"Nevertheless," I said to myself, "the resemblance is there! Is it chance? Nonsense! What is chance, anyway, save that for which we fail to grasp the reason? No; there must be some other explanation of it!"
Buried in these reflections, I followed my friend Sperver, who had resumed his walk down the corridor. The portrait of Elfreda, that pure, artless face, blended in my fancy with that of the young Countess. Suddenly Gideon stopped. I looked up; we were standing before the Count's room.
"Go in, Gaston," he said; "I will see, meanwhile, if breakfast is ready, and be with you again in a minute."
I entered noiselessly, and made out, in the dim light, the broad figure of Becker, the forester, sprawled out leisurely in his armchair beside the bed and drowsing over his vigil.
The Count was sleeping quietly, with every indication that this desirable state of things would continue. Seeing no reason for remaining longer, I directed Becker to let me know at once if the master should wake, and I withdrew to the hall, where I met Sperver returning to get me.
"The Countess is waiting for you in the dining-room. She is overjoyed at the news of her father. Poor woman! It has been a hard strain upon her, for she insists on remaining close beside the Count, and her strength is not equal to the task."
"So it seemed to me," I replied; and I secretly regretted that I saw no way in which I could properly suggest to the Countess that she should share her watchfulness more with others.
We reached the dining-room. Sperver announced me and departed.
My eyes fell first upon Odile, seated at the head of the table in a high-backed oaken chair. She was dressed in a gown of gray stuff, simply fashioned, with a bodice of white velvet worked in gold. Her superb figure was perfectly set off by the almost severe outlines of the dress.
"It is she," I thought: "Hugh's first wife. There is the noble forehead; there are the long lashes, the somewhat languid bearing, and the indescribable smile."