'Ja! ja!' said Gela.
Bela knew very well what a nix was. Otto had told him all about kobolds and sprites, as his pony trotted down the drives.
'Or we will take them prisoners,' he added, remembering that his mother never allowed anything to be killed, not even butterflies.
'Ja!' said Gela again, rolling the pretty blue and pink and amber balls about in the white fur of the bearskin.
Gela's views of life were simplified by the disciple's law of imitation; they were restricted to doing whatever Bela did, when that was possible, when it was not possible he remained still adoring Bela, with his little serious face as calm as a god's.
She used to think that when they should grow up Bela would be a great soldier like Wallenstein or Condé, and Gela would stay at home and take care of his people here in the green, lone, happy Iselthal.
Time ran on and the later summer made the blooming hay grow brown on all the alpine meadows, and made the garden of Hohenszalras blossom with a million autumnal glories; it brought also the season of the first house-party. Egon Vàsàrhely was to arrive one day before the Lilienhöhe and the other guests.
'I want Egon so much to see Bela!' she said, with the thoughtless cruelty of a happy mother forgetful of the pain of a rejected lover.
'I fear Bela will find little favor in your cousin's eyes, since he is mine too,' said Sabran.
'Oh, Egon is content to be only our cousin by this——'