The ball was to take place in the large room of the chief inn of the place, and the baroness, on entering it, was surrounded by a crowd of admirers. The young wife felt that she was being made much of. She felt in the midst of all this homage and devotion as if she had been lifted up to Heaven, and her heart was full of gratitude. If he be here (and he must be here somewhere, hiding in the crowd, no doubt, in order not to excite attention) then he will be able to see from his hiding-place how pale the face of his old love is from sorrow—and yet how radiant because of the honour now shown to her.
But Szilard did not see her face at that moment. He was far away, never dreaming that anybody still thought of him. A surprise of quite another sort awaited Henrietta.
After she had twice walked round the room—there was a pause just then between two dances—she perceived sitting on a corner seat the old lady already alluded to, whose head and hands were always shaking so, and hastened up to her as to an old acquaintance.
The old pastor's wife, perceiving Henrietta, rose at first from her seat in order to meet her half way, but the next moment she fell back horror-stricken, at the same time stretching out both hands in front of her with widely-outspread fingers as if to ward her off. Henrietta, unable to explain this odd gesture, remained rooted to the spot with astonishment.
The old lady, still continuing to stretch out her trembling hands, now advanced towards her with tottering footsteps indeed, yet with flaming eyes. Everyone regarded the two women with amazement. There was a dead silence, and in the midst of this astonishment, in the midst of this silence, the old woman shrieked with a voice full of horror that turned everybody's blood cold: "Madame!—those jewels—on your neck—that black butterfly—'tis the very same—which on that fearful night—that accursed Fatia Negra—tore from my neck—those black earrings which he tore from my ears—one eye of the butterfly is a blue diamond!"
Henrietta felt as if the floor were slipping away from beneath her feet. She was wearing stolen jewels on her neck, and their former owner had recognized them!
She heard a hissing and a murmuring all around her. She gazed about her, possibly for a protector, and she perceived that she was standing alone in the midst of the room and that everyone recoiled from her, even her companion, and all eyes were fixed upon her. She had a feeling of being branded with red-hot irons as she stood there, dishonoured and unprotected in the midst of so many strangers, and over against her a terrible accuser who had the horrible right to ask her: "Madame, where did you get those stolen jewels?"—and she had nought to say to such a question.
At that moment a manly voice, which she at once recognized, rang out close beside her.
"Madame, give me your arm!—I bought those jewels for you at Paris. I will be responsible for them."
It was her husband. And with that, he strode up to his wife, seized her hand and, casting a glance at the surrounding throng, cried in a threatening voice to those closest to him: "Whoever dares to cast a disrespectful glance upon my wife, will have to reckon with me. Make room there!"