He again pressed to his lips the tender hand he had retained in his own, and he then seated himself in an arm-chair, whilst, with a slight bow to Herr von Stielow, he cast a look of enquiry at the lady.
She had completely recovered from the disquiet and painful surprise which the count's arrival had caused. Her eyes were bright, her lips smiled, and a faint rosy tinge was seen on her cheeks. In a light graceful way she said:
"Ah! gentlemen, you are strangers. Herr von Stielow--the rest is told by his uniform--a worthy member of our jeunesse dorée, who was just in the act of telling me the latest news of the fashionable world; Count Rivero, a traveller, a man of learning, a diplomat--according to his whim--he has just come from Rome, and will tell me all about the carnival, or the catacombs, I know not to which scene his heart may have inclined him."
The two gentlemen bowed, Count Rivero coldly, but with the perfect politeness of a man of the world, Herr von Stielow with scarcely concealed dislike.
"My heart," said the count, turning with a smile to the young lady, "has neither the superabundant mirth of the carnival, nor is it yet ripe for the catacombs, but my fair friend loves always to ascribe to me extremes."
"You have not been in Vienna for some time, count?" asked Herr von Stielow coldly.
"My affairs have kept me in Rome for a year," replied the count, "and I thought I should have stayed there still longer, but necessary business has recalled me here. And I am thankful to necessity," he added, glancing at the lady, "for leading me back to my friends in beautiful merry Vienna."
She threw a rapid glance at Herr von Stielow who sat biting his moustache, and her lips trembled slightly. Then she said laughingly:
"And what will you tell me of, count, since neither the carnival nor the catacombs have interested you?"
"Of the beautiful antique statues," he replied, "those pictures in marble a thousand years old, yet offering us the image of living youth."