She asked him to wait at the door of Irma's apartment, while she went in. Irma was still in bed, but, as soon as she heard Walpurga's voice, asked her to enter. The countess looked lovely in deshabille, but she was quite pale, and her loosened hair lay in wild profusion on the pillow.
"I wanted to give you something to remember me by," said Irma, raising herself, "but I thought the best thing I could give you would be money. Take what's lying there. Take it all; I want none of it. Take it; don't be afraid, it's real gold, won in honest play. I always win--always--Take out your handkerchief and wrap the money up in it."
Irma's voice was hoarse. The room was so dimly lighted that Walpurga looked about in fear, as if she were in some enchanted apartment; and yet she knew the maid, the tables, the chairs, and could hear the screaming of the parrot in the next room. She knew all this, but she could not help thinking that there might be something wrong about the money. She hurriedly made the sign of the cross over it, and then put it in her pocket.
"And now, farewell," said Irma; "may you be happy; a thousand times happy. You are happier than all of us. When I don't know where to go in this world, I shall come to you. You'll receive me, won't you? and will make room for me at your hearth? Now go! go! I must sleep. Farewell, Walpurga, don't forget me. No thanks; not a word. I'll soon come to you, and then we'll sing again; aye, sing. Farewell!"
"I beg of you, let me say only one single word!" cried Walpurga, grasping her hands. "We can't, either of us, know which of us may die, and then it would be too late."
Irma pressed her hand over her eyes, and nodded assent. Walpurga continued:
"I don't know what ails you. Something's going wrong with you, and it may go worse yet. Your hands are often so cold and your cheeks so hot. I wronged you that day--the second day after I came here. Forgive me! I'll never wrong you again, even in thought; and no one shall. No one shall ever slander you to me; but, I beg of you, leave the palace as soon as you can! Go home to--"
"Enough, enough," said Irma, deprecatingly, and holding her hands before her face as if Walpurga's words were stones hurled at her. "Enough," added she, "farewell; do not forget me."
She held out her hand to Walpurga, who kissed it. The hand was hot, as if with fever.
Walpurga left. The parrot in the ante-room was still crying: "God keep you, Irma." Walpurga started with terror, and hurried away as if some one were after her.