“Why did you mention Count von Königsmarck?” replied Madame von Arlestein. “I have never heard you speak of him before.”
“Every night lately I have been thinking of him. You know that.”
“Yes, I know that.”
Like an angry stranger demanding admission, the rain surged at the window and the faded curtains rose and fell in the wind.
“Annette,” said Sophia Dorothea, “why have we lived, you and I? We could have died, you know. There was the moat, or a table-knife–or a bed-cord. But we lived.”
“I suppose,” answered the old woman, “we hoped.”
“Mein Gott! We hoped!”
The Countess looked across at her with dim eyes that seemed to glimmer with malice. “But now–if he died to-morrow, it would be too late. There is no more enjoyment for you in this world.”
“No more for me of anything,” said her mistress calmly. “Königsmarck is dead and youth is dead.”