A moment of absolute silence followed, dictated in the servants
by decorum, in the chancellor by consideration, in Helga and
Bernenstein by utter consternation. Rudolf himself also was
silent, but whether from bewilderment or an emotion answering to
hers, I know not. Either it might well be. The stillness struck
her. She looked up in his eyes; she looked round the room and saw
Helsing, now bowing profoundly from the corner; she turned her
head with a sudden frightened jerk, and glanced at my motionless
deferential servants. Then it came upon her what she had done.
She gave a quick gasp for breath, and her face, always pale, went
white as marble. Her features set in a strange stiffness, and
suddenly she reeled where she stood, and fell forward. Only
Rudolf's hand bore her up. Thus for a moment, too short to
reckon, they stood. Then he, a smile of great love and pity
coming on his lips, drew her to him, and passing his arm about
her waist, thus supported her. Then, smiling still, he looked
down on her, and said in a low tone, yet distinct enough for all
to hear:
"All is well, dearest."
My wife gripped Bernenstein's arm, and he turned to find her
pale-faced too, with quivering lips and shining eyes.
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