Stillness reigned over the whole house, one heard only from the garden the lulling murmur of the spring.
From the inner room the old man soon heard the deep, regular respirations of the sleeping young wife. Haduwalt counted them. He counted bravely up to a hundred. He then laid his hand, groping uncertainly, on the thread at his girdle. "All right," thought he; "and I shall not sleep. Certainly not! Hundred and one!"
Then he counted no more.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Over the silent garden lay the enchantment of a warm, glorious summer night.
The innumerable stars shone magnificently in the cloudless heavens. And now in the east, above the walls of Juvavum, which had till now hidden her from view, rose the full moon, pouring forth a flood of glory, showing in her fantastic light, so bright and yet so different from day, the white house, the dark bushes, and the tall trees.
Numerous night-loving flowers in the gardens of the villas, and in the meadows around, whose cups were closed by day, now opened and exhaled their scent into the soft air.
The young German traversed the garden with agitated steps.
In the rose-bushes of the neighbouring gardens sang the nightingale, so loud, so quavering, so ardent, so impassioned, Liuthari would rather not have heard it; and yet he could not help listening to the fervid tones.
The night wind played in his flowing locks, for, besides the breast-plate, he had also left his helmet in the room, only taking with him his spear, which served as a staff, and the round shield, on which to lay his head, if he wished to rest.