"You must pay me a visit soon. My estate is only an hour or so from Grenwitz. My wife, who has presented me a few weeks ago with a beauty of a little girl, and who is not yet strong enough to go to large parties, will be glad to make your acquaintance. If you will fix a day, I will send my carriage for you."
"I accept your invitation with pleasure," said Oswald, who was almost put to shame by this extraordinary kindness on the part of a man from that class which he denounced so severely. "Suppose we say next Sunday?"
"You are always welcome. If you would like to bring the boys, do so; I have a couple of ponies, which the boys will like better than Nepos and Ovid together.--Ah me! Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim! There comes the Countess Grieben at the head of her staff. Sauve qui peut!"
The young men slipped into another garden walk which crossed the first at right angles, and were soon beyond the reach of the ladies' eyes. Oswald, for his part, would have liked to stay, for he had noticed Melitta in the "staff," and had hoped to catch a look in passing; but he considered it his duty not to abandon his new friend, who had shown himself so very amiable during the whole afternoon.
"You do not seem to be very fond of society. Baron Langen," he said, smiling at the hurry of the young man.
"That society--no! I was brought up in almost absolute solitude. My father, who is not very wealthy, sacrified society to the interest of his children. Then I was sent to school. I should have liked to go to a university, but my father needed me on the farm, especially as he grew older and could not do as much as formerly himself. Since then my good father has left us, and I have hardly ever been away from the paterna rura. Are you anything of a sportsman?"
"No; I have never yet had an opportunity to cultivate the Nimrod talent, which no doubt is quietly slumbering somewhere in my nature."
"Oh! that is a pity. But that will come. We have excellent sport: wild-fowl and hares. You ought at first to practise a little with the pistol. One learns to take aim and to have a steady hand."
"Well, pistol-shooting I have practised perhaps too much in my life," replied Oswald. "My father, a teacher of languages and a very peaceful man, had a real passion for pistol-shooting; it was his only amusement. He shot as I have never seen anybody shoot, with marvellous skill. I have never found out what could have given him such a passion for it. Once I thought I would ask him about it. I shall never forget the tone in which he answered; 'There was a time when I hoped I should be able to kill a man who had mortally offended him. When I was perfectly sure of my aim--the man died. Since then I fancy I am firing at him; every ace of spades which my ball hits is his false, cruel heart.' I begged him to give me the name of the man. 'That I cannot do,' he answered; 'but if you choose to have your share in my feelings--take it for granted that the ace of spades is the heart of some nobleman or other.'"
"Mon Dieu!" said Langen; "and have you really inherited this fanatic hatred against my caste from your father?"