When an affirmative answer was brought, the three ladies betook themselves to the count’s apartment. Miss Albertine held the corpus delicti under her arm. The count was alone. He was sitting in his accustomed place in the reclining-chair, and looked exceptionally lively and well.
“What! Three man strong you march along!” he exclaimed, greeting them.
“Yes, grandfather, you see here a judge, a witness, and a defendant—and I am the defendant; now you are to be the supreme judicial court.”
“Oho! and is there no advocate for the defense?”
“I shall be my own advocate.”
“Very good: now what is the complaint?”
“It is no joking matter,” said the Countess Adele.
“Indeed, it is not,” said Miss Albertine with emphasis. “It concerns Franka’s own good; else we should not have bothered you with it. Your condition demands perfect quiet—you look very miserable.... Forgive me, but I must tell you the truth only for love of you so that you may take care of yourself.”
“Yes, yes, your frankness is touching. But to the business....”
The two old ladies, using almost the identical words as before, formulated their complaint and at the same time handed him the books that were under suspicion.