Meanwhile, the garrulous general continued, without waiting to be questioned: "Leskjewitsch is patient with his sister, and is excessively fond of his niece, but, between ourselves,"--he chuckled to himself,--"Leskjewitsch is a fool!"
If anything gave him more satisfaction than to live at the expense of others, it was to be witty, or rather malicious, at their expense. Rohritz thought this bad form, and was silent.
"I do not know the ladies personally," the general went on, rubbing his hands, "but for originality"--here he tapped his forehead with his forefinger--"neither mother nor daughter is far behind the captain. The mother is an old blue-stocking, and has been travelling all over the world for the last ten years, collecting materials for an historical work upon the Medicines, or whatever you choose to call them----"
"The Medici, perhaps?" Rohritz interpolated.
"Very likely; I only know that there was an apothecary in the family, and that there were pills in their scutcheon, and that the worthy Baroness's work is to be eight volumes long," said the general.
Stasy, who had been leaning back in a luxurious arm-chair, moved to tears for the hundredth time over the last chapter of 'Paul and Virginia,' her favourite book,--the death of the heroine, she said, touched her especially because she could so easily fancy herself in Virginia's place,--now laid her book aside, since her tears seemed to arouse no sympathy, and joined in the conversation:
"You are talking of the Meinecks?"
"Yes. Are you personally acquainted with the ladies?" asked the general.
"Yes,--not very intimately, though. I always held myself a little aloof from them, but last summer we were at the same country resort,--I was with a sick friend at Zalow,--and I saw something and heard a great deal of the Meinecks."
"And are all the strange things that are said of them true?" asked the general.