"No, there is nothing, so long as my motives in coming are known. But people talk so cruelly, and will distort the facts so gladly, and we have always held our heads so high. And now the Penheim!" She sobbed afresh.
"I shall ask the princess not to write to anyone about your being here."
"Ach, I know her—she will do it all the same."
"No, I don't think so. She does everything I ask. You see, she takes care of my house for me. She is not here in the same way that—that you and Baroness Elmreich are, and her interest is to stay here."
Frau von Treumann's bowed head went up with a jerk. "Ach? She has found a place at last? She is your paid companion? Your housekeeper?"
"Yes, and she is goodness itself, and I don't believe she would be unkind and make mischief for worlds."
"Ach so!" said Frau von Treumann, "ach so-o-o-o!"—a long drawn out so of complete comprehension. Her tears ceased as if by magic. She dried her eyes. Yes, of course the Penheim would hold her tongue if Miss Estcourt ordered her to do so. She had heard all about her efforts to find places, and she would probably be very careful not to lose this one. The poor Penheim. So she was actually working for wages. What a come-down for a Dettingen! And the Dettingens had always treated the Treumanns as though they belonged merely to the kleine Adel. Well, well, each one in turn. She was the dear friend, and the Penheim was the housekeeper. Well, well.
She sat up straight, smoothed her hair, and resumed her first manner of quiet dignity. "I am sorry that you should have witnessed my agitation," she said, with a faint smile. "I am not easily betrayed into exhibitions of feeling, but there are limits to one's endurance, there are certain things the bravest cannot bear."
"Yes," said Anna.
"And for a Treumann, social disgrace, any action that in the least soils our honour and makes us unable to hold up our heads, is worse than death."