Part 41 (1/2)

”Woe betide you, unhappy woman--have you not the strength to resign one for the other? Would you rather live in fear of the betrayer than voluntarily relinquish your stolen goods? Then do not think yourself n.o.ble or lofty--do not deem yourself worthy of the grace for which you long!”

She hid her face in the cus.h.i.+ons of the divan, fairly quivering under the burden of her self-accusation.

”I beg your pardon, your Highness, I only wanted to ask what evening toilette you desired.”

Madeleine von Wildenau started up. ”If you would only cease this stealing about on tip-toe!” she angrily exclaimed. ”I beg pardon, I knocked twice and thought I did not hear your 'come in.'”

”Walk so that you can be heard--I don't like to have my servants glide about like spies, remember that!”

”At Princess Hohenstein's we were all obliged to wear felt slippers.

Her Highness could not endure any noise.”

”Well I have better nerves than Princess Hohenstein.”--

”And apparently a worse conscience,” muttered the maid, who had not failed to notice her mistress' confusion.

”May I ask once more about the evening toilette?”

”Street costume--I shall not go to the theatre, I will drive out to the estates. Order Martin to have the carriage ready.”

The maid withdrew.

The countess felt as if she were in a fever--must that inquisitive maid see her in such a condition? It seemed as though she was surrounded like a hunted animal, as though eyes were everywhere watching her.

There was something in the woman's look which had irritated her. Oh, G.o.d, had matters gone so far--must she fear the glance of her own maid?

Up and away to nature and her child, to her poor neglected husband on the cliff.

Her heart grew heavy at the thought that the time since she had last visited the deserted man could soon be counted by months.

Her _interest_ in the simple-hearted son of nature was beginning to wane, she could not deny it. Woe betide her if _love_ should also grow cold; if that should happen, then--she realized it with horror--she would have no excuse for the whole sensuous--supersensuous episode, which had perilled both her honor and her existence!

CHAPTER XIX.

AT THE CHILD'S BEDSIDE.

The stars were already twinkling above the Griess, here and there one looked as if impaled on a giant flagstaff, as they sparkled just above the tops of the lofty firs or the sharp pinnacles of the crags.

Countless shooting stars glided hither and thither like loving glances seeking one another.

The night was breathing in long regular inhalations. Every five minutes her sleeping breath rustled the tree-tops.

Four horses drawing a small calash whose wheels were covered with rubber glided across the Griess as noiselessly as a spectral equipage.

The animals knew the way, and their fiery spirit urged them forward without the aid of shout or lash, though the mountain grew steeper and steeper till the black walls of the hunting seat at last became visible in the glimmering star-light.

Josepha was standing at the window of the little sitting-room upstairs:

”I think the countess is coming.” At a table, by the lamp, bending over a book, sat ”the _steward_.”