“I shall certainly endeavor to,” said Magda, as she went to join Franzchen and the count in the park.
One fine evening the two friends, accompanied by Count Hugo, who was now their constant companion, strolled down to the river. As they looked toward the blue distant mountains, Franzchen wished for wings that she might fly away to their dim summits; but Magda thought it would be far more agreeable to glide over the clear surface of the water.
The count seized upon the idea with alacrity. “Yes, that is the very thing,” he cried. “And, see! here is a little boat all ready. Will you not trust yourselves to my guidance? I am a good boat’s-man, I assure you.”
“Oh, delightful!” cried Franzchen. “You shall row us in the path that the moon has marked out for us; and we will glide down the stream like the fairies we hear of in old stories, in their little walnut-shell boats.”
“But what if we should tip over?” suggested the prudent Magda.
“Then we would float along like the sea-nymphs, with flowing locks spread out upon the water. I think, to bathe in this beautiful river would be quite pleasant.”
“And only think,” interposed the count, “what a fine opportunity I should have of displaying my gallantry in rescuing you by those flowing locks, and swimming with you to the land.”
“Oh, my poor head! It makes me shudder to think of it,” said Magda, clasping her hands above her. “That might do for water-nymphs, if they have hair of ropes, and skin like leather; but for poor human beings, me thinks, it would be more romantic than agreeable.”
“But there is really no danger,” replied the count; “and I shall consider it as an imputation upon my skill, if you do not try it.”
Franzchen jumped into the boat, Magda followed, and Count Hugo, placing himself at the helm, soon showed himself skillful in the use of the oar.