Anita

Anita

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Anita

I

Handen The professor put his pen and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief.

It was finally over, the work on the origins of Germany, long and arduous work that it had taken years, cost and patient research was to give his name a European celebrity. Now he would be free to take rest, and perhaps the most peace of mind, give it the body the force lacked.

A shudder shook the whole.

The heat was unbearable, however, in this closed workroom doors and heavy curtains, crowded libraries and tables loaded with books. It was the austere retreat scientist ... also that of a man who suffered, who felt invaded, overwhelmed daily by more weakness.

In a weary gesture, the fine hand of Professor passed repeatedly in blond hair barely graying that crowned his high forehead. An unspeakable weariness read in his eyes, and for a moment, his eyes closed. But as soon as he straightened. Pushing an impatient gesture scattered manuscripts before him, he murmured:

- Am I going to let me go now? What have I tonight? I'm not sick, and even though ... I will certainly be better.

He got up and began pacing the room. His stature was outlined in a gigantic shadow on the wall illuminated by the office lighting. After a moment, he interrupted his walk and taking a photograph in the drawer of a secretary, he approached the light to watch.

It showed two young men fifteen years, a very thin, very blond, with a dreamy and gentle look; the other brown, the features of a remarkable regularity, the superb dark, deep and tender eyes, detecting an ardent soul. They stood affectionately leaning on each other, and the dreamy blonde put her hand in a gesture of loving protection, on the shoulder of her companion.

Despite the difference of years, it was easy to recognize in the first professor himself. His face, now pale and sunken, had retained its elegant cut, its fine features, her beautiful brow raised, and his eyes still had the same expression of grave kindness, quiet and proud intelligence. But in that moment, deep pain it read, as he examined the attractive and charming appearance of brown teenager.

- Bernhard, where are you now? muttered the teacher with a strange emotion. It is so long since I've seen you! ... Yes, years ago, and yet we were like brothers! We love each other...

He paused and anxiously ran his hand over his forehead as if to banish the haunting memories.

- But what have I tonight? He repeated, with a kind of anger. I am ridiculously low, even more morally than physically. Why think that ungrateful?

He put the photograph on the desk and resumed his slow walk. But he did not need the image to represent Bernhard, his cousin, his friend once so loved ... and now?

Well, Conrad Handen could not conceal the memory of one who had been for him the tenderest of brothers was still alive in him ... despite everything.

Twice cousins ​​by their father and their mother, they had been brought together by the mother of Conrad since Bernhard was orphaned at the end of the cradle. Never brothers loved each other for a more lively affection. Very quiet, almost cold in appearance, Conrad had a loving and tender soul, and if its more positive mind was not able to follow his cousin on the high peaks which outweighed a strong heart and a passionate imagination, they don ' were nonetheless united unalterable friendship.

But there came a day when Bernhard, artist and poet, ideal researcher, left Germany in search of brighter areas of sun-drenched country, exhaling balmy effluvia still vibrant memories of the past. Successively, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, Spain finally were visited by him. Despite the separation, the union remained as close between cousins, and she was until the day when Conrad received a letter of Valencia, and revealing each page an intimate and profound happiness. Bernhard informed him of his intention to ask the hand of a young Spanish of poor family and very modest, but perfectly honorable. So excited, he depicted the qualities of heart, intelligence, remarkable beauty of what would soon be his bride, and at the end only,

On receipt of this letter, Ms Handen inveighed in violent reproaches against whom she called her second son and flattered his vanity by its beauty and its brilliant gifts.

Conrad, he said nothing, but he felt deeply wounded in his brotherly affection, along with pride, very much alive in this quiet, gentle nature, revolted at the thought of such a misalliance. The Handen, ancient family of scholars, were also proud of their name as the noblest barons.

The young teacher went to Valencia. He saw Bernhard and quickly convinced of the futility of his attempts. This enthusiastic and ardent heart, once given, only resumed more.

- Choose between it and us! cried violently Conrad in a final interview. If you marry, it's over between us.

- Is ! Bernhard replied in a firm tone, but I found Marcelina wife of my dreams and I will not abandon and happiness.

Bright and hurtful words that escaped Conrad, Bernhard answered them angrily, and the two cousins ​​parted completely irritated.

Bruised in his affection, wounded in his pride, Conrad left Valencia. He could, however, recognize the truth of Bernhard's assertions about Marcelina. His profession and his family, poor and obscure, were the only things that Handen could blame him, his repute is unassailable; but in their eyes, the obstacle was insurmountable. Since then, Conrad nothing more was heard of his cousin.

These were the memories that came back to mind the teacher while he paced his office. In vain he tried to chase them; they came in crowds, like the annoying black butterflies.

He approached the window and leaned his burning forehead against the glass. But again a shudder shook. Outside, the wind, cold, in the dark night, and was groaning painfully doors and windows. Slowly, the teacher came to his office ... But he stopped suddenly, listening. Harmony rose to him, a gentle complaint and tender, beautifully rendered by an artist's hand. She exhaled is in a delicate song, a touching simplicity, and died in an elusive agreement.

A transformation had taken place at the teacher. Now a happy and proud flame animated his eyes and a happy smile crossed his face as he murmured:

- As this child is gifted! It will be one of the first artists of our time, my Ary!

Six o'clock struck at the great carved clock. The professor quickly drew up the papers scattered and out of his office, he slowly descended. The cello had resumed his song, but closer, it seemed less mysteriously penetrating. Handen Conrad entered the vast room that was the study room and the place of his family reunion. Some young heads rose to the arrival of the father, then lowered once on the books and notebooks. Only a small blonde girl very, mild and delicate face, took the opportunity to remain the nose in the air, gazing at the play of light and shadow on the ceiling products by lamplight.

The teacher walked to the fireplace where a large chair was waiting in front of his wife. By the way, he put his hand in a caressing gesture on a thick brown hair with superb crêpelures. A short time, two dark gray eyes looked up at him, imbued with a passionate tenderness, then immediately lowered the drawing that drew a small brown and slender hand.

- Not too much work, Frederique, gently said the professor. I thought I told you not to draw the evening, girl.

- And I've said it! said the calm voice, slightly drawling Ms Handen. But it's a hard head that wants to do His will ... Frederique leave it and take your knitting.

The hand of the girl tightened on her pencil, but she continued quietly to trace his lines with impeccable correction.

- Well, Frederique! Professor said sternly.

She got up immediately and went to take in a basket started a knitting, then she sat down near the lamp. On this young face collided with traits that haughty expression and dark, we could discern no emotion, no sign of an internal struggle.

Professor sank into his chair, and his distracted gaze fixed upon the incandescent mass crumbling in the fireplace with a slight crunch. Before him, Ms Handen actively knitting. After a moment, without interruption, she asked:

- Where are you from your work, Conrad?

- It is finished, Emma, ​​he said with a sigh of relief. Now I will rest a little because I got really overworked and I feel weak.

Ms Handen stopped working, and his pale blue eyes stared, a little worried about the emaciated face of her husband.

- You feel more tired, Conrad? therefore consult again, I beg you!

He shook his head. The heart disease from which he suffered was incurable, he knew, but he could live a long time ... or just as well die at once. The favorable alternative was not dependent on doctors, but only a quiet existence, smoothly too violent.

Again, complete silence fell in the room. The cello was silent in the next room, and a few minutes later, a teenager came in and walked slowly to the table where Frédérique worked. Without a word, he opened a notebook and began to write. The bright light of a lamp fell on this slim and pale, exact copy of the teacher. But blue eyes betrayed the proud look more ardent nature, more determined, more arrogant as that of Conrad.

In its place, the professor gazed with pride this wonderful crown, the many children so beautiful, so intelligent, that were his. How much envied! Yes, he was really a happy father. What did he want to? His happiness was complete. Yet he passed his hand over his forehead with a tired gesture. It was at his usual sign of suffering, legal or natural, and in fact, his face was not exactly that of a happy man.

The profound peace of the house Handen was suddenly disturbed by the striking of the hammer on the door. A minute later, the sound of voices came from the vestibule. The professor, who listened, gave a start. The rough and hoarse organ of the old servant was silent, and it is now distinguished voice low, penetrating, slightly husky and trembling like a be suffering. That voice, Conrad knew. Oh ! yes, despite so many years, he had not forgotten.

He stood up abruptly and walked to the door opened up by now resolute hand. At the door a man appeared ... A cry comes from the heart even as Conrad's lips:

- Bernhard!

Then he stepped back, the sudden cold and dark eyes. Whoever dared reappear as in the old ancestral home, it was ungrateful, wretched that his parents had disowned ... A moment ... yes, he had forgotten!

Bernhard had stopped. His eyes deep blue, shiny fever in a face emanated livid, landed with a heartbreaking reproach of him that was for him a brother and walked away from him. Finally he spoke in a weak voice broken and the only one heard.

- Conrad, do you want to forget ... After so many years, do not you understand ... I was young, I had wronged your mother to you, my friend my brother ... Oh! it's not that I regret my marriage! he said with a sudden movement of pride. No, I could not give up my sweet, dear Marcelina ... but what I had to do was use caution to one who had been my mother, it was entrusted to you from the first moment my hopes and dreams that were to reveal myself to you all the recesses of your heart. Then I had the pride to never seek to renew our friendship ... Conrad, for that, I need your forgiveness.

Professor stepped back again, and his voice rose brief and dry:

- You make your cheap unspeakable mesalliance Bernhard Handen, and this is true, however, the only cause of our breakup. The house that housed our honorable family can not receive you.

The feeble body Bernhard seemed suddenly galvanized, a burning flame went into his suffering look. He stretched out his hand in a gesture of protest indignantly.

- Not a word, Conrad! You know Marcelina was worthy to enter our family, and it is unnecessary to repeat these kinds of attacks. Whatever she was the daughter of poor workers, and his soul was beautiful and noble, so she was able to make me happy? And it did so it was in his power ... Oh! this I can say with all sincerity! He said with a passion of gratitude. It was in my life as a gentle star, my Marcelina ... And she left ... Conrad, is dead!

These words were a cry of pain, the whine of a disconsolate soul, tortured by regret. The professor started. His heart, struggling against forgiveness, felt invaded by an unspeakable compassion.

- What! She is dead ! He murmured with emotion he could not control.

So Bernhard watching more carefully, he felt painfully struck in the presence of this man who was, however, his age and seemed an old man. What stubborn struggles, what works, what tests had so frightening is the beautiful and brilliant Bernhard once that unhappy with gray hair, the painful look, the body extremely thin, curved like under the weight of an intolerable burden! ... It seemed excessive weakness and obviously had difficulty in supporting themselves.

- You seem to need rest, the professor said hesitantly. Sit at least a few moments.

Bernhard shook his head.

- I will not rest here if you treat me as an enemy. I prefer to go away, although the night was so cold! ... Oh! so cold! he said with a shudder. Conrad, one last time, I ask you ... Do you want to forget ... and forgive the one who will die?

- What ...? What do you say? ... Why die? Conrad cried, stepping toward him.

- Because I arrived after my illness ... Ah! you do not know, Conrad, what courage it took to drag me from Buenos Aires so far! ... You do not know what I have endured suffering, nameless terror at the thought that I could fall by the wayside before completing my task! I do not fear death ... I wish the same ... I suffered so much! he said with an indescribable accent pain. But first, I wanted to ... Where are you, Anita?

He turned, looking in the shadows of the corridor. Near him, a soft voice whispered in Spanish:

- Here I am, father.

Bernhard pulled him a little black shape and gently pushed into the light ... It was a girl of about ten years. Under his big hat, could distinguish a delicate face and great dark eyes veiled by long lashes ... She immediately became the focus of curious eyes of children of the teacher, so far headed overseas.

- Conrad, this is my daughter, Anita, Bernhard said in a tone of tenderness vibrant. She will soon be alone in the world, and I wanted to trust you, that you replace me with her. It is a Handen, too ...

- She is the daughter of a singer ...!

Bernhard stood before Ms Handen. Until then, she remained motionless, frozen in unspeakable astonishment, but she had to get up and move forward with these words with disdain not to make.

Bernhard started, and an angry glare burst from his sad look.

- Yes, that is the daughter of a singer! He repeated an accent full of painful pride. It is also the daughter of a woman's heart, a Christian nobleman. Marcelina had adopted this profession to obey her parents, to give them bread which they would have missed without her. As soon as she could, she left without regret ... Yes, Mrs. Marcelina was poor, it had only obscure ancestors, but be assured that they were as honorable as yours, that ours too ... And my Anita is worthy of a place among your children!

He stopped putting his hand to his chest. His face was strangely broken ... He staggered and tried to hold a piece of furniture, but both arms were there to receive him, and he fell unconscious.

- Calls Thomas! briefly told his wife the teacher whose face was almost as pale as her cousin.

Moments later, Conrad helped the home, carrying Bernhard in the room that was once hers. Waiting for the doctor, he stood beside the bed, holding the hand of a friend so loved and considering emotionally - with remorse too - face where life seemed withdrawn ... However, the heart was still beating, and, after long efforts, the doctor was able to return to her sick.

Seeing his cousin anxiously leaning over him, Bernhard had a glimmer