“And its colour?” asked Cornelius, trembling.
“Oh,” answered Rosa, “it is very dark!”
“Brown?”
“Darker than that.”
“Darker, my good Rosa, darker? Thank you. Dark as——”
“Dark as the ink with which I wrote to you.”
Cornelius uttered a cry of mad joy.
Then, suddenly stopping and clasping his hands, he said,—
“Oh, there is not an angel in heaven that may be compared to you, Rosa!”
“Indeed!” said Rosa, smiling at his enthusiasm.