"Appearances deceive sometimes. Just this apparent conscientiousness must have been the cloak for his villany."
The old man shook his head.
"And yet--it cannot be. I would have believed any one capable of it, sooner than Brand! Has it been proved already then, that--"
The Doctor made a movement of impatience.
"My dear Weiss, I am no judge in a court of law. Of course an examination will disclose all particulars; for the present the papers of the deceased have been seized, and I hear that Count Arnau has himself undertaken to look over them--but I have no time to waste. I must attend the Countess."
"Ah, yes, poor lady!" said a third, joining in the conversation. "How is she?"
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders gravely.
"Very unwell! which is, unfortunately, only what we can expect. Such an event in one's own house is enough to make any one ill, and when one is in the last stage of consumption, and ought to be carefully guarded from all agitation, it is enough to cause one's death. Adieu, gentlemen!"
So saying, he lifted his hat, and with a hurried greeting, left the steward's office, where the conversation had taken place, and hurried towards the house of the chamberlain, Count Arnau, which lay about midway between the former and the Prince's residence.
In the drawing-room of the large, splendidly appointed dwelling sat two ladies, the wife of the Count, and her mother, the widowed Präsidentin von Sternfeld, who had left her estates in the neighbourhood in order to visit her daughter, and had now been with her about a quarter of an hour. At the first glance no one would have taken the two ladies for mother and daughter, for, indeed, one could not trace the slightest resemblance between them. The Präsidentin was a woman about fifty, with a not very tall, but powerful figure, and with features, which, indeed, could never have been beautiful, but were now striking from their remarkable expression of energy and decision. There was nothing attractive, nor womanly in this sharply-cut countenance, and her whole appearance coincided with it. Carriage, speech, everything, was short, decided, and commanding, as is usual with any one accustomed to unconditional authority and command. The Countess, on the other hand, was a young, and still beautiful woman, though her form showed but too plainly the devastating traces of severe bodily suffering. The delicate, stooping figure, the gentle pale face, the low, soft voice, all formed the sharpest contrast to the mother's appearance.