"Well?"
"But, really, baron, you put the thumb-screws on too tightly. You had a little fisher-boat, and there came a real storm--the waves were as high as houses, and you were expecting the boat to capsize every moment. Then you said in Italian----"
"The Barnewitz does not understand a word of Italian, as far as I know," said Oldenburg.
"Not Hortense, but the boatmen, who told her afterwards."
"Then," growled Oldenburg, "she examined them. Well!"
"Then you said to the Berkow: Dear soul, to be drowned with you is worth more than to live a hundred years with your cousin, or any other woman!"
"Indeed! Does Hortense tell her friends such pretty stories? Well, Cloten, I'll give you a piece of advice: Believe in every kiss that you have had from Hortense's lips, or that you are going to have----"
"Ah, nonsense, baron!" said the dandy, with that smile which is meant to be modest, and which is so horribly impudent.
"But do not believe a single word she utters. Can you really think that I should have had nothing better to do than to court Melitta von Berkow, when such grave, yes, such almost holy things filled my soul? Let me tell you: I went from Sicily to Egypt, then up the Nile to Aboo Simbul, back to Cairo, from there to Palestine, Persia, India--examined every temple, every ruin, every crevice in the rocks. I did not find what I looked for. At last--I was almost desperate--in the library of the great monastery on Mount Athos----"
"Where is that, Baron?"