Freyer stood trembling from head to foot; they could hear his teeth chatter: "I merely wished to ask whether it was the Countess Wildenau's desire that I should be insulted by her servant."
"Certainly not!" replied the countess with dignity. "If my servant insulted you, you shall have satisfaction--only I wish you had asked it in a less unseemly way."
The duke quietly took his hat and kissed the countess' hand: "Restez calme!" Then he passed out, saluting Freyer with that aristocratic courtesy which at once irritates and disarms.
Freyer stepped close to the countess, his eyes wandered restlessly, his whole appearance was startling: "Everything in the world has its limit, even patience--mine is exhausted. Tell me, are you my wife--you who stand here in this gay masquerade of laces and pearls--are you the mourning mother of a dead child? Is this my wife who decks herself for another, shuts herself up with another, or at least gives orders not to be disturbed--who has her lackeys keep her wedded husband at bay outside with blows--and deems it unseemly if the last remnant of manly dignity in his soul rebels and he demands satisfaction from his wife. Where is the man, I ask, who would not be frenzied? Where is the woman, I ask, who once loved me? Is it you, who desert, betray, make me contemptible to myself and others? Where--where--in the wide world is there a man so deceived, so trampled under foot, as I am by you? Have you any answer to this, woman?"
The countess turned deadly pale, terror almost stifled her. For the first time, she beheld the Gorgon, popular fury, in his face and while turning to stone the thought came to her: "Would you live with that?" Horror stole over her--she did not know whether her feeling was fear or loathing, she only knew that she must fly from the "turbid waves" ever rolling nearer.
There is no armor more impenetrable than the coldness of a dead feeling. Madeleine von Wildenau armed herself with it. "Tell me, if you please, how you came here, what you desire, and what put you into such excitement."
"What--merciful Heaven, do you still ask? I came here to learn where you were now, to what address I could write, as you made no reply to my announcement of Josepha's death--and I wished to say that I could no longer endure this life! While talking with the servant at the door, old Martin passed and told me that you were here. I wanted to say one last word to you--I went upstairs, found the footman, and asked, entreated him to announce me, or at least to inquire when I could speak to you! You had a visitor and could not be disturbed, was his scornful answer. Then the consciousness of my just rights awoke within me, and I commanded him to announce me. You refused to receive me: 'I must wait'--I--must wait in the ante-room while you, as I saw through the half-opened door, were whispering familiarly with you former suitor! Then I forgot everything and approached the door--the servant tried to prevent me, I flung him aside, and then--he dealt me a blow in the face--that face which you had once likened to the countenance of your God--he, your servant. If I had not had sufficient self-control at the moment to say to myself that the lackey was only your tool--I should have torn him to pieces with my own hands, as I should now tear you, if you were not a woman and sacred to me, even in your sin."
"I sincerely regret what has happened and do not blame you for making me--at least indirectly responsible. I will dismiss the servant, of course--although he has the excuse that you provoked him, and that he did not know you."
"Yes, he certainly cannot know me, when I am never permitted to appear."
"No matter, he should not venture to treat even a stranger so, and therefore must be punished with dismissal."