"Good morning, mamma; how are you? Make your bow, Darling--so, old fellow--so!" And as the Newfoundland gravely lowered his fine head, a performance for which he was duly caressed by his master, Oswald sank into a low seat beside his mother. "You have been bathing," she observed, stroking back his wet hair. "Yes, I have been swimming in the lake at Wolnitz, and I have brought you these waterlilies," he replied, laying the flowers in her lap, "they are the first I have seen this year, and they are your favourite flowers, are they not? How fair and melancholy they are! Strange that these pure white things should spring from such slimy mud! May I?" taking out his cigar-case. "Of course, my child. What have you been about to-day? I have not seen you before." "I went out very early. I had sent for the forester to come to me at seven, and I went with him to the new plantations. The young firs are as straight as soldiers. And then I dawdled about in the woods--it was so lovely there!--'tis the earth's honeymoon, and when I see everything blossoming out in the sunshine, I think of all that lies in the near future for me, and I feel like shouting for joy! Apropos, mamma, I have found a site for the Widow's Asylum that you want to found. I have been puzzling over the best situation for it, and I have decided to put the old Elizabeth monastery at the disposal of your benevolence. Is this what you would like?" She held out her hand to him with a smile. "Have you found time to think of that too? I thought you had forgotten my scheme long ago." "Ah yes, I am in the habit of forgetting your wishes!" he said gaily. "No, Heaven knows you are not," the Countess murmured, "you have always been loving and considerate to me." "And what else could I be, mamma?" he said affectionately. "Ah, on a glorious spring day like this, when the world is so beautiful, and my blood goes coursing in my veins with delight, I am tempted to kneel down before you and thank you for the dear life you have bestowed upon me--what is the matter, mamma, you have suddenly grown so pale?" "It is nothing--only a slight pain in my heart--it has gone already," the Countess whispered, turning aside her head. "Quite gone?--is it my cigar smoke?" "Not at all, dear child!"-- In spite of this assertion he tossed his cigar out of the window. "You used to smoke yourself," he observed. "Yes," she said, looking down at her knitting, "but since I have learned to employ my hands, I have given up smoking." "You knit instead--It seems odd to me to see _you_ knitting. Georges thinks you very much altered." "I have grown old, _voila!_" "And he thinks too that you spoil me tremendously, that no mother in all Austria spoils her son as you do me." "No other mother has such a son," the Countess said proudly. "Oh, oh!" he laughed and took his seat beside her again. "Nevertheless, I am not blind to your faults," she continued, "I know them all." "And love every one of them."