Part 113 (2/2)
The ladies were busily engaged at their embroidery. At other times, they would take turns in reading aloud; but to-day their book--it was a French novel, of course--remained untouched. They were intensely interested in the story, but no one ventured to propose that the reading should be gone on with, nor did sustained conversation seem possible. Now and then a voice was heard: ”Dear Clotilde,”
”Dearest Hannah, can you lend me some violet, or some pale green?”
”Oh, I tremble so, that I cannot thread my needle; have you a needle-threader?”
It was, fortunately, at hand. They were, none of them, willing to appear so little moved as to be able to thread a needle.
They deplored Irma's fate, and it did them good to be able to show how kind and merciful they were. They felt happy in being able to accord their pious forgiveness to the unhappy one, and, since they had been so gentle and forgiving, they felt it their right to denounce her crime the more severely. It was thus they avenged themselves for the self-humiliation they had endured; for, while Irma was the prime favorite, they had paid greater homage to her than to the queen.
They never mentioned the royal couple except in terms of respect--with all their apparent confidence, they distrusted each other. They felt that there was trouble ahead, but that it was best for them to appear unconscious of it.
Countess Brinkenstein was the only one Who had a good word to say for Irma.
”Her father was greatly to blame,” said she; ”it was he who instilled this belief in Irma.”
”And yet he had her educated at the convent.”
”But she inherited from him a contempt for all forms and traditions, and that was her misfortune. She had a lovely disposition, was richly endowed by nature, and her heart was free from the slightest trace of envy or ill-nature.”
No one ventured to contradict Countess Brinkenstein; Perhaps, thought they, etiquette requires us to speak well of Irma and to forget her terrible deed.
”Who knows whether her brother would have married the Steigeneck, if he had known that he was to inherit everything!” softly whispered a delicate and languis.h.i.+ng little lady to her neighbor, while she bent over her wool-basket.
The one whom she had addressed looked at her with a sad, yet grateful expression. She had once loved Count Bruno, and still loved him.
”I have a book of hers.”
”And I have one of her drawings.”
”And I have some of her music.”
They shuddered at the thought of possessing articles which had once been hers, and determined that everything should be sent to her brother.
”I pa.s.sed her rooms, early this morning,” said Princess Angelica's maid of honor--she always seemed as if half-frozen, and rubbed her hands and breathed on her fingertips while she spoke--”the windows were open. I saw the lonely parrot in his cage, and he kept calling out, 'G.o.d keep you, Irma.' It was dreadful.”
They all shuddered, and yet they felt a secret satisfaction in dwelling on the subject. The pious court lady joined the circle, and mentioned that Doctor Sixtus had just taken leave of her, that he had started for the Highlands, that Fein, the notary, had accompanied him, that he had also taken Baum along, and that they meant to search for the body of Countess Irma.
”Will he bring her here, or to Wildenort castle?”
”How terrible, to be gaped at in death by common people!”
”Horrible! it makes me shudder.”
”Pray let me have your vinaigrette.”
A bottle of English smelling-salts was pa.s.sed round the circle.
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