The bird-cherry which grew by the water-side was entirely covered with fresh leaves; every twig had a crop of delicate green winglets. On the grass by the tree lay a young girl; Johannes could only see that she had a light-blue dress and fair hair. A robin, sitting on her shoulder, fed out of her hand. She suddenly turned her head and looked at Johannes.
'Good-day, little man!' said she, with a friendly nod.
Johannes felt a glow from head to foot. Those were Windekind's eyes; that was Windekind's voice.
'Who are you?' he asked. His lips trembled with excitement.
'I am Robinetta, and this is my bird. He will not be afraid of you. Are you fond of birds?'
The Redbreast was not afraid of Johannes; it flew on to his arm. This was just as it used to be. The being in blue must be Windekind.
'And tell me what your name is, boy,' said Windekind's voice.
'Do you not know me? Do you not know that my name is Johannes?'
'How should I know that?'
What did this mean? For it was the sweet familiar voice, and those were the same dark, heavenly-deep blue eyes.