Albert sat at her side, reading
from her favorite volume. As she saw her faithful servant enter, she
uttered a loud cry and her work fell from her hands. She hastened toward
him, and with a thousand exclamations of joy and pain, she greeted him
heartily, as if he were her dear father. Albert, too, was deeply
affected.
Countess Berlow then pointed to a chair which Albert had drawn close to
the fire, and said: "My good, true friend, be seated. So we see each,
other again. Over the death of my dear husband let us draw a veil. The
memory of it is too painful for me. But tell me, how is my daughter! Did
she die, as the doctor said she might?"
Richard then explained that the doctor had diagnosed the case as more
serious than it really was, in order at that time to hurry the mother's
flight; and that Marguerite had very shortly after recovered and had
remained well ever since. The Countess was greatly pleased with this
report, and her eyes gleamed with joy.
"But," said she earnestly, and with a clouded brow, "why did you not
bring her with you? Why did you not tear her from the unhappy
fatherland where no hour of her life could be safe? How could you leave
without her--you hard, cruel man? Why did you not--" she could say no
more, for the door opened, and Marguerite rushed to her mother and
embraced and kissed her as if nothing could ever again tear them
asunder. Albert joined them and gladder tears were never shed than those
which the Countess wept in her exceeding happiness.
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