“Very well, then,” she said. “It will do no harm for you to make a bowl of broth, but as to its having the power to cure the count, that, of course, I do not believe.”
Matilda at once set to work, and as she was very clever at cooking, she made a broth so rich and delicious that it made the mouth water just to smell of it. It was as clear as crystal, and of a rich amber colour. When it was done, she put it in a silver bowl and covered it over with a napkin, but before doing this she managed to drop into it the ring that the count had given her.
The broth was so good that the housekeeper was delighted with it, and she herself carried it up to her master’s room.
When she entered with it, the count turned away his head. “Why do you come here?” he said. “Do not trouble me. I wish for nothing.”
But the housekeeper would not be sent away in this manner. “I have brought you a bowl of broth,” she said, “and it is so delicious that if you will but taste of it, I am sure you will be better.”
With these words she uncovered the bowl and placed it before the count, and the broth was so clear that at once he saw the ring lying at the bottom of it.
“What is this!” he cried. “Who has made this broth? Tell me immediately.”
The housekeeper was frightened at his look and tone. “It is good broth,” she cried; “the best of broth, I am sure, even though it was made by our little kitchen-maid.”
“Whoever made it, send her to me at once,” demanded the count.