But that, mind! is a secret; not a soul must know about it."
Henrietta grew pensive. She also had her secret, but she would tell it
to nobody, not even on her death-bed. She also had a portrait written in
ineffaceable characters in her heart, yet between him and her stand two
infinite obstacles, the one a betrayed star whose name is Mesarthim, the
other that unbetrayable thing, whose name is--woman's honour!
"_Madame est servie!_" cried the epauletted lacquey, and the countess
drawing her arm through Henrietta's, led her into the dining-room, where
the gentlemen already awaited them.
After dinner the humorous young countess entertained Henrietta for a
long time with her amusing chatter. She told her, at the very outset,
things that young wives, as a rule, only confide to their most intimate
friends. She told her, for instance, how very jealous her little
Squirrel was (she called her husband by this pet name) and how he would
never take her to Vienna or Pest, because he suspected that she might
find someone there to interest her. Anything like correspondence on her
part was of course impossible; a wise woman will always have sense
enough never to part with a line of writing. Everything else, she
witnesses, treacherous servants, for instance--can always be disowned;
but there is no defence against a letter which has fallen into the wrong
hands. Oh no! she knew a trick worth two of that.
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