"Somewhere on the heath, where she lies down in the blooming broom and stares at the sky; or on the beach, where she climbs about among the rocks and claps her hands with delight if a wave wets her bare feet. She has not been persuaded yet to put on shoes; I leave her in perfect freedom since she declared, on the second day of her stay here, when I refused to let her run out in the most inclement weather: Czika dies if she cannot go in the rain!"
"Does she pine after her mother?"
"Do you really think that brown woman, whom I at least saw only in passing, is her mother?"
"Certainly! The likeness between Czika and the Brown Countess is unmistakable."
"From whom have I heard that expression before?" said Oldenburg, thoughtfully; "probably from you the other day, but it sounded so familiar to me. Does the name come from you?"
"No; from Frau von Berkow," said Oswald, fixing his eye upon Oldenburg.
"Ah, indeed!" said the baron.
This was the first time that Melitta's name was mentioned by the two men, and it was characteristic enough, that at once a pause occurred in the conversation.
"On what occasion did Frau von Berkow make the acquaintance of the gypsy?" asked the baron, after a little while.
Oswald told him in a few words the story of the Brown Countess, as he had heard it from Melitta.