"You are ill. Let me bring you a glass of wine," he said, looking at her marble-white face. She shook her head.
"I cannot breathe here, now that I know----" Her lips quivered, and she did not finish her sentence. Bernhard stood hesitating for a moment beside her.
"Go!" she entreated again.
And he went to let Wronsky know that his wife had suddenly been taken ill and wished to leave the hall.
A quarter of an hour afterwards Bernhard was standing alone at the head of the broad steps, looking listlessly down upon the surging crowd. The stranger whom he had observed was no longer there; the Wronskys had gone home. Bernhard thought the opera-ball rather stupid.
"Aha! where is your beautiful companion?" asked Herr von Dollen, suddenly appearing.
"Gone home," Bernhard answered, rather brusquely.
"Remarkable woman; cold and hard as an icicle, but piquante. You are very intimate there, eh?"
"Scarcely that. But the Wronskys are neighbours of ours."
"Ah! then you really know something of them, and can tell me about the lady's former marriage. They say it was short and unhappy, but no one seems to know whether she is a widow or a divorcée. She never alludes to her past----"