"Do you know what people said after that duel, when he shot Herr von Rhaden dead?" "No," she murmured. "They said that he and Felicitas were in love with each other, and that Rhaden found it out. Good Heavens! What is the matter?" Hertha, with parted lips and dilated eyes, had raised her hands as if to ward off the blow that was about to fall on her. "For goodness' sake, calm yourself!" cried Meta, stroking her face with both hands. "It was only gossip. Of course, it's not true, and no one believes it now." "Why is it not true?" "Because, if it were, Ulrich Kletzingk, who is his bosom friend and knows all about him, would not have married her." "But if he hadn't known?" "Then Leo would have confessed it to him before the marriage." "But, suppose he had not confessed?" "He would have been absolutely obliged to do it. If he hadn't, Leo would have behaved shabbily to his friend." Hertha scarcely comprehended, but one thing was clear, and flamed like a torch of certainty through all this night of riddles: "They had been in love ... they loved each other still ... they would always love each other." After this, she was indifferent to what she and Meta talked about. A yellow mist lay before her eyes, and Meta's voice sounded as if it came from a long way off, and fell on her ear without meaning. She answered, not knowing what she answered. "How shall I get away?" she kept asking herself, and thought with horror of the time, that for decency's sake she must still stay. But her deliverance was nearer than she expected, although the manner in which it was effected filled her with new terror. Meta, in the middle of her chatter, turned suddenly pale, gasped for breath, and then tumbled off her chair in a dead faint. Hertha rushed to her with a cry of alarm, seized the water-jug, and poured a stream of water on her face. Meta made a low gurgling sound, breathed heavily through her nose, and then came to herself again. "Lord have mercy!" cried Hertha, kissing the wet forehead of the reviving girl. "I will go and tell them to send for the doctor at once." But her friend stopped her. "No, don't go," she said, calmly raising herself. "You can't understand, but it must happen." "To be married is like being in another world," thought Hertha, startled, "where fainting dead away is quite an everyday event." Then she reflected how gladly she would have fainted a hundred times a day for the sake of one who despised and spurned her. "I will go home at once; you ought to rest," she murmured, controlling her excitement with difficulty, and her friend did not press her to stay. An hour later, when she appeared in the living-room at Halewitz, grandmamma exclaimed, horrified-- "What is the matter with you, child? You are as pale as death." "Oh, it's nothing, grandmamma," she replied, and tried to laugh. "I have been such a goose as to powder myself." XXIV