parsonage, surely, surely. My mother was already dead and papa took me with him every vacation.
Petr.—Ach! Miss Preisova—this is, indeed, strange. We were just talking about you.
Maya.—You—about me? Why, do you still remember me? And with whom were you talking about me, please?
Petr.—Why, with uncle and maminka.
Maya.—Is maminka still alive? She is the priest’s sister, is she not?
Petr.—Yes, she has been keeping house for my uncle since my father’s death.
Maya.—What a surprise, Mr. Petr, I daresay. You are not angry at me for calling you by your first name?
Petr.—Ah. If you please—Miss
Maya (suddenly, surprised).—And you are also a priest—or you are going to be one! Who would have thought that of you? I always remembered you with that big paper cap on your head and your long wooden sabre—who could have known that from such a courageous hero the after years would hatch out a colorless country parson?
Petr (somewhat astonished; then he says slowly and quietly).—It had to be!
Maya (seriously).—It had to be! Ach, yes, Mr. Petr, every thing had to be! (Merrily.) And how about me—did you ever think that I would become an actress?
Petr (quiet smile).—Rather a fairy princess, Miss, as you yourself used to tell me in those days.
Maya.—Yes, a fairy princess. Down below on a hedge near the brook we had our castle in a watchman’s booth.
Petr.—Yes, and I used to go out, sabre in hand every time Frank Dolejsh would come to besiege our cherry trees.
Maya.—And once you walloped him on account of me, ha?
Petr.—Many times. Even after you went away from here Frank got many whippings on account of you.
Maya.—Is it possible! And why?
Petr (embarrassed).—Why—well why? But that is no longer true. (Pause.)
Maya (pensively).—“Gib meine Jugend mir zurück” . . . . (Quickly changing the subject.) And maminka, is she well? And uncle, how is he?
