The gloomy autumnal sense of depression, which had settled down on Franka’s mind and the whole of Sielenburg, grew ever deeper. Death was making his entrance into the castle. For more than a week the sick count’s passing away had been expected from hour to hour. The physicians had expressed their opinion that it was inevitable and immediately at hand. At Countess Adele’s suggestion the priest had already been summoned in order to administer extreme unction to the man who lay unconscious in his bed; the warder of the tower was ready at a moment’s notice to raise the black standard, and the sexton of the adjacent church was only waiting for the signal to ring the passing-bell.
Franka ventured several times to enter the sickroom which was now a death-chamber, and the moans which came from the bed, and mingled with the storm howling without in an unspeakably melancholy dirge, rang incessantly in her ears, even after she had left the room and repaired to her own, which was situated in the other wing of the castle, where the wind could not be heard.
Here she was now sitting in the dark,—it was about seven o’clock in the evening,—and was thinking of her own father’s death, which so short a time before had left her an orphan. Now, by the loss of her grandfather, she would be once more quite friendless in that house. Her tears flowed for the poor departed father, for the poor departing count, and likewise for the poor deserted maiden—for herself.
Suddenly she pricked up her ears. In the prevailing silence she heard a distant commotion: the opening and shutting of doors, hurrying footsteps, voices.... With a throbbing heart she sprang up and turned on the light. At the same instant her maid came hurrying into the room.
“What has happened?... My grandfather?...”
“Yes, Miss Franka; the count has passed away!”
On the morning after the funeral, which was conducted with imposing state, the Countess Adele sent for Franka.
“I have summoned you, my dear child, to have a few serious words with you. Sit down.”
“What can this mean?” queried Franka in some perturbation.
“You have shown deep and, as it seems to me, genuine sorrow at the death of my poor brother.”