“Do you really believe that?” asked Herr Gedicke. “Were you not also in Italy?”
“I was indeed there two years, but it was very different with me. It is difficult to forget you are a slave, when listening all the while to the clanking of your chains.”
“My poor child, I read with sorrow the history of the past years in your grief-stricken face. It is the first time we have met since your marriage.”
“See what these years have made of me!—a miserable wife, whom the world esteems, but who recoils from herself. My heart has changed to stone, and I feel metamorphosed. The sight of you recalls that fearful hour, melting my heart and causing the tears to flow. At that time you blessed me, my friend and father. Oh, grant me your blessing again in this hour of sorrow! I implore you for it, before an important decision! I long for the sympathy of a noble soul!”
“I know not, my child, with what grief this hour may be laden for you; but I lay my hand again upon your head, imploring God in His divine mercy to sustain you!”
“Countess von Moltke and Frau von Morien!” announced the usher. In brilliant toilets the ladies rustled in, hastening toward the baroness, who had now regained her wonted composure, and received them in her usual stately manner.
“How perfectly charming you look to-night!” cried Countess Moltke. “To me you are ever the impersonation of the goddess of wealth and beauty strewing everywhere with lavish generosity your gifts, and turning every thing to gold with your touch.”
“But whose heart has remained tender and gentle,” added Frau von Morien.—“You are indeed a goddess, always enhancing the pleasures of others. To-day I wear the beautiful bracelet which you sent me because I admired it.”
“And I, ma toute belle,” cried the countess, “have adorned myself with this superb gold brocade which you so kindly had sent from Paris for me.”
“You have forgotten, countess, that you begged of me to give the order for you.”