She made a coquettish courtesy, hustled the astonished visitors out of her studio without much ceremony, and flew, singing, down the stairs.
Julie had pursued her way with far more hesitation as soon as she reached the street. She stood still more than once, as though she were considering whether she should go on. In regard to Felix's letter to Jansen--of whose contents Irene would have to be informed in order that she might understand the flight of her lover--if she should send it to her instead of delivering it herself, would not that be more considerate? Would it not spare the poor girl the shame of looking in the face a friend who knew of her lover's sins? And yet, on the other hand, would it not be a last comfort to her to know that even those who were most directly affected by it had not withdrawn their affection from the deeply-penitent man, but would gladly have done anything to convince him of the folly of his ideas in regard to his self-imposed penance?
She felt that she ought to tell her all this immediately, and by word of mouth, hard as it would be for her.
When she reached the hotel, the scenes of the preceding day rose up so vividly before her that, fearful of meeting Nelida, she hurried up the stairs without first making any inquiries at the office. Her anxiety was superfluous. The countess had over-exerted her lame foot the day before, and lay in bed in the greatest pain.
But, upon arriving up-stairs, the baron came forward to meet her with such a woe-begone face, that she was greatly frightened.
"I hope not," answered the old gentleman, grasping her hand, and evidently breathing more freely, as if a guardian angel had at length appeared to him. "At least, she was in such excellent health two hours ago that, in spite of the bad weather, she suddenly made up her mind to start off over the Brenner pass, accompanied only by her maid."
"My dear Fräulein, you at all events come early enough to bring comfort and aid to an old man. You see before you one who has had unexampled ill-luck in his experience of paternal joys. My own daughter slams the door in my face, and my other, my adopted daughter, who ought at least to honor me as her educator and natural protector, runs away from me. It comes all in a heap, to turn my hair gray before its time!"