“Is it true--was I really laying down the law?” “It is rather a habit of yours,” interposed the count, assuming the cold haughty manner of people in society, to those not so highly privileged, and that to me is so narrow and petty. “You were certainly not laying down the law,” I cried; “on the contrary, you were telling me something of great interest.” “A secret?” giggled Dora. “Certainly not.” “Then pray impart your interesting story to us, especially if it is not too long. But I fear it is long--as long-winded as it is interesting. I have been watching you at a distance. You are always so vastly entertaining, you two.” My cheek crimsoned, and Baron Schwarzburg leveled a look at Dora which spoiled all inclination to pursue her ill-bred jesting further. But it had done its work, and bore ill consequences for me. Count Taxen did not stir from my side the remainder of the evening; and we carried on a melancholy duologue anent ancient castellated halls and old armor! “A mold and mildew type of conversation,” as Elizabeth calls it, when her husband, who is uncommonly like the count in essentials, begins one of his interminable talks with her on that theme. I saw her look across at me several times with unconcealed commiseration. The next day she came to talk over matters with me. It was early in the afternoon, and I had just gone up to my room after luncheon, when she came in. She began taking off her bonnet and arranging a refractory lock displaced by the wind, apparently very intent on so doing; but I could see very plainly that her thoughts were no wise occupied by the lovely, intellectual looking face reflected in the looking-glass. Suddenly she began: “Tell me, child, what are you meaning by this Schwarzburg worship of yours?” Her unexpected question took me by surprise, and I answered in a low voice: “What can I mean?” “That is what I want to know. I want to know what you are thinking, what dreams you are allowing yourself to indulge in! Do you know that for some time past you are quite altered?” I felt myself growing more and more downhearted. “How altered, Elizabeth?” “Oh,” she said, “do not let us waste time in fencing. The manner in which you distinguish Schwarzburg is the subject of general remark. You make your almost veneration of him so ostentatiously apparent.” “I do not make it ostentatiously apparent; I only do not conceal it.” “And what is it to lead to?” “It will lead to nothing,” I answered dejectedly. “In a few weeks he goes to Bosnia; and I to Trostburg.” Shrugging her shoulders, she made a few steps forward, then sat down on the chair before my writing table. The volume with “My Memoirs” written large upon it attracted her attention; her face relaxed its grave expression, and she began to laugh. “So the child has taken to writing her ‘Memoirs’; here are all the secrets--one need only to look in and find them all laid bare. Do not look so frightened. I am curious, but not indiscreet.”