The strength of her love lent such eloquence to the words of the countess that her son was borne away by the force of her pleadings.
"Oh, my mother! if I could—if I could—" but here his voice faltered, and the tears, which he had been striving to keep back, gushed out in torrents. He covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.
His mother smiled and made a silent thanksgiving to Heaven. "God will accept your tears, my dear prodigal child. Come, ere it be too late. See, I have gold. My family diamonds have yielded enough to maintain us in Switzerland. There, among its solitudes—"
A clear, musical laugh was heard, and the melodious voice of a woman spoke these scornful words:
"Count Podstadsky a peasant! a Swiss peasant! Ha! ha!"
The old countess turned, and saw, coming from the boudoir, a vision of such beauty as dazzled her eyes. The vision came forward, smiling, and, Podstadsky dashing away his tears, passed in one instant from the heights of saving repentance to the unfathomable depths of hopeless obduracy.
The two women, meanwhile, faced each other: the one laughing, triumphant, beautiful, alas, as Circe; the other pale, sorrowful a, the guardian angel of the soul which has just been banished from the presence of God forever!
"Pray, Carlo, introduce me to your mother," said Arabella. "You are not yet a Swiss peasant. Pending your metamorphosis, be a little more observant of the conventions and courtesies of high life!"
"She has been eaves-dropping," exclaimed the Countess Podstadsky, contemptuously.
"Yes," said Arabella, with perfect equanimity. "I have enjoyed the privilege of witnessing this charming scene. You, madame, have acted incomparably, but your son has not sustained you. The role you have given him is inappropriate. To ask of him to play the repentant sinner, is simply ridiculous. Count Podstadsky is a gentleman, and has no taste for idyls."