which I desire to have completed as quickly as possible. Come, and I
will show you what I want you to do."

It was the hour Marie spent in her garden; consequently the count was at
liberty to conduct the jack of all trades to the young girl's apartment,
and explain what he wished to have done.

Master Matyas listened attentively to what the count said, and took the
necessary measurements. When he had done so, he turned toward his
patron, and said in a serious tone:

"Do you know why we lost the battle of Marengo? Because General
Gvozdanovics, when Napoleon's cavalry made that famous assault, was not
clever enough to order three men into every tree on that long
avenue--two of the men to load the muskets, while the third kept up a
continual fire. The French horsemen could not have ridden up the trees,
and the entire troop of cavalry would have dropped under the continuous
fire! The general certainly should have commanded: 'Half battalion--half
left! Up the trees--forward!'"

"That is true, Master Matyas," assented Count Vavel; "but I should like
to know if you fully understand what I want you to do, and if you can do
it?"

Master Matyas's face brightened suddenly. "I 'll tell you what, Herr
Count; if I succeed in doing what you want, I shall be able, if ever
Napoleon makes another attack on us, to pen him up, with his entire
army, so securely that he won't be able to stir!"

"I have no doubt of that!" again assented the count. "What I want,
however, is a secure barrier that cannot be opened from the outside.
Pray understand me. I want this barrier made in such a manner that the
person within the barricade will have sufficient light and air, but be
invisible to any one outside, and be perfectly secure from intruders.
Could not you let me have a little drawing of what you propose to do?"

"Certainly"; and taking a small sketch-book from his pocket, Master
Matyas proceeded to do as he was requested--first, however, explaining
to the count a drawing of the cannon which would mow down at one shot
fifteen hundred men. "You see," he explained, "here are two cannon
welded together at the breech, with their muzzles ten degrees apart. But
one touch-hole suffices for both. The balls are connected by a long
chain, and when the cannon are fired off, the balls naturally fly in
opposite directions and forward at the same time, and, stretching the
chain, mow off the heads of every man jack with whom it comes in
contact! Fire! Boom! Heads off!"

The count was perfectly satisfied with Master Matyas. He had found a man
who fully understood his business, and who knew how to hold his tongue
on all subjects but on that of his infernal machines, and of his
stratagems to defeat Napoleon. For two weeks Master Matyas labored
diligently at his task in the Nameless Castle, during which time Henry
heard so much about warlike stratagems that his sides ached from the
continued laughter. But when the villagers questioned Master Matyas
about his work at the castle, they could learn nothing from him but
schemes to capture the ever-victorious Corsican.

"Herr Count," one day observed Henry, toward the close of the second
week, "if I hear much more of Master Matyas's wonderful battles, I shall
become as crazy as he is!"

And the count replied:

"You are crazy already, my good Henry--and so am I!"

At last the task was completed. Count Vavel was satisfied with the work
Master Matyas had performed, and it only remained for Marie to express
herself satisfied with the arrangement which would barricade her every
night as securely as were the treasures of the "green vault" in Dresden.

A few days afterward was Marie's sixteenth birthday. Count Vavel had
come to her apartments, as usual, to congratulate her, and to hear what
her birthday wish might be. But the young girl, whose sparkling eyes had
become veiled with melancholy, whose red lips had already learned to
express sadness, had no commands to give to-day.

After dinner the count, on some pretence, detained Marie in the library
while Master Matyas completed his task in her room.

This masterpiece was a peculiar curtain composed of small squares of
steel so joined together that light and air could easily penetrate the
screen. It was fitted between the two marble columns which supported the
arch of the bed-alcove. When the metal curtain was lowered, by means of
a cord, two springs in the floor caught and held it so securely that it
could not be lifted from the outside. To raise the screen the person in
the alcove had only to touch a secret spring near the bed, when the
screen would roll up of itself.

"And hast thou no wish this year, Marie?" asked the count, adopting, as
usual on this anniversary, the familiar "thou."

"Yes, I have one, dear Ludwig," replied the young girl, but with no
brightening of the melancholy features. "I have lost something, but thou
canst not give it back to me."

"And what may this something be? What hast thou lost, Marie? Tell me."

"My former sweet, sound sleep! and thou canst not buy me another in
Vienna or Paris. I used to sleep so soundly. I used to be so fond of my
sweet slumber that I could hardly wait to say my prayers, and often I
would be in dreamland long before I got to the 'Amen.' And if by any
chance I awoke in the night and heard the clock strike, I would beg of
it not to hurry along the hours so fast--I did not want morning to come
so soon! But now that I have to sleep with locked doors, I lie awake
often until midnight--terrified by I know not what. I dread to be so
entirely alone when everything is so quiet; and when it is dark I feel
as if some one were stealthily creeping about my room. When I hear a
noise I wonder what it can be, and my heart beats so rapidly! Then I
draw the covers over my head to shut out all sound, and if I fall asleep
thus I have such disagreeable dreams that I am glad when I waken again."

Count Vavel gently took the young girl's hand in his.

"Suppose I could restore to thee thy former sweet slumber, Marie?
Suppose I take up my old quarters on the lounge by the door?"

The young girl gazed into his eyes as if she would penetrate his very
soul. Then she said sorrowfully: "No, dear Ludwig; that would not
restore my slumber."

"Then suppose I have thought of something that will? Come with me, and
see."

She laid her hand on his arm, and went with him to her room.

Ludwig conducted her into the alcove, and stepped outside.

"Draw the cord which hangs at the head of the bed," he said, smiling at
her wondering face.

Marie did as he bade her, and the metal screen unrolled, and was caught
in the springs in the floor.

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed in amazement. "I am a prisoner in my
own alcove."

"Only so long as you care to remain in your prison," returned Count
Vavel. "No one can lift the screen from this side; but if you will press
your foot on the little brass button in the floor at the foot of the
column to your left, you will be at liberty again."

The next instant Master Matyas's handiwork was rolled up to the ceiling.

Marie was filled with delight and astonishment.

"There is another work of art connected with this wonderful mechanism,"
said the count, after Marie had rolled and unrolled the screen several
times. "The cord which releases the screen rings a bell in my room. When
I hear the bell I shall know that you have retired; then I shall bring
my books and papers into your room out yonder, and continue my work
there. Only enough light will penetrate the screen to the alcove to
prevent utter darkness. You will not need to be afraid hereafter, and
perhaps the sweet, sound sleep will return to you."

Marie did not offer to kiss her guardian for this birthday gift. She
merely held out both hands, and gave his a clasp that was so close and
warm that it said more than words or kisses. She waited impatiently for
evening to test the working of her wonderful screen. She did not amuse
herself with her cards, as usual, but went to bed at ten o'clock. At the
same moment that the screen unrolled and was caught by the springs in
the floor, Count Ludwig's footsteps were heard in the corridor. In one
hand he carried a two-branched candlestick, in the other his pistol-case
and ink-horn. His pen was between his lips; his books and papers were
held under his arm. He seated himself at a table, and resumed his
studies.

Marie would have been untrue to her sex had she not watched him for
several minutes through her metal screen--watched and admired the superb
head, supported on one hand as he bent intently over his book, the
broad brow, the classical nose, the chin and lips of an Achilles--all as
motionless as if they had been molded in bronze. A true hero--a hero who
battled with the most powerful demons of earth, the human passions, and
conquered. From that day Marie found her old sweet sleep again.

The second day Marie's curiosity prompted her to signal to Ludwig half
an hour earlier. He heard, and came as readily at half-past nine
o'clock. And then the little maid (like all indulged children) abused
her privileges: she signaled at nine o'clock, and at last at eight
o'clock--retiring with the birds in order to test if Ludwig would obey
the signal.

He always came promptly when the falling screen summoned him.

And then Marie said to herself:

"He loves me. He loves me very much--as the fakir loves his Brahma, as
the Carthusian loves his sainted Virgin. That is how he loves me!"




PART V

ANGE BARTHELMY


CHAPTER I


So far as Marie's safety from robbers was concerned, Count Vavel might
now rest content. Satan Laczi's advice had been obeyed to the letter.
But how about Baroness Landsknechtsschild? Danger still threatened her.

Count Vavel was seriously concerned about his fair neighbor, and
wondered how he might communicate his extraordinary discovery to her.
What could he do to warn her of the danger which still threatened her?
Should he call in person at the manor, and tell her of his interview
with Satan Laczi?

A propitious chance came to Count Vavel's aid in his perplexity.

One afternoon the sound of a trumpet drew him to his window. On looking
out, he beheld a division of cavalry riding along the highway toward the
village. They were dragoons, as their glistening helmets indicated.

When the troop drew near to the village, the band struck up a lively
mazurka, and to this spirited march the soldiers made their entry into
Fertoeszeg. Ludwig could see through his telescope how the men were
quartered in the houses in the village; and in the evening, after the
retreat had been sounded, he also saw that the windows of the hitherto
unused wing of the manor were brilliantly illuminated. Evidently the
officers in command of the troop had taken up their quarters there,
which was proper. The armed guard on duty at the manor gates verified
this supposition.

Count Vavel might now feel perfectly sure that no robbers would attempt
to break into the manor; they were too cunning to come prowling about a
place where cavalry officers were quartered.

And with the arrival of the troop another danger had been averted. Now
Baroness Katharina would not break into the Nameless Castle and despoil
Count Vavel of something which Satan Laczi could not, with all his
cunning, have restored to him--his heart!

Count Ludwig did not trouble himself further about the manor. He was
convinced that enough gallant cavalrymen were over yonder to entertain
the fair mistress, so that she would no longer wait for any more
tiresome philosophizing from him.

Every evening he could hear the band playing on the veranda of the
manor, and very often, too, the merry dance-music, which floated from
the open windows until a late hour of the night. They were enjoying
themselves over yonder, and they were right in so doing.

How did all this concern him?

In one respect, however, the soldiers taking up their quarters in
Fertoeszeg concerned him: they exercised daily on the same road over
which it was his custom to take his daily drive with Marie. In order to
avoid meeting them, he was obliged to change the hour to noon, when the
soldiers would be at dinner.

Several days after the arrival of the troop at Fertoeszeg, the officer in
command paid a visit at the Nameless Castle--a courtesy required from
one who was familiar with the usages of good society. At the door,
however, he was told by the groom that Count Vavel was not at home. He
left his card, which Henry at once delivered to his master, who was in
his study.

The card bore the name:

"Vicomte Leon Barthelmy, K. K., Colonel of Cavalry."

Count Vavel tried to remember where he had heard the name before, but
without success. He quieted his dread which this act of ceremony had
aroused in him by the thought that it contained no further significance
than the conventional courtesy which a stranger felt himself called upon
to pay to a resident.

The call would, of course, have to be returned. From his observatory
Count Vavel informed himself at what hour the colonel betook himself to
the exercise-ground, and chose that time to make his visit. Naturally he
found the colonel absent, and left a card for him. A few days afterward
Colonel Barthelmy again alighted from his horse at the door of the
Nameless Castle, and again met with a disappointment--the Herr Count was
not at home to visitors; he was engaged, and had given orders not to be
disturbed.

Again the troop's commander left his card, determining to remain indoors
at the manor until the return visit had been paid, which would have to
be done within twenty-four hours if no rudeness were intended.

He was not a little astonished to find, on returning to the manor, that
Count Vavel had left a card for him with the porter. Such promptness
perplexed the colonel. How had the count managed to reach the manor
before he did? The porter informed him that the gentleman from the
Nameless Castle had rowed across the cove, which was a much shorter way
than by the carriage-road around the shore.

The colonel now determined to prove that he was an obstinate and
persistent admirer of the occupant of the Nameless Castle. He paid a
third visit at eight o'clock the next evening. This time Henry informed
the visitor that the count had gone to bed.

"Is he ill?" inquired the colonel.

"No; this is his usual hour for retiring."

"But how can a man who is not ill go to bed at eight o'clock?"

And again he handed Henry a card.

This visit Count Vavel returned the next morning at three o'clock. At
this hour, as may be supposed, every soul in the manor was still sound
asleep. Only the guards on watch at the gate demanded: "Halt! Who comes
there?"

On learning that the intruder was a "friend," they allowed him to waken
the porter, who thrust his frowzy head from the half-open door to ask,
in surprise, what was wanted.

"Is the Herr Colonel at home?" inquired Count Vavel.

"Yes, your lordship; but he is in bed."

"Is he ill?"

"No, your lordship; but he is in bed, of course, at this hour."

"Why, how can a man who is not ill stay in bed until three o'clock?"

The count turned over a corner of his card, and handed it to the porter.

This, at last, the colonel understood, and left no more cards at the
Nameless Castle.

*       *       *       *       *

The officers quartered at the manor were agreeable companions. Vicomte
Leon Barthelmy was a true courtier, a brave soldier, an entertaining
comrade, and a generous master. Even his enemies would have admitted
that his manners were irresistible in the salon, as well as on the
battle-field. Every one knew that Colonel Barthelmy was a married
man--that he had a wife with whom, however, he did not live, but from
whom he had not been divorced.

Susceptible feminine hearts did not risk a flirtation with the
fascinating soldier, being forewarned by the canonical laws of the
church, which forbade more intimate relations. There was no need to fear
for so prudent and discreet a woman as the Baroness Katharina
Landsknechtsschild. Her principles were very sound, and firmly grounded.
She permitted no familiarities beyond a certain limit, but made no coy
pretence of avoiding innocent amusements. Her affable treatment of the
officers was easily explained. She had not received the gentlemen
residing in the neighborhood, because they would very soon have visited
the manor with a special object--they would have come as suitors for her
hand. She would have been compelled to reject such offers, and would
have given rise to all sorts of gossip. Moreover, these country magnates
were tiresome persons; for, when they were once gathered about a
gaming-table, the four ladies in a pack of cards engrossed so much of
their attention that they had no thought for any of the living women
about them.

The sons of Mars, on the contrary, were devoted entirely to the service
of the fair sex. Many of the officers' wives accompanied the regiment,
and these helped to make up the quadrille, the mazurka, the redowa,--at
that time the latest dance,--and every day saw a merry gathering of
revelers.

One day there would be a series of entertaining games; another day there
would be a play on a hastily improvised stage, in which the baroness
herself would take a part, and win well-deserved applause by her
graceful and artistic acting.

There were several skilled amateur jugglers among the merry company, who
would give performances _a la_ Bosko and Philadelphia; and others would
delight the audience with the wonderful scenes of a magic lantern.

Once the baroness arranged a chase, and herself joined in the hunt after
the pheasants and deer on her estate, proving herself a skilled Amazon
in the saddle and in the management of her rifle. Then, the officers
improvised a horse-race; and once they even got up a circus, in which
all look part.

Count Vavel, in his tower, was an interested spectator of many of these
amusements. There had been a time when he, too, had taken part in and
enjoyed just such sports. He was a lover of the chase and of
horse-racing. No one knew better than he the keen delights of a clean
vault over ditches and hedges. If only he might join the merry company
down yonder, _he_ could show them some riding!

And as for hunting? He could spend whole days on the mountains,
clambering after the fleet-footed chamois, following the larger game
through morass and forest. He had grown up amid exhilarating sports such
as these.

And the dance-music! How alluring were the strains! and how often
through the day he found himself humming the melodies which had floated
to him from the open windows of the manor! Once he, too, had taken
pleasure in jesting with fair women until their white shoulders would
shake with merry laughter. And all this he must look upon and hear at a
distance, since he had made himself his own jailer!

*       *       *       *       *

During these weeks Marie was very restless. The sound of the trumpets
startled her; the unusual noises terrified her. She whose nightly
slumbers had been guarded from the barking of dogs and the crowing of
fowls now was obliged to listen half the night to clarionet, horn, and
piccolo, and to wonder what these people could be doing that they kept
their music going until such late hours.

One circumstance, however, reconciled Marie to the excitement of these
days: Ludwig spent more time with her; and though his face was as stern
as ever, she could not detect in it the melancholy which cannot be
concealed from the eyes of the woman who can look into the depths, of
the soul.




CHAPTER II


At last, one day late in the autumn, Count Vavel received from his
correspondent, Herr Mercatoris, the information that the dragoon
regiment was going to change its quarters, and that the departure from
Fertoeszeg would be celebrated by various amusements, among them a
regatta with colored lanterns on the lake and magnificent fireworks on
the shore.

"We shall manage somehow to live through it," was the count's mental
comment on the news. He knew Marie's horror of fire--how she suffered
with terror when she saw a conflagration, no matter how distant. She was
even afraid of the rockets and paper dragons which were used at the
celebration at the conclusion of the grape harvest every year. On the
evening of the merrymaking Marie was afraid to go to bed. She begged
Ludwig to close the blinds and to read to her in a loud voice, so that
she might not see the light of the fireworks or hear the tumult on the
lake shore. That which amused the revellers at the manor was a terror
for this timid child.

And that they were amusing themselves over at the manor was beyond a
doubt. The program for the evening's entertainment was a varied one.
Colonel Barthelmy was in the gayest of humors. The surprise of the
evening was to conclude the entertainment, and was called on the program
"The Militiaman." Every one in the audience expected that Colonel
Barthelmy, who had arranged this part of the entertainment, would
produce something extremely amusing. The reality surpassed all
expectations.

The figure conducted on to the stage by the colonel was no other than
the little water-monster, Baroness Katharina's protege. He was clad in
the uniform of a soldier, with a wooden sword and gun, a hat decorated
with crane-feathers, a canteen at his side, and a knapsack on his back.
An enormous false mustache extended from ear to ear, and a short-stemmed
pipe was thrust between his lips.

"This, gentlemen and ladies, is a militiaman." The colonel was
interrupted by a burst of merriment from his audience. Even the baroness
laughed immoderately, but suppressed it hastily when she remembered the
telescope on the tower of the Nameless Castle.

"Poor little fellow!" she murmured, with difficulty keeping her face
straight.

"Attention!" called the colonel, snapping the whip he held in his hand.
"What does the militiaman do when he is in a good humor?"

A bagpipe behind the curtain now began to play a familiar air, whereupon
the little monster first touched his finger to his hat, then slapped his
thighs with both hands, and lifted first one foot, then the other.

The baroness hid with her fan that side of her face which was toward the
neighboring castle, and joined in the uproarious laughter.

"You see, gracious baroness," continued the colonel, "that I have
accomplished what I determined I would do--made quite a man of the
little fellow."

He snapped his whip again, and called sharply:

"Now let the militiaman show us what he does when he is in an ill
humor."

The bagpipe struck up a different air. The dwarf muttered something
unintelligible into his mustache, and grimaced hideously. Then he took
from his tobacco-pouch flint, tinder, and steel, and struck fire in the
proper manner; he thrust the burning tinder into his pipe, and pressed
it down with his finger.

Tremendous applause rewarded this exhibition.

"Do you see, gracious baroness, what a complete man he is become? He can
even strike fire and light a pipe!"

By this time the gnome began to understand that his antics amused the
audience, and he, too, enjoyed them. For the first time an emotion was
expressed on his stolid countenance; but it was not an agreeable
transformation. The corners of his mouth widened until they reached his
ears, which stood still farther out from his head; he closed one eye,
and opened the other to its farthest extent; and pressing the stem of
his pipe more firmly between his teeth, he blew the smoke and fire from
the bowl like a miniature volcano. The thicker the smoke and sparks came
from the pipe, the more furious became the strange creature's glee,
while the entire company shouted and clasped their hands. Even the
colonel himself was amazed at the performance of his dull pupil.

"Why have we not a Hogarth among us to perpetuate this caricature?" he
exclaimed delightedly.

"Horrible! I cannot bear to look at him," said the baroness, holding her
fan in front of her face. "Pray take him away, Herr Colonel--take him
away."

"Presently. Ho, there, my little man! What does the militiaman do when
he sees the enemy?"

The whip snapped, and the bagpipe set up a discordant shriek, upon which
the actor sprang with one bound from the stage, and vanished behind the
curtain, wooden sword and gun clattering after him, while the audience
showered applause on the successful instructor.

"Herr Colonel," observed the baroness, when quiet had been restored, "I
am very much afraid that your instructions will cause me some trouble in
the future."

"Why, how so?" in surprise questioned the colonel.

"You have taught a wild creature to kindle a fire, and thus aroused in
him a dangerous passion. His desire to amuse himself with the dangerous
element will develop into a mania, and he will end by setting fire to
houses and other buildings."

"I will tell you what to do, baroness. In order that the little monster
may not play his tricks about here, give him to me; I will take him with
me."

"No; I had rather keep him here. I shall take good care, however, that
he does not get hold of tinder and flint, and have him constantly
watched. You have quite ruined my system of education. _I_ taught him to
kneel and fold his hands to the music of the organ; _you_ taught him to
dance and grimace to the drone of the bagpipe. You have even accustomed
him to drink wine, which is unchristian."

The company laughed at this harmless anger.

Then came the fireworks.

When the Roman candles and the fire-wheels illumined the darkness, it
became impossible to control the little monster. He rushed into the
thickest of the rain of fire, and tried to catch the red and blue stars
in his hands. The sparks burned holes in his clothes, and he would not
have escaped a severe burning himself had not some one thrown a pail of
water over him. It was impossible to restrain him. He struck out with
hands and feet, and bit at any one who attempted to prevent him from
running into the fire. Suddenly a rocket shot in an oblique direction,
and dropped into the lake. When the human beast saw this he uttered a
yell, and dashed into the water. He thought that the beautiful fire
belonged to him because it had fallen into his lake, and he went to hunt
for it. He did not return. The baroness had search made for him; but he
knew so well how to escape his pursuers that he was not seen again at
the manor.

The next morning, while yet the stars were glittering in the sky, the
trumpets sounded the departure of the regiment.

The sounds were familiar to Count Vavel. Even yet, when the blare of
trumpets roused him from sleep, he felt as if he must hasten to the
stable, saddle his horse, and buckle on his sword. But those days were
past. His trusty war-horse had become used to the carriage-pole, and the
keen Toledo blades were drawn from their scabbards only when they were
to be oiled to prevent the rust from corroding them.

The departure of the troops removed one care from Count Ludwig's mind:
the noise and turmoil would cease, and peace would again return to the
silent neighborhood.

One morning when Frau Schmidt brought her basket, as usual, to the
castle, there was a letter in it for the count. He recognized the hand
at once; it was from his fair neighbor at the manor.

"HERR COUNT: As I have something of the utmost importance to
communicate to you, I beg that you will receive a call from me this
morning before you take your usual drive. Answer when it will be
convenient for you to see me."

What did it mean? Something of the utmost importance? Why could she not
have asked him to come to the manor? The count was puzzled. And how was
he to answer this most singular request? He could not write it himself;
was it not said that he was unable to hold a pen? He could not dictate
the letter to Marie appointing a meeting with the baroness. Henry was a
very shrewd fellow, but he had never learned to write.

At last Count Vavel bethought him of an expedient. He marked on the back
of his card the Roman numerals XI, and trusted that the baroness would
understand that she was expected at eleven o'clock. When the appointed
hour drew near, curiosity began to torture the count. He could not wait
indoors, but hurried into the park, where he paced restlessly to and fro
amid the fallen leaves.

He listened anxiously to every sound, and consulted his watch every few
minutes. At last the gate bell rang. He hastened to admit the visitor,
and found that the baroness had understood his reply. He recognized her
figure, for the face was closely veiled. She wore a pale-blue silk gown
with wide sleeves--Marie's favorite costume.

"It is I, Herr Count," she said in a low tone, looking anxiously about
her.

"How did you come? I did not hear the carriage," said Count Vavel.

"I rowed across the cove--alone, because no one must know that I came.
Can any one see us here?"

"No one."

"We need not go into the house," she continued; "I can tell you here why
I came."

Ludwig was more and more perplexed. He had believed the baroness wished
to enter the Nameless Castle out of curiosity.

"My visit," pursued the lady, "has as little conventionality about it as
had yours. The magnitude of the danger which prompted yours must also
excuse mine; I am come to repay the debt I owe you."

"Danger?" repeated the count.

"Yes; danger threatens you--and some one else! Let us come farther into
the park, that no one may by a possible chance overhear me."

When they had reached a sheltered spot the lady again spoke:

"Do you know anything about Colonel Barthelmy?"

"I received the cards he left here when he called," indifferently
replied Count Vavel.

"You certainly have heard more about him," returned the baroness, a
trifle impatiently. "His domestic troubles were in all the
newspapers--it was a _cause celebre_. He was a major in the French army,
under the Directory, but entered our service when the Empire was
established. The domestic troubles I referred to occurred while he was
still in France. His young and beautiful wife ran away with another
man--a man who is unknown to Barthelmy, who is pursuing the fugitives
over the whole world--"

"Ah! I remember now reading something about it. That is why his name
seemed familiar to me."

"I thought you must have heard something about him," responded the
baroness, in a peculiar tone. Then, with a sudden movement, she seized
his hand and whispered:

"And you are the unknown who abducted Colonel Barthelmy's wife."

"I?" in boundless amazement ejaculated the count. Then he laughed
heartily.

"Yes, you; and you are living here in seclusion with the lovely woman