Hedwig started and raised her lids, following the direction of her dream.  She was not mistaken.  Opposite her stood her arch-horror, Benoni.  He leaned carelessly against the stone well, and his bright brown eyes were riveted upon her.  His tall, thin figure was clad, as usual, in all the extreme of fashion, and one of his long, bony hands toyed with his watch-chain.  His animated face seemed aglow with the pleasure of contemplation, and the sunshine lent a yellow tinge to his snowy hair.

“An exquisite picture, indeed, countess,” he said, without moving.  “I trust your dreams were as sweet as they looked?”

“They were sweet, sir,” she answered coldly, after a moment’s pause, during which she looked steadily toward him.

“I regret that I should have disturbed them,” he said, with a deferential bow; and he came and sat by her side, treading as lightly as a boy across the flags.  Hedwig shuddered and drew her dark skirts about her as he sat down.

“You cannot regret it more than I do,” she said, in tones of ice.  She would not take refuge in the house, for it would have seemed like an ignominious flight.  Benoni crossed one leg over the other, and asked permission to smoke, which she granted by an indifferent motion of her fair head.

“So we are left all alone to-day, countess,” remarked Benoni, blowing rings of smoke in the quiet air.

Hedwig vouchsafed no answer.

“We are left alone,” he repeated, seeing that she was silent, “and I make it hereby my business and my pleasure to amuse you.”

“You are good, sir.  But I thank you.  I need no entertainment of your devising.”

“That is eminently unfortunate,” returned the baron, with his imperturbable smile, “for I am universally considered to be the most amusing of mortals,—­if, indeed, I am mortal at all, which I sometimes doubt.”

“Do you reckon yourself with the gods, then?” asked Hedwig scornfully.  “Which of them are you?  Jove?  Dionysus?  Apollo?”

“Nay, rather Phaethon, who soared too high—­”

“Your mythology is at fault, sir,—­he drove too low; and besides, he was not immortal.”

“It is the same.  He was wide of the mark, as I am.  Tell me, countess, are your wits always so ready?”

“You, at least, will always find them so,” she answered, bitterly.

“You are unkind.  You stab my vanity, as you have pierced my heart.”

At this speech Hedwig raised her eyebrows and stared at him in silence.  Any other man would have taken the chilling rebuke and left her.  Benoni put on a sad expression.

“You used not to hate me as you do now,” he said.

“That is true.  I hated you formerly because I hated you.”

“And now?” asked Benoni, with a short laugh.

“I hate you now because I loathe you.”  She uttered this singular saying indifferently, as being part of her daily thoughts.

“You have the courage of your opinions, countess,” he replied, with a very bitter smile.