“How were you pleased with the silent concert?”
“Concert? What concert?” he asked absently.
“The color symphony.”
“I was not looking at the platform, but into an almost perfectly dark box in which I still could make out the outline of a beloved form.”
Now Franka remained silent. What could she answer to that?
After a rather long pause he remarked: “What a lovely evening!”
“Marvelously beautiful,” replied Franka. The conversation could continue on this subject. And she added: “So mild, so fragrant, so still.”
“Still? Why, no ... don’t you hear the chirping of insects and the wavelets breaking on the shore? The night is breathing.”
“As if in peaceful slumber.”
“No, it is not asleep—just see, how its hundred thousand open eyes are sparkling.”