The scratch had entirely disappeared, but Frau von Sigmundskron did not wish to appear ungracious, or ungrateful, and held out her hand without any remark. It would have seemed uncharitable to make Clara’s errand look wholly superfluous before Greifenstein. But he paid very little attention to what was passing, for he was preoccupied with his own thoughts, and before long he rose, excused himself for going away by saying that he had some pressing correspondence, and left the two ladies to their own devices.
Frau von Sigmundskron felt rather uncomfortable, as she always did when she was alone with her hostess. To-day she had an unpleasant consciousness that she was in the way, and that, if she were not present, Clara would have already disappeared, in order to be alone. She resolved to make the interview as short as possible.
‘The weather is very warm,’ she remarked, as a preparatory move towards going into the house.
‘Is it?’ asked her companion as though she had been told something very unusual.
‘It seems so to me,’ responded the baroness, rather surprised that the fact should be questioned. ‘But then, it always seems warmer here after Sigmundskron.’
‘Yes—yes, perhaps so. I daresay it is. How very good of his majesty—is it not?’
‘To grant an amnesty?’
‘Yes, to forgive those dreadful creatures who did so much harm. I am sure I would not have done it—would you? But you are so good—did you ever know any of them?’
‘Oh no, never. I was—’ She was going to say that she had been too young, but she was stopped by a feeling of consideration for Clara. ‘I was never in the way of seeing them,’ she said, completing the sentence.
‘As for me,’ said Clara, ‘I was a mere child, quite a little thing you know.’ An engaging smile—poor woman, it was more than half mechanical and unconscious—emphasised this assertion of her youth.