u are quite right, Professor, but it need not always be love, it can
also be hate. To us Poles hate is sacred too."

The count lifted his eyebrows and bent over his plate. "I have
noticed," he said with an acrimony that surprised them all, "that hate
as an occupation blunts the intellect."

Boris paled. He was about to flare up. "I beg your pardon, uncle," he
began, but then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled ironically. Both
Billy and Marion, who sat opposite him, blushed and looked anxiously at
him. The two children farther down the table snickered. There was an
awkward pause, until the professor hastily began to speak again. Boris
was silent, looked down with an injured expression, and refused all
food. Billy and Marion had also lost all pleasure in eating, and were
glad when the meal ended.

The sun was already shining quite aslant through the fruit-trees when
coffee was served on the porch. Count Hamilcar smoked a cigarette and
looked complacently down the garden, which was again teeming with life.
At this hour his eyelids always grew a little heavy. Yonder along the
box-hedge Boris and Billy were walking up and down. Boris was speaking
eagerly, making large gestures with his slender white hand, so that his
many rings sparkled in the sun. There was in this something that
displeased the count, but he did not wish to be vexed while in this
agreeable situation. But when he rose and went to his room to rest a
little, he met his sister. He stopped, laid one finger along his nose,
and said, "Betty, as I was going to say."

"What then, Hamilcar," said the old lady, bending her head very far
back so as to look into her brother's eyes.

The count pointed through the window toward the box-hedge: "Those two
out there, you ought to watch a little."

"Oh, Hamilcar," said Betty, "do let the young folks talk to each other.
We were young once ourselves."

Again the count smiled his restrained, crooked smile. "Certainly,
Betty, we were young once, too, and it would surely be good if our
children had their own advantage from this experience of ours. Polish
brandy-eyes produce an unhealthy intoxication; we have had enough and
to spare of the Greek variety. You ought to watch a little."

With that he went into his room and stretched out on his sofa. He loved
this half hour of rest. He closed his eyes. The windows were wide open.
From the garden the voices came in to him, as they called, sought, and
joined each other, and wi