Josepha brought the lamp and enquired when the countess desired to have supper? Freyer took his hat to go.
"I shall eat nothing more to-night!" said the countess in a curt, impatient tone, and Josepha timidly withdrew.
Madeleine von Wildenau covered her face with both hands like a person who had been roused from a beautiful dream to bare reality.
"Alas--that there must be other people in the world, besides ourselves!" She sighed heavily, as if to take breath after the terrible fall. Freyer, hat in hand, approached her, calm and self-controlled. Joseph Freyer, addressing Countess Wildenau, had no remembrance of what the penitent soul had just confided to the image of the Redeemer.
"Allow me to take my leave, your Highness," he said in a gentle, but distant tone.
The countess understood the delicate modesty of this conduct. "Did your blue gentians teach this tact? It would seem that lonely pastures, whispering hazel copses, and dashing mountain streams are better educators of the heart, for those who understand their mysterious language, than many of our schools."
Freyer was silent a moment, then with eyes bent on the floor, he said: "May I ask when your Highness intends to leave to-morrow?"
"Must I go, Freyer?"
"Your Highness--"
"Here is a telegram which announces my arrival at home to-morrow. Tell me, Freyer, shall I send it?"