of affection and state. So important was she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that the preparations for her reception would have served for a reigning sovereign. But the Countess had an eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting as Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced the Baroness and kissed her ceremoniously upon either cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something that she deemed should have been there also.
"And where is Rudolph?" she demanded. "Is he so very busy that he cannot spare a moment even to welcome me?"
The Baroness changed color, but with as easy an air as she could assume she answered that Rudolph had most unfortunately been summoned from England.
"Indeed?" observed the Countess, and the observation was made in a tone that suggested the advisability of a satisfactory explanation.
This paragon among mothers and peeresses was a lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression and commanding voice were commonly held to typify all that is best in the feudal system; or, in other words, to indicate that her opinions had never been contradicted in her life. When one of these is a firm belief in the holder's divine rights and semi-divine origin, the effect is undoubtedly impressive. And the Countess impressed.
"My dear Alicia," said she, when they had settled down to tea and confidential talk, "you have not yet told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so soon."
On nothing had the Baron laid more stress than on the necessity of maintaining the most profound secrecy respecting his mission. "No, not even to your mozzer most you say. My love, you vill remember?" had been almost his very last words before departing for St. Petersburg. His devoted wife had promised this not once, but many times, while his finger was