No, no--we won't speak of it. Good-by.

[_Exit_ Marie.

_Enter_ Von Keller.

MAX.

You must content yourself with me for a few minutes, my dear Von Keller. [_They shake hands_.]

VON KELLER.

With pleasure, my good sir, with pleasure. [_Sits_.] How our little town is changed by the festival! It really seems as if we were in the great world.

MAX.

[_Laughing_.] I advise you not to say that aloud.

VON KELLER.

What did I say? I a.s.sure you I did not mean anything. If such a misunderstanding got abroad--

MAX.

You have nothing to fear from me!

VON KELLER.

Oh, of course not. Ah, how much better it would be to know nothing of the outer world!

MAX.

How long were you away?

VON KELLER.

Five years, with examinations and being sent down to commissioners and all that. Well, now I am back again. I drink home-brewed beer; I patronize local tailors; I have even, with a n.o.ble fearlessness of death, eaten the deer-steak of the season; and this I call pleasure!

Yes, youth, travel, and women are good things; but the world must be ruled, and sober men are needed. Your time will come some day. The years of honor are approaching. Yes, yes, especially when one joins the ecclesiastical courts.

MAX.

Are you going to do that?

VON KELLER.

I think of it. And to be at one with those of the cloth-- I speak quite openly with you--it is worth my while, in short, to interest myself in religious questions. I have of late in my speeches, as perhaps you know, taken this position; and as for the connections which this household has--let me tell you I am proud of them.

MAX.

You might have been proud long ago.

VON KELLER.

Excuse me, am I over-sensitive? Or do I read a reproach in your words?

MAX.

Not quite that, but--if you will pardon me, it has sometimes appeared--and not to me alone--as if you avoided the houses where my uncle's family were to be found.

VON KELLER.

And my presence here now--does not that prove the contrary?

MAX.

Exactly. And therefore I too will speak very frankly. You were the last person to meet my lost cousin, Magda.

VON KELLER.

[_Confused_.] Who says--

MAX.

You yourself have spoken of it, I am told. You met her with my friend Heydebrand when he was at the military academy.

VON KELLER.

Yes, yes, it's true.

MAX.

It was wrong of me not to ask you about her openly, but you will probably understand my reticence. I feel almost as if I belonged to this family and I feared to learn something which might disgrace it.

VON KELLER.

Oh, not at all, not in the least. It was like this. When I was in Berlin for the State Examinations, I saw one day on Leipsic Street a familiar face,--a home face, if I may say so. You know what that is when one is far away. Well, we spoke to each other. I learned that she was studying to sing in opera, and that for this purpose she had left her home.

MAX.

Not exactly. She left home to be companion to an old lady.

[_Hesitates_.] There was a difference with her father.

VON KELLER.

A love affair?

MAX.

In a way. Her father supported the suitor and told her to obey or leave his house.