'And Count Leuchtenstein is on the stairs,' I said.
The colour swept back into the Countess's face in a flood and covered it from brow to neck. For a moment, taken by surprise, she forgot her pride and looked at us shyly, timidly. 'Where--where did you recover it?' she murmured.
'The Waldgrave recovered it,' I answered hurriedly, 'and sent it to your excellency, that you might give it to Count Leuchtenstein.'
'The Waldgrave!' she cried.
'Yes, my lady, with that message,' I answered strenuously.
The Countess looked to Marie for help. I could hear steps on the stairs--at the door; and I suppose that the two women settled it with their eyes. For no words passed, but in a twinkling Marie snatched the child, which was just beginning to cry, from the Countess and ran away with it through an inner door. As that door fell to, the other opened, and Ernst announced Count Leuchtenstein.
He came in, looking embarrassed, and a little stiff. His buff coat showed marks of the corselet--he had not changed it--and his boots were dusty. It seemed to me that he brought in a faint reek of powder with him, but I forgot this the next moment in the look of melancholy kindness I espied in his eyes--a look that enabled me for the first time to see him as my lady saw him.
She met him very quietly, with a heightened colour, but the most perfect self-possession. I marvelled to see how in a moment she was herself again.
'I rejoice to see you safe, Count Leuchtenstein,' she said. 'I heard early this morning that you were unhurt.'
'Yes,' he answered. 'I have not a scratch, where so many younger men have fallen.'