"I am so glad," Erika replied, stroking the thin hand held out to her. "I will come often, since you really like to have me."
"One never ought to despair, while life lasts," said the sick woman. "Just now I received a letter from an old school-mate, Sophy Lange. When she was a poor girl she fell in love with a gentleman. Of course their union was not to be thought of. Now, after many years, she writes me that she has reached the goal of her desires: she is married,--she is his wife,--and she is almost crazy with delight."
"Sophy Lange!" Erika cried, with peculiar interest. "That was the name of our governess. She must be forty years old."
"About that," the woman replied, smiling to herself. "A truly loving heart keeps young even at forty years of age."
"And what is her husband's name?" asked Erika, smitten by a strange suspicion.
"Baron Strachinsky," replied Fräulein Horst. "He is of ancient Polish lineage, not very wealthy, but dear Sophy does not mind that, for a rich old gentleman whom she took care of during his ten-years' illness has left her all his property."
"And she is happy?" Erika asked, in a kind of terror.
"Oh, how happy! I am so glad!--so glad! A little romance is so refreshing in these prosaic days. They met each other again on the Rigi, at sunrise,--just think, Countess! and Sophy is not at all pretty,--only dear and kind. Now they are in Naples; but she tells me that in the course of the spring she and her husband may come to Venice. She has had a hard life, but at last--at last--it is good to hear of so happy an end to her troubles."
At this point an attack of coughing interrupted her. Ah, how terrible it was! The handkerchief she held to her lips was crimsoned. Erika did all that she could for her, supported her in her arms, and bade her take courage. When the invalid was more comfortable, she left her, promising to come again on the morrow.
"God bless you, Countess!" the poor woman murmured, faintly.