She shrank back a little, and said sadly: “That sounds very harsh. Do you no longer like to think of your mother?”
“What is that to you?”
“I must know.”
“No, what concerns my mother is... I will—is too good for juggling.”
“Oh,” she said, looking at him with a glance from which he shrank. Then she silently laid down the last cards, and asked: “Do you want to hear anything about a sweetheart?”
“I have none. But how you look at me! Have you grown tired of Zorrillo? I am ill-suited for a gallant.”
She shuddered slightly. Her bright face had again grown old, so old and weary that he pitied her. But she soon regained her composure, and continued:
“What are you saying? Ask the questions yourself now, if you please.”
“Where is my native place?”
“A wooded, mountainous region in Germany.”