He had a bad two hours with Fräulein Lutz, and was so dull and absent at luncheon that although there were guests he had no difficulty in making his escape. But he lingered in his own room, cursing his folly, for half an hour longer; then, offering a cab driver double fare to hasten, managed to arrive at the “palace” of the eminent Geheimrath at a quarter to four.
Frau Hélène, familiar with his habits, had not expected him earlier, and had preserved the equanimity necessary to the rôle she was determined to play. Instead of being conducted to the Pompadour boudoir, where he expected to find her in negligée and tears, he was ushered into the great Empire drawing-room, where she stood severely attired in a black velvet gown, whose train gave her fictitious inches and accented the proud mask into which she had set her mobile little face. She saw at a glance that he was very white and nervous, but more dignified, more remote, than ever, and only long experience, and the cool brain of the born huntress, enabled her to restrain her passion. She completely disconcerted him by putting out her hand and smiling brightly.
“That was a wild telegram,” she said, in her soft, somewhat thick voice. “But—let us sit quite in the middle of the room where we cannot be overheard—I felt that I must see you before I go away.”
“You are going away?” Ordham felt like a prisoner reprieved, but employed the tone of polite regret.
“My husband is so ill (this, of course, is a profound secret) that I have persuaded him to go to his estate in Hungary and die in peace. Not that he has the least idea he must die, poor old dear; we call it resting for a time. As you may fancy, dear Mr. Ordham, I have few regrets in leaving a city whose insults and slights I have been forced to endure for fifteen years—I was married on my sixteenth birthday” (Ordham had looked her up also in the Graf Buch), “and now—well—”
He drew a long breath and clenched his hands. She continued:
“I felt that I must see you before I left. I telegraphed because I felt sure that you had ceased to open my notes—”
“Oh! How can you say such a thing?”
“You were quite right. I have done the same thing myself. But many, many times! When a woman of my age makes a fool of herself, she does not deserve half the consideration which you have shown to me. Seven years may be very few as time goes, but they are an eternity when a woman commits the folly of loving a man younger than herself—”
“Oh! How can you say such things? How can you—” Ordham, who had been prepared for worse, felt as if his brain were being flicked with red-hot whips. He sprang to his feet and strode up and down the room, longing to tear his hair, to bolt from the house. Frau von Wass continued: