Chapter Two.
Her Imperial Highness.
Whatever passed between the Emperor and his niece, whether she confessed the truth or defied him, one fact was plain—she had been moved to bitter tears.
When, half an hour later, she went back through those long corridors, her rich train sweeping over the red carpets, her white-gloved hands were clenched, her teeth set hard, her eyes red, her countenance changed. Her face was changed; it was that of a woman heart-broken and desperate.
She did not return to the ballroom, but descended to the courtyard, where one of the Imperial servants called her carriage, and she returned alone to her father’s splendid palace in the Parkring.
Ascending straight to her room, she dismissed the Countess de Trauttenberg, her lady-in-waiting, and Henriette, her French maid; and then locking the door, she tore off her tiara and her jewels and sank upon her knees upon the old carved prie-dieu before the ivory crucifix placed opposite her bed.
Her hands were clasped, her fair head bent, her sweet lips moved in fervent prayer, her eyes the while streaming with tears. Plunged in grief and unhappiness, she besought the Almighty to aid and counsel her in the difficult situation in which she now found herself.
“Help me, my Father!” she sobbed aloud. “Have mercy upon me—mercy upon a humble woman who craves Thy protection and direction.” And her clasped hands trembled in the fervency of her appeal.