"I heard you ring, noble dame Chrotechilde, at your orders."
"Did Samuel, the slave merchant, come as ordered?"
"He has been waiting below for over an hour with two young girls, and also an old man with a long white beard."
"Who is that old man?"
"A slave, I suppose, that the Jew is to take somewhere else, after his business is done here."
"Order Samuel to bring up the two young girls, immediately."
The old woman bowed and vanished behind the curtain. Almost at the same moment Brunhild stepped out of her bedroom.
The Queen was sixty-seven years of age; the lines on her face still preserved the traces of exceptional beauty. Her wan and wrinkled face was illumined by the somber brilliancy of her two large but sunken eyes, which were surrounded with deep, dark circles. They were black, like her long eyelashes; only her hair was white. A front of brass, cruel lips, penetrating eyes, a head haughtily poised, proud and lofty carriage, seeing that she had preserved a straight and supple waist—such was Brunhild. She had hardly stepped into the apartment, when she stopped, listened and said to Chrotechilde:
"Who is coming up the little stairs?"
"The slave merchant; he has two young girls with him."