In literature a drama genre deserves your attention. Dramas are usually called plays. Every person is made up of two parts: good and evil. Due to life circumstances, the human reveals one or another side of his nature. In drama we can see the full range of emotions : it can be love, jealousy, hatred, fear, etc. The best drama books are full of dialogue. This type of drama is one of the oldest forms of storytelling and has existed almost since the beginning of humanity. Drama genre - these are events that involve a lot of people. People most often suffer in this genre, because they are selfish. People always think to themselves first, they want have a benefit.By Wit of Woman by Arthur W. Marchmont (best book reader txt) 📖
- Author: Arthur W. Marchmont
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In passing through Paris I had seen the friend who had formerly given me the information about Madame, and I now telegraphed to him that I must know the whereabouts of M. Constans at once, and that no expense was to be spared in getting the information.
I had brought three servants with me from home, John Perry and his wife and their son, James. The last was a sharp, clever young fellow, and he was now in Paris where I had sent him to get information about Madame d'Artelle. I wired to him also, telling him what further information I needed; and I instructed him to help in the matter and wire me the instant M. Constans had been traced.
That done I set out to return to Madame's. I was not nervous at being out alone at such a time, night prowling having long been a habit with me. I was perfectly able to take care of myself, too; for at home I had been accustomed to carry a revolver, and was an excellent shot. If any one interfered with me, it was not I who was likely to come worse off.
I think it is just nonsense that girls must always be "seen home" in the dark. It is a good excuse for flirtation, possibly; but an extremely undignified admission of inferiority. A humiliation I have never countenanced and never will.
The night was fine and clear, and a bright moon was nearly at the full; so I turned out of my way a little to a very favourite spot of mine—the great Suspension Bridge which constitutes the hyphen between Buda and Pesth. My house was close to the bridge in that part of Pesth known as the "Inner Town;" and I strolled across to a point on the Buda side from which a glorious view can be had of the stately Danube.
I stood there in the deep shadow of the high Suspension Arches, gazing at the dotted lights along the quays, across the flat country on the Pesth side, up the river toward the witching Margaret Island, and away to the old hilly Buda on my left, with the Blocksberg and its citadel keeping its frowning watch and ward over all.
There is not much poetry in my nature; but the most prosaic and commonplace soul must feel a quickening of thought and sentiment at the appeal of that majestic waterway and its romance-filled setting.
I did that night; and stood there, thinking dreamily, until I was roused abruptly by the sound of laughter. I recognized the voice of Count Gustav; and glancing round saw him on the other side of the bridge with a companion. He stooped a second and pointed down the river; and as they walked on, I heard her laugh sweetly in response.
I was considering what to do, when I caught the sound of footsteps, and shrank into the shadow of the deep buttress as two men came slouching past me stealthily; and I heard enough to tell me they were following Count Gustav. I let them pass and then followed in my turn.
The Count and his companion left the bridge, turned to the right, and presently entered the old garden of Buda—a deserted spot enough at such an hour. Presently, as the two reached an open place, I saw the Count hesitate, glance about him, stand a moment, and take off his hat. Then they continued their walk.
I was struck by the action. It looked as though it might have been a signal; for the next moment the two men quickened their pace and closed up to the pair. A momentary scuffle followed; the girl gave a half-smothered cry for help; and then the Count came running past me, making for the bridge at the top of his speed. He had left his companion in the hands of the two men.
Convinced now that mischief was on foot, I resolved to see the matter through. I hid myself as the men came hurrying back with the girl, half-leading, half-carrying her; and I noticed that her face was closely muffled.
Near the entrance to the place they halted, and drew back under the shadow of the trees. They stood there some moments, when one of then went out into the road and stood listening. I heard in the distance the sound of wheels, and guessed it was a carriage for which the two were waiting.
Clearly, if I was to make an attempt to save the girl, I must act at once; and to save her and learn her story, I was now determined.
I took a deep breath, as one will when about to plunge into a cold stream, and keeping my hand on my revolver I darted across to where the girl and her one captor stood. It was a point in my favour that the two men were just then separated.
He did not hear my footsteps until I was close to him, and gave a great start of surprise when I spoke.
"Let my friend go at once," I said, in a loud, firm tone.
The man's start was the girl's opportunity. Snatching her arm out of his grasp, she rushed to me, tearing at the wrapper which covered her face.
The man swore and called his companion, who ran swiftly back. A couple of words were exchanged hurriedly between them, and then they came at me, one of them brandishing a heavy stick and threatening me.
The girl uttered a sharp cry of fear.
I whipped out my revolver, and the two scoundrels pulled up at the sight of it.
"If you make me fire I shall not only shoot you," I called, "but bring the police up, and you'll have to explain this to them."
And as we stood thus, the carriage drove up.
I was quite as anxious to avoid police interference as the men themselves could be; but I knew the threat was more likely to drive them off than any other.
To recover the girl, they would have bludgeoned me readily enough, if they could have done it without being discovered; but my weapon made that impossible. Moreover, they liked the look of the business end of the revolver as little as many braver men.
The stick was lowered; they whispered together, and then tried to fool me. They began to edge away from one another, so as to be able to rush in from opposite directions.
"You stand just where you are, or I fire, right now," I called.
They stopped and swore.
"Can't a man take his own daughter home?" growled one of them.
"I am not his daughter," protested the girl.
"I know that. Don't be afraid, I shan't give you up."
"Who are you to interfere with us?" asked the other.
"I'm a man in woman's clothes," I answered, intending this tale to be carried to their employer. "And I'll give you five seconds to clear. You get into that carriage and drive off, the lot of you together, or I'll bring the police about your ears. Now, one, two, if you let me count to five, you'll eat nothing but prison fare for a year or two. Off with you;" and emboldened by my success I made a step toward them.
It was good bluff. They shrank back; then turned tail and scurried to the carriage, swearing copiously, and drove off in the direction of Old Buda.
I watched the vehicle until the darkness swallowed it, and then hurried with my companion in the opposite direction. We recrossed the bridge and made for my house.
When we were near it I stopped, and she began to thank me volubly and with many tears.
"Don't thank me yet. Tell me where you wish to go."
"I have nowhere to go in Pesth, sir," she answered.
I smiled at her mistake. "Let me explain. I said that about my being a man to frighten those ruffians. I am a girl, like yourself, and have a home close by. If you like to come to it, you will be quite safe there."
"I trust you implicitly," she said, simply; and with that I took her to my house.
As we entered I managed to draw out a couple of hairpins, so that when I took off my hat, my hair came tumbling about my shoulders in sufficient length to satisfy her of my sex. She was quick enough to understand my reason; and with a very sweet smile she put her arm round my waist and kissed me on the cheek.
"I did not need any proof, dear," she said. "But you are wonderful. How I wish I were you. So brave and daring."
"You are very pretty, my dear," I answered, as I kissed her. She was; but very pale and so fragile that I felt as if I were petting a child.
"I am so wretched," she murmured, and the tears welled up in her great blue eyes. "If I were only strong like you!"
"You shall tell me your story presently; but first I have something to do. Sit here a moment."
I went out and told Mrs. Perry to get us something to eat and to prepare a bed for my friend; and I wrote a hurried line to Madame d'Artelle that I was staying for the night with a student friend, and sent it by Mr. Perry.
When I went back the girl was sitting in a very despondent attitude, weeping silently; but she started up and tried to smile to me through her tears. Then I made a discovery. She had taken off her gloves, and on her left hand was a wedding ring.
"How can I ever thank you?" she cried.
"First by drying your tears—things might have been much worse with you, you know; think of that; then by having some supper; I am positively famished; and after that, if you like, you can tell me your story, and we will see whether, by putting our heads together, we cannot find a way to help you further."
"I am afraid——" and she broke down again.
With much persuasion I induced her to eat something and take a little wine; and this seemed to cheer her. She dried her eyes and as we sat side by side on a couch, she put her hand in mine and gradually nestled into my arms like a weary wee child.
"I'll begin," I said. "My name is Christabel Gilmore. I'm an American, and a student at the University here;" and I added some details about the States and so on; just talking so as to give her time to gather confidence.
"You haven't told me your name yet," I said, presently.
"I am the Countess von Ostelen. You have heard the name?" she said, quickly, at my start of surprise.
"I was surprised, that is all. Yes. I knew the name years ago in America. I knew the Count von Ostelen."
"He is my husband," she said, very simply. "My Christian name is Gareth. You will call me by that, of course." With a sweet little nervous gesture she slipped her arm away and began to finger her wedding ring.
"I had seen that, my dear."
"Your eyes see everything, Christabel;" and her arm came about me again and her head rested on my shoulder.
I sat silent for a few moments in perplexity. If she were Karl's wife, how came his brother to have been——what a fool I was! Of course the thing was plain. Gustav was the husband, and he had used his brother's name. My heart was stirred, and my intense pity for her found vent in a sigh.
"Why that sigh, Christabel?" Her sweet eyes fastened upon my face nervously, and I kissed her.
"The sigh was for you, child, not for myself. Had you not better tell me everything? Have you your husband's likeness?"
"I had it here in a locket," she said, wistfully, as she drew a chain from her bosom. "But to-day he said the locket was not
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