She closed the case she held in her hand; the snap seemed to give final emphasis to her words. Sidonia stood, aghast.
"I have done with your Westphalia, my love," pursued the Burgravine: "done with your uncle, my Bluebeard, en premier lieu, and with Jerome, that plebeian, that upstart!"
Intense was the scorn with which she spoke the words.
Apart from this, the irredeemable wound that her vanity had received to-night from the "little Corsican," Betty had another reason for her sudden determination. Flighty she might be, but she was a woman of business instincts where her self-esteem was concerned. She had met a countryman of hers at the concert, an elderly diplomat, a man of standing. He had breathed certain information into her little ear.... He had received a courier. Napoleon had been finally vanquished at Leipzig. The news had not yet reached Jerome, but it spelt "the End" this time! Himself intended to take the high-road, sans tambour ni trompette, the very next morning. He was getting on in years, and he would prefer not to be caught in the débandade. And, as he had parted from her, he had pressed her hand, and discreetly trusted that she might soon be paying her relatives in Vienna a visit, and that they might meet again there.
The obvious hint had not been wasted. Excellent M. de Puffendorff—he would be toiling his elderly, quiet way homewards by the next sunshine. What was to keep Betty from starting that very night? The Burgrave had put it out of his own power to resent anything she did. And, whatever should betide between them, she was sure of a comfortable pension. To leave at once was certainly her best course, since this ludicrous Cassel had nothing to offer her but the discomfort of a révolution pour rire. To be involved in the stampede of the Westphalian court would for ever cover her with ridicule. She shuddered as she thought of her escape from the unpardonable absurdity, from the madness she had actually contemplated—a liaison with M. Jérome Buonaparte!
As for Wellenshausen, the horses were not foaled (she swore) that would take her back to that prison. It was hey for Vienna this time, and in earnest!
She laughed out loud now, as her eye rested upon Sidonia's bewildered face. Here, in sooth, was Fate avenging her with unexpected completeness.
"Fortunately, I have my own people to go to," she remarked airily. "You will, I think, see pretty things before long in your Cassel. But, there, you have a feeling heart, my dear. You can wipe your little monarch's tears first, and make up to M. d'Albignac for the loss of his pension afterwards. C'est un beau rôle, and you have your uncle's blessing upon it."
D'Albignac again! An odious, open threat. Yet, though it inspired horror, Sidonia scarcely felt fear of its execution. No one could force her into such a marriage. But the other allusion, because of its very mystery, brought the former anguished sense of approaching evil upon the girl; a dread of something unspeakable, and so secret that she knew not where it might lurk for her, or at what moment it might seize her.
"You are a wicked woman," she said, dropping her words slowly.