"She!—Why should she not be excellent? She is old enough to be wise; and no one sees how crooked she is, for her dresses are so well made by a good milliner in the town."
Annele bit her lips when she had said this. She thought—"How stupid of me to say such a thing! As he has named Amanda, no doubt it is Bertha he fancies: it must be so." Breaking off, therefore, suddenly, she continued—"But Bertha is charming——"
"Yes, indeed, a most pleasing girl," interrupted the Techniker.
One of Annele's knittingneedles fell under the table, and he picked it up. The young man seemed to have repented having spoken out so freely; for he now said—"The Doctor was telling me yesterday all about Pilgrim."
"What is there to tell? The Doctor can make something out of nothing."
"Who is Petrowitsch? They tell me you know most about him."
"Not more than everyone knows. He dines here every forenoon, and pays his score regularly. He is a singular, crabbed old fellow—very rich and very hard. He was many, many years in foreign parts, and cares for no man living. There is only one thing in the world which gives him pleasure, and that is the avenue of cherry trees which line the valley towards the town. Formerly rows of pollards stood there, and Petrowitsch——"
"Why is he called Petrowitsch?"
"His real name is Peter; but, as he was so long in Servia, they will call him here Petrowitsch."
"Go on, and tell me about the avenue of cherry trees."