The man who entered was surprised.

"What? We are not yet ready for the drive?" he exclaimed.

The maid threw her book aside, ran toward him, and flung her arms with childish abandon around his neck.

"We are not going to drive to-day. Dost thou not know that this is my birthday--that I alone give orders in this house to-day? To-day everything must be done as _I_ say; and _I_ say that we will pa.s.s the time of the drive here in my room, and that thou shalt answer several silly questions which have come into my head. And forget not that we are to 'thou' each other to-day. And now, congratulate me nicely. Come, let us hear it!"

The count almost imperceptibly bent his knee and his head, but spoke not one word. There are gratulations which are expressed in this manner.

"Very good! Then I am a queen for to-day, and thou art my sole subject.

Sit thou here at my feet on this taboret."

The man obeyed. Marie seated herself on the ottoman, and drew her feet underneath the wide skirt of her robe.

"Put that book away!" she commanded, when Ludwig stooped to lift from the floor the volume she had cast there. "I know every one of the four volumes by heart! Why dost not thou give me one of the books thou readest so often?"

"Because they are medical works."

"And why dost thou read such books?"

"In order that, should any one in the castle become ill, I may be able to cure him or her without a doctor."

"And must the person die who is ill and cannot be cured?"

"That is generally the end of a fatal illness."

"Does it hurt to die?"

"That I am unable to tell, as I have never tried it."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the maid. "Thou canst not put me off that way!

Thou knowest many things thou hast not yet tried. Thou hast read about them; thou knowest! What is death like? Is it more unpleasant than a disagreeable dream? Is the pain all over when one has died, or is there more to come afterward? If death is painful, why must we die? If it is pleasant, why must we live?"

Children ask such strange questions!

"Life is a gift from G.o.d that must be preserved as long as possible,"

returned Ludwig, evading the main question. "Through us the world exists--"

"What is the world?" interrupted Marie.

"The entire human race and their habitations--the earth."

"Then every person owns a plot of earth? Where is the plot which belongs to us? Answer me that!"

"By the way, that reminds me!" exclaimed Ludwig, relieved to find an opportunity to change the subject. "I have not yet told thee that I intend to buy a lovely plot of ground on the sh.o.r.e of the lake, which is to be made into a pretty flower-garden for thy use alone. Will not that be pleasant?"

"Thou art very kind; the garden will be lovely. That plot of ground, then, will be our home, will it not? What is one's home called?"

"It is called the fatherland."

"Then every country is not one's fatherland?"

"If our enemies live there, it is not."

"What are enemies?"

"Persons with whom we are angry."

"What is angry? I have never yet seen anything like it. Why art thou never angry?"

"Because I have no reason to be angry with thee, and I never a.s.sociate with any one else."

"What do those persons do who become angry with one another?"

"They avoid each other. If they are very angry they fight; and if they are very, very angry they kill each other."

The maid was tortured with curiosity to-day. She drew a pin from her robe, and secretly thrust the point into Ludwig's hand.

"What art thou doing?" he asked, in surprise.

"I want to see what thou art like when thou art angry. Did it hurt thee?"

"Certainly it hurt me; see, the blood is flowing."

"Ah, heaven!" cried the maid, in terror, drew the young man's head toward her, and pressed a kiss on his face.

He sprang to his feet, his face pale as death, extreme horror depicted in his glance.

"There!" exclaimed the maid. "Thou dost not kill me, and yet I have made thee very angry."

"This is not anger," sighed the young man.

"What is it, then?"

"It has no name."

"Then I may not kiss thee? Thou lettest me kiss thee last year, and the year before, and every other year."

"But thou art fifteen years old to-day."

"Ah! Then what was allowed last year, and always before that, is not allowed now. Dost not thou love me any more?"

"All my thoughts are filled with thee."

"Thou knowest that I have always been allowed to make one wish on my birthday, and that it has always been granted. That is what some one accustomed me to--thou knowest very well who."

"Thy desires have always been fulfilled."