That one word in the stiff hand of the faithful old servant, which looked as if it might have been scrawled with a match upon paper redolent of the odors of the stable, had so startled the countess that she left Cannes by the first train, and traveled day and night to reach home. A nervous restlessness made the sheet tremble in her hand as she thrust it into the flames. Then she paced restlessly to and fro. Martin was keeping her waiting so long.
A little supper had been hurriedly prepared and was now served. But the countess scarcely touched the food and, complaining that the dining-room was cold, crept back to her boudoir. At last, about half past nine, Martin was announced. He had gone to bed and they had been obliged to rouse him.
"Is Your Highness going out?" asked the footman, who could not understand the summons to Martin.
"If I am, you will receive orders for the carriage," replied his mistress, and a flash from her eyes silenced the servant. "Let Martin come in!" she added in a harsh, imperious tone.
The man opened the door.
"You are dismissed for to-night. The lights can be put out," she added.
Martin stood, hat in hand, awaiting his mistress' commands. A few minutes passed, then the countess noiselessly went to the door to see that the adjoining rooms were empty and that no one was listening. When she returned she drew the heavy curtains over the door to deaden every sound. Then her self-control gave way and rushing to the old coachman she grasped his hand. "Martin, for Heaven's sake, what has happened?"
Tears glittered in Martin's eyes, as he saw his mistress' alarm, and he took her trembling hands as gently as if they were the reins of a fiery blooded horse, on which a curb has been placed for the first time. "Ho--ho--dear Countess, only keep quiet, quiet," he said in the soothing tones used to his frightened steeds: "All is not lost! I didn't let myself be caught, and there's no proof of what Josepha blabbed."
"So they tried to catch you? Tell me"--she was trembling--"how did they come to you?"
"Well," said Martin clumsily, "this is how it was. They seem to have driven Josepha into a corner. At her funeral the cook told me that just before she died, two strangers came to the house and had a long conversation with the sick woman. When the hare she was ordered to cook was done, she carried it up. But the people in the room were talking so loud that she didn't dare go in and stood at the door listening. Something was said about the countess' favor and a crime, and Josepha was terribly excited. Suddenly she heard nothing more, Josepha stammered a few unintelligible words, and the gentlemen came out with faces as red as fire. They left the hare in the lurch--and off they went. Josepha died the same night. Then I thought they might be the Barons von Wildenau, because their coachman had often tried to pump me about our countess, and I said to myself, 'now I'll do the same to him.' And sure enough I found out that the gentlemen had gone away, and where? To Prankenberg!"