“Impossible!” exclaimed the young man. “How can that lovely face—those eyes—so deceive? How can those features, expressive of a refined soul, be the index of a shallow understanding?”
“Ha, friend! Have Nina’s beautiful eyes shot their beams so deep into your heart? That is a precious discovery!” And the little man leaped forwards, rubbing his hands, and chuckling for joy.
Louis colored deeply, and in much embarrassment explained that his acquaintance with the young lady was scarce of two hours standing; but the merchant continued his expressions of delight till they reached Frederick street, and then took his leave with a wish that the young couple might be happy, humming a love tune till he was out of hearing.
As Louis walked towards his lodgings, absorbed in thought, he was startled by the sound of a female voice, singing. In the stillness of night the melody had a magical sweetness. He followed the sound, retracing his steps, and soon came opposite the chapel-master’s house. The music came from the windows, which were open, although the chambers were not lighted. Though he lost not a single note, Louis could not determine exactly in which room was the singer. “It is she,” he cried to himself; “it is herself:—the beautiful girl!” and leaning against one of the trees, he drank in the melody, never once removing his eyes from the windows.
It was evidently a German song. The voice was clear and powerful, yet soft and touching; the melody had a strange mingling of joy and sorrow, of suffering and repose. The enraptured listener could not distinguish the words, but the music penetrated his very soul. A sigh heaved his breast; he could not tell if delight or melancholy was the emotion excited; but felt, if that were sorrow, he wished never to be happy! The song at last ceased; but another more exquisite, more deeply moving, began. Each verse closed with some words in which seemed to lie a world of feeling. Louis caught the words “Dahin,” “Zu dir;” and at the close distinctly “Nur Du!” It seemed to him like the voice of fate. Tears streamed from his eyes; once again he heard the words “Nur Du” uttered with a melodious pathos he had never heard before; and with strained attention, just as it ceased, caught a glimpse of a white figure moving behind some plants near the window. It passed the next window; he listened for a renewal of the song, but all was silent; and after waiting some time, he took his way homeward.
The earliest beams of next morning’s sun aroused our friend from an unquiet slumber. The day was fine, and he had many objects of attention; but the image of the fair songstress alone occupied his mind. He leaned from his window, looking out on a garden opposite, and the scene beyond. A few carriages and foot passengers were in motion, but the bustle of the day had not yet commenced. Only here and there the shutters had been thrown open to admit the sun.
Louis remained some time in deep thought. At length it occurred to him that it was possible the object of his reflections might also be up, and inhaling the morning air. In a few minutes he was dressed and in the street; and a brisk walk soon brought him opposite the dwelling of the chapel-master. The windows were open as the night before, but all was still and motionless. Louis walked for some time under the trees, back and forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the house. At length he discerned a white dress moving behind the plants. In a transport of joy he approached, and stood directly opposite. The white robe was there; the figure rose, turned round, and looked out of the window. It was Signor Ricco himself, in his night-cap and dressing-gown, with a long pipe in his mouth! He leaned out, as if to look at the weather, and must have thought the sky too clear, by the cloud of smoke he sent whirling over his head!
Our young friend shrunk back, but it was too late; there was no one besides him in sight, and the glance of the chapel-master unavoidably fell on him. He was immediately recognized. “Good morning, Signor Louis!” cried the Italian. “So early abroad? or have you been up all night?” Louis bowed in some embarrassment, and answered that the fine morning had tempted him to a walk. “Right!” cried the signor; “I also am taking a peep at the weather, to see if it will do for a drive in the country we have been planning for some time. Suppose you accompany us?” “With the greatest pleasure!” answered the young man promptly. “Come in, then, and breakfast with me,” said Ricco; and Louis hastened up the steps.
He found the chapel-master in his music room; the piano stood open; Rossini’s Tancredi lay on the desk. Ricco made some remarks on his favorite opera; the eyes of Louis wandered restlessly to the door. “You wonder,” said the Italian, lighting his pipe again, “that my daughter does not appear. Ah! she is a sad sluggard! But I shall play her a trick to-day, we will go off without her; I have already sent for the carriage.”
These words caused no little chagrin to our young artist; but he was not to endure it long; they were surprised by a musical laugh, and looking up, saw Nina at the door. “Your scheme has fallen through, papa!” cried she. “But really it is true, that listeners hear no good of themselves. Yet I hoped, sir,” turning to Louis, “that you would have said something in my defence.” She pouted her pretty lips in affected anger, and a little scene of apologies ensued. “All’s well that ends well,” said Ricco at length; “we will have friend Heissenheimer of the party; now, daughter, let us to breakfast.” Nina led the way with a cheerful smile.