Moreover, he had some secret hope that it might be possible here to find an ally in his plan for combating Marie's artistic craze. In addition to which, she was Betty's mother....
The place was four storeys up, and Holm, tired after his climb, sat down at the top of the stairs for a moment before ringing the bell.
Tra-la-la-la-la-la--he could hear a woman's voice singing scales inside, the same thing over and over again. A little after came another voice, which he took to be Mrs. Rantzau's.
"Mouth wide open, please; that's it--now breathe!"
Holm rang the bell and Mrs. Rantzau opened the door.
He stood dumbfounded for a moment, staring at her.
"Heavens alive--it can't be--Bianca, is it really you?"
She turned pale, came close to him and whispered:
"For Heaven's sake, not a word." Then, taking him by the arm, she thrust him gently into a room adjoining.
He heard the young lady take her departure, and a moment later Mrs. Rantzau stood before him.
She was still a magnificently handsome woman. The dark eyes were deep and clear as ever, the black hair waved freely over the forehead, albeit with a thread of silver here and there. Her figure was slender and well-poised, her whole appearance eloquent of energy and life.
"If you knew how I have dreaded this moment, Mr. Holm," she began, then suddenly stopped.
"H'm--yes. It's a good many years now since last we met, Bianca--beg pardon, Mrs. Rantzau, I mean."
"Fifteen--yes, it's fifteen years ago. And much has happened since then. I didn't know really whether to go and call on you myself, and ask you not to say anything about the way we met, and how I was living then. But then again, I thought you must have forgotten me ages ago."
"Forgotten! Not if I live to be a hundred."
"And then, too, I thought it might be awkward for Betty if I tried to renew our old acquaintance; you might be offended, and not care to keep her on at the office...."
"But--my dear lady--however could you imagine such a thing?"
"Oh, I know how good and kind you were when I knew you before--but people change sometimes. And you can understand, I'm sure, Mr. Holm, that my position here, my connection with my pupils, would be ruined if the past were known. Not that I've anything to be ashamed of, thank God, but you know yourself, in a little town like this, how people would look at a woman--or even a man, for that matter--whose life has been so--so unusual as mine."