"Yes, it is very vapid poetry, do you not think?"
"He might perhaps have selected better. I admit that, as it is, this collection has but a purely philological interest; but I believe if careful search were made one would succeed in collecting the most perfect flowers of your folk-poetry."
"Alas! I doubt it very much, in spite of my patriotic desires."
"A few weeks ago a very fine ballad was given me at Wilno — an historical one. . It is a most remarkable poem. . . . May I read it? I have it in my bag."
"With the greatest pleasure."
He buried himself in an armchair, after asking permission to smoke.
" I can't understand poetry unless I smoke," he said.
"It is called The Three Sons of Boudrys."
"The Three Sons of Boudrys? " exclaimed the Count with a gesture of surprise.
"Yes, Boudrys, as Your Excellency knows better than I, is an historic character."
The Count looked at me fixedly with that odd gaze of his. It was something indefinable, both timid and ferocious, and produced an almost painful impression until one grew accustomed to it. I hurriedly began to read to escape it.
