"But not for the worse?" she asks, piqued.
"At last she is going to take offence," he says to himself, exultantly, and he is beginning to finger his betrothal-ring, when the door opens and a servant announces, "Herr Count Fainacky."
"How well you look, my dear Baroness Paula! Ah, the correct air, beaming with bliss,--on connaît cela! Taking advantage of your Frau mother's kind invitation, I present myself, as you see, without notification," the Pole chatters on. "How are you, Harry? In the seventh heaven, of course,--of course." And he drops into an arm-chair and fans himself with a pink-bordered pocket-handkerchief upon which are depicted various jockeys upon race-horses, and which exhales a strong odour of musk.
"I am extremely glad to see you," Paula assures the visitor. "I hope you have come to stay some days with us. Have you seen mamma yet?"
"No." And Fainacky fans himself yet more affectedly. "I wandered around the castle at first without finding any one to announce me. Then I had an adventure,--ha, ha! C'est par trop bête!"
"What was it?"
"In my wanderings I reached an open door into a room looking upon the garden. There I found Treurenberg and a young lady,--only fancy,--I thought it was his wife. I took that--what is her name?--Olga--your protégée--for your sister,--for the Countess Selina, and begged Treurenberg to present me to his wife,--ha, ha! Vraiment c'est par trop bête!"
At this moment a tall, portly figure, with reddish hair, dazzling complexion, and rather sharp features, sails into the room.
"Here is my sister," says Paula, and a formal introduction follows.
"Before seeing the Countess Selina I thought my mistake only comical. I now think it unpardonable!" Fainacky exclaims, with his hand on his heart. "Harry, did the resemblance never strike you?" He gazes in a rapture of admiration at the Countess.