"Herr von Sonnenkamp," began the long lieutenant, "have the negroes any musical talent?"
"The negroes are very fond of a kind of music of their own, which is nothing but noise," replied Sonnenkamp; "and many wise men consider that conversation which—" he paused for a word, but seemed to find none sharp enough, and at the same time sufficiently polite. At last he said—"which perhaps might pass for such in the little capital."
He joined the gay company, and, while the band played, they all walked to the place where the carriages were waiting.
It so happened, neither knew how, that Manna and Eric walked together through the woods. They went on, side by side, in silence, though each had so much to say to the other.
"I hear," Manna began at last, "that Count Clodwig expressed himself warmly against rank; did he think that distinction of birth was in any way opposed to religion?"
"He said nothing of the kind."
Again they went on in silence.
"I wonder where our friend, Professor Einsiedel, has been to-day," began Manna again; "I am a pupil of his, too, now."
"It is a great privilege," answered Eric, "to know such a liberal, devout mind."
They said no more, but both felt that there was a sort of sympathy established between them by their reverence for the same man. Not only was their faculty of reverence now the same, but there was a common object of their reverence.