"Yes," said the Countess, "unfortunately we cannot depend upon her, but you will probably enjoy the society of Fräulein von Klette. Mimi will do her best to make her stay at home, but she cannot promise."
"Is she living still,--that Spanish fly?" asked Georges, surprised.
"Indeed she is, and with the same enormous appetite," Pistasch calmly declared, "I believe she is qualifying herself for the post of Minister of Finance; her talent for levying taxes is more brilliantly developed every year. Unfortunately her sphere of action is limited to the circle of her most intimate friends."
"It appears that she has just embarked in a novel and very interesting financial enterprise," remarked the Countess with a smile, "she is raffling a sofa cushion."
"Oh, that famous negro head," observed Pistasch, "she has been working at it for two years, and she issues a fresh batch of chances every three months."
"Before I forget it," said the Countess half to herself, "would you not like to write to Fritz to come to dinner day after to-morrow, Ossi? we shall be entirely by ourselves. He will feel at home, and I am always glad to entice him to forget his sorrows, if only for a few hours."
"I paid him a visit yesterday," said Georges, "he is going down hill very fast in health. He asked eagerly after you, Ossi, and mentioned that he had not seen you for a long while."
"Ossi avoids Schneeburg, for fear of an encounter with the Phylloxera vastatrix who, as he prophesies, is to be the ruin of us all," said Pistasch banteringly.
Oswald had risen to light a cigarette at the lamp; his hand trembled a little. "I will write to Fritz, mamma," he said, "I am afraid I have rather neglected him of late."