CHAPTER XXXIX

CONSUELO, after receiving the thanks of the good Wenceslawa, and the kiss which she imprinted upon her forehead, proceeded toward her apartment cautiously, in order not to awaken Amelia, from whom the enterprise had been concealed. She slept on the first floor, while the chamber of the canoness was in the basement story. But in ascending the stairs she let her light fall, and it was extinguished before she could recover it. She thought she could easily find her way without it, especially as the day began to dawn; but whether from absence of mind, or that her courage, after an exertion too great for her sex, abandoned her of a sudden, she was so much agitated that on reaching the story on which her apartment was situated, she did not stop there, but continued to ascend to the upper story, and entered the gallery leading to Albert's chamber, which was situated almost immediately over hers. But she stopped, chilled with affright, at the entrance of the gallery, on seeing a thin dark form glide along before her, as if its feet did not touch the floor, and enter the chamber toward which Consuelo was hastening under the idea that it was her own. In the midst of her terror she had presence f mind enough to examine this figure and to ascertain by a rapid glance in the indistinct light of the dawn that it wore the form and dress of Zdenko. But what was he going to do in Consuelo's apartment at such an hour, and with what message could he have been entrusted for her? She did not feel disposed to encounter such a tête-à-tête, and descended the stairs to seek the canoness; but upon reaching the flight below she recognized her corridor and the door of her apartment, and perceived that it was Albert's into which she had just seen Zdenko enter.

Then a thousand conjectures presented themselves to her mind, which had now become somewhat composed. How could the idiot have penetrated at night into a castle so well guarded and so carefully examined every evening by the canoness and the domestics? The apparition of Zdenko confirmed her in the idea which she had always entertained, that there was some secret outlet from the château, and perhaps a subterranean communication with the Schreckenstein. She ran to the door of the canoness, who was shut up in her gloomy cell, and who uttered a loud cry on seeing her appear without alight, and somewhat pale. "Be not disturbed, my dear madam," said the young girl; "I have just met with a strange occurrence, but one which need not terrify you in the least. I have just seen Zdenko enter Count Albert's chamber."

"Zdenko! you must be dreaming, my child; how could he have got in? I closed all the gates with the same care as usual, and during the whole of your trip to the Schreckenstein I kept good guard; the bridge was raised, and when you had all crossed it on your return, I remained behind to see it raised again."

"However that may be, madam, Zdenko is nevertheless in Count Albert's chamber. You have only to go there to be convinced of it."

"I will go immediately," replied the canoness, "and drive him out as he deserves. The wretched creature must have come in during the day. But what object could he have in coming here? Most probably he is looking for Albert, or has come to wait for him—a sure proof, my poor child, that he knows no more where he is than we do ourselves."

"Well, let's question him, however," said Consuelo.

"In one instant," said the canoness, who in preparing for bed, had taken off two of her petticoats, and who considered herself too lightly dressed with the remaining three; "I cannot present myself thus before a man, my dear. Go and look for the chaplain or my brother the baron, whichever you can find first—we must not expose ourselves alone before this crazy man. But what am I thinking of? A young person like you cannot go and knock at the doors of these gentlemen. Wait a moment, I will hurry; I shall be ready in an instant."

And she began to rearrange her dress, the more slowly because she was hurried, and because, her regular habits being deranged, she hardly knew what she was about. Consuelo, impatient at so long a delay, during which Zdenko might have time to leave Albert's chamber, and hide himself in the castle so that he could not be found, recovered all her energy. "Dear madam," said she, lighting a candle, "will you please to call the gentlemen? I will go in the meantime and see that Zdenko does not escape us."

She mounted the two flights hastily, and with a courageous hand opened Albert's door, which yielded without resistance; but she found the apartment deserted. She entered a neighboring cabinet, raised all the curtains, and even ventured to look under the bed and behind the furniture. Zdenko was no longer there, and had left no trace of his entrance.

"There is no one here," said she to the canoness, who came trotting along followed by Hans and the chaplain: the baron was already in bed and asleep, and they could not awaken him.

"I begin to fear," said the chaplain, a little dissatisfied at the fright they had given him, "that the Signora Porporina may have been the dupe of her own illusions——"

"No, Mr. Chaplain," replied Consuelo quickly, "no one here is less so than I am."

"And in truth no one has more courage and steady friendship," replied the good man; "but in your ardent hope you imagine, signora, that you see indications where unhappily none exist."

"Father," said the canoness, "the Porporina has the courage of a lion united to the wisdom of a sage. If she has seen Zdenko, Zdenko has been here. We must search for him through the whole house; and as, thank God! every outlet is well closed, he cannot escape us."

They roused the domestics and searched everywhere. Not a chest of drawers did they leave unopened, nor a piece of furniture unmoved. They displaced all the forage in the graneries, and Hans had even the simplicity to look into the baron's great boots. But Zdenko was not found there, any more than elsewhere. They began to think that Consuelo must have been dreaming; but she remained more than ever convinced of the necessity of discovering the secret outlet from the château, and resolved to employ all her energy in the attempt. She had taken but a few hours' repose when she commenced her examination. The wing of the building containing her apartment (in which was Albert's also) rested against, and was as it were supported by the hill. Albert himself had chosen this picturesque situation, which enabled him to enjoy a fine view toward the south, and to have on the eastern side a pretty little garden, occupying a terrace on a level with the cabinet in which he studied. He had a great taste for flowers, and cultivated some very rare species upon this square of soil which had been brought to the barren summit of the eminence. The terrace was surrounded by a heavy freestone wall about breast-high, built upon the shelving rock, and from this elevated post the eye commanded the precipice on the other side, and a portion of the vast serrated outline of the Boehmer Wald. Consuelo, who had not before visited this spot, admired its beautiful situation and picturesque arrangement, and requested the chaplain to explain to her what use was formerly made of the terrace, before the castle had been transformed from a fortress into a baronial residence.

"It was," said he, "an ancient bastion, a sort of fortified platform, whence the garrison could observe the movements of troops in the valley and the surrounding mountains. There is no pass through the mountains which cannot be discovered from this spot. Formerly a high wall with loopholes on all sides surrounded the platform, and protected its occupants from the arrows and balls of an enemy."

"And what is this?" asked Consuelo, approaching a cistern which was in the center of the parterre, and into which there was a descent by means of a narrow, steep, and winding staircase.

"That is a cistern which always furnished an abundant supply of excellent rock-water to the besieged—a resource of incalculable value to a stronghold."

"Then this water is good to drink?" said Consuelo, examining the greenish and moss-covered water of the cistern. "It seems to me quite muddy."

"It is no longer good, or at least it is not always so, and Count Albert only uses it to water his flowers. I must tell you that for two years an extraordinary phenomenon has occurred in this cistern. The spring—for it is one, the source of which is more distant in the heart of the mountain—has become intermittent. For whole weeks the level is extraordinarily low, and when that is the case Count Albert has water drawn by Zdenko from the well in the great court, to refresh his cherished plants. Then, all of a sudden, in the course of a single night and sometimes even in an hour, the cistern is filled with a lukewarm water, muddy as you now see it. Sometimes it empties rapidly; at others the water remains a long time, and is purified by degrees, until it becomes cold and limpid as rock-crystal. A phenomenon of this kind must have taken place last night, for even yesterday I saw the cistern clear and quite full, and now it looks muddy as if it had been emptied and filled anew."

"Then these phenomena do not occur at regular intervals?"

"By no means, and I should have examined them with care, if Count Albert, who prohibits all entrance to his apartments and garden, with that gloomy reserve which characterizes all his actions, had not forbidden me the amusement. I have thought, and still think, that the bottom of the cistern is choked up by mosses and wall plants, which at times close the entrance of the subterranean waters, and afterward yield to the force of the spring."

"But how do you explain the sudden disappearance of the water at other times?"

"By the great quantity which the count uses to water his flowers."

"But it seems to me that it would require great labor to empty this cistern. It cannot be very deep, then?"

"Not deep! It is impossible to find the bottom."

"In that case, your explanation is not satisfactory," said Consuelo, struck by the chaplain's stupidity.

"Well, find a better," returned he, somewhat confused, and a little piqued at his own want of sagacity.

"Certainly I will find a better," thought Consuelo, who felt deeply interested in the capricious changes of the fountain.

"If you ask Count Albert what it signifies," continued the chaplain, desirous to display a little witty incredulity, in order to recover his superiority in the eyes of the clear-sighted stranger, "he will tell you that these are his mother's tears, which dry up and are renewed again in the bosom of the mountain. The famous Zdenko, to whom you attribute so much penetration, would swear to you that there is a siren concealed therein, who sings most exquisitely to those who have ears to hear her. Between them they have baptized this well the Fountain of Tears. It is a very poetic explanation, and those who believe in pagan fables may be satisfied with it."

"I shall not be satisfied with it," thought Consuelo; "I will know how these tears are dried."

"As for myself," pursued the chaplain, "I have thought there must be an escape of the water in some corner of the cistern."

"It seems to me," replied Consuelo, "that unless that were so, the cistern, being supplied by a spring, would constantly overflow."

"Doubtless, doubtless," said the chaplain, not wishing to appear as if he had thought of that for the first time; "very little consideration must make that apparent. But there must be some remarkable derangement in the channels of the water, since it no longer preserves the same level it did formerly."

"Are they natural channels, or aqueducts made by the hands of men?" asked the persevering Consuelo; "that is what I should wish to know."

"That is what no one can ascertain," replied the chaplain, "since Count Albert does not wish to have his precious fountain touched, and has absolutely forbidden that it should be cleaned out."

"I was certain of it," said Consuelo, retiring; "and I think you would do well to respect his wishes, for God knows what misfortune would happen to him if any one attempted to thwart his siren!"

"I am beginning to be convinced," said the chaplain, on quitting Consuelo, "that this young person's mind is no less deranged than the count's. Can insanity be contagious? Or did Master Porpora send her to us, in order that the country air might restore her brain to a healthy condition? To see the pertinacity with which she made me explain the mystery of the cistern, one would suppose that she was the daughter of some engineer of the Venetian canals, and wished to appear well informed on the matter; but I see by her last words, as well as by the hallucinations she had respecting Zdenko this morning, and the pleasant excursion she led us last night to the Schreckenstein, that it is a phantasy of the same nature. Can it be possible that she expects to find Count Albert at the bottom of this well? Unfortunate young people! would that you could find there reason and truth!" Thereupon the good chaplain proceeded to repeat his breviary while waiting for the dinner-hour.

"It must be," thought Consuelo on her side, "that idleness and apathy engender a singular weakness of mind, since this holy man, who has read and learned so much, has not the least suspicion of my presentiment respecting that fountain. And yet they call Zdenko imbecile!" So saying, Consuelo went to give the young baroness a music lesson until the time should arrive when she could renew her examination.