To
wrestle alone with one's good angel is so hard! and so precious, at
the proper time, is a companion certain to be less virtuous than
oneself!
It was a young man who came towards him - a young man of small
stature and a peculiar gait, wearing a wide flapping hat, and
carrying, with great weariness, a heavy bag. Otto recoiled; but the
young man held up his hand by way of signal, and coming up with a
panting run, as if with the last of his endurance, laid the bag upon
the ground, threw himself upon the bench, and disclosed the features
of Madame von Rosen.
'You, Countess!' cried the Prince.
'No, no,' she panted, 'the Count von Rosen - my young brother. A
capital fellow. Let him get his breath.'
'Ah, madam. . .' said he.
'Call me Count,' she returned, 'respect my incognito.'
'Count be it, then,' he replied. 'And let me implore that gallant
gentleman to set forth at once on our enterprise.'
'Sit down beside me here,' she returned, patting the further corner
of the bench. 'I will follow you in a moment. O, I am so tired -
feel how my heart leaps! Where is your thief?'
'At his post,' replied Otto. 'Shall I introduce him? He seems an
excellent companion.'
'No,' she said, 'do not hurry me yet. I must speak to you. Not but
I adore your thief; I adore any one who has the spirit to do wrong.
I never cared for virtue till I fell in love with my Prince.
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