The old soldier, composing himself by an effort, returned to the bedroom. Zinka was standing very humbly at the foot of the bed, pale and tearless, but trembling from head to foot. The baroness was pacing the room and sobbing violently, wringing her hands and pushing her hair back from her temples. Of course she flew at the general with questions as to the surgeon's prognosis. His evasive answers were enough to fill her with unreasonable hope and to revive the worldly instincts which her terrors had for a moment cast into the background.
"Yes, yes, he will pass a quiet night," she whimpered; "he will get well again--it would have been too bad with such a brilliant career before him;--but this is an end to Constantinople ..."
Zinka, on the contrary, had turned still paler at the general's report but she said nothing.
That there had been a duel she and her mother had of course understood. What did she infer from that? What did she think--what did she feel? She herself never rightly knew; in her soul all was dark--in her heart all was cold. Her whole being was concentrated in horror.
After much and urgent persuasion the general succeeded in inducing the baroness to leave the room and to lie down for a time, "to spare herself for her son's sake."
She had hardly closed the door when the servant came quietly in and said that Count Truyn had come. Zinka looked up.
"Shall I let him come in?" asked the general. Zinka nodded.
Siegburg had told him, and though it was now eleven Truyn had hurried off to the palazetto. He came into the room without speaking and straight up to Zinka. The simple feeling with which he took her hands in both his, the deep and tender sorrow at being unable to help or to reassure her that spoke in his eyes comforted and warmed her heart; the frozen horror that had held her in its clasp seemed to thaw; tears started to her eyes, a tremulous sob died on her lips; then, controlling herself with great difficulty, she murmured intelligibly: "There is no hope--no hope!"
His mother's loud lamentations had not roused the wounded man but the first sound from Zinka recalled him to consciousness; he began to move uneasily and opened his sunken eyes. The whites shone dimly, like polished silver, as he fixed them on his sister's face; from thence they wandered to a blood-stained handkerchief that had been forgotten, and then to the general. Slowly and painfully he seemed to comprehend the situation. He struggled for breath, with an impatient movement of his hands and shoulders, and then shivered as with a spasm. He was conscious now, and sighed deeply.
The first thing that occurred to him was his official duty: