[THE HOUSE IN THE CHURCHYARD.]
The heat which Count Leuchtenstein had thrown into the matter surprised me somewhat when I came to think of it, but I was soon to be more surprised. I did not go to my lady at once on coming in, for on the landing the sound of voices and laughter met me, and I learned that there were still two or three young officers sitting with her who had outstayed Count Hugo. I waited until they were gone--clanking and jingling down the stairs; and then, about the hour at which I usually went to take orders before retiring, I knocked at the door.
Commonly one of the women opened to me. To-night the door remained closed. I waited, knocked again, and then went in. I could see no one, but the lamps were flickering, and I saw that the window was open.
At that moment, while I stood uncertain, she came in through it; and blinded, I suppose, by the lights, did not see me. For at the first chair she reached just within the window, she sat down suddenly and burst into tears!
'Mein Gott!' I cried clumsily. I should have known better; but the laughter of the young fellows as they trooped down the stairs was still in my ears, and I was dumfounded.
She sprang up on the instant, and glared at me through her tears. 'Who are--how dare you? How dare you come into the room without knocking?' she cried violently.
'I did knock, my lady,' I stammered, 'asking your pardon.'
'Then now go! Go out, do you hear?' she cried, stamping her foot with passion. 'I want nothing. Go!'
I turned and crept towards the door like a beaten hound. But I was not to go; when my hand was on the latch, her mood changed.
'No, stay,' she said in a different tone. 'You may come back. After all, Martin, I had rather it was you than any one else.'