Drahomir (clasping his hands).—Let me talk. I was a giddy boy, but I always followed my heart, and my heart guessed your sorrow. Since that moment a shadow fell across my joy, but I overcame it. One cannot recall a tear which has rolled down the cheek, but a friendly hand can dry it. Therefore I overcame that cloud in order that the tears should not come to your eyes. If I have been mistaken, if I have chosen the wrong path, pray forgive me. Your life will be as beautiful as a bouquet of flowers, therefore be mirthful—be mirthful.
Stella (with emotion, giving him her hand).—I shall be; being near you, I am capricious, spoiled, and a little bit ill. Sometimes I do not know myself what is the matter with me, and what I wish. I am happy; truly I am happy.
Drahomir.—Then, no matter, as Mrs. Czeska says. Let us be merry, laugh, and run in the garden and play pranks with the countess and her son.
Stella.—I have discovered the source of your mirth; it is a good heart.
Drahomir.—No, madam. I am a great good-for-nothing. But the source of true happiness is not in this.
Stella.—Sometimes I think that there is none in this world.
Drahomir.—We cannot grasp it with our common sense, and will not fly after that winged vision. Sometimes perhaps it flies near us, but before we discover it, before we stretch out our hands, it is too late!
Stella.—What sad words—too late!
SCENE VIII.
The same. Jozwowicz.