VI
When a little later the Countess Hatzfeldt was announced, he had forgotten he was expecting her. He slipped the photograph back among the papers, and moved forward hurriedly to greet her.
Her face was the face of the beautiful portrait on the wall, grown twice as old, but with the lines of beauty still clear under the unnecessary touches of rouge, so that sometimes, despite her frosted hair, one could imagine her life at its spring-tide. This was especially so when the sunshine leapt into her eyes. But, at her oldest, there remained to her the dignity of the Princess born, the charm of the woman of virile intellect and vast social experience.
"Something is troubling you," she said.
He smiled reassuringly. "My brother-in-law popped in from Prague. He read me a sermon."
"That would not trouble you, Ferdinand."
Lassalle was silent.
"You have heard again from that Sophie de Solutzew!"
"Divinatrix! After three years! You are wonderful as ever, Countess."
The compliment did not lighten her features. They looked haggard, almost their real age.