The Quest

Another prolonged silence, the countess regarding Johannes with her lightly half-closed eyes, to see if he understood. Apparently he did not understand; for he sat, in unsuspecting patience, waiting for whatever else was to be said.

"Can you fancy, Johannes, what that would signify to me to my children … if it were true?"

Johannes fancied only that he was looking at the speaker in a somewhat confounded and sheepish manner.

"Bigamy, Johannes, is a terrible crime!"

Wait! – A light broke in upon him, albeit a feeble one. His dearly loved children, then, were not legal – were illegitimate – natural, or whatever it was called. Yes, indeed! That was terrible, even though no one, to look at them, would ever think it. But the countess enlightened him still further.

"The idea of living upon the property of another, Johannes, is, to a woman of honor, insufferable!"

What more? The property of another? Then all this sumptuousness, belonged, perhaps, to poor, crazed Heléne; and his dear, pretty children and their beautiful mother were only illegal intruders – usurpers of another's possessions!

Johannes faithfully tried his best to feel as the speaker did about all these curious and confusing things. But he did not succeed. Then, in his desire to comfort her, he gallantly uttered in broken English whatever came into his head.

"No, Mevrouw; you must not think that. You are beautiful and your children are beautiful, and therefore everything that is beautiful belongs to you. I do not believe you have cause to be ashamed, for I have seen no sign of it. If there were any disgrace, I should have detected it. And how is any one to suppose that such evidence exists either on paper or in some secret closet or other – who knows where? Are you and Frieda and Olga any less beautiful, less lovely, less good? I do not care a bit about it. Absolutely nothing."

The countess laughed so heartily, and pressed his hand so warmly, that Johannes was embarrassed.

"Oh, you lovely boy!" she laughingly cried. "Oh, you queer, funny, darling of a boy! How you cheer me up! I have not been so light-hearted in a long time."

Johannes was very glad, and proud of his success. Countess Dolores dried her tears of laughter upon her lace handkerchief, and resumed:

"But now we must be in earnest. It will be clearer to you now why I am so interested in all that pertains to spiritualism and theosophy – why I listen so eagerly to the wisdom of Mijnheer van Lieverlee, and of Lady Crimmetart – why I attend the circle of the Pleiades, at the Hague – and, too, why it made me so happy to meet you, when I heard that you also were a medium, and could see the elementals, in full daylight."

"But why, Mevrouw?" asked Johannes, in some distress.

"How can you ask that, my dear boy! Nothing can ever bring back my peace of mind, except one word from him, from the other side of the grave!"

Ah! but that was a hard blow for Johannes. He was not so troubled at having been invited as a guest, for a side purpose – he was not so overweening as that – but because he was surely going to be a disappointment to his beloved countess. With a sigh he looked down at the carpet.

"Shall we not make a call upon the invalid?" asked the lady, rising.

Johannes nodded, and followed her.

The door of the sick-room was barely open, when a pitiable scream rang out from the corner. The poor girl sat on the floor, huddled up in her nightgown, her long black hair disheveled, and hanging down over face and back. Her beautiful dark eyes were widely distended, and her features wore an expression of mortal anguish.

"Oh, God! – It is coming!" she shrieked, trembling. "Now it will happen! Oh, God! It surely will! I know it will! There it comes! Did I not say so? Now it comes! – Oh! Oh! Oh!"

The nurse hushed and commanded, but the poor, tormented creature trembled and wept, and seemed so desperately afraid, that Johannes, greatly moved, begged leave to go away again. It seemed as if she were afraid of him.

"No, my boy!" said the countess. "It is not on account of you. She does that way whoever comes in. She is afraid of everybody and everything she sees or hears."

That whole day, and a good deal of the night, Johannes mused over this one query: "Why —why is that poor girl so afraid?"

VI

Johannes did not leave, and at last came the day of the dreaded party. Having grown more confident, he had spoken of his needs. The carriage put in an appearance, and in the neighboring town, he was soon provided with suitable clothing.

Still, his mind was not quite at rest.

"Will you also say, dear lady," said Johannes that afternoon, when with the children and their mother, "that I truly cannot play upon any instrument? Please don't ask me to do anything!"

"But, Johannes," urged the countess, "that would really be very disagreeable in me. After what I have said, something will be expected of you."

"I cannot do anything!" said Johannes, in distress.

"He is joking, Mama," said Olga; "he can play the castanets and can imitate animals."

"Oh, yes! all kinds of animals! Awfully nice!" cried Frieda.

"Is that so, Johannes? Well, then?"

It was true that Johannes had amused his two little friends while they were taking walks together – mimicking all sorts of animal sounds, like those of the horse, donkey, cow, dog, cat, pig, sheep, and goat. He had whistled like the birds so cleverly that the two little girls had been enraptured. And one single instrument he did indeed play admirably – the genuine boys' castanets that every schoolboy and street urchin in Holland carries in his pocket certain months of the year. Many an autumn day, sauntering home from school, he had shortened the way for himself with the sharp, clear, uninterrupted "a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick! – a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick! – a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick! – tack! tack!"

The little girls now begged him to let their mama hear. So he took out his castanets, which he himself had made while there, and clicked away with them lustily.

"Delightful!" cried the countess. "Now you must sing and dance at the same time, like the Spaniards."

Johannes shied at the dancing. But indeed he would sing. And he sang all kinds of street ditties, such as "Oh, Mother, the Sailor!" and "Sara, you're losing your Petticoat," to the merry music of the castanets. The children thought it splendid.

Their enthusiasm excited him, and he began improvising all sorts of nonsense. The little girls clapped their hands, and the longer he played the more merry they grew. Johannes struck an attitude, and announced his selections just as if he were before an audience. The countess and her daughters went and sat in a row – the little girls wild with delight.

"Sketches from Animal Life," announced Johannes, beginning, to the time-keeping accompaniment of the castanets, the well-known air from The Carnival of Venice,

"A hen that came from Japan
Assured a crippled toad
She'd never have him for her man.
That was a sorry load."

The little girls shouted and stamped, with glee.

"More, Jo! – More, more, Johannes! Do!"

"Splendid!" cried the countess, speaking in Dutch, now, herself.

"A rhinoceros said to a louse,
'I'll stamp you flat on the ground!
'The louse made tracks for his house,
And there he is now to be found.

"A grasshopper sat in the grass,
And said to a chimpanzee:
'Your coat I will thank you to pass,
That I may attend a partie.'

"A snoop who stood on the stoop
Asked of his fellow boarder
If hairs he found in the soup.