But I thought to myself, all his mad pranks--and many were told of all kinds and descriptions--seem always to agree in two points; there is invariably a noble motive at the bottom of them, and he invariably comes off worst in them. So I remarked: “This baron certainly seems to do any number of foolish things, but luck is very unkind to him.” “That I cannot see,” returned the count; and I had already learned to know that those words, with him, meant, If I do not see a thing, it does not exist. “If I choose to do idiotic things, I have no right to call myself unlucky because I find myself on the wrong side of the hedge. Moreover, what people are so ready to call want of luck is, more often than not, want of sense. A common-sense man is rarely unlucky.” Here Bernhard murmured half aloud, “Sickness, death, tempest.” Again the irritation with which the count greets the most modest expression of opinion became evident--an irritation he seems incapable of checking--as he dryly observed: “I insure against tempest.” I felt a sudden exasperation against this child of fortune, who seemed so disposed to take to himself as individual merit the lavish gifts of Providence, and I rejoined: “Had you had such a father as that of Baron Schwarzburg, who squandered away all the family property, you would have been unable to exercise that wise foresight, for you would have nothing left to you worth insuring.” His mother crimsoned; my parents exchanged a concerned look, and I felt more than ever alarmed at my own temerity. The greatest of heroes experience a reflex fear, we are told; but there was nothing of the hero in me at that moment, only a rush of feelings of shame, embarrassment, and dread; and these wretched feelings rose like smoke, so to speak, from a still darker background--the knowledge that I had offended the count! He gave vent to a few disconnected phrases, intended to be severe and cutting, but which were only savage and peevish. It was not the first time that I had made a mental note that the exalted and noble diffidence, so highly vaunted by my parents, was in inseparable connection with the flattery and deference accorded to him. The slightest expression of censure changed it at once into arrogance, and, without an attempt at justifying his opinion, he would angrily reject any comment as absurd, contemptible, and unworthy of notice. After he had taken his leave, my parents began to reproach me severely. “You behaved shockingly. You seem to have no idea of the honor conferred upon you by the count’s attentions. Such a man--such a son!” “Who never caused his mother a single uneasy hour,” I meekly added. “You are aware of that, and yet do not cherish the highest esteem for him?” “Of course I esteem what is estimable in him.”