Master Flea - E. T. A. Hoffmann (thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

to his, that, before he could think about kissing them, he had really done it. That by this he lost all power of speech is easily to be imagined.

“My sweet friend,” continued the lady, creeping up to Peregrine so closely, that she almost sat in his lap, “My sweet friend, I know what troubles you; I know what has so much afflicted your simple heart this evening. But, take comfort. That which you lost, that which you hardly hoped to find again⁠—see, I bring it to you.”

With this she took out a little wooden box from her basket, and gave it into the hands of Peregrine. In it was the hunting set that he had missed on the Christmas-Eve table. It would be hard to describe the strange feelings which were now thronging and jostling in his bosom.

The whole appearance of the stranger, in spite of all her grace and loveliness, had yet something supernatural about it, which those who had not Peregrine’s awe of woman would yet have received with a cold shudder through every vein. Of course, therefore, a deep horror seized the poor Peregrine, already in sufficient alarm, when he found the lady most narrowly informed of all that he had been doing in the profoundest solitude. Still, when he looked up, and met the glance of two bright black eyes flashing from under the silken lids⁠—when he felt the sweet breath of the lovely being, and the electric warmth of her limbs⁠—still, with all his terror, there awoke in him the sadness of unutterable desires, such as he had not yet known. For the first time his whole mode of life, his trifling with the Christmas presents, appeared to him absurd and childish, and he felt ashamed that the stranger should know of it. But then again it seemed as if her gift was the living proof that she understood him, as none else on earth had understood him, and, in seeking to gratify him after this manner, had been prompted by the most perfect delicacy of feeling. He resolved to treasure up the dear gift forever, never to let it go out of his own hands, and, carried away by a feeling which totally overpowered him, he pressed the casket to his breast with vehemence.

“Delightful!” murmured the maiden, “my gift pleases you! Oh, my dearest Peregrine, then my dreams, my presentiments, have not deceived me!”

Mr. Tyss came somewhat to himself, so that he was able to say, with great plainness and distinctness, “But, most respected lady, if I only knew to whom in all the world I had the honour⁠—”

“Cunning man,” said the stranger, gently tapping his cheeks, “to pretend as if you did not know your faithful Alina! But it is time that we should leave the good folks here to their own pleasures. Accompany me, Mr. Tyss.”

On hearing the name Alina, Peregrine naturally reverted to his old attendant, and he felt exactly as if a windmill were going round in his head.

The strange Alina now took the kindest and most gracious leave of the family, while the bookbinder, from pure wonder and respect, could only stammer out something unintelligible. But the children made as if they had been long acquainted with her, and the wife said, “Such a kind, handsome man as you are, Mr. Tyss, well deserves to have so kind and handsome a bride, who, even at this hour, assists him in doing acts of benevolence. I congratulate you with all my heart.” The strange lady thanked her with emotion, protesting that the day of her wedding should also be a day of festival to them, and then strictly refusing all attendance, took a taper from the Christmas table to light herself down the stairs.

It is easy to imagine the feelings of Peregrine at all this, on whose arm she leant. “Accompany me, Mr. Tyss,” that is⁠—he thought within himself⁠—down the stairs to the carriage which stands at the door, and where the servant, or perhaps a whole set of servants, is in waiting, for in the end it must be some mad princess, who⁠—Heaven deliver me with speed from this strange torture, and keep me in my right senses, such as they are!

Mr. Tyss did not suspect that all which had yet happened was only the prologue to a most wonderful adventure, and had therefore, without knowing it, done exceedingly well in praying to Heaven for the preservation of his senses.

No sooner had the couple reached the bottom of the stairs, than the door was opened by invisible hands, and, when they had got out, was shut again in the same manner. Peregrine, however, paid no attention to this, in his astonishment at finding not the slightest appearance of any carriage before the house, or of any servant in waiting. “In the name of Heaven,” he cried, “where is your coach, lady?”

“Coach!” replied the stranger, “Coach! what coach? Did you think, dear Peregrine, that my impatience, my anxiety, to find you, would allow me to come riding here quite quietly? No; hurried on by hope and desire, I ran about through the storm till I found you. Thank Heaven that I have succeeded! And now lead me home; my house is not far off.”

Peregrine resolutely avoided all reflection on the impossibility of the stranger going a few steps only, tricked out as she was, and in white silk shoes, without spoiling her whole dress in the storm, instead of being, as now, in a state that showed not the slightest trace of discomposure. He reconciled himself to the idea of accompanying her still farther, and was only glad that the weather was changed. The storm, indeed, had past, not a cloud was in the heaven, the full moon shone down pleasantly, and only the keen air made the midnight to be felt.

Scarcely had they gone a few steps, when the maiden began to complain softly, and soon burst out into loud lamentations, that she was freezing with the cold. Peregrine, whose blood glowed through his