When this story came to an end, I took the opportunity—if it could be said to exist—of asking him about his relations, and, after having endured pages of family history, I was at last rewarded by hearing the name of Minna Jagemann—"that pretty little governess living with the von Zedlitzs', whom I suppose you have seen."
At first the information about her was of a very ordinary and uninteresting character.
Her father had been a teacher in one of the large public schools, and had died a year ago. Her mother took in lodgers, and the girl earned a little money by giving German lessons to foreigners, conversational classes, etc. She had for the present, contrary to her usual custom, accepted this situation as governess, which was very well paid; otherwise she lived with her mother in one of the smaller streets of Dresden.
All this sounded very commonplace to me, because I had conjured up a romantic history for her.
"At any rate, it is not always advisable for such an innocent girl to associate with these foreigners," he remarked, pushing down the ash in his pipe.
"Why not?" I asked with interest. "What do you mean?"
"Well, one doesn't always know with what kind of persons one may have to do, and it might lead to things that are not quite pleasant."
"Has Miss Jagemann had such an experience?"
"Indeed she has. There was a young painter, a countryman of yours, an unsteady sort of chap. He threw her over, and surely she did not deserve that."
"Is that so? Then they were engaged?"
"I don't know for certain whether they were really engaged. I haven't sufficiently inquired into the matter,
