"We do not say mamma, she does not like it; she likes 'liebe Mutter.'"
"Ah! she is German. Perhaps she would allow you to go, if you told her your great desire."
"No, sir; she told Lydia that it would put her out of pocket."
My new friend smiled at this.
"Now, just come outside; we are in the way of many people here, and I have done my business since I saw that gentleman I was talking to when you crept so near me."
"Did you know I wanted to come close to you, sir?"
"Oh, yes! and that you wanted to speak. I know the little violin face."
These words transported me. "Oh! do you think I am like a violin? I wish I were one going to the festival."
"Alas! in that sense you are not one, I fear."
I burst into tears; but I was very angry with myself, and noiselessly put my whole face into my handkerchief as we moved to the door. Once out in the street, the wind speedily dried these dews of my youth, and I ventured to take my companion's hand. He glanced down at mine as it passed itself into his, and I could see that he was examining it. I had very pretty hands and nails,—they were my only handsome point; my mother was very vain of them. I have found this out since I have grown up.