They got into the carriage. Just as they were about to start, Irma, noticing Madame Gunther's hand on the carriage door, bent down and kissed it. The next moment they were gone.
They were silent for some time. After they had passed the first village, Bruno took out a cigar, saying to Irma, who sat opposite him: "I'm a man, and a man must calmly accept the inevitable. Show that you, too, have a strong mind."
Irma did not reply. She threw back her veil and looked out of the window. Her departure had been so hurried that she was just beginning to recover herself.
"You ought to have taken leave of the queen in person," said Bruno, in a calm tone. The long silence was irksome to him. Such dark hours should be made to pass as agreeably as possible. When he found that Irma still remained silent, he added: "For you know that the queen's tender nature is so easily offended."
Irma still made no reply, but Gunther said:
"Yes; it were sacrilege to offend the queen. No one but a savage would dare to weaken her faith in human goodness and veracity."
Gunther expressed himself with unwonted energy, and his words cut Irma to the heart. Was it she who had committed sacrilege? And then the thought gradually dawned upon her; the queen is his ideal; the king is mine. Who knows whether the mask of intellectual affinity may not have served to screen--Quick as thought, she dropped her veil; her breathing was short and fast; her cheeks were burning. He who knows himself to be--must judge others--nothing is perfect--no one--She felt as if she must speak, and at last said: "The queen deserves to have a friend like you."
"I place myself beside you," said Gunther calmly. "I believe that we both deserve the friendship of that pure heart."
"And so you believe that friendship can exist between married people of different sex?" inquired Bruno.
"I know it," replied Gunther.