The broad July sunshine lay upon the red and yellow splendour of the Truyn escutcheon, shimmered brilliantly about the foremost of the mighty trees, whose dark foliage contrasted with the emerald of the lawn where they stood, beyond the open, flower-decked portion of the park, and penetrated boldly into their thick shades, limning fanciful arabesques of light upon the darker green. From the garden-room floated Gabrielle's sweet, childlike voice, "_Io so una giardiniera_," she sang. Oswald had finished his upholstering, and was bending over the piano. He combined a sincere enjoyment of music with a deplorable preference for sentimental popular ballads. The creaking of wheels intruded upon the dreamy monotony of the hour. Truyn leaned forward and started to his feet. "Ah, old Swoboda, the doctor who attended Ella with the measles," he exclaimed joyfully, recognising Dr. Swoboda, in his comical little vehicle drawn by a white horse spotted with brown. "Is he still alive? I must call him in. Holla! Doctor, how are you?" The doctor started, looked round, and took off his hat with a smile of delight, "your servant, Count Truyn." "Come in and have a chat," said Truyn, "it was hardly fair not to have been to see us before." "But, my dear Count, how could I suppose ..." A few minutes later, the old doctor was seated opposite to Truyn, underneath the marquee, imparting to the Count exact information as to the weal and woe of a multitude of people belonging to the town, and to the country round, whom the proprietor of Rautschin remembered with wonderful distinctness. Some had died, one or two were insane--a couple were bankrupt. "Infernal swindling speculations! is my dear old Rautschin beginning to be carried away by them?" said Truyn, "certain epidemics cannot be arrested. Sad--very sad! And now the _phylloxera_ has taken up its abode in Schneeburg." "Is there much illness about here?" Zinka asked the doctor, in hopes perhaps of staving off a conservative outburst from her husband. "None of any consequence. My business is at a low ebb, your Excellency." "Where have you just been, doctor?" Truyn asked. "I have just come from Schneeburg." "Ah? anything seriously amiss in the Capriani household?--I could not shed a tear for King Midas." "The Herr Count cannot suppose that those magnificoes would call in a poor country doctor, like myself." "My dear Swoboda, we all have the greatest confidence in you!" Truyn said kindly. "I thank you heartily, Herr Count, but this confidence is an old custom, and the Caprianis consider old customs as mere prejudices, and propose to do away with them. I have just come from our poor Count Fritz." "Indeed? are the children ill?" "No, not ill, but ailing; there is something or other the matter with them all the time--they are city children;--however, I am not really anxious about them, they'll come all right. But I am sick at heart for poor Count Fritz, he is far from well."