"What? Oh, that is soon told. I seek from you amusement, instruction, excitement,--everything that so talented a companion as you are, and one so entirely of my way of thinking, can bestow." Ernestine recoiled almost perceptibly. "Of your way of thinking?" she asked. "Most certainly! We are both advocates of the emancipation of women, each in her own way, but our object is the same. We are both adherents of the great champion of women's rights, Louisa A----, who is my intimate friend. How charming it would be to enlist you also! We could then labour in concert,--I in action, Louisa through the daily press, you by your books." Ernestine listened with the same unmoved countenance to what the countess said. When she had finished, Ernestine was silent for a moment, as if seeking some fitting form of speech for what she wished to say. The countess watched her eagerly. At last Ernestine replied, "Countess Worronska, I must decline your proposal,--I am resolved to pursue my path alone." The Worronska bit her lips. "Indeed? You are afraid of sharing your laurels?" "Not so," rejoined Ernestine calmly. "I am afraid of sharing the laurels of a Louisa A----." "Oh! would you think that a disgrace?" "Yes." A pause ensued. The countess cast a fierce glance at Ernestine, who bore it coldly and unflinchingly. Again rage seethed in the bosom of the Worronska, but she controlled herself, for she was determined to compass her ends, and knew that she must be upon her guard with this girl. "You are certainly frank," she began. "But I like that,--it is original." "It is unfortunate that truth should be so rare among your associates, Countess Worronska, that you call it original!" "You are severe, Fräulein Hartwich. You should know my friends, and then you would be more lenient to their weaknesses. Why is it unfortunate? Refinement of taste brings that in its train. We cushion the chairs on which we sit, we plane and polish the rough wood of our furniture, we clothe the bare walls of our rooms with tapestry, we do not devour our meat raw like the Cossacks, but delicately cooked to please our palates. Why then should we surround ourselves morally with spikes and thorns, which rend and tear those around us? Why should we partake of our intellectual food so raw and undressed that it disgusts us? Thank Heaven, we have put off such barbarisms with our more advanced culture." "You are perfectly right. Countess Worronska, looking upon the matter from a worldly point of view. I am only surprised to hear you defend the forms of society while you despise its proprieties."