Like Cinderella, she sometimes disappeared from joyous
things at midnight; the next heard of her, she was in Vienna, or at
Schloss Marlanx.
If the Duke of Perse repented of his bargain in giving his daughter to
the Iron Count, he was never known to intimate as much. He loved
Ingomede in his own, hard way. No doubt he was sorry for her. It is a
fact that she was sorry for him. She could read his bitter thoughts more
clearly than he suspected.
Of late she came more frequently to Edelweiss than before. She was seen
often at the Castle; no court function was complete without the presence
of this lovely noblewoman; no _salon_ worth while unless graced by her
wit and her beauty.
John Tullis was always to remember the moment when he looked upon this
exquisite creature for the first time. That was months ago. After that
he never ceased being a secret, silent worshipper at her transient
shrine.
Ten o'clock on this rainy night: A carriage has drawn up before the
lower gates to the Perse grounds, and a tall, shadowy figure leaves it
to hurry through the shrub lined walks to the massive doors. A watchman
in the garden salutes him. The tall figure dips his umbrella in
response, characteristically laconic. A footman lifts his hand to his
forelock at the top of the steps and throws open the doors without
question.
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