"Even with the assistance of all the seasons, you could hardly have found anything more beautiful than these white roses," she replies.
She sits at Scirocco's left.
Linda cannot eat, and finds no opportunity to speak, and relate the gay little stories which are her specialty. Pistasch, who sits at her right, contents himself by from time to time dutifully making some remark to her concerning the weather, the country, and such perfectly neutral subjects, excluding all intimate conversation, and Scirocco, her old friend, on whose homage she had relied so surely, to-day has nothing but etiquette for her. She listens to his conversation with Elsa. Elsa and he were playmates together. She calls him by his given name, he calls her Snowdrop, which pretty nick-name he had discovered for her years before. Both laugh lightly over old reminiscences which they share, and ask each other about old, half-forgotten friends. Pleasant confidence on her part, smiling courtesy on his, marks their manner to each other.
Linda feels more and more depressed.
Felix, more gloomy and embarrassed than usual, scarcely raises his eyes from his plate. Except Scirocco, who absolutely cannot help her, nor dares, only one notices and pities her misery--Erwin.
"What has become of your wild gypsy, Snowdrop?" asks Scirocco, among other things.
"My wild gypsy has become a very tame gypsy, who lets my little daughter ride her very good-naturedly," replies Elsa.
"Ah, Litzi rides already; then I must accompany her some day soon," says Scirocco.
"Do not break her heart. She likes you better than any one else now," says Elsa.
"That is quite mutual," he assures her. "I hope you will bring Litzi up for me."