The coachman, as if reading the mute language of her features and the bitter expression of her compressed lips, asked timidly: "I suppose Your Highness will not drive to the Griess."
"No!" she said, so curtly and hastily that it cut short any farther words.
For the first time a shadow flitted over honest Martin's face. Sadly, almost reproachfully, he wished his beloved mistress "a good night's rest," and stumbled wearily out. It had hurt him,--but "the last thing he had discovered," he did not venture, out of respect to his employer, to express even to himself.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
BETWEEN POVERTY AND DISGRACE
Three weary days had passed. The countess was ill. At least she permitted her household to believe that she was unable to leave her room. No one was allowed to know that she had returned, and the windows of the Wildenau Palace remained closed, as when the owner was absent Thus condemned to total inactivity in the twilight of her apartments, she became the helpless prey of her gnawing anxiety. The third day brought a glimmer of hope, a telegram from the duke: "I will come at six this evening."
The countess trembled and turned pale as she read the lines. What was to be done now? She did not know, she only felt that the turning-point of her life had come.
"The Duke of Metten-Barnheim will call this evening and must be admitted, but no one else!" were the orders given to the servant.
Then, to pass away the time, she changed her dress. If she was to be poor and miserable, to possess nothing she formerly owned; she would at least be beautiful, beautiful as the setting sun which irradiates everything with rosy light.
And with the true feminine vanity which coquets with death and finds a consolation in being beautiful even in the coffin, she chose for the momentous consultation impending one of the most bewitching negligeé costumes in her rich wardrobe. Ample folds of rose-colored crêpe de chine were draped over an under-dress of pink plush, which reflected a thousand shades from the deepest rose to the palest flesh color, the whole drapery loosely caught with single grey pearls. How long would she probably possess such garments? She perhaps wore it to-day for the last time. Her trembling hand was icy cold, as she wound a pink ribbon through her curls and fastened it with a pearl clasp.