But Szilard did not see her face at that moment. He was far away, never
dreaming that anybody still thought of him. A surprise of quite another
sort awaited Henrietta.
After she had twice walked round the room--there was a pause just then
between two dances--she perceived sitting on a corner seat the old lady
already alluded to, whose head and hands were always shaking so, and
hastened up to her as to an old acquaintance.
The old pastor's wife, perceiving Henrietta, rose at first from her seat
in order to meet her half way, but the next moment she fell back
horror-stricken, at the same time stretching out both hands in front of
her with widely-outspread fingers as if to ward her off. Henrietta,
unable to explain this odd gesture, remained rooted to the spot with
astonishment.
The old lady, still continuing to stretch out her trembling hands, now
advanced towards her with tottering footsteps indeed, yet with flaming
eyes. Everyone regarded the two women with amazement. There was a dead
silence, and in the midst of this astonishment, in the midst of this
silence, the old woman shrieked with a voice full of horror that turned
everybody's blood cold: "Madame!--those jewels--on your neck--that black
butterfly--'tis the very same--which on that fearful night--that
accursed Fatia Negra--tore from my neck--those black earrings which he
tore from my ears--one eye of the butterfly is a blue diamond!"
Henrietta felt as if the floor were slipping away from beneath her feet.
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