"Indeed!" says the major, looking at him scrutinizingly. "Is your leave at an end?"
"No, but----" Harry hesitates and pulls at his moustache.
"H'm!" A sly smile quivers upon the major's broad face. "Have you quarrelled with your betrothed?"
"No, but----"
The door opens, and Zdena enters, slender and pale, dressed in a simply-fashioned linen gown. She has lost her fresh colour, and her face is much thinner, but her beauty, far from being injured thereby, is heightened by an added charm,--a sad, touching charm, that threatens to rob Harry of the remnant of reason he can still call his.
"How are you, Zdena?" he says, going to meet her, while the warmest sympathy trembles in his voice. "You look pale. Are you well?"
"The heat oppresses me," she says, with a slight forced smile, withdrawing the hand which he would fain have retained longer in his clasp than was fitting under the circumstances.
"The Balsam motif," Frau Rosamunda calls from the piano.
After a while Zdena begins:
"How are they all at Komaritz? Heda sent her congratulations to-day with some lovely flowers, but said nothing with regard to the welfare of the family."