“I? What a question!”
“Have you?”
“N—no! Let us talk of plots and war,” gazing across the valley.
“No; let us talk of love. I am in love, and one afflicted that way wishes a confidant. I appoint you mine.”
“Some rosy-cheeked peasant girl?” laughing.
“Perhaps. Perhaps it's only a—a pantry maid,” with a sly look from the corner of his eyes. Evidently she had not heard. She was still laughing. “I have heard of hermits falling in love with stars, and have laughed. Now I am in the same predicament. I love a star—”
“Operatic? To be sure! Mademoiselle Lenormand of the Royal Vienna is in Bleiberg. How she keeps her age!”
It was Maurice's turn to laugh.
“And that is why you came to Bleiberg! Ah, these opera singers, had I my way, they should all be aged and homely.”
“Countess, you are pulling the bit too hard,” said he. “I noticed yesterday that your horse has a very tender mouth.”