“Dear Michael, no. Will you not believe me when I assure you that it is only sorrow at losing you? It is like losing one of my own sons—almost as bad as when Kazimir first went to join the Scythian army.”
“But that was for such a long time, and I shall come back as soon as ever all the fuss is over. You don’t imagine that I would let anything keep me away?”
“My dear boy, you will not find yourself your own master then any more than you are now—in fact, you will have even less time at your disposal. No, we have been very happy, but we must learn to look upon that particular kind of happiness as past and gone for us.”
“Tant’ Ottilie, how can you say such things? I shall almost live here.”
“I am afraid Count Mortimer will have something to say to that.”
“Count Mortimer? What has he to do with it? Surely,” as a thought occurred to him, “you don’t think that it was through him that my mother sent for me home?”
“It looks very like it. She made no objection to your coming—did she? but as soon as she has had time to consult Count Mortimer, she recalls you.”
“It’s too bad. But after next week he shall see whether I——”
“Oh, no insubordination, Michael, please! But come and look out of this window. We shall pass the villa in a moment, and you will like to have a last look at it.”
“It is not my last look. It shall not be. Oh, there are the girls!”