“Not to-night–never since by man, woman nor child–stay with me to-night.”
“Why should I stay? I want my sleep.”
“Who could sleep to-night? Hark at the rain.”
She moved to the upright press in the corner and opened the doors, showing a gulf of shadow.
As she stood there with one hand on either wing of the door, she looked like one peering with calmly curious eyes beyond the portals of the tomb.
“Why did we recall it all to-night?” whimpered Madame von Arlestein. “I have lost my needle and the thread is entangled.”
She pulled discontentedly at her sewing.
Sophia Dorothea stepped into the press and sought among the clothes.
“What are you doing?” asked Madame von Arlestein peevishly.
The Princess stepped out of the press with a dress across her arm.