mother perceived my eyes travelling in that direction.
"Poor old Baroness! You never liked her, did you, Augustin?"
"No," said I, emboldened by this new and confidential one,
"Try to think more kindly of her," she advised; but I saw that she was not in the least aggrieved at my want of appreciation. "You don't like women, do you?"
"Only you, and Victoria, and" I hesitated.
"And Anna?"
"Oh, of course, old Anna."
"Well, and who else?"
"The Countess von Sempach," said I, a little timidly.
"Haven't you forgotten her?" asked my mother, and her smile became less bright.
"No, I've—I've not forgotten her," I murmured. "Does she ever come to see you, mother—here at Artenberg, I mean?"
"No, darling," said my mother.
I did not pursue the subject. I had eyes good enough to see that my dislike for Krak was pleasanter to my mother than my liking for the Countess. Women seem to me to have the instinct of monopoly, and not to care for a share of affection. Such, at least, was my mother's temperament, intensified no doubt by the circumstance that in future days my favour and liking might be matters of importance. She feared from another woman just what she feared from Hammerfeldt, his governor, and his tutors; probably her knowledge of the world made her dread another woman more than any number of men. She feared even Victoria, her own daughter and my sis-
