"What are you writing, Marie?"
The little maid handed him the sheet of paper. On it were the words:
"Dear Ludwig, love me."
Map and book dropped from the count's hands. The little maid's frank,
sincere gaze met his own. She was not ashamed of what she had written,
or that she had let him read it. She thought it quite in the order of
things.
"And don't I love you?" exclaimed Ludwig, with sudden sharpness. "Don't
I love you as the fakir loves his Brahma--as the Carthusian loves his
Virgin Mary? Don't I love you quite as dearly?"
"Then don't love me--quite so dearly," responded Marie, rising and going
to her own room, where she began to play with her cats. From that hour
she would not learn anything more from Ludwig.
The young man, however, placed the slip of paper containing the words,
"Dear Ludwig, love me," among his relics.
* * * * *
Since the new mistress's advent in the neighboring manor Count Vavel had
spent more time than usual in his observatory. At first suspicion had
been his motive. Now, however, there was a certain fascination in
bringing near to him with his telescope the woman with whom he had
exchanged only written communication.
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