She rang for a servant and ordered him to send the carriage away.
The colonel seated himself.
Irma was all attention. "Now tell me all," said she, brushing back her curls.
"You, of all others, will understand me, when I say that I passed sublime hours with your father. And yet I can recount nothing definite in regard to them. If, while rambling through the woods, I pluck a spray and fasten it to my hat, what can the spray tell of the rustling of the forest, or of the free mountain air? It is merely a symbol, both for us and to those we meet, of the joy that pervades our whole being."
"I understand you," said Irma. They sat opposite each other, and neither of them spoke for some time.
"Did my father mention my brother?"
"No. The word 'son' never passed his lips. Oh, Countess! the man to whom pure love vouchsafes the happiness of becoming a son--"
Emotion seemed to choke his utterance. Irma trembled; her heart beat quickly. Here was a man, noble and highly esteemed, who offered her his heart and hand. Yea, his heart, and she had none to give him in return. She felt a pang that pierced her very soul.
"I feel happy," said she, "that father, in his solitude, has once more seen that this stirring, bustling court contains some worthy men; men like yourself, who stand for that which is best in all things. Do not, I beg of you, reject my honest praise. I know that true merit is always modest, because it is never satisfied with itself."
"Your father expressed the same thought, in the very same words."