Irma instructed Walpurga not to tell the queen, and said that she would join her. She went to her room and sat there for a long while, buried in thought. She felt as if she had extended a friendly hand and that no one had clasped it in return.
In the hallway, they were moving trunks about. Suddenly, she thought of the time when she sat in her room, an orphan child, clad in black, and heard them moving her mother's coffin about in the adjoining apartment.
Why had it occurred to her at that moment? She arose--she could no longer endure being alone. She hastily changed her dress and went to the queen.
The queen saw her coming and advanced to meet her.
Irma bent low and made an effort to kiss her hand.
The queen held her up and, embracing her, imprinted a tender kiss upon her lips.
"You're the only one who dare touch the lips that my father has kissed," said Irma--that is, she did not say it aloud, but simply moved her lips as if forming the words. Deep within her soul, arose a thought: I'd rather die a thousand deaths, than sadden that guileless heart.
The thought illumined her countenance with a noble expression, and the queen, all delight, exclaimed:
"Oh how beautiful, how radiant you are, Countess Irma!"
Irma dropped her eyes and knelt down beside the child's cradle. Her eyes were so lustrous that the child put out its hand as if to seize them.