" The Countess preserves her
impenetrable composure; nothing in her betrays the deadly hatred
with which she regards the titled ruffian who has insulted her.
"You are master in this house, my Lord," is all she says. "Do as
you please."
'My Lord looks at his wife; looks at the Baron--and suddenly alters
his tone. Does he perceive in the composure of the Countess and her
brother something lurking under the surface that threatens him?
This is at least certain, he makes a clumsy apology for the language
that he has used. (Abject wretch!)
'My Lord's excuses are interrupted by the return of the Courier
with the lemons and hot water.
'The Countess observes for the first time that the man looks ill.
His hands tremble as he places the tray on the table. My Lord orders
his Courier to follow him, and make the lemonade in the bedroom.
The Countess remarks that the Courier seems hardly capable of obeying
his orders. Hearing this, the man admits that he is ill. He, too,
is suffering from a cold; he has been kept waiting in a draught
at the shop where he bought the lemons; he feels alternately hot
and cold, and he begs permission to lie down for a little while on
his bed.
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