The door into the vestibule opened behind her; only more intimate friends entered this room, her room, when there were small parties; the one who entered must be either Ottomar or the Count. She had not heard anything, but, as the steps approached over the rug, she passed her fingers dreamily over the piano: "The Grail is already sending for the tardy one----" "My dear Miss Carla!" "O dear Count!" said Carla, glancing up and extending her left hand half over her shoulder to the Count, while her right played "My Dear Swan." "Don't you want to say good-day to Luise? She is with Madame von Arnfeld in the reception room." The Count had drawn the hand extended to him so carelessly to his lips.--"And then?" asked he. "You may come back here--I have something to tell you." The Count came back in half a minute. "Bring up your chair--not so near--so--and don't be disturbed by my drumming.--Do you know, dear Count, that you are a dangerous man?" "But, my dear lady!" exclaimed the Count, twirling the ends of his mustache. "You must be, if Luise thinks so. She has just given me a most charming curtain lecture." "Great Heavens! What shall I do! Everybody worships you! Why shouldn't I be allowed to do what everybody does?" "Because you are not everybody, because"--Carla raised her eyes; the Count was always as if intoxicated when he was permitted, unhindered by the lorgnette, to look into those blue eyes, beneath whose languid drooping lids a mysterious world of tenderness and coyness seemed to be hidden. "Because I came too late?" he whispered passionately. "One must not come too late, dear Count; that is the worst mistake in war, politics, everywhere. You must bear the consequences of this mistake--_voilà tout!_" She played: "Only one year at thy side could I have wished to be, as witness of thy joy."--The Count gazed before him in silence.--"He is taking that seriously," thought Carla; "I must give him a little encouragement again." "Why shouldn't we be friends?" she asked, extending her left hand while the right intoned: "Come dwell with me! Let me teach thee how sweet is the bliss of purest love!" "Gladly, gladly!" exclaimed the Count, pressing a long, fervent kiss upon the extended hand. "Why shouldn't we be friends!" "Isn't it true?--'Friendship of pure souls is so sweet!' But the world is not pure; it likes to besmirch that which shines; it demands, guarantees; give it the only possible lead in this case; get married!" "And you advise me to do that?" "I do; I shall have an incalculable advantage from it; I shall not lose you altogether. I cannot ask more; I do not ask more." And Carla played with both hands: "Let thyself be made to believe there is a joy that hath no pang!" "Great Heavens, Carla--my dear lady, do you know that something like that, in almost the same words----"