“Fair one, I give you greeting.”
She started in surprise at my jesting tone. Alas, I knew not what I was saying. She smiled timidly, and looked at me.
“Have you been up in the hills to-day?” she asked. “Then you must be wet. I have a kerchief here, if you care for it; I can spare it... Oh, you don't know me.” And she cast down her eyes and shook her head when I did not take her kerchief.
“A kerchief?” I answer, grinning in anger and surprise. “But I have a jacket here—won't you borrow it? I can spare it—I would have lent it to anyone. You need not be afraid to take it. I would have lent it to a fishwife, and gladly.”
I could see that she was eager to hear what I would say. She listened with such attention that it made her look ugly; she forgot to hold her lips together. There she stood with the kerchief in her hand—a white silk kerchief which she had taken from her neck. I tore off my jacket in turn.
“For Heaven's sake put it on again,” she cried. “Don't do that! Are you so angry with me? Herregud! put your jacket on, do, before you get wet through.”
I put on my jacket again.
“Where are you going?” I asked sullenly.
“No—nowhere ... I can't understand what made you take off your jacket like that ...”
“What have you done with the Baron to-day?” I went on. “The Count can't be out at sea on a day like this.”