Erika received him most amiably. The old Countess, on the other hand, was at first rather formal in her manner towards him. She was not accustomed to have young men delay so long in taking advantage of an invitation extended by herself to visit her. But before Lozoncyi had been five minutes in the room her displeasure melted like snow in sunshine.
Without the slightest attempt to excuse his dilatoriness, the artist was at pains to impress his hostesses with his delight in having at last found the way to them. "How charming!" he said, looking around the room and rubbing his slender hands, after his characteristic fashion. "One never would dream that this was a hotel."
"This is my grand-daughter's sanctum," said the old Countess. "My own reception-room is several shades barer."
"Indeed? Ah, I know it does not become me, the first time I am permitted to enjoy this privilege, to stare about at your treasures like the private agent of some dealer in antiquities, but we artists delight in the pride of the eye. It is remarkable how well you have suited the frame to the picture. Look, your Excellency."
He drew the old lady's attention to the picture formed at that moment by her grand-daughter, who was sitting in a negligent attitude in a high-backed antique chair, the gilt leather covering of which made a charming background for her auburn hair.
"It is enchanting, the white figure against the golden gleam of the leather, and with that vase of jonquils beside it. If one could only perpetuate it!" He sighed.
"You will embarrass the child," the grandmother admonished him, although in her heart she was delighted. "Instead of turning the Countess Erika's head, tell us why you have been so long finding your way hither."
He raised his eyes, looked her full in the face, and then dropped them again, as he said, in a low tone, "Rather ask me why I have come at all."
"No, I ask you expressly why you did not come before," the old lady persisted, laughing.
"Why?" He hesitated a moment, and then replied, calmly, "Because I have no wish to be the last among the Countess Erika's adorers to drag her triumphal car. Now you know. Such plain questions provoke plain answers." He looked at the old lady as he spoke, to see if he had gone too far. No, he was one of those favoured individuals to whom thrice as much is forgiven as to other men. Something in the intonation of his gentle, cordial voice, his frank yet melancholy glance, and especially his smile, his charming insinuating smile, instantly prepossessed people in his favour. It was the same smile with which as a lad of seventeen he had beguiled little Erika's tender heart, the merry, careless smile which he must have inherited from an amiable, light-hearted mother.