It was almost with a cry of surprise Hans called out his name.
“This is kind of you, Herr von Dalton. Is the Fräulein—” He stopped and looked eagerly around.
“No, Hanserl,” said Dalton, answering to the half-expressed question, “Nelly is n't with me; I came up alone. Indeed, to tell the truth, I found myself here without well knowing why or how. Old habit, I suppose, led me, for I was thinking of something else.”
“They were kind thoughts that guided your steps,” said the dwarf, in accents of deep gratitude, “for I have been lonely of late.”
“Why don't you come down and see us, Hanserl? It's not so far off, and you know Nelly is always glad to see you.”
“It is true,” said the dwarf, mournfully.
“You were always a good friend to us, Hanserl,” said Dalton, taking the other's hand and pressing it cordially; “and faix! as the world goes,” added he, sighing, “there 's many a thing easier found than a friend.”
“The rich can have all,—even friendship,” muttered Hans, slowly.
“I don't know that, Hans; I 'm not so sure you 're right there.”
“They buy it,” said the dwarf, with a fierce energy, “as they can buy everything,—the pearl for which the diver hazards life, the gem that the polisher has grown blind over, the fur for which the hunter has shed his heart's blood. And yet when they 've got them they have not got content.”