“Love story? That is odd.” An unpleasant sensation came over me, and I thought it strange that Bernhard had told me nothing of this love story. After a while, I asked: “Who was he in love with, this baron?” Papa had thought no more of our conversation, and could not at first think whom I meant; then answered abruptly: “He can only adore her memory now. She is dead.” “When?” “Some years ago, as the wife of another man, whom she preferred to him--ingratitude to fidelity which would have gained him a name in the Middle Ages, but which in modern times has simply made him ridiculous.” “I do not understand that. How can the exercise of any virtue render anyone ridiculous? And fidelity is a virtue!” Papa gave a slight cough, “If you ride a virtue to death, it becomes folly.” Wisdom--folly. I hated those words, so often in the count’s mouth. “Ah, well, papa,” said I, “it seems to me that there is no need for any virtue to grow into folly; it is a folly from the very beginning. That is why I have so little regard for wisdom either.” “That is very evident,” observed my father. “And why I love the constancy which, seeking no reward, yet remains stanch.” “Indeed? You do not see how senseless it is in a man to believe he is loved by a woman when he is not? To let himself be fooled by her? To give no ear when he is told she does not care a straw for him? You do not see how senseless is such conduct? Or, perhaps, it rather attracts your admiration because it is such a piece of utter folly!” “But did she really not love him?” “She simply fooled him, I tell you. And he, poor fool, must needs be keeping lover’s watch under her windows, quarreling with those who saw through the little game, which cost him more than one duel.” I was delighted. “Quite right! I honor him! I can see it now--can hear how after the fight, whether conquered or conqueror, he cries, ‘Dulcinea del Toboso is the most peerless lady in all the world, and I am her true knight!’ Splendid, papa!” “My dear child! What rubbish you talk! But it all comes from those confounded books, and I will----But enough of it!” These last words were said in English, and I knew it was high time to give up a subject when my dear good father took to speaking English! For some weeks past mamma had begun to receive again, every evening after the theater. She desired to give the count opportunities of coming more frequently to our house, without thereby exciting attention. Fruitless endeavor! Although his courtship proceeded so quietly that, thank Heaven, even I was scarcely aware of it, my girl friends began teasing me about him. Most of them, strange to say, called me a lucky girl; and one--I will name her Dora--never failed to add “but as silly, awfully silly, as she is lucky!”