"Well, Carl, he did come to me when he had scratched his finger and ask me to tie it up."
"And did you? Was that since the evening?"
"It was the day before yesterday. He was going to play somewhere. But, Carl, we shall not hear him play again."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean not until next year. He is going to travel."
"To travel—going away—where—who with?" I was stupid.
"He told us all so the other day,—just before you returned, Carl. He went through all the class-rooms to bid farewell. I was in the second singing-room with Spoda and two or three others. He spoke to Spoda, 'Have you any commands for Italy,—any part of Italy? I am going unexpectedly, or we would have had a concert first; but now we must wait until May for our concert.' Spoda behaved very well and exhibited no surprise, only showered forth his confetti speeches about parting. Then the Chevalier bowed to us who were there and said, 'My heart will be half here, and I shall hope to find Cecilia upon the self-same hill,—not a stone wanting.' And then he sighed; but otherwise he looked exceedingly happy. And who, do you think, is going with him?"
"His father, I should imagine."
"No; old Aronach, and your little friend,—who, Carl, I suspect, makes a sort of chevalier of you, from what I hear."
"Yes; he is very fond of me. But, Maria, what is he going away for? Is he going to be married?"