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Of all operas this was Flemming's favorite. What rapturous flights of sound! what thrilling, pathetic chimes! what wild, joyous revelry of passion! what a delirium of sense! what an expression of agony and woe! all the feelings of suffering and rejoicing humanity sympathized with and finding a voice in those tones. Flemming and the Baron listened with ever-increasing delight.
"There is but one more of these begging letters," said he, opening it, but throwing it aside without reading it. Out of it fell a folded piece of paper. "Why," said the count, taking it up, "there are verses. Has Flemming's fear of the Prussian king made a poet of him?" He opened it and read aloud: "'A piece of poetry which a friend, Baron Pollnitz, gave me yesterday.
"My dear child! do you know the story of the Liebenstein?" "The story of the Liebenstein," she answered, "I got by heart, when I was a little child." And here her large, dark, passionate eyes looked into Flemming's, and he doubted not, that she had learned the story far too soon, and far too well.
I have anaesthetics and lotions, to make people sleep and to soothe pain; but I've no medicine that will make a man have a little common-sense. That is beyond my skill, but maybe it is not beyond yours. You are Flemming's intimate friend, his fidus Achates. Write to him, write to him frequently, distract his mind, cheer him up, and prevent him from becoming a confirmed case of melancholia.
At length, his partner, tired of spinning, sank upon a sofa, like a child's top, when it reels and falls. "You do not like the waltz?" said an elderly French gentleman, remarking the expression of Flemming's countenance. "O yes; among the figurantes of the Opera. But I confess, it sometimes makes me shudder to see a young rake clasp his arms round the waist of a pure and innocent girl.
Were you ever at the Isles of Shoals, Mr. Flemming?" Flemming started slightly. Since Miss Denham entered the room, he had given scarcely a thought to Lynde's dismal suspicions. Once or twice they had come into Flemming's mind, but he had promptly dismissed them.
They resemble rather those roads in the western forests of my native land, which, though broad and pleasant at first, and lying beneath the shadow of great branches, finally dwindle to a squirrel track, and run up a tree!" The Professor hardly knew whether he should laugh or be offended at this sally; and, laying his hand upon Flemming's arm, he said seriously;
And as in the sun's eclipse we can behold the great stars shining in the heavens, so in this life eclipse have these men beheld the lights of the great eternity, burning solemnly and forever! This was Flemming's reverie. It was broken by the voice of the Baron, suddenly exclaiming; "An angel is flying over the house!
She had every stitch of canvas set, but was making little more than steerage way, for only the faintest air was filling her upper canvas. The canoes and boats, at Flemming's suggestion, approached her in a half-circle, his own boat leading.
Flemming's down there now. You know him, I think; he was with me for a while last spring when things were lively there." "Yes, I remember quite well. He helped us in that Fenston row." "He's the one, and a good man, too. But I did like that beat, as I was on it so long. It is too tame up here, and you know I'm fond of a bit of excitement now and then."
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