for a moment almost
endeavoured to simulate.

"Do you not hate yourself for what you have done?"

"No, no, no. But I hate Peter Steinmarc, and I hate Herr Molk, and if
you are so cruel to me I shall hate you. I have done nothing wrong. I
could not help it if he came up-stairs. He came because he loved me,
and because you would not let him come in a proper way. Nobody else
loves me, but he would do anything for me. And now they have thrown
him into prison!"

The case was so singular in all its bearings, that Madame Staubach
could make nothing of it. Linda seemed to have confessed her
iniquity, and yet, after her confession, spoke of herself as though
she were the injured person,--of herself and her lover as though they
were both ill used. According to Madame Staubach's own ideas, Linda
ought now to have been in the dust, dissolved in tears, wiping the
floor with her hair, utterly subdued in spirit, hating herself as the
vilest of God's creatures. But there was not even an outward sign of
contrition. And then, in the midst of all this real tragedy, Tetchen
brought in the dinner. The two women sat down together, but neither
of them spoke a word. Linda did eat something,--a morsel or two; but
Madame Staubach would not touch the food on the table. Then Tetchen
was summoned to take away the all but unused plates. Tetchen, when
she saw how it had been, said nothing, but looked from the face of
one to the face of the other. "She has heard all about that scamp
Ludovic," said Tetchen to herself, as she carried the dishes back
into the kitchen.

It had been late when the dinner had been brought to them, and the
dusk of the evening came upon them as soon as Tetchen's clatter with
the crockery was done. Madame Staubach sat in her accustomed chair,
with her eyes closed, and her hands clasped on her lap before her. A
stranger might have thought that she was asleep, but Linda knew that
her aunt was not sleeping. She also sat silent till she thought that
the time was drawing near at which Steinmarc might probably enter the
parlour. Then she arose to go, but could not leave her aunt without
a word. "Aunt Charlotte," she said, "I am ill,--very ill; my head is
throbbing, and I will go to bed." Madame Staubach merely shook her
head, and shook her hands, and remained silent, with her eyes still
closed. She had not even yet resolved upon the words with which it
would be expedient that she should address her niece. Then Linda left
the r