Greifenstein was the bravest of the three,—as he had also the least cause for anxiety. He saw that it was impossible to continue the meal in total silence, and he made a tremendous effort to produce a show of conversation.
‘There has been much snow this year, Herr Brandt,’ he said, raising his head and addressing his brother. Rieseneck did not understand, but he heard Greifenstein’s voice, and slowly turned his ghastly face towards him.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘I did not quite hear.’
‘There has been much snow this year,’ Greifenstein repeated with forcible distinctness.
‘Yes,’ replied his brother, ‘it seems so.’
‘After all, it is nearly Christmas,’ said Clara, trembling in every limb at the sound of her own voice.
Only an hour more to bear, and she would be safe for ever. Only another effort and Greifenstein would suspect nothing. Rieseneck looked mechanically at his brother, as though he were trying to find something to say. In reality he was almost insensible, and he hardly knew why he did not fall from his chair.
A servant brought another dish and Clara helped herself unconsciously. The man went on to Rieseneck, and waited patiently until the latter should turn his head and see what was offered to him.
Clara saw an opportunity of speaking again. She could call his attention by addressing him. One, two, three seconds passed, and then she spoke. It would be enough to utter his name, so that he should look round and see the attendant at his elbow. ‘Herr Brandt’—the two syllables were short and simple enough.
‘Herr von Rieseneck,’ she said quietly.