The young lady caught his hand and cried: "Karl, I implore you to hear me!" He tore his hand away with an impatient movement, and hurried after the count.
She looked after him with staring eyes and outstretched hands.
She seemed to wish to follow him, but she stood still, her hands sank slowly, and her head drooped on her breast. So she remained for some moments, and the only sound was her sobbing breath.
"That has occurred which I hoped to avoid," she said to herself in a low voice, "I can do nothing, I cannot interfere, without making the evil worse. They will fight--and how will it end? Shall I lose them both? The count is needful---needful for the future of which I dream--he loves me not; oh! no--but he requires me for his plans, I feel that, and through him I can reach what I thirst after--power, influence, rule. And this young officer, what can he be to me, what can he offer me? he is rich," she whispered, "but what is that? and yet, and yet," she cried aloud, "would I could tightly grasp him, cling to his beautiful head, and draw him back from danger."
"Antonia, Antonia!" she said, suddenly growing cold and hard as she raised her head, "your heart is not dead, you are about to be a slave!"
She shook her head as if to dispel a dream. A look of defiance came to her lips, she drew up her slender form, and her eyes were widely opened in flaming energy.
"No!" she cried, "no, I will not be a slave, not even to my own heart. I will rule--rule--rule," she repeated, her voice growing lower and lower, but firmer and more determined.
Suddenly the violent constraint gave way, her limbs failed and she sank upon her couch, her lovely hands were crossed upon her breast, her head fell languidly upon the cushion, and whilst her eyes were veiled with tears, she whispered with trembling lips:
"Oh, he was so beautiful!"
And she seemed to sink into dreamy unconsciousness.