"Not a word," said the countess, a little pettishly, while Johannes maintained a mortified silence.
"Well, Johannes knows a sage—a Yogi—a great Magician. He saw him come ashore from over the North Sea—which phenomenon might be termed levitation—and this Magician traveled with him in disguise."
"But, Johannes, why have you never told me that? It was not kind of you. You knew how much I have longed for the advice of such a person."
Johannes knew very little to tell. That question exactly concerned what was most perplexing and distressing to him in this situation.
Something there was that always restrained him from speaking of Markus—yes, even the thought of him was baffling. And yet how much he longed for him! But he felt that that longing was opposed to the other longings which held him where he was.
"I believe," he said at last, timidly, "that he does not like it when I talk about him."
"Of course," said Van Lieverlee, "but only in the case of the uninitiated—the common herd."
"Do you count me in with them?" asked his hostess in her most engaging manner.
"No, oo!" protested Johannes, with great earnestness. "But neither do I know where he is."
"He well knows, however, where we are," said Van Lieverlee, "and if we desire to see him, he will come to us."