“And you will dismiss Madame Brunnen,” said Camilla, gayly. “Oh, mamma, you have no idea how she tortures and martyrs me with her Argus-eyes, and watches me day and night. Will you not dismiss her, mamma, and take no other governess?”
“I will think of it,” said her mother, sadly. But now a servant entered and announced Count Ranuzi. Madame du Trouffle blushed, and directed the servant to conduct him to the parlor.
Camilla looked at her roguishly, and said: “If you really think me a grown-up girl, take me with you to the parlor.”
Madame du Trouffle refused. “You are not properly dressed, and besides, I have important business with the count.”
Camilla turned her back scornfully, and her mother left the room; Camilla returned to the sofa and Madame du Trouffle entered the saloon. In the levity and frivolity of their hearts they had both forgotten this sad scene in the drama of a demoralized family life; such scenes had been too often repeated to make any lasting impression.
Madame du Trouffle found Count Ranuzi awaiting her. He came forward with such a joyous greeting, that she was flattered, and gave him her hand with a gracious smile. She said triumphantly to herself that the power of her charms was not subdued, since the handsome and much admired Ranuzi was surely captivated by them.
The count had pleaded yesterday for an interview, and he had done this with so mysterious and melancholy a mien, that the gay and sportive Louise had called him the Knight of Toggenberg, and had asked him plaintively if he was coming to die at her feet.
“Possibly,” he answered, with grave earnestness—“possibly, if you are cruel enough to refuse the request I prefer.”
These words had occupied the thoughts of this vain coquette during the whole night; she was convinced that Ranuzi, ravished by her beauty, wished to make her a declaration, and she had been hesitating whether to reject or encourage him. As he advanced so gracefully and smilingly to meet her, she resolved to encourage him and make him forget the mockery of yesterday.
Possibly Ranuzi read this in her glance, but he did not regard it; he had attained his aim—the interview which he desired. “Madame,” said he, “I come to make honorable amends, and to plead at your feet for pardon.” He bowed on one knee, and looked up beseechingly.