Knopf, who saw himself placed in the midst of wonder-land, moved his hand repeatedly over his breast, while his eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. Yes, in the very midst of chemistry, scientific feeding, locomotive whistles, and dividend calculations—in the midst of all this there was still romance left in the world. True, this happens only to children born on Sunday, and Lilian was a Sunday-child.
He only wished that he could do something towards deepening and making lasting this gleaming romance of their wonderful meeting.
But that's just it! One can't do anything in this sphere of the romantic, it always comes of its own accord, unexpected and surprising; it won't be regulated and reasonably built up. All one can do is, to keep still and hold his breath, and make no sound; otherwise the charm is broken. He had to do something to further it, and he did the very best thing; he went off and left the children by themselves.
They looked at each other, but neither spoke. A handsome red heifer, with a bell on her neck and a garland over her horns, was led into the farm-yard. The maiden went up to her, and stroking her, said,—
"Ah, good evening, Brindy! Do you feel proud because you've taken the prize? Shall you tell your neighbors of it? Will you enjoy yourself now at home, or don't you know anything about your honors?"
The heifer was led to the barn, and the child, turning to Roland, cried,—
"Wouldn't you like to know whether the heifer has any notion of what has happened to her?"
As Roland was still silent, the child continued, very seriously,—
"Don't you want to be a husbandman, and have my uncle teach you? Then you can have my room. It's beautiful there!"
The maiden found words sooner than Roland, who still did not open his lips.