She hired them for an indefinite time, and quickly made an agreement with the elderly woman to whom they belonged. There was a little kitchen also, and the woman was willing to do the cooking. So for the next few days at least she had a comfortable home, and now would to Heaven that she might not occupy it in despair.
"Well, now Your Highness is nicely settled," said old Martin, when the housewife opened the shutters, and he glanced down from his box into the pretty room: "I should like such a little home myself."
The countess ordered the luggage to be brought in.
"Where shall I put up, Your Highness?"
"Go to the old post-house, Martin!"
"Shan't I take you to the Passion Theatre?"
"No, you heard that I must walk there." Martin shook his head--this seemed to him almost too humiliating to his proud mistress. But he did not venture to make any comment, and drove off, pondering over his own thoughts.
It was nine o'clock. Three hours before the long intermission. What might not happen during that time? Could she wait, would not anxiety kill her or rob her of her senses? But nothing could be done, she must wait. She could not hasten the hour on which depended life and death, deliverance or doom.--The nocturnal ride, the fright occasioned by the fiery horses which had upset the carriage and forced her to walk to the next relay and thus lose a precious hour, her agitation beside her father's sick bed, now asserted themselves, and she lay down on one of the neat white beds in the room and used the time to rest and recover her strength a little. She was only a feeble woman, and the valiant spirit which had so long created its own law and battled for it, was too powerful for a woman's feeble frame. It was fortunate that she was compelled to take this rest, or she would have succumbed. A restless slumber took possession of her at intervals, from which she started to look at the clock and mournfully convince herself that not more than five minutes had elapsed.
The old woman brought in a cup of coffee, which she pressed upon her. No food had passed her lips since the day before, and the warm drink somewhat revived her. But the rapid throbbing of her heart soon prevented her remaining in bed, and rising, she busied herself a little in unpacking--the first time in her life that she had ever performed such work. She remembered how she had wept ten years ago in the Gross house, because she was left without a maid.
At last the time of torture was over. The clock struck quarter to twelve. She put on her hat, though it was still far too early, but she could not bear to stay in the room. She wished at least to be near the theatre. When she reached the door her breath failed, and she was obliged to stop and calm herself. Then, summoning all her courage, she raised her eyes to Heaven, and murmuring: "In God's name," went to meet the terrible uncertainty.