“She silenced me sharply, and it was plain to me that my style of speaking was such as she did not care her servants to hear.
“‘Come,’ she said, ‘we will talk of this another time. I must be at the theatre again in an hour, and I have much to say to you. It was well with them at Jézero when you left?’
“‘Certainly, it was well with them—as well as it may be in that gloomy place. Dio mio, who would live in such a barn when he might come to this city? I tell you that the very paper hangs in strips upon the walls. You remember what was being done when you went away? Per Baccho, they made a pretty job of it, for the Count came home next day and sent the lot of them about their business. Certainly, that man is fortunate who has no need to live at Jézero!’
“My object in saying this was, if possible, to take her thoughts from that which I saw still troubled her so deeply. But the more I talked, the readier was she to listen, and the questions she put to me were not to be numbered. ‘It may be as you say,’ she said, ‘but Jézero will always be very dear to me, Andrea. I could willingly have lived my life there; yet that was not to be. Tell me, does Count Paul ever speak of coming to Vienna?’
“‘I have heard nothing of it,’ said I.
“‘I am glad of that,’ she answered, though there were tears in her eyes when she said it. ‘My husband would kill him if he came here!’
“‘Your husband!’ cried I; ‘Santa Maria, I had forgotten him. Yet what talk! He has not the courage to lift his hand against a dog. Is he in Vienna now?’
“‘He is at Buda,’ she said, turning from the subject.
“‘Christine,’ said I, understanding much from her silence, ‘you have suffered at his hands?’
“‘If I had done so,’ she replied, ‘should I speak of it to you?’