Lenz grew more eloquent under this praise.
"I shall hold fast to my trade of clockmaker. If I can do no better, I will make the old-fashioned wooden clocks; they will at least secure me bread. Musical clocks bring in more money, to be sure, but they can only be made when ordered; and, as lovers of music do not turn up every day, I might find myself with nothing in my pocket. My pet project is to form a clockmaker's union, so that all could work together for the benefit of each. If I could but accomplish that, I would engage to make nothing but standard regulators for the next seven years,--for all the rest of my life, if need be."
"You are very good, I am sure," said Annele; "but your specialty is music."
"Ah, music! when I leave clocks and get back to that I am so happy, so--"
"Your heart dances for joy and keeps high holiday."
"Dear Annele, you are so--ah! if I only knew--"
"Well? what would you know?" There was a warmth, a tenderness, in the simple words that brought the hot blood to his face.
"I cannot tell," he stammered. "If you do not know, I cannot tell you. I am--Annele--"
"Children, what are you about? The whole room is looking at you," broke in the landlady. "I can perfectly trust you, Lenz; if you have anything so very special to say to Annele, I will have a lamp lighted in the private sitting-room, and you can have your talk out there."
"Oh no, mother," cried Annele, trembling; but the landlady was already gone. Annele flew after her. Lenz sat motionless, while the whole room swam before his eyes. He got up at length, stole out, saw the door of the sitting-room open, and was alone with Annele. She hid her face.