"He is not half so clever, he often evidently does not understand what I say; I think even he is un peu bête. But he--adores me. Why should I give up my adorers for a betrothed who never troubles himself about me? He would soon drive them all away." The door behind her into the anteroom was opened. Only intimate friends at small entertainments ever entered through this apartment--her room. The new-comer must be either Ottomar or the Count. She had heard nothing, and as the steps came nearer over the thick carpet, let her fingers wander dreamily over the keys, "Already sends the Graal to seek the loiterer----"
"Fräulein von Wallbach!"
"Ah! my dear Count," said Carla, looking up a little, and giving the Count her left hand over her shoulder, whilst the right played "My trusty Swan." "Will you not go first and say 'how do you do' to Louisa? She is in the drawing-room with Frau von Arnfeld." The Count lifted the carelessly-given hand to his lips, "And then?" he asked.
"You can return here--I have something to say to you." The Count came back in half a minute.
"Draw that chair here--not so near--there--and don't let my strumming disturb you. Do you know, my dear Count, that you are a very dangerous man!"
"My dear Fräulein von Wallbach!" cried the Count, as he twirled his moustaches.
"You must be so, when even Louisa already thinks so. She has just preached me the most charming sermon."
"But what have I done? All the world worships you; why should I not dare what all the world may do?"
"Because you are not all the world."
"Because----" Carla lifted her eyes; the Count was always bewitched when he could look into those blue eyes, unhindered by glasses, under whose weary, drooping eyelids a secret world of tenderness and archness seemed to him to be concealed.