"Some time ago," he said, "my friends warned me; but my confidence in my wife--I love my wife, gracious countess: ah! she was my whole happiness--prevented my heeding these warnings; then, too, Baron von Stielow's engagement with the lovely countess"--he again bowed to Clara--"was well known in Vienna; I felt quite safe, since I was simple-hearted enough,"--he laid his hand on his black satin waistcoat--"to believe such an error impossible."
"Well?" asked the countess.
"At last, by chance--oh! my heart will break when I think of it--yesterday I discovered the frightful truth."
The countess made a movement of impatience.
He threw a side glance at the easy-chair, in which the younger lady sat motionless, her face covered with her handkerchief, and with the malice of vulgar natures who instinctively hate those of a higher grade, he seemed disposed to prolong her torture.
"Amongst the letters brought to me," he continued, after some hesitation, "there was one intended for my wife. I did not observe the address, and I opened it, believing it directed to myself. It contained the horrible, too certain proof of my misfortune."
Clara gave a low sob.
The countess asked with cold severity,--
"Where is this letter?"
Herr Balzer, with a deep, strongly marked sigh, felt in the breast pocket of his coat, pulled out a folded letter, and gave it to the countess. She took it, opened it, and read the contents slowly. Then throwing it on the table, she said: