human
Strange, that chance should have brought us together again,
gpt
You were saying, Countess----?
human
I said nothing.
gpt
You were thinking, then----?
human
Yes, I was thinking, in fact, that it is strange that you should have left it to chance to bring about our meeting.
gpt
Do you imagine that I have made no attempt to find you again, Countess?
human
I imagine that if you had seriously desired to find me it would not have been difficult.
gpt
You are right,--and you do me injustice. When I learned that my dear little poorly-clad princess had become a great lady, I did, it is true, make no attempt to approach her; but before then---- Do you care to hear of my unfortunate pilgrimage?
human
Most assuredly I do.
gpt
Well, eight years after our childish interview I had my first couple of hundred marks in my pocket. I bought a new suit of clothes--yes, smile if yon choose,--a new suit, which I admired exceedingly--and journeyed to Bohemia. I found the village, the brook, and the bridge, and likewise the castle; but all had gone who had once lived there,--even the amiable Herr von Strachinsky,--and no one knew anything of my little princess. I was very sad,--too sad for a fellow of three-and-twenty.
human
And was that the end of your efforts? asks the old Countess, whose sharp ears have lost nothing of the story, and who now turns to the pair with a laugh.
gpt
You showed no amount of persistence to boast of.
human
When, overtaken by the rain, I took refuge in the parsonage of the nearest village, he continues,
gpt
I made inquiries there for my little friend. The priest gave me more information than I had been able to procure elsewhere. He told me that one fine day some one had come from Berlin to carry little Rika away,--that she was now a very grand lady----
human
And then----?
gpt
I sought no further: the bridge between my sphere in life and that of my princess was destroyed. I quietly returned to Munich. I was very unhappy: the goal to which I had looked forward seemed to have been suddenly snatched from me.
human
Oho! exclaims the old Countess,
gpt
That was years ago. I have changed very much since then.
human
You understand now why I did not appear before you, Countess Erika?
gpt
I do not understand at all. I think you were excessively foolish to avoid me for such a reason.
human
Erika is quite right, the grandmother called back over her shoulder in the midst of one of Count Treurenberg's most interesting anecdotes.
gpt
Your failing to seek us out only proves that you must have thought us a couple of geese; otherwise you would have been quite sure of a friendly reception.
human
No, it proves only that I had been hardly treated by fate, that I was a well-whipped young dog, said Lozoncyi.
gpt
Now I have no doubt that I should have been graciously received by both of you; but it would not have amounted to much. You would soon have tired of me. A very young artist is sadly out of place in a drawing-room; I was like all the rest of the race.
human
That I find hard to believe, the old Countess said, kindly, still over her shoulder; then, turning again to Count Treurenberg,
gpt
Go on, Count. You were saying----
human
I shall say nothing more, Treurenberg exclaimed, provoked.
gpt
I have had enough of this: at the most interesting part of my story you turn and listen to what Lozoncyi is saying to your grand-daughter. The fact is that when Lozoncyi is present no one else can claim a lady's attention.
human
Count Treurenberg is skilled in rendering me obnoxious in society,
gpt
Oh, I never pay any attention to him, the old Countess assures him.
human
I should like to know what you did after you learned that Erika had----
gpt
Had become a grand lady? Lozoncyi interrupts her.
human
Oh, I packed up my belongings and went to Rome.
gpt
And then?
human
There I had an attack of Roman fever, he says, slowly, and his face grows dark. He looks around for Erika, but she is no longer at his side: she has lingered behind, and has fallen into conversation with a tall, dignified monk. She now calls out to the rest,
gpt
Has no one any desire to see the tree beneath which Lord Byron used to write poems?