“It is the first time his friend has been here, but Herr Maurice comes nearly every day.”
“Does he? And pray who is this Herr Maurice? What is his surname, and what is he at the Court?”
“We do not know—at least, I don’t, though I sometimes think my father has some idea. But when I ask him he always says that if Herr Maurice wished us to know who he was he would tell us of his own accord.”
“I see. My uncle is prudent. What kind of man is he? Young? Handsome?”
“Oh, no—not young. At least, I should think he was quite thirty.” Johann smiled. “And not so very handsome. There is something in his eyes that almost frightens me sometimes. I fancy he is shy. He often sits thinking by himself, and never says a word.”
Johann looked less and less pleased as he listened, and almost forgot to eat his food.
“Well, do not have too much to say to him, Dorothea. I don’t like gentlemen who do not give their names, and make presents of brooches, and sit thinking by themselves. Do you like him? Should you miss him if he left off coming here?”
Dorothea began to grow uneasy under this fire of questions.
“Miss him? Yes, of course; this place is so lonely that I should miss any one. Do you like the hare?”
“Ay. Is it one of the King’s?”