Lenz held her hand fast, and said: "May I ask you one thing more?"
"Ask whatever you choose, you shall have an honest answer."
"Tell me why your manner is so different to me when Pilgrim is present? have you and he had any quarrel?"
"May this be poison that I am drinking if I don't tell you the truth," said Annele, taking up Lenz's glass and sipping out of it; though Lenz assured her that there was no need of such strong asseverations—he could not bear them.
She continued: "If all men were like you, no asseverations would be necessary. Pilgrim and I are constantly teasing and tormenting each other, but he does not know me thoroughly; and when you are here I cannot bear all these silly jokes, and mountebank ways: but now you must promise me one thing: if there is anything you want to know about me, ask no one but myself; give me your hand on it."
They clasped each other's hands, and Annele continued in a sorrowful tone: "I am the daughter of the landlord of an inn; I am not so well off as most girls: they are not obliged to receive any one who chooses to come in, and to speak to them and answer them; so I often say sharp things, but I am not always what I appear—I may tell you that, and I do tell it to you."
"I never should have thought that; I never could have believed that any sorrowful thought had ever crossed your mind; I always supposed that all day long you were as merry as a bird."
"Yes, indeed, I would much rather be merry," answered Annele, her face quickly changing; "I don't like sad music either. How pretty and gay that air was from the 'Magic Flute'! it almost made one dance."
The conversation now turned again on the subject of music, and the instrument that had today left the village. Lenz liked to talk about it, and mentioned his having giving it a convoy part of the way. He would gladly have called out to all packers, waggoners, and sailors—"Be cautious with it! it is a pity you can't hear what it contains."
Never till this evening had Lenz been the last remaining guest in the inn; but he felt no inclination to rise and go home: the large clock in the room struck loudly, and in a warning tone, its weights rolling down angrily, but Lenz did not hear them. The Landlord walked up and down the room with creaking boots, but Lenz took no notice of them. It had never yet occurred that any one should act as if the Landlord was not in the room. He struck his repeater loudly, but Lenz did not appear to notice it; at last—the Landlord is not a man to stand on ceremony with any one—he spoke out: "Lenz, if you choose to stay here all night, I will have a room prepared for you."