May a man not walk unmolested even in such surroundings? And our poor unfortunate veterinary surgeon was the cause of all this trouble, a man who walks about in top-boots and the only comic thing about him is that he speaks with a Saxon accent. He ought really to speak Low German or even Mecklenburger. Which reminds me, did you know that in Rostock and Kiel they have founded a school of Low German poetry, or rather, two schools, because when the Germans start anything they always split into two at once? Hardly was the Low German school started than we had another itio in partes and so the Mecklenburgers are parading under their leader Fritz Reuter and the Holsteiners under Klaus Groth. But Klaus Groth has stolen a march on the other because he is a lyric poet who can be set to music and everything depends on that. Before twelve months, no, before six months are out, there won’t be a single piano without a song of his perched on it all the time. I saw something on your piano, Asta, can you sing anything of his?”

“I’m not very fond of Low German.”

“Well then, sing something in High German as long as it is nice and cheerful.”

“I’m not very fond of cheerful things.”

“All right, if it can’t be cheerful, then it will have to be sad. But then I shall have to be sad, too, to make it worthwhile. Something about a page who dies for his Lady Asta or about a knight who is killed by his rival and is buried by the road-side. And his faithful hound keeps watch over the knight’s grave and three ravens sit on a black poplar and caw and stare.”

Asta was used to her uncle’s teasing and would not have been at a loss to answer had her attention not been distracted at this moment by something else.

“There’s Elizabeth,” she cried, pleased and excited. “And old Petersen with her, and Schnuck, too.”

And with the others she went into the garden at the front and they all called down to the new-comers.


3

Pastor Petersen and his granddaughter failed to notice their welcome, perhaps because the light was shining in their eyes, but those standing on the terrace could see them all the more plainly as they approached along the beach. The old man, hat in hand so that the wind was ruffling his long, thin, white hair, was a few steps in front, while Elizabeth was picking up small pieces of wood and bark and throwing them into the sea so that Schnuck, a splendid black poodle, could retrieve them. Now, however, she had stopped playing and was picking a few flowers which were growing among the wild oats at the edge of the beach. Slowly sauntering, they eventually reached the pier and turned left towards the terrace.

“Here they come!” shouted Asta delightedly. “And Elizabeth has brought her grandfather with her.”

“Yes,” said Arne. “And one might almost say that her grandfather has brought Elizabeth with him. But you are all the same: youth is everything and when you are old, you are merely an accessory. Youth equals selfishness. But I suppose we older ones are hardly any better. When I saw the old gentleman my first thought was, here comes our game of whist. I know that Schwarzkoppen is not in favour of gambling but, thank God, he’s not against it either and if he were a Papist he would probably call it only a venial sin. And those are my favourite sins. By the way, I rather like that poodle, what’s his name?”

“Schnuck,” said Asta.

“Oh yes, Schnuck. More a name for a character in a comedy than for a dog, don’t you think? He has already been up and down here three times. He’s obviously enjoying himself immensely. And now tell me, Asta, what is he pleased about—you or the tricks he is going to show off or the sugar you are going to give him for doing them?”

Two hours later all was quiet on the terrace; evening had come and only on the sky-line could a red glow still be seen. Everyone had retired to the drawing-room, which was the same size as the dining-room and situated immediately behind it; and from here, they were able to look out on to the well-kept garden, with its greenhouses adjoining, which sloped away towards a large park.

The drawing-room was richly furnished but there was still space to move freely about. Beside the grand piano, in the most secluded corner, was a large round table on which stood an oil lamp. Here the countess sat with her friend Julie Dobschütz, who was about to read to her, while Asta and Elizabeth were sitting beside them on two foot-stools alternately chatting quietly to themselves and putting the poodle through his tricks, to its great and manifest delight. At last, however, tired by its efforts, it overbalanced and its paw struck one of the piano keys.

“Now he is trying to play the piano as well,” laughed Asta. “I think that if he wanted, Schnuck could play better than I can; he’s so clever and Aunt Julie will bear me out.