"I began it. I thought it rather shallow."
"Oh, well, I do not consider it a learned work. I never care for depth in a novel,--only love and high life. Shall we go on with our Shakespeare?" she asks.
"If you choose. What shall we read?"
"The moonlight scene from Romeo and Juliet."
Harry submits.
Meanwhile, Lato, with his brown attendant, wanders along the shady paths of the Dobrotschau park. Now and then he pays some attention to his shaggy companion, strokes his head, sends him after a stick, and finally has him take a bath in the little reed-encircled lake on the shores of which stand weather-stained old statues, while stately swans are gliding above its green depths. These last indignantly chase the clumsy intruder from their realm.
"Poor fellow! they will have none of you!" Treurenberg murmurs, consoling the dog as he creeps out upon the bank with drooping tail and ears.
Suddenly he hears the notes of a piano from the direction of the castle. He turns and walks towards it, almost as if he were obeying a call.
Pausing before an open glass door leading into the garden, he looks in upon a spacious, airy apartment, the furniture of which consists of a large Gobelin hanging, a grand piano, and some bamboo chairs scattered about.
At the piano a young girl is seated playing a dreamy improvisation upon 'The Miller and the Brook,' that loveliest and saddest of all Schubert's miller-songs. It is Olga. Involuntarily Lato's eyes are riveted upon the charming picture. The girl is tall and slim, with long, slender hands and feet. If one might venture to criticise anything so beautiful as her face, its pure oval might be pronounced a thought too long.