Gretchen felt it; she would wait like that the whole night immovably. Princess Tryphosa's patience filled her with a blank hopelessness. It was strange that, after all her agonies of to-day, she should not grasp at the promise as a heaven-sent means of escape; and yet it was not so very strange either, for the mystery of a woman's heart is the only labyrinth to which no clue has been invented, nor ever will be found. Gretchen had much obstinacy, and she felt she would do a great deal rather than be forced into a promise; but her obstinacy beside that of the Princess was like the resistance of a prickly hedge beside that of a wall of granite blocks. One of the two must break the silence, and she knew that Princess Tryphosa would not do so.
Gretchen removed her hands and made one more attempt.
"It is no use asking me to promise," she said. "If it is true that Baron Tolnay has sworn that he will marry you, then why do you not appeal straight to him?"
"Do you think that I have not appealed to him?" said Tryphosa, with a sort of bitter frankness. I sent him word that he was to come to me to-day, and he has not come. I asked for five minutes' interview; he has taken no notice. I begged for one sign from him; he has given me none. That is the way he spurns me now."
The words might have sounded like abject humility, but for the sullen pride with which the admission was made.
Gretchen stood uncertain, wondering how it was to end. She felt that Tryphosa was reading her face again, with that searching look. The fan had stopped moving; a new thought was dawning in Tryphosa's mind. After a little it reached the surface. Gretchen saw the light in her eyes before she was surprised by the unexpected question.
"Tell me this: do you love István Tolnay?"
The fixed stare was hard to stand, but Gretchen would not drop her eyes. She gazed back steadily, though she felt the colour ebbing from her cheek. That question at least she had a right not to answer: she stood and stared back at her questioner.
Tryphosa raised the fan to her lips, and with her teeth slowly dragged out one of the scarlet feathers of the edge. It was the only sign she gave of the suspense which was devouring her; but it told more than sighs and tears could have told. The way in which it was done made Gretchen shudder, and look back from the Princess to the enamelled sheath on the table. Yes, that woman was quite capable of a heroic crime.
"I see," said the Princess, after a long pause – "I see; of course you love him. It could not be otherwise."
A sudden revulsion of feeling came over Gretchen; every pulse throbbed tumultously – she seemed to lose sight and hearing.
"No, I do not love him!" she cried passionately, thrown off her guard for the moment. "I do not love Baron Tolnay. I swear that he is nothing to me!" And then the mist seemed to clear from her eyes, and she saw Tryphosa bending forward, with the red feather still held bitten between her teeth.
There was no triumph in her eyes: wide-open and dull, they were fixed full on Gretchen's face. It was impossible to read whether displeasure or satisfaction lay underneath that dull surface. Perhaps she was enraged, perhaps she felt victorious; but there was nothing in her eyes as yet. She
