Flora flew towards him with open arms. Her long black robe swept the floor, and the ends of her black lace scarf streamed behind her like loosened tresses of dark hair. With her white hands, which the black lace ruffles made to seem childishly small, and her pale face, she looked like one of those fair, ghostly dames who, according to popular superstition, arise from the grave to murder those whom they attract.
"Leo!" It was gently breathed, and yet it vibrated through the hall.
Kitty listened with bated breath,—it pierced her very soul.
Was that Flora's voice? Did that delicious sound of soft entreaty, of trembling longing, really issue from the lips that could utter such stinging words, that could smile in such cutting scorn? The young girl turned away, and cast down her eyes; the knife trembled in her hand. She longed to shut the door, that she might neither see nor be seen, but strangely enough she lacked the force and courage to stir. There was no answer without, and no further step was heard.
"Leo, look at me!" Flora spoke louder, half in entreaty, half in command. "Why torture yourself by thus doing violence to your own heart? I know how manfully you are struggling to suppress your most sacred impulses, that you may seem hard and cold, to punish me. And why? Because yesterday I was half wild with what I had suffered, and did not know what I did or said. Leo, my life which belongs to you had been in danger, my blood was in a ferment, and—then you irritated me further."
Kitty involuntarily looked up. Beside her stood the maid, with a broad grin on her good, fat face: it certainly was delightful to hear the pretty lady begging something of her young master. Kitty instantly recovered her self-control; she took the plate of cake in her hand and went out into the hall. She saw the doctor standing with folded arms and averted face gazing through the open house-door; his brown cheek looked pale, his teeth were firmly and angrily set, while Flora's trailing black figure hung upon his neck, clinging to him like the fabled vampire.
At the noise made by the opening door, the doctor started, and his glance encountered Kitty's. He recoiled as if detected in some crime. Flora's eyes followed the direction of his own, but the lovely arms were not unclasped from about his neck. "It is only Kitty," she murmured, and leaned her head upon his breast.
Kitty glided past them into the sick-room. Her heart beat almost audibly with terror and shame: she had interrupted a love-scene à la Romeo and Juliet. With trembling hands she placed the plate upon a table, and by Henriette's desire, who feared that her pets might make an inroad upon the cake and sugar, she lured the fluttering canaries into their small aviary and closed its door behind them.
As she did so, she saw the ring that had eluded their search lying upon the clean white sand on the floor of the cage. Oddly enough, it had dropped through the wires and upon the soft sand without noise. Kitty took it up and slipped it into her pocket, and then she should have gone into the kitchen to superintend the making of the coffee, but she almost shivered with terror and dislike. She seemed to herself about to be thrust forth to death, to destruction. She still stood by the table, busying herself with the birds, while the Frau President, in a pleasant, subdued voice, talked on about Flora's trousseau, and the dean's widow reckoned up upon her fingers the various additional articles that the change of residence would make necessary; the old lady seemed quite convinced that her distinguished nephew was about to marry a kind of princess.
Kitty was released from torment sooner than she had anticipated. The doctor entered the room after a few minutes, and she slipped past him without looking up. The hall was empty. Flora must have gone into the garden. The grinding of the coffee-mill was heard in the kitchen; perhaps that harsh noise, and not, as she had suspected, her appearance, had terminated the reconciliation scene thus quickly.