Nancy said, "Yes, yes, I will." Then an absent look stole over her light eyes. "Ah! der Musikant!" she cried, turning to Della Rocca, who was singing in German, and pronouncing as if it were Genovese. "I remember that. Is it not Eichendorff?"
"'Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts,'" said Della Rocca.
"Oh, do you really speak German? I love people who speak German," cried Nancy, on whom the German poet's spell still rested.
"I learned it at Göttingen," said Della Rocca, with his illuminating smile.
"Ach, de Stadt die am schönsten ist wenn man sie mit dem Rücken ansieht," quoted Nancy, laughing.
Della Rocca laughed too, although he did not understand what she had said; then he turned to the piano again.
Nancy felt happy and inclined to kindness. "Do not go yet," she said to Mr. Kingsley. "Sit down and talk to me."
But Mr. Kingsley knew better. Della Rocca's melting notes were drawing the girl's thoughts away again, and he could notice the little shiver creep round her face, leaving it slightly paler, as the silver tenor voice took a high A in falsetto and held it long and pianissimo.
"I will come again some day, if I may," he said. "But I almost hope that I shall find your doors locked."
Again the bird-thought came fluttering into the window of Nancy's mind, as the Englishman's strong hand closed firm and warm round hers.