Alas, the joy soon melted into yearning. "Oh, that my dear, true husband
still lived," said the Countess, as she looked to heaven, "for then my
measure of joy would be full. Now, my dear children, you are poor and
fatherless. The sight of you fills the heart of your oppressed mother
with pain. For what can I, a poor, lonely widow, do for you?"
Then Richard interrupted the conversation with the glad news of the
Count's rescue. The Countess proved herself more self-controlled than
Richard had anticipated, for the great joy of having seen her true
servant, the greater joy of again clasping her daughter in her arms was
for this woman the preparation for the greatest of joys--the joy of
again seeing the husband whom she had mourned as dead.
The Count had long stood, with palpitating heart, waiting before the
door of the hut, where each word had fallen distinctly on his ear.
Richard's last words had scarcely been uttered when the Countess cried:
"He lives; he has been saved from the hands of his oppressors." The
Count then opened the door, and overcome with emotion, fell at the feet
of the Countess.
Timid and fearful, as if she half doubted that he really lived, she
gazed at him long and steadily as the light of the fire irradiated his
face. She could scarcely express her rapture. Then after a long pause
she said: "Oh, the joy of again seeing my loved ones for whom I have
wept so long!"
Father and mother, son and daughter, and faithful servant spent a
peaceful, joyous evening in the little, lowly hut.
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