“That dance has done you good, it seems.”
“Oh, so much! But only think how many may be dancing the whole year, and without music. And here it is so much better.”
“You are plump,” said the stranger, jokingly. “You must have good food.”
“It is not the food,” said Amrie, “but the appetite for it.”
The stranger nodded; and after a while he said, inquiringly, “You are the farmer’s daughter—of——?”
“No; I am a servant,” said Amrie; and looked him steadily in the face; but he would not cast down his eyes—the eyelashes trembled, but he looked steadily at her. This contest and victory was the image of what passed within. After this self-conquest, he said, “Come, shall we have another dance?” He held firmly her hand, and their happiness was renewed; but this time more calmly and steadily. They both felt that this elevation of their souls into heaven must come to an end. Resulting from this thought, Amrie said, “We have been happy together, even if through our whole life long we should never meet again, and neither of us know the name of the other.”
The young man nodded, and said simply, “Yes.”
Amrie, embarrassed, said again, after a while, “What we have once enjoyed, no one can ever take from us; and whoever thou art, never repent that you have given a poor girl for her life long the memory of a happy hour.”
“I do not repent,” said the young man. “But you—have you not repented the short answer you gave me this morning?”
“Ah, yes; there you are right,” said Amrie.