Thus firmly resolved, she bathed her hot, tear-stained face and retiring for the night, cried herself to sleep.
The next morning she rose, rested and greatly refreshed. After partaking of a hearty breakfast, she left the castle and took a “droschky” to the Laenderbank. The ordeal she had feared proved a very simple affair after all. Her request for money was immediately attended to and she left with several thousand marks snugly tucked away in her pocketbook.
Her absence from the castle had not been noted. Once in her room again, she set about collecting the articles she held as her treasures, including the faded rose leaves and orchids, and packed them carefully in a box. Opening the door softly, she beckoned to a passing lackey and asked him to send Josephine to her.
Josephine came in haste. She had not seen her dear Comtesse for days and wondered what she had been called for. Helène told her she was going on a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Tyler in Berlin, who had invited her to spend New Year with them. At once the maid became excited and busied herself most energetically in packing the Comtesse’s trunk and valise. The proceeding took but a short time—Helène’s wardrobe was not extensive. A carriage was ordered to be at a side door and a lackey helped to load it. Before leaving Helène left a note for the Princess in which she begged her friend’s forgiveness for the step she was taking.
At the railway station her courage oozed out of her. She was afraid she had been followed and terrified at the thought of the Baroness Radau’s cold eyes. Her eyes filled with tears as she glanced helplessly around her. But a guardian angel in the shape of a dignified railway official, seeing her evident distress, approached her with a bow and begged the “Gnädiges Fräulein” to permit him to take charge of her baggage. She could hardly keep from hugging him, so great was her relief. The uniformed giant soon had her settled comfortably in a first class compartment with her baggage safely on board the train. “The train will leave in twenty minutes for Altenberg, gnädiges Fräulein,” he informed her, well pleased with the change she had left with him. Ah, at last, the train was moving. At last, she was safe, and laying her aching head against the upholstered back of the compartment, she closed her eyes and dozed happily to the rhythmic jolting of the wheels, which were carrying her away from the gilded prison and its cruel jailers.
At Altenberg the patriarchal conductor came to her assistance. The sweet face of the girl with its plaintive expression had touched him. He ordered a porter to see to her baggage and procured a carriage for her. She looked at him, for a moment, as he held out a hand, then she nodded and smiled and left him feeling fully recompensed, with the smile.
Anna lived at Garten-strasse No. 60 in this the smallest of capitals of Duke-ridden Thuringia. The way to it lay through the Main Street and by little snow-covered garden plots to the still outskirts. The neat cottage stood behind a brick wall in which was a prettily wrought iron gate.
A pull at the bell-handle was succeeded by the shrill barking of a diminutive dog between the bars of the gate, and the appearance of Anna in a bibbed apron.
“Ach, my baby!” she almost screamed, and gathered the girl to her warm bosom. “So you did come, after all. Oh, I’m so glad, so glad.”
“What a lovely little home you have,” cried Helène as she looked around the room into which Anna had ushered her and which was so inviting in its furnishing and reposeful effects.