Henrietta was forced to confess to herself that her husband, at least so
far as she was concerned, was a man of noble and tender sentiments. From
henceforth she began to regard him through a glass of quite another
colour; she began to believe that the faults she had noticed in him were
only the usual bad habits of his sex, and began to discover all sorts of
hidden good qualities in him. She began to love her husband.
When early next morning the carriage stood in the courtyard of Hidvar.
Henrietta awoke in her husband's arms: there she had been sleeping for a
long time. When she looked round and encountered Hatszegi's bright manly
glances it almost seemed to her as if the dreadful scene of the night
before was a mere dream, from which it was a joy to awake. When her
husband kissed her hand before departing for his own room, Henrietta
pressed _his_ hand in return and gave him a grateful smile.
But what then was the key to this horrible mystery? Who could have hit
upon the idea of sending this jewelry? There was not a gleam of light to
go by. An enigma closed the way to every elucidation, and this enigma
was--Fatia Negra. How did the jewelry get out of his hands into
Henrietta's? What was the motive for such a transfer? And who was the
man himself? This thought gave Henrietta no rest.
Why could they not seize this famous robber? First of all, she kept on
asking her husband about it, and he replied that the whole story about
Fatia Negra was only a Wallachian fable.
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