When the young men found themselves in the muddy village street, Albert pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the hut they had just left, and said:
"Odd old lady that! Was not that a famous story, dottore?"
"You were not asleep, then?"
"Not a bit! At first I wanted to sleep, but you did not let me sleep, and then when she commenced the story about Baron Harald I could not sleep. But I remained quietly where I was, and snored from time to time to reassure the old lady, who evidently did not want anybody to hear it but her young master. Why does she always call you her young master, dottore?"
"I do not know," said Oswald.
"Or you do not mean to know," replied Albert; "well, no harm done. We must not wish to know everything. Why did Baron Harald want to know what had become of that pretty girl Marie? Without that quite superfluous curiosity he might have drunk his Burgundy to-day. Strange that a sensible man should have had such absurd romantic notions in his head! Can you understand it, dottore?"
"Well, perhaps I can," said Oswald; "but let us speak of something else."
"As you like it, my dear sir. What do you think of immortality?"
CHAPTER VIII.
On the following day the weather had cleared up. The morning sun had been hid behind thick mists, but a few hours later it had rent the gray veil, and was now pouring its golden light upon the refreshed earth. In the garden of the château all looked paradisiacally fresh and fragrant, as on the first day of creation. The flowers raised their heads again, and if here and there a few drops were still hanging in a calyx, they looked in the bright sunshine like sparkling tears of joy; the birds were singing with delight in the thick branches of the trees, and the little worms that had been waiting patiently in all the crevices, under the leaves and under the stones, came forth in restless activity.