In one corner was a low
couch covered with a rug similar to those on the floor except that
it was of a lighter texture, and upon this sat a woman.
As Bertha Kircher's eyes alighted upon the occupant of the room
the girl gave a little gasp of astonishment, for she recognized
immediately that here was a creature more nearly of her own kind
than any she had seen within the city's walls. An old woman it was
who looked at her through faded blue eyes, sunken deep in a wrinkled
and toothless face. But the eyes were those of a sane and intelligent
creature, and the wrinkled face was the face of a white woman.
At sight of the girl the woman rose and came forward, her gait so
feeble and unsteady that she was forced to support herself with a
long staff which she grasped in both her hands. One of the guards
spoke a few words to her and then the men turned and left the
apartment. The girl stood just within the door waiting in silence
for what might next befall her.
The old woman crossed the room and stopped before her, raising
her weak and watery eyes to the fresh young face of the newcomer.
Then she scanned her from head to foot and once again the old eyes
returned to the girl's face. Bertha Kircher on her part was not
less frank in her survey of the little old woman. It was the latter
who spoke first. In a thin, cracked voice she spoke, hesitatingly,
falteringly, as though she were using unfamiliar words and speaking
a strange tongue.
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