air of society
about him, in spite of his youth."

The Prince looked at the Count with a pleased expression.

"Do not fear for the children, Adelaide," he said; "they will fare very
well. Their manners are improved already. When they come to Vienna you
will see how fine their breeding will be thought to be. Leave them to
me. You do not care for them; leave them to me and to the Herr Tutor."

Mark was looking at the Count. This was another strange study for the
boy. He was older than the Prince--a man of about forty; more firmly
built, and with well-cut but massive features. He wore a peruke of very
short, curled hair; his dress was rich, but very simple; and his whole
appearance and manner suggested curiously that of a man who carried no
more weight than he could possibly help, who encumbered himself with
nothing that he could throw aside, who offered in every action, speech,
and gesture the least possible resistance to the atmosphere, moral,
social, or physical, in which he found himself. His manner to the Prince
was deferential, without being marked, and he evidently wished to
propitiate him.

"Thou art very pious, I hear," said the Princess, addressing Mark in a
tone of unmitigated contempt.

The boy only bowed.

"Is he dumb?" said the Princess, still with undisguised disdain.

"No," said the Prince quietly. "He can speak when he thinks that what he
says will be well received."

"He is wise," said the Count.

"Well," said the Princess sharply, "my wishes count for nothing; of that
we are well aware. But I do not want my children to be infected with the
superstitions of the past, which still linger among the coarse and
ignorant peasantry. I suppose, now, this peasant schoolmaster believes
in a God and a hell, and in a heaven for such as he?" and she threw
herself back with a light laugh.

"No, surely," said the Count blandly, "that were too gross, even for a
peasant priest."

"Tell me, Herr Tutor," said the Princess; and now she threw a nameless
charm into her manner as she addressed the boy, from whom she wished an
answer; "tell me, dost thou believe in a heaven?"

"Yes, gracious Highness," said Mark.

"It has always struck me," said the Prince, with a philosophic air,
"that we might leave the poor their distant heaven. Its existence cannot
injure us. I have sometimes fancied that they might retort upon me: 'You
have everything here that life can wish: we have nothing. You have
dainty food, and fine