As soon as she entered she saw that his state had been improved by the rest he had taken. His eyes were quiet, his colour pale but natural, his manner mournfully calm. In the morning she had feared he might fall into a delirious fever.
Frau von Sigmundskron came and stood beside him. He was comforted by her presence, though he had not always been sure that he liked her. At present, he knew what good cause he had to be grateful to her for what she had done, and he felt that she was his only relation in the world, the only woman alive who could in any way take the place of what he had lost. If he had not been very fond of her before, it was because he had not understood her, and because in his eyes her personality was entirely eclipsed by Hilda’s. He put out his hand and took hers, and pressed it gently.
‘You are very good,’ he said. ‘I am glad you have come.’
She sat down beside his easy-chair and gazed into the fire. There was no light in the room save that of the pine logs, blazing in the great chimney. Her reflexions of ten minutes earlier seemed very far away, for the sight of him and the sound of his voice had suddenly recalled those hopes for Hilda from which she had got so much happiness.
‘You have slept,’ she said. ‘I am glad, for you needed rest.’
She did not know what to say, and there was a pause before she spoke again, during which Greif did not move. Unconsciously he had taken the manner of one ill, and lay back in his seat, his eyes half closed, his hands resting upon the arms of the chair, making no effort and only hoping that none would be required of him.
‘Dear Greif,’ said the baroness at last, ‘you will go away, will you not?’
He started a little and his expression changed, as though the question pained him.
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I will go away—when it is over.’
‘Shall it be to-morrow, then?’ asked Frau von Sigmundskron very softly.