Heaven help and pardon me! I had not seen anything in the room specifically; but I drew upon my imagination,—usually a lively spring enough.
"Oh! yes, a very large organ, with beautiful carving about it,—cherubs above, with their wings spread, I believe; and the books bound exquisitely, and set in cabinets."
"What sort of furniture?"
"I don't know. Oh! I think it was dark red, and very rich looking. Embroidered cloths, too, upon the tables and sofas,—but really I may be mistaken, because, you see, I was not looking at them."
"No, I should think not. Carnation is his favorite color, you know; he told me so."
"He tells you everything, I think, Maria."
"Yes, of course he does,—just as one talks to a little child that asks for stories."
"That is not the reason,—it cannot be. Besides, he always talks about himself to you, and one never talks about one's self to children."
"Do not you? But, Carl, he chiefly talks to me about music."
"And for that, is he not himself music? But, Maria, I can, telling you his favorite color, talking about himself as much as if he told you he had a headache."