When the count had risen and taken cordial leave of her, Franziska walked from the sofa to the window. The fresh air flowing in did her good, and she sat on the sill and looked at the goings-on in the street. But images of a far different kind passed before her mind's eye: a castle and a lake, broad steps and corridors, hunting parties, forest and plains, and fine gentlemen with their ladies, who were whispering and laughing discreetly. They looked each other up and down, and she met their haughtiness with an equally haughty gaze of her own.

She was still lost in such visions when Hannah approached from the doorway. She smoothed Franziska's hair back with a familiar gesture, and then said, “So: it's going to happen.”

“Were you listening?”

“No. I never listen. My late father wouldn't tolerate it and said that of all the minor sins, that was one of the worst. If you’re not meant to hear something, then you ought not to hear it, and you shouldn't wish to. I saw the count as he was leaving and could tell from his face.”

“And what do you say to it?”

“Well, Franzl, what should I say?”

“Everything that you’re thinking.”

“I think all kinds of things.”

“Don't hold anything back. I can see that you don't approve—so you can start right in with the ‘why.’ Or are there so many reasons?”

“Yes, Franzl, there are many reasons.”