Your letter has just come--the third in which you bombard me with questions. Don’t you see that I have been taking a rise out of you? How do you suppose that I should consent to be immured in Swabia, where the men go in for domestic life as a profession, and the women knit socks from conviction? We certainly did have a conversation, Count Carl and I, but of a very different nature from what you have been imagining. He began by saying that his visit to us had been a memorable one, in that it had given him quite new impressions--had opened out a new world to him. “If it was new to you, you have adapted yourself very readily to it,” I made reply. “What wonder, with such a guide as you, countess--such a model in all knightly arts and usages.” “Is that intended to be ironical?” “By no means. I return to my Penates richer than I came.” “To where?” “To my household gods.” “Aha!” Here the interview came to a slight hitch, but I set it going again by asking what was the gain he had made by coming among us. “Of a friend!” he exclaimed; “a young, charming, reliable friend, named Countess Muschi.” “_Pardi!_” I exclaimed. And he, losing no time, seized my hand, coloring fiery red, and his voice shook. “A friend upon whose help and support I count in the most important moment of my life.” “What moment do you mean?” “That which must decide the weal or woe of all my after life--that in which you will win my eternal gratitude--by asking----” Here his shaky voice toppled over entirely. “Whom am I to ask--myself?” I blurted out; but, luckily for me, in his agitation he was unconscious how I had given myself away, and went on: “Countess Clara Aarheim.” Here I must have looked uncommonly sold, for he exclaimed hurriedly, “You think there is no chance for me. Is it too late--is Countess Clara no longer free?” Nesti, human nature would not stand it; and I broke out with “What a sell!” Upon which the poor count was thrown into fresh alarm, and conjured me to be frank with him, and only tell him if he must renounce the idea. Of course, it would have been a miracle if such a treasure as Clara had not already found a suitor, and he had been a fool to hope for such a miracle. “Stuff and rubbish,” thinks I to myself; then aloud, “Not such a fool as you think! I know Clara’s affairs tolerably well. So far she has had no admirers.” “Is it so--is it so?” and seizing my hand he kissed it passionately. “And she? Has she not seemed to care for anyone?” “Not a bit of it. A girl is hardly likely to be so unpractical as to care for a man if he does not care for her. That is hardly our way.” He heaved a deep sigh. “You have no idea what a girl in your sphere can do, who has the courage not to ‘be led by fashion.’” “Pray do not expect such _courage_ from me. To my mind it is as little like the real thing as is forced laughter to real honest mirth.” “And yet I do not know. There may be a higher standpoint than that of society.”