"I will make you one, if you wish," said Flemming.
"Can you make old traditions?"
"O yes; I made three the other day for the Rhine, and one very old one for the Black Forest. A lady with dishevelled hair; a robber with a horrible slouched hat; and a night-storm among the roaring pines."
"Delightful! Do make one for me."
"With the greatest pleasure. Where will you have the scene? Here, or in the Black Forest?"
"In the Black Forest, by all means? Begin."
"First promise not to interrupt me. If you snap the golden threads of thought, they will float away on the air like gossamer threads, and I shall never be able to recover them."
"I promise."
"Listen, then, to the Tradition of 'The Fountain of Oblivion.' "
"Begin."