She does not notice that they are there, that they are amazed at her, that they greet her.

No one has heard her speak for a long time.
And therefore they think her mad.

At first only the domestics whispered this among themselves, then the villagers--and in a month's time it was notorious through Transylvania that the youthful Baroness Hatszegi was out of her mind.
Early one morning, as Henrietta was returning from chapel, there suddenly appeared before her a ragged woman who must have been hidden in some niche as the servants had not seen her or driven her out.
"Stop one moment, my lady," whispered the woman and Henrietta seemed to hear in that whisper the voice of an old acquaintance, though she did not recognize the face.

It was half masked in a cloth and the little she could see of it was disfigured by wounds and scars like the face of one who had been badly injured by fire.

Henrietta was horrified at the sight of her, she looked so dreadful.
"Don't be frightened, my lady," said the woman falling down on her knees before her and seizing Henrietta's dress to prevent her from escaping, "I am Anicza." Henrietta fixed her eyes upon the woman full of stupid amazement, and vainly sought in her face for some trace of the ideal loveliness which only the other day, so it seemed, had made her so charming.