“‘The Count is busy, I fear,’ said he, knocking timidly; ‘he is angry with the Prefect, and is putting down notes of his reply. Ah! that is a full stop; now we can go in.’
“Excellency, the full stop was a blow with the fist upon a cabinet or a table—a blow like the fall of a hammer upon the iron. We took advantage of its echoes to open the door, and a moment later little Christine’s arms were about my neck. Ah! that was an hour to remember, an hour of my life—to have the wanderer’s cheek against my own, to hear her pretty words, to know that she could still call me Father Andrea. Yet I forgot not in whose presence I stood, and so soon as I had returned my child’s greetings I turned towards the Count and saluted him with proper respect.
“‘Herr Count,’ said I, ‘this is a happy day for me,’ and with that I continued to bow to him, until suddenly he stopped me peremptorily.
“‘Sit down, sit down, Signor Andrea,’ cried he; ‘you have been long in the coming, but are none the less welcome for that. We will give you a glass of hot wine, and then you shall talk to us. I’ll wager it was cold out yonder. Christine, see that the old man is made comfortable.’
“Excellency, I was hurt that he should have spoken of me in this way, for, poor as I am, there is old blood in my veins; yet I saw that he meant no hurt, and that his manner was the manner of a soldier, little given to courtesies. Nay, it was impossible not to feel respect for one who had so many of those gifts which men value. Rough of speech, huge of person, not wanting kindly eyes, to be reckoned handsome by the women, oddly dressed in a dark green military tunic—you would have marked Count Paul even in a regiment of Guards. There was a command in the lightest word he spoke, an invitation to obedience which few dared to resist. Yet you felt that his approval was something to be won and kept, that a kind word from him was precious as the gifts of others.
“But while I say this of the man, it is difficult to speak of the new Christine I found in the château of Jajce. Oh, she was changed beyond words, signor. Five months had made a woman of her; had robbed her of none of the graces of her childhood, yet had added other graces to them. She was always a tall child; but she had grown since I had seen her, and now stood up almost to the shoulder of the Count. Her new dress, brought from Vienna; her new manner of speech, for they had taught her much German; her pretty airs, like the airs of a little princess, all became her exceedingly. I saw that she was worthy of the château—was worthy of any fortune that could come to her; and this I made bold to tell the Count when he began to question me.
“‘Herr Count,’ said I, ‘she was the best of children, and I have loved her as one of my own.’
“‘And yet you left her four years to starve upon the island of Zlarin,’ said he, drily.
“Christine, eager to see that my wants were attended to, had run away while he spoke thus harshly. I did not fail to observe that the Count followed her steps with his eyes—nay, that his eyes rested upon her alone when she was in the room.
“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘it is true that necessity carried me from my duty to the child during the space of four years; but now that I am able, I am willing to repay. If it is your wish, I will take her back with me on the morrow, and will make it my charge to see that she is educated by the Sisters as I have promised.’