Denise, the cameriera, noticed the light in the room, entered, and after vainly endeavoring to rouse Henrica, called her mistress.
The latter followed the maid, muttering as she ascended the stairs:
“Fallen asleep, found the time hang heavy—that’s all! She might have been lively and laughed with us! Stupid race! ‘Men of butter,’ King Philip says. That wild Lamperi was really impertinent to-night, and the abbe said things—things—”
The old lady’s large eyes were sparkling vinously, and her fan waved rapidly to and fro to cool the flush on her cheeks.
She now stood opposite to Henrica, called her, shook her and sprinkled her with perfumed water from the large shell, set in gold, which hung as an essence bottle from her belt. When her niece only muttered incoherent words, she ordered the maid to bring her medicine-chest.
Denise had gone and Fraulein Van Hoogstraten now perceived Henrica’s letter, raised it close to her eyes, read page after page with increasing indignation, and at last tossed it on the floor and tried to shake her niece awake; but in vain.
Meantime Belotti had been informed of Henrica’s serious illness and, as he liked the young girl, sent for a physician on his own responsibility, and instead of the family priest summoned Father Damianus. Then he went to the sick girl’s chamber.
Even before he crossed the threshold, the old lady in the utmost excitement, exclaimed:
“Belotti, what do you say now, Belotti? Sickness in the house, perhaps contagious sickness, perhaps the plague.”
“It seems to be only a fever,” replied the Italian soothingly. “Come, Denise, we will carry the young lady to the bed.