The words sounded indifferent, and yet Adelaide's gaze was riveted with a strange expectancy upon the paper, which seemed to contain only a few hastily written stanzas. Egon read.
They were German verses, indeed; but of a perfection and harmony which could belong only to a master of the language. The pictures they conjured up before the listener were strangely familiar. Deep, dreamy forest solitude, touched by the first breath of approaching autumn; endless green depths which beckoned and charmed irresistibly with their twilight shadows; aromatic meadows flooded with sunlight; small, still waters, which gleamed in the distance, and the foaming forest brook roaring down from the heights.
And this picture had taken on life and language. That which whispered in it was the old, old song of the forest itself; its murmuring and rustling--its mysterious working gathered into words which enchanted the ear of the listener like melody, while through it all floated and moaned a deep, unspeakable longing for this forest peace.
The Prince read warmly at first, then with great enthusiasm. Now he dropped the sheet and asked triumphantly:
"Well?"
The young Baroness had listened spellbound. She did not look at the reader, but stared motionless into the blue distance. At the question she started slightly and hastily turned.
"What did you say, Your Highness?"
"Is this the language of a depredator of our fatherland? I believe not," said Egon in most decided tones, but greatly as he was engrossed with his friend's poetry, he could still notice how exceptionally beautiful Frau von Wallmoden looked at this moment.
Of course, it must have been the setting sun which lent the rosy coloring to her face and the brilliancy to her eyes, for her bearing was as cold as her answer.
"It is really surprising that a foreigner should command the German language so perfectly."