The count’s ball was to be much more magnificent than those that the old countess had given. All the servants in the castle were set to work preparing for it, and Matilda was no less busy than the others. She had not a moment to herself.
The night of the ball arrived, and there was still much to be done in the kitchen. Matilda began to see that there would be no chance for her to slip away from her work and appear at the ball.
She did indeed ask the housekeeper to allow her an hour that she might go outside and peep in through a window at the dancers, but the housekeeper refused her angrily.
“Look in through the windows!” she cried. “What are you thinking of? You would frighten the ladies to death with your gipsy face and your big eyes. No; do you stay here in the kitchen where you belong, and do your work in a proper manner.”
Matilda would not disobey her, but as she scoured the pots and pans, she could not prevent the tears from falling. She could think of nothing but Count Conrad, of how handsome he was, and how kind and gentle.
Meanwhile the count was standing close to the door of the ballroom, waiting for the beautiful stranger to appear. Great coaches rolled up to the entrance of the castle. Beautiful ladies in silks and satins and jewels swept through the rooms. They waved their fans and smiled at the count, but he had no eyes for any of them. His thoughts were all of Matilda. Little he guessed that even then she was scouring kettles in the kitchen below and weeping as she scoured.
As hour after hour passed and she did not appear, the count’s heart grew heavy with grief. By the time the ball was over and his guests were leaving, he was quite ill with disappointment. He could hardly stand to bid them farewell. The beautiful stranger had not come, and now he feared he would never see her again.
The next day word passed through the castle that the young count was unable to leave his bed. He had fallen ill through grief and disappointment. Doctors were sent for, but they could do nothing for him. One thing could cure him and one alone, and that was some knowledge of the beautiful stranger who had danced with him.
Matilda had managed to win the confidence of the old housekeeper, and now she went to her and said, “I have heard how ill the count is and how all the medicines the doctors have given him have failed to help him. If you will but let me, I can make a broth of such wonderful qualities that if the count will but taste of it he will be cured.”
At first the housekeeper refused, but Matilda still urged and entreated, until at last the old woman grew tired of saying ‘no’ to her.