In the ante-room a servant had received them with a sorrowful look, and had replied almost weeping to Herr von Stielow's hasty question,

"Ah! my G.o.d! Herr Baron, it is terrible, the poor countess is dreadfully bad, they have sent for the father-confessor, and also for you, sir:" and he then hastened away to let the countess know of Stielow's arrival.

He walked up and down the room with large strides, grief and despair upon his face.

The count stood calm and motionless, his hand supported on the back of a chair.

After a few moments Countess Frankenstein appeared, she was pale and exhausted, her eyes wearied with watching and red with weeping.

She glanced with surprise at the count, whom she had seen once or twice in society, and whose presence at that moment was inexplicable to her.

Stielow hastened up to her, seized her hand impatiently, and exclaimed in a trembling voice,

"For G.o.d's sake! how is she? How is Clara?"

"Compose yourself, my dear Stielow," said the countess calmly, though with a slight sob in her voice, "the hand of the Lord has smitten us heavily; if He does not work a miracle, we must lose her!"

And she broke down and wept quietly.

"But my G.o.d! how can it be? what did the doctor say?" cried the young man, with a look of bewildered horror. "What is this wound?"

"Clara must have touched some dead soldier, the poison from some deadly wound has got into her blood, there is scarcely a hope of saving her,"

she said in a low voice.

"I must go to her, I must see her!" cried von Stielow wildly.

"Her confessor is with her," said the countess, "telling her of comfort and resignation; let her first be reconciled to G.o.d!"

And raising her head, she regained her composure with a violent effort, and cast an inquiring look at the count, who stood by in silence. His eyes had flashed with anger when the countess had explained the medical opinion of the nature of Clara's illness, but he had then raised them in joyful thankfulness to heaven.

As the looks of the countess rested upon him he came forward with the self-possession of a man of the world, and after bowing slightly he said:--

"You will recollect me, countess, though I have only had the honour of meeting you once or twice. I think Herr von Stielow will permit me to call myself his friend; he told me of the alarming illness that has attacked the young countess, and I offered to use the medical knowledge I acquired in earlier years on her behalf, before I knew the nature of her injury. I have now heard the dreadful danger she is in, and if you can trust me so far, I beg your permission to apply a remedy which I promise shall, G.o.d willing, be successful."

The countess listened in the greatest surprise.

"You, count, a physician?" she enquired.

"A physician from inclination," he replied, "but not a worse one than many who make it their profession."

The countess looked at him and hesitated.

"I implore you, for G.o.d's sake, let the count make the attempt," cried von Stielow, "we must accept any help,--my G.o.d, my G.o.d, I cannot lose her!"

"Count," said the Countess Frankenstein, "I thank you from my heart for your sympathy and your offer. Forgive me if I consider it," she added with hesitation, "the life of my child--"

"Consideration and hesitation may be fatal," said the count quietly.

The countess looked down thoughtfully, von Stielow's eyes hung on her face with an expression of deadly anguish.

The door leading to the inner apartments opened and Father Ignatius, the confessor to the countess and her daughter, entered.

He wore the black dress of a priest, his manner was simple, graceful, and dignified, his pale and regular features, surrounded by short black hair, expressed spiritual repose, firmness, and great self-knowledge, his dark eyes looked full of intelligence beneath the strongly marked eyebrows.

"The countess is resigned to G.o.d's will, and desirous of receiving the holy sacrament, that she may be prepared, should it please G.o.d not to hear our prayers for her recovery," he said slowly in a low and impressive voice.

"Oh! my G.o.d! my G.o.d!" cried von Stielow, in despair, "I conjure you, countess, seize on the means that heaven has sent you!"

"Count Rivero," said Countess Frankenstein, indicating the count to her confessor, "offers to save my daughter by means of a remedy which his study of medicine has caused him to discover; you will understand--I beg your forgiveness, count--that I must act cautiously where the life of my child is at stake. I expect the doctor every moment, Oppolzer too will come again,--he has indeed little hope."

Father Ignatius cast a quick searching glance at the count, who replied to it with a look of calm dignity, almost of proud superiority.

"It is certainly a grave and difficult question," said the father hesitatingly.

"Every moment makes recovery more doubtful," cried the count with some vehemence. "I believe," he then continued calmly, "that the father will be of my opinion, that in this unusual and extreme case we must try everything, and place confidence in most unusual means."

As he spoke he looked firmly at the confessor, and raising his hand slightly he made the sign of the cross in a peculiar way, over his brow and his breast.

Amazed, almost alarmed, the father gazed at him, and casting down his eyes before the count's large, brilliant orbs, he said:

"It would be sinning against Providence if we did not thankfully seize on the means which G.o.d has so visibly sent us in our urgent need. Your conscience will reproach you, countess, if you do not accept the help now offered."

Countess Frankenstein looked at the priest with some surprise.

"Come then," she said, turning to Count Rivero, after a moment's silence.

And they all went to the apartments of the young countess. The flowers still bloomed in her room, the crucifix stood in the niche, and at its feet lay the case which held the withered rose.

The portiere that divided this room from her bedroom was drawn back. It was a s.p.a.cious apartment hung entirely with grey silk even to the curtains of the bed, upon which lay the countess in a white neglige, supported by pillows. The sleeve of her right arm was thrown back, and the dreadfully inflamed arm was covered with a wet compress, which a maid who sat near the bed moistened constantly with some strongly smelling fluid from a medicine bottle.

Clara's face was much flushed, her eyes had the brilliance of fever, but they looked calmly resigned, as her friends entered with their sorrowful faces.

As soon as he saw the poor suffering girl, von Stielow rushed past the others, and falling on his knees beside the bed and folding his hands, cried in a stifled voice, "Clara, my Clara!"

"My own friend," she said gently, and stretched out her soft left hand towards him, "how beautiful life is, how sad to think of the death that is so near me,--G.o.d will be gracious, He will not part us!"

Stielow bent his head down upon her hand, and touched it lightly with his lips. He could not say a word. Only a deep sob broke from him.

Count Rivero approached the bed with a quick step and a commanding movement.

"Hope! countess," he said in a firm, clear voice, "G.o.d will bless my hand! And now, baron, give up your place to me, moments are precious!"

He slightly touched the shoulder of the young man as he knelt.

He rose hastily and stepped aside.

The count removed the compress, and calmly examined the wound. It was much swollen, of a bluish colour, and long streaks of inflammation extended to the shoulder.

All eyes rested on the count's face with the most earnest anxiety; he looked at the wound attentively and lightly followed the swelling with his finger. Clara gazed with surprise mingled with hopeful confidence, at this man who was quite unknown to her, but who stood so quietly beside her and who had so confidently said to her, "hope!"