"It was committed," said the count quietly, without removing his eyes, "it was committed upon a pure and noble creature whom a ruthless hand had destined to a horrible death, upon the Countess Clara Frankenstein."
Madame Balzer stood stiff and motionless. A deep pallor spread over her face, her lips trembled, her eyes sank before the firm and immovable gaze of the count. Her breast heaved, she tried to speak; but only a broken hissing breath came from her lips. "Abbé", said the count raising his hand and pointing to her, "you see this woman now standing before you, who was talking to you with smiling lips, whose eyes seemed to reflect the feelings of a good and noble heart--this woman is a murderess, who with cold cruelty has poisoned the warm pure blood of an innocent human being, a being who never harmed her except that she possessed the love of a young man, for whom this woman felt a wicked passion. God willed it otherwise," he added, "and gave me the power of saving this victim of her wickedness!"
Amazed, horrified, the abbé listened to the count's words; he looked enquiringly at the beautiful and elegant woman against whom such a frightful accusation was brought.
She had pressed her hand upon her breast, as if to calm its powerful emotion. Her eyes were raised at the count's last word with an expression of fear, and raging hatred; but she could not bear his gaze, and her eyes fell again to the ground.
"Count," she said with a great effort, but in a calm and sharp voice, "you bring strange accusations against me, you speak in the voice of a judge. I do not understand you, nor do I recognize your right."
And exerting all her powers of will, she raised her eyes and gazed firmly into the count's face.
He drew himself to his full height, and stepping close up to her, and raising his hand, he said in a low voice which vibrated through the room:
"I do not speak from suspicion, I bring an accusation against you which it would be easy for me to prove; I speak as a judge, because if I would, I might be your judge, Antonia von Steinfeld."
She gazed at him with horror, all her composure left her; and broken down she sank into a chair.
"I might," proceeded the count, "be the judge of that unnatural daughter who forsook her old sick mother, a worthy lady who had educated her, by making great sacrifices, to follow the adventurous life of an actress, who stole her mother's last treasure, the title-deeds of her small estate, and whilst she lived in wild dissipation left that unhappy mother, who would not face the shame and publicity of bringing her to justice, to suffer from want, until sorrow broke her heart. I might be the judge of the worthless creature who sank deeper and deeper, until she was punished for a fresh robbery, upon a young man whom she had ensnared, by two years' imprisonment; who then as an actress travelled through most of the little towns of Bohemia and Galicia, until she succeeded in finding a man but little better than herself, who gave her his name, and placed her in a position that enabled her to continue on a large scale the course she had before commenced. I might be the judge of the murderess who planned in cold blood a horrible death for a pure and innocent girl. Do you think, wretch!" he added--and his voice sounded like distant thunder--"do you think it would cost me more than a word to strip the false spangled veil from the hideousness of your past life and give you up to the abhorrence and scorn of the world? Do you think," he cried, standing close before her, with flashing eyes, "that it would burden my conscience, by a drop of surer poison than that you placed in the veins of an innocent creature, to free the world from your sin-laden existence?"