Part 88 (1/2)

”You are going?” said Madame Gunther in an agitated, but scarcely inquiring tone. Gunther nodded affirmatively.

”I've one request to make,” continued Madame Gunther. With a slight motion of his hand, the doctor intimated that he wished her to proceed.

He felt as if his tongue were palsied.

”I'd like to go with you,” said she.

”I don't understand you.”

”Sit down,” said the wife, and when Gunther had seated himself, she placed her gentle hand upon his lofty forehead. His face brightened, and she went on to say:

”Wilhelm, this is a terrible visitation. Let me do all I can to alleviate the grief of the lost child whom this dread message will soon reach. I can imagine her feelings. Who knows? Perhaps her own actions have been the cause of this.--Although she rides in her carriage, I shall a.s.sist her as faithfully as if she were a poor outcast; and if the poor soul repels me, I shall not leave her. I don't know what may happen, but the moment may come when she will feel it a comfort to rest the head now scourged by thorns against a woman's heart. Do let me go with you?”

”I've no objection. For the present, however, you had better get everything ready for my departure.” He drove to Bruno's house.

As soon as the latter noticed his sad looks, he exclaimed: ”And so your party was beaten?”

”Not yet,” replied Gunther, gently breaking the news to Bruno.

Bruno turned away, hurriedly gathered up several letters that were lying on the table and locked them up in his desk. He was soon ready to go with Gunther to Irma, to whom they broke the sad news as gently as possible.

”I knew it! I knew it!” cried Irma. Not another word escaped her. She went into her bedchamber and threw herself on the bed; but she had hardly touched the pillow before she sprang up as if thrust back, and then knelt on the floor and swooned away. When she returned to the reception room, her features wore a fixed, rigid expression. She gave hurried orders to her servant and her maid to prepare for the journey.

The doctor withdrew, in order to ask for leave of absence, and promised to procure leave for Irma, too.

”You ought to bid adieu to the queen, before you go,” said Bruno.

”No, no!” cried Irma vehemently. ”I cannot; I will not.”

There was no servant in the antechamber. There was a knock at the door.

Irma started. ”Was the king coming?”

”Come in!” said Bruno. Madame Gunther entered.

Irma could not utter a word, but her eyes seemed to ask: ”You here? and now?”

Madame Gunther told her that she had heard the sad news, and would regard it as a proof of her friends.h.i.+p, if Irma would allow her to accompany her.

”Thank you, with all my heart,” stammered Irma.

”Then you grant my request?”

”I thank you; on my knees, I'll thank you; but I beg of you, don't make me talk much now.”

”There's no need of your doing so, dear Countess,” said Madame Gunther.

”You've apparently neglected or forgotten me; but in your heart, you've remembered me. And even if it were otherwise, there was one short hour during which we opened our hearts to each other.”

Irma raised her hands as if to s.h.i.+eld herself,--as if the kind words pierced her like so many arrows. In a soothing voice, Madame Gunther added: ”I shall consider it a kindness, if you will allow me to be kind to you; you have no mother and, perhaps--you will soon have no father.”

Irma groaned aloud and pressed her hands to her eyes.