Bocher David had a hard struggle. He turned to go away; then he tried to speak, but could not. At length he managed to force out the words in a low, strained voice: "Friedrich Reimann is dead—has been dead for years. I am David Blum, the sick-nurse."
She drew a long breath.
"I understand you," she said; "Friedrich is dead, but David Blum is alive. And I must say to him what I can no longer say to Friedrich.... I have sought you long, long and earnestly. I have found you at last. You must not go until you have listened to me...."
"It would be useless, Frau Gräfin," he answered, gently but firmly. "Friedrich forgave you long ago—forgave you with all his heart...." There was a look of pain on his face as he spoke.
"But it isn't useless," she exclaimed, "or at least not to me. I entreat you to listen to me only once—for one hour. Come and see me this afternoon at the castle...."
He shook his head with a sad smile.
"Don't say no," she continued. "You are a Jew, and it was a Jew who said, 'Be merciful to the weak!' It is for mercy that I beg.... Oh, come!... For God's sake come, and for the sake of old times!..."
"I promise," he said, after a short pause. Then silently raising his hat he went away.
Gräfin Jadwiga drew a long breath of relief, passed her hand across her eyes as if she were waking from a dream, and then turned to Starsky, who was approaching her with an expression of unmitigated astonishment. They remounted their horses, and returned to Barnow Castle in silence. On getting there they parted without a word.
Starsky rode home to his father's house in deep thought, a very unusual circumstance with him. Gräfin Jadwiga Bortynska and Bocher David.... His brain reeled.... And this was the woman he would have asked to be his wife! If he had done so, she would perhaps have accepted him—perhaps?—undoubtedly—certainly! It was horrible!...