'No, rudeness was out of the question--unfortunately!' replied Rüstow, in a tone of sincere regret. 'The Countess was still as pale as death and half fainting. I had received a slight memorial of the affair myself, a mere scratch on the arm, which, however, bled rather profusely; and the poor child, Hedwig, ran from one to the other, not knowing whom she should help first. In such a situation politeness comes as a thing of course. We were therefore intensely polite to each other, and intensely anxious about each other's welfare. I hoped the matter would blow over with an expression of thanks and a courteous farewell, and I was looking out, longing for the arrival of the Ettersberg carriage, when suddenly, instead of it. Count Edmund came up at a tearing gallop. From the footman's confused report he had thought that his mother was injured or half dead, and he had not waited for the carriage to be got ready, but had jumped on the first horse that came to hand and had ridden over as though his own life had been at stake. I should not have believed the young jackanapes had so much heart. He rushed into the house and into his mother's arms like a madman, and for the first moment or so he evidently saw and thought of no one but her. I must say that pleased me--pleased me much. He seems to be passionately attached to his mother.' At this point the narrator's voice softened a little. Unfortunately his cousin took it into her head to produce her handkerchief and press it to her eyes, which at once roused the Councillor to a contrary humour.