The countess uttered a low cry, and trembled from head to foot.
"Do not fear," said the empress, as she gently withdrew her arms, "it is my son the emperor. We need not hide our tears from him, for he knows that this is not the first time his mother has wept for Poland."
The emperor said nothing; he stood staring at the pale and trembling Anna. He, too, grew deathly pale as he looked, and now his trembling limbs answered to the agitation that was overpowering her. Suddenly, as though awaking from a painful dream, he approached, and offering his hand, said:
"I rejoice to see you. I have long sought you in vain."
She did not appear to see him. Her arm hung listlessly at her side, while her figure swayed to and fro like a storm-tossed lily.
"I have not been in Vienna," answered she, in a voice scarcely audible.
"I had gone to bury my sorrow in solitude."
"But her love for Poland brought her hither," said the empress, putting her arm affectionately around the countess's waist.
"I believe you," returned Joseph, bitterly. "The fate of Poland is the only thing worthy of touching the Countess Wielopolska. She is not a woman, she is a Pole—nothing more."
One low wail struggled from the depths of her breaking heart, but she spoke not a word.
The emperor went on: "The Countess Wielopolska is not a woman. She is a monad, representing patriotism; and he who cannot think as she does, is a criminal unworthy of her regard."