“No, I mean the honor of it,” replied the wife. “Do you think he cares for
the money? Those few dollars he can earn a hundred times over, and most
likely he’ll get a rich wife into the bargain. If we had children of our own,
husband, our child should be an architect and a professor too.”
George was spoken well of in the cellar, and he was spoken well of in the
first floor. The old Count took upon himself to do that.
The pictures he had drawn in his childhood gave occasion for it. But how
did the conversation come to turn on these pictures? Why, they had been
talking of Russia and of Moscow, and thus mention was made of the
Kremlin, which little George had once drawn for Miss Emily. He had drawn
many pictures, but the Count especially remembered one, “Emily’s Castle,”
where she was to sleep, and to dance, and to play at receiving guests.
“The Professor was a true man,” said the Count, “and would be a privy
councillor before he died, it was not at all unlikely; and he might build a
real castle for the young lady before that time came: why not?”
“That was a strange jest,” remarked the General’s lady, when the Count
had gone away. The General shook his head thoughtfully, and went out for a
ride, with his groom behind him at a proper distance, and he sat more stiffly
than ever on his high horse.
It was Emily’s birthday. Flowers, books, letters, and visiting cards came
pouring in. The General’s lady kissed her on the mouth, and the General
kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionate parents, and they and
Emily had to receive grand visitors, two of the Princes. They talked of balls
and theatres, of diplomatic missions, of the government of empires and
nations; and then they spoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse
turned upon the young architect.
“He is building up an immortality for himself,” said one, “and he will
certainly build his way into one of our first families”.
“One of our first families!” repeated the General and afterwards the
General’s lady; “what is meant by one of our first families?”
