The profound modesty of this question touched her heart with indescribable melancholy, and in overflowing gratitude for such great love, which gave all and asked nothing, she bowed her head: "Yes--I do believe it."
The duke's usual readiness of speech deserted him--he had no words to express the happiness of this moment.
What was that? Voices in the ante-room. The noise sounded like a dispute. Then some one knocked violently at the door.
"Come in!" cried the countess, with a strange thrill of fear. The footman entered hurriedly with an excited face. "A gentleman, he calls himself 'Steward Freyer,' is there, is following close at my heels--he would not be refused admittance." He pointed backward to where Freyer already appeared.
The countess seemed turned to stone. "Request the steward to wait a moment!" she said at last, with the imperiousness of the mistress.
The man stepped back, and they saw him close the door almost by force.
"Do not carry matters too far," said the duke; "he seems to be very much excited--such people should not be irritated. Admit him before he forces the door and makes a scandal in the presence of the servant. He comes just at the right time--in this mood it will be easy for you to dismiss him. So end the matter! But be calm, have no scene--shall I remain at hand?"
"No--I am not afraid--it would be ignoble to permit you to listen to him. Trust me, and leave me to my fate."
At this time the voices again grew louder, then the door was violently thrown open. Freyer stood within the room.
"What does this mean--am I assaulted in my own house?" cried the countess, rebelling against this act of violence.