cried Anton.
"He is very fond of me; he does all I tell him," was the reply.
Anton thought that the most natural thing in the world.
"I think you are of a good family," said the little lady, decidedly, looking at Anton with a discriminating air.
"No," replied he, sadly. "My father died last month, my dear mother a year ago; I am alone, and on my way to the capital." His lips quivered as he spoke.
The lady looked at him with the utmost sympathy, and in some embarrassment. "Oh, poor, poor lad!" cried she. "But come quickly; I have something to show you. These are the beds of early strawberries; there are still a few. Do, pray, take them. No guest must leave my father's house without partaking of the best each season brings. Pray, pray eat them."
Anton looked at her with tearful eyes.
"I am going to share with you," said she, taking two strawberries. Upon that, the youth obediently followed her example.
"And now I will take you across the garden," said she, leading him to a little lake where old swans and young were swimming about.
"They are coming hither," cried Anton, in delight.
"They know that I have something for them," said his companion, loosening the while the chain of a small boat. "Now, sir, jump in, and I will row you across, for yonder lies your way."
"I can not think of troubling you."
"No opposition!" said she, imperatively, and they set off.
Anton was entranced. Behind, the rich green trees; beneath, the clear water rippling round the prow; opposite him, the slender figure of his companion, and the swans, her snowy subjects, following in her train—it was a dream such as is only granted to youth.
The boat grounded; Anton leaped out, and involuntarily offered his hand, which the little lady touched with the tips of her fingers as she wished him good-by. He sprang up the hill and looked down. Through an opening in the wood he saw the castle with its flag floating, and its vines and roses shining in the sun.
"How noble! how magnificent!" said he, aloud.
"If you were to count out to that baron a hundred thousand dollars, he would not sell you the property he inherited from his father," said a sharp voice behind him. He angrily turned; the dream was gone; he stood on the dusty highway, and saw a meanly-dressed youth, with a great bundle under his arm, looking at him with cool familiarity.
"Is it you, Veitel Itzig?" cried Anton, without showing much pleasure at the meeting. Indeed, young Itzig was by no means a pleasant apparition, pale, haggard, red-haired, and shabbily clothed as he was. He came from Ostrau, and had been a schoolfellow of Anton's, who had once fought a battle on his behalf, and had stood between the young Jew and the general ill-will of the other boys. But of late they had seldom met, just often enough to give Itzig an opportunity of keeping up in some measure their old schooldays' familiarity.
"They say that you are going to the great city to learn business," added Veitel; "to be taught how to twist up paper bags and sell treacle to old women. I am going there too, but I mean to make my fortune."
To this Anton replied, dryly enough, "Go, then, and make it, and do not let me detain you."
"There's no need to hurry," said the other, carelessly; "I will walk on with you, if you are not ashamed of my dress." This appeal to our hero's humanity was successful, and, casting a last look at the castle, he went on his way, his unwelcome companion a foot or so behind him. At length he turned, and inquired who the proprietor was.
Itzig displayed wonderful familiarity with the subject. The baron, said he, had only two children, large flocks, and a clear estate. His son was at a military school. Finally, observing Anton's interest, he remarked, "If you wish for his property, I will buy it for you."
"Thanks," was the cold reply. "You have just told me he was not disposed to sell."
"When a man is not disposed to sell, he must be forced to do so."
"You are the very person to force him, I suppose," replied Anton, thoroughly out of patience.
"Whether I am or not, does not signify; there is a receipt for making any man sell."
"What! can they be bewitched, or given some magic potion?" asked Anton, contemptuously.
"A hundred thousand dollars is a potion that can work wonders; but a poor man must get hold of a secret to accomplish his ends. Now, I am on my way to town to get at the knowledge of this secret. It is all contained in certain papers, and I will search for those papers till I find them."
Anton looked askance at his companion as at a lunatic, and at length replied, "Poor Veitel, you never will find them."
However, Itzig went on to say confidentially, "Never repeat what I tell you. Those papers have been in our town; and a certain person, who is become a very great man now, got them from an old dying beggar-man, who gave them to him one night that he watched by his bedside."
"And do you know this man?" inquired Anton, in a tone of curiosity.
"Never mind whether I know him or not," answered the other, slyly. "I shall find out the receipt I spoke of. And if ever you wish to have this baron's property, horses, flocks, and his pretty daughter to boot, I'll buy them for you, for the sake of our old friendship, and the thrashing you once gave some of our schoolfellows on my account."
"Take care," said Anton, "that you don't turn out a thorough rascal; you seem to me to be in the fair way."
So saying, he crossed over to the other side of the road in high dudgeon; but Itzig took his caution with the utmost equanimity, and ever and anon, as they passed different country-seats, gave him an account of the names and rentals of their proprietors, so that Anton was perfectly stupefied with the extent of his statistical information. At length both walked on in silence.
CHAPTER III.
The Baron of Rothsattel was one of the few men whom not only the world pronounced happy, but who believed himself to be so. The descendant of an ancient and honorable house, he had married, out of sheer love, a beautiful young lady without any fortune. Like a sensible man, he had retired with her into the country, lived for his family, and within his means. He was a thoroughly noble-hearted man, still handsome and dignified in appearance, an affectionate husband, a hospitable host; in short, the very model of a landed proprietor. His means were not, indeed, very large, but he might have sold his property over and over again for a far higher sum than the sagacious Itzig had surmised, had he felt any inclination to do so. Two healthy, intelligent children completed his domestic happiness; the boy was about to enter the military career, which had been that of all his ancestors; the girl was to remain yet a while under her mother's wing. Like all men of old descent, our baron was a good deal given to speculate upon the past and the future of his family. We have said that his means were not large, and though he had always intended to lay by, the time for beginning to do so had never yet come. Either some improvement to house or grounds was wanted, or a trip to the baths—rendered necessary by his wife's delicate health—consumed the overplus income. Reflections of this nature were occupying him just now, as he came galloping up the great chestnut avenue. The cloud on his brow was, however, but a little one, and it soon vanished in sunshine when he saw the flutter
