"You do not understand German? Why, whatever would you do if you went to a ball here in Pesth, and could not speak to your partners?"
"I never go to any balls; I can't even dance," murmured the girl.
"You mean to say, you don't dance? Well then, however do you amuse yourself?"
"When I have time for it, I read."
"And what in the world do you read, if you only know Hungarian?" asked Ráby.
"Father has a fine library, and so he chooses books for me."
"And how do you spend the whole day?"
"Oh! I have a small garden in the courtyard; I love flowers!"
Tho two were silent, and Ráby looked around him.
The whole room was eloquent to him of the past. There, by the work-table, was still the little box containing thread, scissors, and thimble, which he himself had made when he was a clerk. There over the couch, hung a withered wreath of dried flowers which he recognised. Nothing was lost; all had been carefully preserved, even the pen which he had used for the last time in the office, rested still behind the mirror with his name inscribed upon the holder.