Still the young lord was almost mute. The clear voice which sounded, even in talking, like the twittering of birds, utterly confused him.
He had only met the doctor yesterday, when the latter had called at Furstenstein. There had been some casual mention of a certain Marietta--a friend of Toni's--but he did not know anything further, for his fiancée was not very communicative.
"And this naughty child allows you to stand in the hall without ceremony, while she seats herself at the piano to notify me of her arrival," said Volkmar, shaking his head. "That was very naughty, Marietta."
The young girl laughed and shook her curly head.
"Oh, Herr von Eschenhagen will not be offended at that, and therefore he may listen while I sing you your favorite song again. You scarcely heard a note of it before. Shall I begin now?"
Without waiting for an answer, she ran to the piano, and again that silvery, clear voice arose, entrancing the ear with its charm. She sang an old, simple carol, but it sounded as soft and sweet and coaxing as if spring and sunshine had suddenly entered the desolate rooms of the old house. It spread sunshine over the face of the old, white-haired man, where many a line of care and anxiety was visible. He listened with a smile, half sad, half happy, to the song which may have reminded him of his youth. But he was not the only attentive listener.
The young lord of Burgsdorf, who two hours previously had fallen asleep amidst the thunders of "The Janissaries' March"--who, in perfect accord with his betrothed, had considered silly music a tiresome thing--now listened to those soft, floating sounds as intently as if they brought him a revelation.
He sat there, bent over, his eyes fixed immovably upon the young girl, who apparently put all her soul into the song, moving her head to and fro with an infinitely graceful motion.
When the song ended he breathed deeply and passed his hand across his brow.
"My little singing bird," said Dr. Volkmar, tenderly bending over his granddaughter and kissing her brow.