cried at last.

"She started up. 'Yes, come,' she said, 'We will ask her! Rather the
shrugs of those people than a misery here in the house. I would rather
see Klaus unhappy for a time than deceived all his life long. Come,
aunt.' And with firm step she went out of the room, along the corridor,
and up the stairs.

"I followed her as quickly as I could; my heart beat fast with anxiety
and grief. 'Anna Maria,' I begged, 'not to-day, not now. Come into my
room, you are too excited.' But she walked on. Up-stairs, in front of
Susanna's door, I perceived by the light of the hall lamp a great flat
chest; white tissue-paper showed under the lid, which had not been
tightly closed.

"'What is that?' Anna Maria asked Brockelmann, who was just coming out
of the room.

"'The chest came from Berlin to-day,' the old woman replied; 'I suppose
from the master.'

"Anna Maria nodded and opened the door quickly. A flood of light
streamed out toward us, and surrounded the slender white figure before
the large mirror; soft creamy satin fell in heavy folds about her, and
lay in a long train on the floor; a gauzy veil lay, like a mist, over
the nearest arm-chair, and a pair of small white shoes peeped out from
their wrapper on the table. She turned around at our entrance, and stood
there with a shamefaced smile--Susanna Mattoni was trying on her
wedding-dress.

"Anna Maria let go of the door-handle and stepped over the threshold,
looking fixedly at Susanna, her face crimson.

"'Take off that dress!' she commanded, in a voice scarcely audible from
excitement.

"Susanna drew back in alarm, and turning pale looked up at Anna Maria.

"'Take off that dress!' she repeated, in increasing agitation; 'you are
not worthy to wear it. So help me God, this wretched comedy shall come
to an end!'

"'Anna Maria,' I begged, full of fear, catching hold of the folds of her
dress, 'keep calm! For God's sake, stop!' But she paid no attention to
me; the girl, usually so cool and collected, was beside herself with
pain and anger. Her _own_ suffering she had borne in silence; but the
thought of Klaus, the conviction that he was deceived where he had
completely surrendered his kind, honest heart, robbed her of all
consideration and self-control.

"Susanna stood speechless opposite her, an expression of penitence on
her childish face. She was incapable of a defence, of an apology. Then,
as ill-luck would have it, the old woman stepped between them, with