"You are weary, pardon me for not having asked you to sit down long ago!" said the countess, making an effort to calm herself, and motioning to Ludwig Gross, in order not to leave him standing alone.
"Only a moment"--whispered Freyer, also struggling to maintain his composure, as he sank into a chair. Madeleine von Wildenau turned away, to give him time to regain his self-command. She saw his intense emotion, and might perhaps have been ashamed of her hasty act had she not known its meaning--for her feeling at that moment was too sacred for him to have misunderstood it. Nor had he failed to comprehend, but it had overpowered him.
Ludwig, who dearly perceived the situation, interposed with his usual tact to relieve their embarrassment: "Freyer is particularly exhausted to-day; he told me, on our way here, that he had again been taken from the cross senseless."
"Good Heavens, does that happen often?" asked the countess.
"Unfortunately, yes," said Ludwig in a troubled tone.
"It is terrible--your father told me that the long suspension on the cross was dangerous. Can nothing be done to relieve it?"
"Something might be accomplished," replied Ludwig, "by substituting a flat cross for the rounded one. Formerly, when we had a smooth, angular one, it did not tax his strength so much! But some authority in archæology told us that the crosses of those days were made of semi-circular logs, and this curve, over which the back is now strained, stretches the limbs too much."
"I should think so!" cried the countess in horror. "Why do you use such an instrument of torture?"
"He himself insists upon it, for the sake of historical accuracy."
"But suppose you should not recover, from one of these fainting fits?" asked the lady, reproachfully.