Her rages were never storms, always frosts. These are the more deadly,
because they give the enraged more time. So she said very little to
her dresser. It came to this--"Ah! And where is the woman now?"
The dresser replied that when she had passed by the woman was in the
ante-chamber.
"Very well," said the Countess, "you may leave her there. Go." She
pointed to a door which led another way. The dresser felt baulked of
her just reward. But that was to come.
The Countess, still trembling from head to foot, took two or three
swift turns across the room. The few gentle lines about her face were
more like furrows; the skin was very tight over the lips and cheek-
bones. She opened the door softly. Isoult was still in the ante-
chamber, leaning over the Book of Hours, wherein she had found treated
of the 'Seven Sorrowful Mysteries.' Her short hair fell curling over
her cheeks; but she was boyish enough, to sight. The Countess went
quickly behind her, and before the girl could turn about was satisfied
of the amazing truth.
Isoult, blushing to the roots of her hair, stood up. Her troubled eyes
tried at first to meet her accuser's stony pair. They failed
miserably; almost any plight but this a girl can face. She hung her
head, waiting for the storm.
"Why are you here, woman?" came sharp as sleet.
"I came to warn my lord, madam."
"What are you to him?"
Now for it;--no, never! "I am his servant, madam."
"His servant? You would say his--" The Countess spared nothing. Isoult
began to rock. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed dry.
"Answer me, if you please," continued the Countess. "What are you to
this man?"
Isoult had no voice.
"If you do not answer me I shall treat you for what I know you are.
You know the penalty. I give you three minutes."
There was no more then from the Countess for three minutes by the
glass. The great lady stood erect, cold and white, seemingly frozen by
the frost which burns you. The only sound in the room was the sobbing
of the cowed girl, who also stood with hidden face and drooping knees,
broken with sobs, but tearless. Ah, what under heaven could she do but
as she did? Married to Prosper? How, when he had not declared it; had
received her as his servant, and treated her as a servant? How, when
she knew that the marriage of such as he to such as she was a
disablement far more serious than the relationship thrown at her by
the Countess? How, above all, when he had married her for charity,
without love and without worship, could she bring scorn upon him who
had dragged her out of scorn? Never, never! She must set her teeth
hard, bow her head, and endure. The time was up.