As she passed, everyone gave way to her, nobody dared to speak to her. She looked round indifferently.
Brühl stood near a column, hesitated for a moment, and then greeted her, touching the brim of his hat. She stopped. Brühl put out his hand and she gave him hers on which he wrote her name.
She looked at him attentively, and walked further on; Brühl followed her. She turned several times and seeing that he followed her, she stopped again. A bench nestled among some palms, and here the queen sat down. Brühl stood. She looked at him and when he gave her his hand, she wrote H. B. on it and laughed.
'It's no wonder, Countess, that I recognise you,' he said, 'for I could not mistake you, even were you not dressed like a queen. But I wonder how you recognised me?'
'By the dress of a member of the Council of Trent,' said the lady. 'And to whom would it be more becoming than to you?'
'Countess, you are beautiful.'
She accepted the compliment without paying much heed to it.
'But beautiful,' he continued, 'like a marble statue, and cold like the marble.'
'What more?' asked the woman. 'Say something more amusing, I have heard that so many times.'
'What else could I say to you?' said Brühl with trembling voice. 'Every time I look at you my anger is aroused, storms of vengeance and jealousy shake me.'