'Giuliana!' he exclaimed, after a moment's reflection. 'Yes, you must be Giuliana herself; and I am Otto,' he added--'the frolicsome little Otto, who teazed you with bitter oranges in the corner of the carriage ten years ago.'
'Otto!' cried Giuliana, calling to mind the half-grown boy who used to be her playfellow, as she had often seen him in her dreams of childhood. In her joy she had almost thrown her arms round his neck, but she beheld a handsome young man before her, and drew back, blushing. 'You have taken me by surprise, count,' she said, colouring still more deeply. 'I was only a very little child when you last saw me, and now you find in me but a big child. I expected no one but my father this evening, and this dress--'
'Becomes you admirably,' interrupted the count, 'and transports me back, as if by magic, to fair Italy. Do not thus cast your eyes down; let me see if I can recognize my little pet of five years old again. Yes, the eyes are the same; but I must not now speak so familiarly to you, or call you "my Giuliana," as I did then.'
'And my little knight Otto, with his wooden sword, which was to protect me from the brigands, has also disappeared,' said Giuliana. 'But tell me, count, what fortunate circumstance has recalled us to your recollection, that you should surprise us with a visit here, in our remote hermitage?'
'I shall tell that to your father,' replied Otto, gravely. 'He is not at home, I find: but do you not expect him back this evening?'
'He is out hunting in the forest,' said Giuliana. 'However, I hope he will come home this evening; I have seen very little of him for some days past. But you must be tired after your long journey, and must require some refreshment. Please to make yourself at home here, Herr Count, and excuse my absence for a few minutes; I will soon return.'
So saying, Giuliana tripped out of the room, and Count Otto sat down near the table. At first he observed nothing around him; he could see nothing but the image of the beautiful Giuliana, who had made a sudden and strong impression upon him, which, however, he chose to ascribe to her fanciful attire, and the surprise of their first meeting.
Nevertheless, he almost forgot why he had come, and that his visit was more to the father than to the daughter. But he now decided on remaining a little time at Soröe. Carelessly glancing over the table, he observed some of the best travels in Italy that had ever been published, and lying near them, collections of engravings of the most remarkable places, and of national costumes. He also saw some nicely-bound volumes, containing Tasso and Aristo in their original language, and, on a shelf against the wall, handsome copies of the old Danish tragedies, with selections from the best Danish and foreign poets.