"Yes, certainly--I--we were speaking of it a short time ago," stammered the Countess. "Besides, I am fond of the little castle. I should not wish to sell it."
"Ah, you are fond of it. Pardon me--that is difficult to understand! I thought you set no value upon it--the whole place is so neglected."
"That is exactly what pleases me--I like to have it so," replied the Countess in an irritated tone. "It does not need to have everything in perfect order. It is a genuine forest idyl!"
"A forest idyl?" repeated the cousin. "H'm, Ah, yes! That's a different matter. Pardon me. Had I known it, I would not have alluded to the subject!" His keen gray eyes glittered with a peculiar light as he kissed her hand and took his leave.
The others thought they must now withdraw also, and the Countess detained no one--she was evidently very weary.
The prince also took leave--for the sake of etiquette--but he whispered, with an expression of friendly anxiety, "I will come back soon." And he kept his promise.
An hour had passed. Madeleine von Wildenau, her face still colorless, was reclining on a divan in a simple home costume.
Prince Emil's first glance sought the little table on which stood the crayon picture of the infant Christ--it had vanished.
The Countess followed his look and saw that he missed it--their eyes met. The prince took a chair and sat down by her side, as if she were an invalid who had just sustained a severe operation and required the utmost care. He himself was very pale. Gently arranging the pillows behind her, he gazed sympathizingly into her face.
"Why did you not tell me this before?" he murmured, almost inaudibly, after a pause. "All this should have been very differently managed!"