"Oh, but how happy we have been here," the old lady ran on. "Do you remember, Stürmer, how you carried me off once in the most festive manner, in a sleigh, and on the way the mad idea came to you to drive on past our godfather's, and then you landed us both so softly in the deepest snow-drift—me in my best dress, the green brocade, you know, that you always called my parrot's costume?"
Klaus laughed heartily. "À propos, Stürmer," he asked, "have you seen Anna Maria yet?"
"Yes, indeed, I have already had the honor, on the landing down-stairs," replied the baron.
"The honor? Heavens, how ceremonious! Did you hear, dear?" asked the brother. But no answer came. "Anna Maria!" he then called.
"She is not here," said Aunt Rosamond, groping about to find the way out of the room. "But it is really too dark here," she added.
"Why haven't you married, Hegewitz?" Stürmer asked abruptly.
"I might pass the question back to you," replied Klaus. "But let us leave that alone, Stürmer, I will tell you something about it another time." Klaus von Hegewitz had risen and stepped to the nearest window; for a while silence reigned in the quiet room. Stürmer regretted having touched upon a topic that evidently aroused painful emotions.
"Every one has his experiences, Stürmer, so why should we be spared?" Klaus turned around, beginning to speak again. "But it is overcome now. I do not think about it any more," he added. "Will you have another cigar?"
"Not think about it any more?" cried the baron, not hearing the last question. He laughed aloud. "At thirty-four? My dear Klaus, what will become of you, then, when Aunt Rosamond dies and Anna Maria marries?"
"Anna Maria? I haven't thought about that yet, Stürmer; she is still so young, and—although—But one can see that it is possible to live so: you give the best example!" Klaus was out of humor.