Sulkowski looked at his wife whose face betrayed anxious curiosity.
'Thank God,' said he, in a voice which trembled slightly, 'we are free. His Majesty has pleased to dismiss me from my duties. Although I regret to be obliged to leave my beloved lord, I do not feel at all hurt. It would be difficult for an honest man to remain at the court under existing circumstances.'
His wife covered her face.
'My dear,' said the Count, 'be calm, pray. The reason for my dismissal is this. It seems that I forgot myself in the respect due to his Majesty, in that I spoke the unadvisable and unpleasant truth; the King is kind enough to leave me the pension of a general and give me precious liberty--we shall go to Vienna.'
The Baroness Lowendhal looked at the Count with admiration. She could not understand the equanimity with which he received the news of his downfall from his former high position. The fact was that Sulkowski's pride permitted him neither to feel nor to show that he was hurt. After the first shock he pulled himself together and accepted his fate in a truly lordly way.
It was possible that he still had hope.
The Countess cried.
The Baroness understood that her presence was superfluous, for she could not offer consolation and her presence prevented them from consoling each other; she silently pressed her friend's hand and slipped from the room.
The Countess continued to weep.
'My dearest,' exclaimed the Count, 'I pray you to be brave. It is not advisable to show that we are hurt. We have to be thankful to the King that I was not sent to Königstein, and that instead of confiscating my estates they leave me a pension. The banishment to Nebigan is not very dreadful and does not exclude all hope--of overthrowing all that scaffolding built by my honest, sweet, faithful friend, Brühl! Pray, be calm--'