21. XXI.
They arrived late, but still in season. It was
yet half an hour to twelve, and Rodolph had
sufficient time to survey the assembly. What a
motley crew! A full year had passed since he
had seen them, and yet, on most of them, what a
change had that time brought about! Dissipation
had done its work. Unaccustomed resources
had brought unaccustomed indulgence. The
wallow of the beast had swallowed up the spirit
of the man; and degradation had succeeded to
licentiousness, with the unerring rapidity of an
upward flying spark. Rodolph, who, in the arms
of a faithful and pure wife, had kept, to a certain
extent at least, the original whiteness of his soul,
turned from them in disgust. Their foul and
brutal language frightened as well as disgusted
him. Conrade, on the contrary, whose mental
and moral man was infinitely more flexible, caroused
and clamored with them most freely after
their own fashion. He did not seem to dislike, but
rather appeared desirous of promoting their excesses.
The wine cup was freely plied, and yet
Rodolph could see that, while filling for others,
his friend himself drank nothing. Yet his laugh
— that strange laugh — was among the loudest,
and his words had sway over the boisterous group
of turbulents that gathered in a mass around him.
Suddenly, the heavily swinging bell, in the
tower overhead, thundered out the hour. The
heart of Rodolph died away within him. His
bones were chilled — his blood frozen — his knees
tottered feebly beneath the burden of his own
weight. The eyes of Conrade were upon him —
his words were in his ears —
“Rodolph?”
Cold sweat stood in massive drops upon the
youth's forehead, and his lips parted feebly in a
vain effort at a hurried prayer. The wild chuckle
of his friend at this moment drove away the
pleading minister at heaven's gates; and desperately
seizing his arm, Conrade led the way for the
rest into the adjoining hall of state and dreadful
ceremonial.
