you? There’s nothing here. Only avenues and fields. . . . When mummy was still alive it was more cheerful; George used to come here. . . . But he hasn’t been here for over a year. He had a quarrel with father and . . . he doesn’t even write. We aren’t even allowed to speak of him—do you see him often?”
Prokop shook his head decidedly.
The girl sighed and became reflective. “He’s . . . . . . I don’t know. Funny, somehow. He did nothing but go about with his hands in his pockets, yawning. I know that’s nothing, but yet . . . Father is so glad that you are with us,” she concluded quickly and somewhat disconnectedly.
Somewhere outside a young cock began to crow hoarsely and comically. Immediately afterwards all the chickens became very excited and one could hear a wild “ko-ko-ko” and the triumphant yelping of a dog. The girl sprang up. “Honzik is chasing the chickens!” But she sat down again at once, having resolved to leave them to their fate. It was pleasantly silent.
“I don’t know what to talk about,” she said with the most beautiful simplicity. “Would you like me to read you the paper?”
Prokop smiled. She fetched the paper and started confidently on the leading article. The financial equilibrium, the Budget, uncovered credits . . . her charming and uncertain voice quietly read out these extraordinarily important items, and Prokop, who simply was not listening at all, was better off than if he had been soundly asleep.
