for it was understood that Madame von Rosen was in favour with the Prince. None the less, however, did the Countess lower her voice at times to within a semitone of whispering; and the pair leaned together over the narrative.
‘Do you know,’ said Otto, laughing, ‘you are the only entertaining woman on this earth!’
‘O, you have found out so much,’ she cried.
‘Yes, madam, I grow wiser with advancing years,’ he returned.
‘Years!’ she repeated. ‘Do you name the traitors? I do not believe in years; the calendar is a delusion.’
‘You must be right, madam,’ replied the Prince. ‘For six years that we have been good friends, I have observed you to grow younger.’
‘Flatterer!’ cried she, and then with a change, ‘But why should I say so,’ she added, ‘when I protest I think the same? A week ago I had a council with my Father Director, the glass; and the glass replied, “Not yet!” I confess my face in this way once a month. O! a very solemn moment. Do you know what I shall do when the mirror answers, “Now”?’
‘I cannot guess,’ said he.
‘No more can I,’ returned the Countess. ‘There is such a choice! Suicide, gambling, a nunnery, a volume of memoirs, or politics—the last, I am afraid.’
