The footman immediately appeared. "Lüdecke, call Friedrich to help you take down that picture."
"Friedrich has gone to the station, your Excellency," Lüdecke permitted himself to remark.
"Yes, of course everything is topsy-turvy; nothing is as it has been used to be. 'Coming events cast their shadows before.' It will always be so now," sighed the Countess.
"I will help you take down the picture, Lüdecke," Herr von Sydow said, quietly, and before the Countess could look around there was nothing save a broad expanse of light cretonne and two hooks upon the wall where the Böcklin had hung.
Lüdecke's strength sufficed to carry the picture from the room.
"Bring in tea," the Countess called after him. "You will take a cup of tea with me, Goswyn?"
"Are you not going to wait for the young Countess?" Sydow asked, rather timidly.
"Oh, she will not be here before midnight. I don't know why Friedrich has gone at this hour to the station; probably he is in love with the young person at the railway restaurant; else I cannot understand his hurry. However, I thank you for your admonition."
"But, my dear Countess----" exclaimed the young man.
"No need to excuse yourself," she cut short what he was about to say. "I am not displeased: you have never displeased me, except by not having arranged matters so as to come into the world as my son. Moreover, I should seriously regret the loss of your good opinion. Pray forgive me for not driving myself to the railway station to meet my grand-daughter and to edify the officials with a touching and effective scene. Consider, this is my last comfortable evening."