The door had opened, and she had not beard it. On the threshold stood the emperor, followed by Matuschka, while the countess, all unmindful, filled the air with strains so divine, that they might have been the marriage-hymns of Love wedded to Song.
The emperor had stopped for a moment to listen. His face, which at first had worn an expression of smiling flippancy, now changed its aspect. He recognized the music, and felt his heart heat wildly. With a commanding gesture, he motioned Matuschka to withdraw, and noiselessly closed the door.
CHAPTER LXYI.
THE EMPEROR AND THE COUNTESS.
The countess continued to sing, although Joseph had advanced as far as the centre of the room. The thickness of the carpet made his footfall inaudible. He stood with his right hand resting upon the oak table, while he leaned forward to listen, and one by one the dead memories of his youthful love came thronging around his heart, and filling it with an ecstasy that was half joy and half sorrow.
More and more impassioned grew the music, while the air was tremulous with melody. It softened and softened, until it melted away in sobs. The hands of the enchantress fell from the keys; she bowed her head, and leaning against the music, burst into tears. The emperor, too, felt the tear-drops gather in his eyes; he dashed them away, and went rapidly up to the piano.
"Countess," said he, in his soft, mellow tones, "I felt it no indiscretion to listen unseen to your heavenly music, but no one save God has a right to witness your grief."
She started, and rising quickly, the emperor saw the face of the lady who had thrown him the wreath.
"It is she!" cried he, "the beautiful Confederate! I thank you from my heart for the favor you have done me, for I have sought you for some days in vain."
"Your majesty sought me?" said she, smiling. "Then I am sure that you are ready to sympathize with misfortune."