Yes, yes, the old Baron was either about to die or was "going crazy." There was such a change in him. He bought a Newfoundland dog, which he petted immensely, he developed a love for canary-birds, and, more alarming symptom than all the rest, he was growing generous: he stood godfather to two peasant babies, and dowered the needy bride of one of his bailiffs.
In the beginning of April he appeared again at Vorhabshen, and seemed in no hurry to leave it.
The day after Harry's sudden arrival at Zirkow, the old man was sitting, just after breakfast, in a leather arm-chair, smoking a large meerschaum pipe, and listening to Studnecka's verses, when the housekeeper entered to clear the table, a duty which Lotta, the despot, always performed herself for her master, perhaps because she wanted an opportunity for a little gossip with him.
Studnecka's efforts at entertainment were promptly dispensed with, and the old Baron shortly began, "Lotta, I hear that good-for-naught Harry is in this part of the country again; is it so?"
"Yes, Herr Baron; the cow-boy met him yesterday on the road," replied Lotta, sweeping the crumbs from the table-cloth into a green lacquered tray with a crescent-shaped brush.
"What is he doing here?" the old man asked, after a pause.
"They say he has come to court the Baroness Zdena."
"Oh, indeed!" The Baron tried to put on a particularly fierce expression. "It would seem that since that money-bag at Dobrotschau has thrown him over, he wants to try it on again with the girl at Zirkow, in hopes I shall come round. Oh, we understand all that."
"The Herr Baron ought to be ashamed to say such things of our Master Harry," Lotta exclaimed, firing up. "However, the Herr Baron can question the young Herr himself; there he is," she added, attracted to the window by the sound of a horse's hoofs. "Shall I show him up? or does the Herr Baron not wish to see him?"
"Oh, send him up, send him up. I'll enlighten the fellow."