"But you are really getting on splendidly, Augusta," I said.
"Ah, yes! I should be a brute indeed did I do otherwise. And perhaps
when I am sufficiently acquainted with the German tongue I may find out
some of its beauties--or, rather, the beauties of its literature, for
the language itself is all guttural and horrible--worse than French."
"But surely French is very dainty?" I said.
"Dainty!" said Augusta, with scorn. "What one wants is a language of
thought--a language that will show sentiment, that will reveal the depth
of nature; and how, I ask you, can you find it in that frippery the
French tongue?"
"I do not know," I answered somewhat wearily.
"I like Moliere and the writings of some of the other great French poets
very much indeed."
"Well," said Augusta, "I have got to study a great quantity of German
for to-morrow morning. I must go into my room and tackle it. The
Professor said I was not to write to him, but I keep his treasured
letter near my heart; but if you are writing home you might say that
Augusta is not ungrateful. Do you ever have the great privilege of
writing direct to your father?"
"I could, of course, write to father any day," I said; "but as a matter
of fact I don't."
"But why not?"
"It would worry the poor man."
"But you might write just once to give him my message."
"I will, Augusta, if you will leave me now."
"But why do you want to get rid of me? How like you are to him! You
have just that same bluntness and the same determination. You interest
me at times profoundly."
"Well," I said, "if I interest you to the extent of getting you to start
your German it would be better."
"All right; but what am I to say to that silly Comtesse?"
"Tell her that I will see her by-and-by."
"You had much better not. She is not worth a grain of salt. A little
piece of conceit!"
Augusta left the room. She had not been gone many minutes before there
came a tap at the door, and the Comtesse, dressed in the palest blue and
looking remarkably pretty, entered.
"Ah!" she said, "you have caught cold from me, you poor English girl,
and I am so disconsolate."
She sank down at the foot of the bed and fixed her bright eyes on my
face.
"You are much better," I said.
"Ah, yes, that is so. I am what is called more spirited, and it is
because of you; but for you I should be indeed disconsolate. I might
have chosen the stupid, the so weary life of the good German housewife,
instead of--"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"I cannot say more. There are secrets which can be guessed but which
must not be spoken."
"Riki," I said, "I do wish you would give me a right good lesson in
talking German."
"Oh, but I couldn't--to give you a lesson. But why should I thus
discompose myself?"
"It would be a good and worthy object for one girl to help another."
"I want not to think of objects good and worthy. Why should I? That
isn't my aim; that is not what is called my _metier_ in life."